< Okay. I think... I've narrowed it down to these three. Might have to be a bit tight with money if we go for the row house, but there'll be more personal space. But I think an apartment would be the best way to go. >
[Dante taps the end of their pen against the rim of their clock with a metallic tink for each strike as they look between the notebook in their hand and the clippings spread on the table nearby.
Searching for a way out of the Valentia and into some proper housing had turned out to be a bit more difficult than they'd expected, but luckily Gregor was willing to pitch in, turning what would have been a miserable experience separately into something that might work out into some small measure of comfort.
Certainly more than a hollowed out old car would provide.]
< What do you think? >
[They tear their gaze from the page to look over at the man in question, head cocking slightly to the side--and inadvertently putting the word "DEATH" more prominently on display.]
I think you're probably right. Not like either of us takes up a lot of space, eh?
[they don't have many belongings, they don't need the storage... they also don't need an excessive amount of space to themselves. hell, the room at the valentia would be enough for him if it weren't for his preference to be able to keep an eye out for his manager.
... and speaking of keeping an eye out. his gaze lands on the word there, brow furrowing a little.]
... you, uh, got a little something there, manager bud.
[Their gaze immediately returns to the notebook, the turn of their head serving to bring the word out of sight once more.]
< Oh, uh, yeah. Everyone's dealing with it these days. Guess you don't need to actually have a face in order for it to count. >
[They fiddle with the pen between their fingers. There's a stinging sensation where they know the word to be, somewhere that shouldn't be able to feel anything at all.]
< People haven't been giving you much trouble over yours, have they? >
[he says casually, as if he has not in fact been bullied over it by like three different people... it's fine. he'll just keep that to himself, he's more concerned for dante at the moment.]
Just didn't realize that was something that's been on your mind.
[they've proven, after all, that turning the clock still works here-- and that they're more capable of self defense with that soul of theirs.]
[He has nightmares, sometimes. Of needles in his skin, of people screaming, of blood, of clean walls. But Sariel chalks it up to his time thousands of years ago, under the watch of the Astrals. It was a common sensation, then, to be treated like a tool.]
[So, he wanders sometimes, listlessly. In the backstreets, where very few roam. And then...he feels it. Something tugging him, pulling him. He doesn't resist. A turn here, a walk here, and then-]
[He notices it. A familiar figure, sitting in an alley.]
[the new nightmare blends all too well with the old one, but he's so familiar with it that the differences have still stood out. the walls are blue, then they're blank and gouged. his target is the same as it ever was, except for when it isn't, when it's much larger than a single fruit. it's the sounds that are the worst, though-- they're what echo more than the images, leaving him struggling to pick out whose voices were even a part of that nightmare at all.
he doesn't think he wants to examine it. gregor prefers not to, keeping more to himself, in large part thanks to the growth of his corruption (he doesn't even remember this happening, how and why did--)]
-Manager Bud? Wait, hang on-- Sariel?
[the sensation was familiar, but rather than who he assumed... he looks up to see someone completely different, though he feels more at ease in his presence nevertheless.
[He confirms - his body feels like it moves on its own, wanting to be close. He stops himself right next to him, a little hunched where he stands, but focused on him.]
I'm fine, I'm fine. Just... needed to take a little time, that's all.
[away from others, where it's quieter, where he won't be looked at.
problem is, that leaves him alone in his head, which is-- not the best place to be right now. so it's a relief that sariel is here, really, it's just that he has no idea why it's so much of one.]
You too? I thought they said something about dreams, I wasn't really
Might've been a little out of it at the time
[he lives with an imprint, after all, it's already started coming back to him in bits and pieces-- it's just that he's trying to ignore the nightmares. to write it off as not that real, despite the sudden advancement in his corruption; it's both easier and harder to do when it blends so well with the ones he already had.]
Just based on what I'd heard, I think being out of sorts is extremely reasonable.
[ There's a pause before the next message, because Hugo still isn't totally comfortable with the mechanics and implications that come with imprinting... But he also cares about others too much to just overlook it. ]
I hope this isn't overstepping, but if you need any assistance, you need only ask. The imprints do provide relief of the symptoms of our condition, strange as that may be.
[it's not the easiest thing to invite people over right now, all things considered, but-- well, honestly, the way his conversations with octavian have gone so far? there's a more familiar cadence to them than there is with just about anyone here but dante. he thinks he can manage this, and he does need to try to get back to... whatever counts for "normal" these days.
so. dinner. that's an easy enough proposition. the apartment he shares with dante is somewhere in east sophia; definitely run-down, but hey, it's not a car? they've got that going for them.
when he opens the door, gregor's got a hooded jacket pulled on, hood up, but that doesn't hide the lingering dark circles under his eyes; it also doesn't completely cover the unkempt vines that trail out of it, seemingly replacing his hair, or the thorns that poke through the fabric here and there on both the hood and jacket. the right sleeve, as with all his shirts, is torn off partway down for his arm-- which also looks a little different. the more blunted surface of its back edge is coated in moss, with the sticky filaments of a flypaper plant rooted in it. (naturally, he's doing his best to keep it held out of the way.)]
C'mon in-- afraid it's not much, but it'll do, 'ne? Most of the kitchen even works.
[Gregor's invitation is the second such invitation Octavian has received since the others returned, for... just the immense quality of his company, evidently. He's been surprised both times, if mildly—it's been a very long time since anyone sought him out for anything at all, let alone "just to hang out."
He's tickled, in his way; and it's worth it to check if Gregor has cracked his head open or something insane like that, in the interim since Octavian last saw him. Having a whole dinner about it is a fun twist, but nevertheless: he will go. He is nearly unchanged, on Gregor's doorstep; the same prim little outfit, the same wisp of a smile in his expression. If not for the fact that he is apparently a few inches shorter now, he would seem miraculously untouched by anything in this world; but it is obvious he wasn't wherever the others were taken, himself.
And his footsteps clunk when he walks now, but whatever's going on down there is concealed by his wide slacks as he clunks his way inside. Hi.]
It is maybe this high above squalor, [he says, holding his hand up at, like, chest height? It's this much.] A kitchen is important. For dinner.
Ah, well, you know how it is. Getting any higher above squalor than that was a little expensive for us.
[he closes the door behind octavian, with a curious glance at that clunking sound-- but he's not about to ask about something that could be sensitive right off the bat. this is a totally normal hangout that he is NOT going to fuck up.
gregor makes his way into the kitchen, busying himself popping cupboards open, struggling to get one or two of them shut again, ignoring the alarming creaks from the hinges of another... and eventually he pulls out a few nondescript cans along with a pair of pots. yeah, that should work.]
Looks like you've been doing all right so far-- how's everything going?
Hmm. At least you have left the Valentia. Squalor-adjacent bests a pit of Hell.
[Unlike the other hell pit thing, he didn't go there. The Valentia is dangerous for any of them to be in, ergo this quaint little hovel has earned... something like approval, maybe, if they squint. It's a net positive, really.
Octavian follows after him, looking around the semi-functional kitchen, judging—not really about the cabinets, but like, the rest. You live like this??]
I did not suffer a kidnapping if that is what you mean. I threw a rock at a Patho-Gen employee. He did not notice me. [golem privilege, actually?] Is your body very different now. I have heard of extra teeth growing where they should not be.
[he pauses for a moment, hand hovering midair, before he pushes himself to get back to what he was doing.]
...well, I haven't had the teeth problem-- did I remember to ask what you liked, by the way?
[that would be a negative. he definitely did not... if he's going to use a blatant way to try not to answer the rest of that question, then it might as well be relevant.]
[The moment Dante gets back to the apartment from their latest stint out at the job fair, they make a beeline for Gregor's door, rapping at it insistently.]
< Hey, you there? We've gotta talk about something. >
[A pause, and because they know exactly what sort of question pops up in people's heads when they hear something like that:]
< Nothing bad! Er, maybe. I just... learned something that I really, really need to talk to you about! >
[he pulls the door open alarmingly quickly... dante would likely be correct in guessing that he was already on his feet when he heard them approaching so rapidly, considering how tuned in he is to anything that might require him to act. around their apartment, he doesn't stay so covered up, so the plantlife of his 'hair' is left fully exposed in all of its unsettledness, vines shifting.]
< It's just... Well, you've met Malkuth, right? I've been thinking for awhile that there's been something familiar about her voice, and uh... While I was at the job fair, it finally clicked. >
Familiar, huh. I knew she was from the City, but... you're thinking we've run into her?
[his brow furrows at that, the gears in his head clearly turning. her name hasn't set anything off for him (though if you ask anyone who isn't gregor, of course it wouldn't); he hasn't actually placed her voice either, but maybe he just wasn't thinking along those lines before. the city is a large place, after all.]
[ New Eridu might not actually celebrate Christmas anymore, but the day itself is still the fun, meaningful one! So, as sneakily as Mr. Claus himself, there will be a quite beautifully wrapped gift waiting at Gregor’s front door on the morning of December 25th. Or the door to his bedroom in Hugo’s place. Depends on how long he stays,,,
Inside the box is a bottle of wine and a set of four wine glasses, and each stem is a different color: red, yellow, blue, and green. The wine is one that isn’t terribly expensive, but it’s very good, especially for the price point. ]
✦ Happy Holidays, Gregor~ ✦ So many of our conversations happen over wine that the choice of gift felt obvious! Though, it’s also deeply ironic that I’d already picked the glasses before we had our conversation about color associations… So, I’ll just say to save the red one for me, clearly~
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Sometime in the latter half of August
[Dante taps the end of their pen against the rim of their clock with a metallic tink for each strike as they look between the notebook in their hand and the clippings spread on the table nearby.
Searching for a way out of the Valentia and into some proper housing had turned out to be a bit more difficult than they'd expected, but luckily Gregor was willing to pitch in, turning what would have been a miserable experience separately into something that might work out into some small measure of comfort.
Certainly more than a hollowed out old car would provide.]
< What do you think? >
[They tear their gaze from the page to look over at the man in question, head cocking slightly to the side--and inadvertently putting the word "DEATH" more prominently on display.]
no subject
[they don't have many belongings, they don't need the storage... they also don't need an excessive amount of space to themselves. hell, the room at the valentia would be enough for him if it weren't for his preference to be able to keep an eye out for his manager.
... and speaking of keeping an eye out. his gaze lands on the word there, brow furrowing a little.]
... you, uh, got a little something there, manager bud.
no subject
< Oh, uh, yeah. Everyone's dealing with it these days. Guess you don't need to actually have a face in order for it to count. >
[They fiddle with the pen between their fingers. There's a stinging sensation where they know the word to be, somewhere that shouldn't be able to feel anything at all.]
< People haven't been giving you much trouble over yours, have they? >
no subject
[he says casually, as if he has not in fact been bullied over it by like three different people... it's fine. he'll just keep that to himself, he's more concerned for dante at the moment.]
Just didn't realize that was something that's been on your mind.
[they've proven, after all, that turning the clock still works here-- and that they're more capable of self defense with that soul of theirs.]
no subject
"Come to terms with it. It will happen whether you like it or not."]
< I mean... That assassination attempt was a pretty close call, wasn't-- >
[Their attempt to brush it off is cut off with a sharp tick and a wince--more out of surprise than anything else.
Seriously, how can they get hit in the head with a rock hard enough to lose consciousness and feel nothing but something like this hurts?]
< Haah... Doesn't count, huh? >
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
sometime after the kidnapping
[He has nightmares, sometimes. Of needles in his skin, of people screaming, of blood, of clean walls. But Sariel chalks it up to his time thousands of years ago, under the watch of the Astrals. It was a common sensation, then, to be treated like a tool.]
[So, he wanders sometimes, listlessly. In the backstreets, where very few roam. And then...he feels it. Something tugging him, pulling him. He doesn't resist. A turn here, a walk here, and then-]
[He notices it. A familiar figure, sitting in an alley.]
.....Gregor?
no subject
he doesn't think he wants to examine it. gregor prefers not to, keeping more to himself, in large part thanks to the growth of his corruption (he doesn't even remember this happening, how and why did--)]
-Manager Bud? Wait, hang on-- Sariel?
[the sensation was familiar, but rather than who he assumed... he looks up to see someone completely different, though he feels more at ease in his presence nevertheless.
...since when did that happen?]
no subject
[He confirms - his body feels like it moves on its own, wanting to be close. He stops himself right next to him, a little hunched where he stands, but focused on him.]
[It feels like...]
[Sunday. And Konoha. But when...?]
Are you okay?
no subject
[away from others, where it's quieter, where he won't be looked at.
problem is, that leaves him alone in his head, which is-- not the best place to be right now. so it's a relief that sariel is here, really, it's just that he has no idea why it's so much of one.]
no subject
[He offers, helpfully, though he can't guess at what the man is in need of. Still, he wants to stay here instead of passing by.]
[....It helps him, too.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
@mockingbird (not long after people come back etc)
There's not a good way to broach the subject, I fear... But how are you doing?
@13th
I don't know. I don't remember being anywhere. Feels like I just... lost the last however many days.
no subject
[ Honestly, he'd just found other imprints first and it'd felt too cruel to leave them... But it also feels weird to admit that. ]
But as concerned as I am that Patho-Gen is able to erase their crimes so, I'm relieved that you're well.
no subject
Might've been a little out of it at the time
[he lives with an imprint, after all, it's already started coming back to him in bits and pieces-- it's just that he's trying to ignore the nightmares. to write it off as not that real, despite the sudden advancement in his corruption; it's both easier and harder to do when it blends so well with the ones he already had.]
no subject
[ There's a pause before the next message, because Hugo still isn't totally comfortable with the mechanics and implications that come with imprinting... But he also cares about others too much to just overlook it. ]
I hope this isn't overstepping, but if you need any assistance, you need only ask. The imprints do provide relief of the symptoms of our condition, strange as that may be.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
→ 🎬
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/2
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
octavian- visit time
so. dinner. that's an easy enough proposition. the apartment he shares with dante is somewhere in east sophia; definitely run-down, but hey, it's not a car? they've got that going for them.
when he opens the door, gregor's got a hooded jacket pulled on, hood up, but that doesn't hide the lingering dark circles under his eyes; it also doesn't completely cover the unkempt vines that trail out of it, seemingly replacing his hair, or the thorns that poke through the fabric here and there on both the hood and jacket. the right sleeve, as with all his shirts, is torn off partway down for his arm-- which also looks a little different. the more blunted surface of its back edge is coated in moss, with the sticky filaments of a flypaper plant rooted in it. (naturally, he's doing his best to keep it held out of the way.)]
C'mon in-- afraid it's not much, but it'll do, 'ne? Most of the kitchen even works.
no subject
He's tickled, in his way; and it's worth it to check if Gregor has cracked his head open or something insane like that, in the interim since Octavian last saw him. Having a whole dinner about it is a fun twist, but nevertheless: he will go. He is nearly unchanged, on Gregor's doorstep; the same prim little outfit, the same wisp of a smile in his expression. If not for the fact that he is apparently a few inches shorter now, he would seem miraculously untouched by anything in this world; but it is obvious he wasn't wherever the others were taken, himself.
And his footsteps clunk when he walks now, but whatever's going on down there is concealed by his wide slacks as he clunks his way inside. Hi.]
It is maybe this high above squalor, [he says, holding his hand up at, like, chest height? It's this much.] A kitchen is important. For dinner.
[stare..........]
no subject
[he closes the door behind octavian, with a curious glance at that clunking sound-- but he's not about to ask about something that could be sensitive right off the bat. this is a totally normal hangout that he is NOT going to fuck up.
gregor makes his way into the kitchen, busying himself popping cupboards open, struggling to get one or two of them shut again, ignoring the alarming creaks from the hinges of another... and eventually he pulls out a few nondescript cans along with a pair of pots. yeah, that should work.]
Looks like you've been doing all right so far-- how's everything going?
no subject
[Unlike the other hell pit thing, he didn't go there. The Valentia is dangerous for any of them to be in, ergo this quaint little hovel has earned... something like approval, maybe, if they squint. It's a net positive, really.
Octavian follows after him, looking around the semi-functional kitchen, judging—not really about the cabinets, but like, the rest. You live like this??]
I did not suffer a kidnapping if that is what you mean. I threw a rock at a Patho-Gen employee. He did not notice me. [golem privilege, actually?] Is your body very different now. I have heard of extra teeth growing where they should not be.
no subject
...well, I haven't had the teeth problem-- did I remember to ask what you liked, by the way?
[that would be a negative. he definitely did not... if he's going to use a blatant way to try not to answer the rest of that question, then it might as well be relevant.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Sometime while the job fair is going in November
< Hey, you there? We've gotta talk about something. >
[A pause, and because they know exactly what sort of question pops up in people's heads when they hear something like that:]
< Nothing bad! Er, maybe. I just... learned something that I really, really need to talk to you about! >
no subject
[he pulls the door open alarmingly quickly... dante would likely be correct in guessing that he was already on his feet when he heard them approaching so rapidly, considering how tuned in he is to anything that might require him to act. around their apartment, he doesn't stay so covered up, so the plantlife of his 'hair' is left fully exposed in all of its unsettledness, vines shifting.]
What do you mean, it's "maybe" nothing bad?
no subject
[They hold up their hands placatingly]
< It's just... Well, you've met Malkuth, right? I've been thinking for awhile that there's been something familiar about her voice, and uh... While I was at the job fair, it finally clicked. >
no subject
[his brow furrows at that, the gears in his head clearly turning. her name hasn't set anything off for him (though if you ask anyone who isn't gregor, of course it wouldn't); he hasn't actually placed her voice either, but maybe he just wasn't thinking along those lines before. the city is a large place, after all.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
a gift (dec 25)
Inside the box is a bottle of wine and a set of four wine glasses, and each stem is a different color: red, yellow, blue, and green. The wine is one that isn’t terribly expensive, but it’s very good, especially for the price point. ]
✦ Happy Holidays, Gregor~ ✦
So many of our conversations happen over wine that the choice of gift felt obvious! Though, it’s also deeply ironic that I’d already picked the glasses before we had our conversation about color associations… So, I’ll just say to save the red one for me, clearly~