[Thanks for waiting until he was actually ready to talk Sandy.
It takes some time even so. A few hours. Eventually she gets a call back. He sounds slightly hoarse. Blame it on the booze, or one of the fancy tabs he'd taken that had him heaving up the next morning. It's been a bad week.]
Hey there, Greensleeves. I don't have much spring'n me step, but I'd like to borrow your time anyhow. That sound all right with you?
[ It's the least she can do. She might be needy, but she understands the need to sulk just as well... Still, there's a quiet pleasure in her tone beget by the eventual return of her call, no disguising that. Relief, maybe. Something akin to gratefulness that he's alive at all, after everything she's heard. ]
My lovely DJ, you should know that any time I have to spare is yours to keep.
[ Even if she was the one that asked for his. Hers is the time that floods the market, here. But he knows where to find her. ]
[He can't help the smile. Lovely, huh? That's the first term of endearment he's heard out of her. Even through the dim gloom there's a pang in his heart that isn't wholly bad.]
[ Quite lovely that he thought to return the call at all. She should know better by now, especially with him, but a lot has happened in the past couple of weeks. Things she can only pretend have not made her equally miserable, tempted her back and away towards seclusion. ]
That would be most appreciated, Richie. [ That smile in her tone rings warm, still, before a soft snicker betrays her loftier feelings... or more accurately, her feelings scraping along the bottom of the barrel. ] What would you say the probability is that I could convince you to bring another bottle of something along with you?
I think after your last choice, I trust you to be left to your own decisions. Though I also think I could be enthralled with snake-venom moonshine at this point, do be sure to accept my confidence with a grain of salt.
[ As if she'd know what all's out there anyway, alcohol was a rarity in the Downside even to those that could partake. Bring what you want, boy, you know her standards are pickaxed into the ground. ]
Snake venom sounds tasty, I'm gonna ask at the shop if they've got a bottle of 100% proof. I'm feeling lucky and you can't die, so what's the harm in trying?
[Or could she? If the blow was dealt within the orb, maybe. File that under questions no one should ever hope to answer.
The call ends with a short farewell and within an hour or so, he's turning his borrowed key in the front door lock. Thankfully it looks like everyone else is out. He's in no mood to pester or be pestered by the rest of their motley crew.
His weight settles on the coffee table, direct next to the glassy green marble. Richie knocks idly on its surface.]
[ Whatever it is he might think she's referring to, it's to one little Harp's illicit stash with an actual serpent jammed into the bottle and left to ferment, so shop carefully, Richie. (Alternatively, that was a bottle bewitched to never run dry, so by all means, please shop carefully, Richie.) ]
[ Joke or no joke, as soon as he comes trotting in and knocking on the ugly scratched surface of her Crystal, he's being yoinked in by the knuckles without so much as a greeting. And the time it takes to orient himself is plenty for her to cross the court and fold herself into his arms. It starts off a brief, firm hug, not unlike the sort he's greeted her with before, but she permits it to linger a moment longer. ]
[ The concept of death had not been a remotely upsetting one for quite some time now. It was not as if it had a great deal of meaning after 837 years, and while the Downside only served to prolong its denizens' suffering, its perils so often snuffed those less fortunate before their time. Everyone came and went, came and went. It became only a point of contention, of jealousy to hold, that everyone but her would find an end, that even Demons would eventually be laid to rest—the damned stars themselves would perish before her and leave her to rot in the true dark. ]
[ Even the passing mention of Richie's demise came and went without much acknowledgement beyond its fact, at least at first. The longer she held onto the fact, though... The sensation began to burn through her dead and ancient nerves. For a while, it drove her back like something venomous, the sudden click that no matter how much kinder the world was to her here, that it would still slip from between her fingers like everything else. That time marched on, as did circumstance. That attachment was only a recipe for disappointment. That, she had always known, but somehow the thought had drifted to the back of her mind, in only a few short months. A blink of an eye. And it was worse, losing something that not only gave her the time of day, but that would stop at nothing to return her calls. ]
[ It was a stupid thing to call, then, once she had gotten wind that he had somehow survived. Frankly, she very nearly hadn't. But franker still, for as much as she is to loathe that feeling of neediness, there is little regret in seeking out the feeling of his heart still thumping in his chest, against her cheek. ]
It is good to see you again, Rich.
[ You know. With her fingertips. She won't linger on the what's happened, she of all people doesn't want to entertain the thought of welcoming him to the life immortal, or whatever other miracle occurred to him. She'll glean enough for herself and allow herself to enjoy his company unmarred. ]
[He doesn't expect the snag to happen so soon. Perhaps a little barb throwing first, or at least a hello. But then he's swooped up, molecules disassembled and stacked back together in that green and black psychedelic limbo. He's unsteady when he comes to, feet slamming too wide apart to compensate for the inertia threatening to topple him clean over.
That fails to happen though. There's a small form up against his, arms wrapped around his middle and cheek to his chest.
Richie's blanked for a moment. But then the stun wears off, and he entwines around her in kind. One hand to the back of her head, thumb brushing softly over her hair, the other resting near her waist. He chokes up some in the throat. That can't stop the chuckle at her tragic turn of phrase.]
Ditto, Sandy.
[She's been living with the crew that had dusted up and dropped off his carcass. Of course she'd heard. He wasn't sure how she'd take it, being what she was. What was the cost of immortality, outside of the long stretch you find yourself running? That all your trackmates peel off the lanes, one by one, and new ones join the race all the time but you, old girl, you're the only one in it for the finish line aren't you? Except they keep switching it around on you, and no one can keep up.
She's been in his thoughts a lot as during that dragging, listless spell. Nothing could numb him enough, neither for as long or as cold as he wanted, and so his mind had skittered over the anomalies he'd known. It's his own body he'd woken up in (or something close to it, with the scars he'd had in May of 1985 but nothing he's gained since), and he's not sure he wants to take it on a test run. Immortality seems like a stretch even now, soft-fleshed and free of ball-and-chains, no talismans to haunt for him. But at least...
Well. If he can't die anymore, he'd at least have company. Good company.
Richie pulls back, swapping that hand around to the front. Cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb over the bone. She's so beautiful, it's a crime she can't even see her own fucking reflection. His heart has a squeeze on it. He's done a lot of crying as of late, shameful to say but true. Richie digs teeth into his bottom lip and huffs.]
God, I missed you all. Imagine that? It feels like a lifetime and no time all at once. I didn't expect all this fanfare after just a few months, but... [He shrugs. Lets his hand fall to the safety of her shoulder.] We're what we've got now, aren't we?
[ It's an apt enough thought, one that doesn't bear any particular repeating as she indulges quietly in his touch. She's old, she's tired, she's used to having things taken from her. She thought (hoped, prayed) for the longest time, that she was beyond caring. She'd gotten rather good at it, before all of this. ]
We are. All equal nothings, here. [ As Hedwyn was so fond of putting it. The sound of Richie's struggle to swallow the start of tears puts a curl to the corner of her lips, even as he leans to regard her, his hand brushing the side of her face before it falls away. It was for simplicity's sake that she had long since replaced the majority of her expressions besides irritation with that of amusement. Especially tears of her own. Warm or cold, that particular well had long since dried. ] Ill fortune makes for some of the fastest of friends.
[ He should know. She does know, and she hates it more than anything. They had all been stripped of their worlds and contexts, but she had thought, perhaps, with the other opportunities presented to them that they would be even less likely to pay her any mind with their own lives to lead... She had feared, above all else, that with the loss of her own context would come the loss of her everything. ]
[ But really, even moreso than in the Downside... They were not outcasts. They were total outsiders. Even she—the most nothing thing a human being could be stripped to—had a note in the margins of the Book to her name. Now even that Book meant nothing as well. Held no knowledge, held no power... It was the lot of them, kings and saints and peasants and murderers against this brave new world. Sometimes no common factor makes for the strongest sort. And by this odd little family, she has yet to be forgotten. ]
[ Anyway, this meeting is about him in the end. Sandra extricates herself from his embrace, though not without tracing down that arm of his and locating the bottle she'd felt knock against her hip, and her grin sharpens. ]
Well, before you start assuming you are nothing but a source of libations to me, perhaps you ought to have the first drink this time around, [ she hums, pressing it to his chest and leaving her tone uncautiously light. ] And perhaps, this time... we ought to consider toasting your health after all.
[He peels off into laughter at that. There's bitterness at the edges, sure. Sombre notes, laughing to stave off the pain is the oldest trick in the book. But there is something genuinely hilarious about the whole affair.]
I don't know, Sandy, should we? I mean if the lords above us are so keep to patch me up and haul me back after I'd been chucked over the brink of death, what's the point in wasting a toast? They're watching our asses so we don't have to.
[Brave words. Brave claims. There's no guarantee their mercy is endless, after all. Some people go back into the pods for good. Foster sounded like he was still waiting on that daughter of his. For all the piss takes he'll make, Richie is in no hurry to pull a miracle again.
He relinquishes the bottle to her when she takes it, but stops short suddenly. He pats his pockets (stupidly) in the confusion. He clucks his tongue in dismay.] Oh hell, I forgot the glasses. I was all nervy on the way over and skipped out the house without them. Is drinking from the bottle all right by you, babe?
[And, emboldened by the warmth of her greeting, the surety of her presence, he deigns to risk meeting the sharp palm of her hand once more. Richie's grin is broad and he harries the muscle of her shoulder with a light pinch, softened even further by the raiments no doubt.] Unless you got a problem swapping spit...
[ Truly the oldest, as it has more than stood the test of time with her, even if the majority of hers have most of their sharpness eroded away where his wounds stand fresh. Somewhat more noticeable now is the thinning of her lips, even as they hold their smile. ]
I do suppose—if anything—my first hundred years or so were rather pleasant in that regard, but whatever protection may be over you, it is not invincibility by any means. I would have assumed you would at least take from this that the chucking process is not one that bears repeating, if one can help it.
[ And she knows by now, via gossip and prying, that his brink had been a grizzly one indeed. Yes, at the start, she had not quite envied those still capable of experiencing such lethal agony as that Golathanian's blade had dealt her, the daily suffering afforded by her training. Now, of course, is a different story. It's a gaping hole in her own humanity, and one she would not see him try and pretend to have. ]
[ At his sudden realization, she tsks, but her grin suffers not even as he rustles her at the collar. Shoving the bottle into his hands proper, she knocks a knuckle firmly against the side of it in lieu of a glass. ]
To your health, you imbecile. Do drink before I make a tradition of my impatience.
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no subject
It takes some time even so. A few hours. Eventually she gets a call back. He sounds slightly hoarse. Blame it on the booze, or one of the fancy tabs he'd taken that had him heaving up the next morning. It's been a bad week.]
Hey there, Greensleeves. I don't have much spring'n me step, but I'd like to borrow your time anyhow. That sound all right with you?
no subject
My lovely DJ, you should know that any time I have to spare is yours to keep.
[ Even if she was the one that asked for his. Hers is the time that floods the market, here. But he knows where to find her. ]
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Then how about I snatch some up this minute?
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That would be most appreciated, Richie. [ That smile in her tone rings warm, still, before a soft snicker betrays her loftier feelings... or more accurately, her feelings scraping along the bottom of the barrel. ] What would you say the probability is that I could convince you to bring another bottle of something along with you?
[ That's a rhetorical question. ]
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[ As if she'd know what all's out there anyway, alcohol was a rarity in the Downside even to those that could partake. Bring what you want, boy, you know her standards are pickaxed into the ground. ]
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[Or could she? If the blow was dealt within the orb, maybe. File that under questions no one should ever hope to answer.
The call ends with a short farewell and within an hour or so, he's turning his borrowed key in the front door lock. Thankfully it looks like everyone else is out. He's in no mood to pester or be pestered by the rest of their motley crew.
His weight settles on the coffee table, direct next to the glassy green marble. Richie knocks idly on its surface.]
Anybody home?
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[ Joke or no joke, as soon as he comes trotting in and knocking on the ugly scratched surface of her Crystal, he's being yoinked in by the knuckles without so much as a greeting. And the time it takes to orient himself is plenty for her to cross the court and fold herself into his arms. It starts off a brief, firm hug, not unlike the sort he's greeted her with before, but she permits it to linger a moment longer. ]
[ The concept of death had not been a remotely upsetting one for quite some time now. It was not as if it had a great deal of meaning after 837 years, and while the Downside only served to prolong its denizens' suffering, its perils so often snuffed those less fortunate before their time. Everyone came and went, came and went. It became only a point of contention, of jealousy to hold, that everyone but her would find an end, that even Demons would eventually be laid to rest—the damned stars themselves would perish before her and leave her to rot in the true dark. ]
[ Even the passing mention of Richie's demise came and went without much acknowledgement beyond its fact, at least at first. The longer she held onto the fact, though... The sensation began to burn through her dead and ancient nerves. For a while, it drove her back like something venomous, the sudden click that no matter how much kinder the world was to her here, that it would still slip from between her fingers like everything else. That time marched on, as did circumstance. That attachment was only a recipe for disappointment. That, she had always known, but somehow the thought had drifted to the back of her mind, in only a few short months. A blink of an eye. And it was worse, losing something that not only gave her the time of day, but that would stop at nothing to return her calls. ]
[ It was a stupid thing to call, then, once she had gotten wind that he had somehow survived. Frankly, she very nearly hadn't. But franker still, for as much as she is to loathe that feeling of neediness, there is little regret in seeking out the feeling of his heart still thumping in his chest, against her cheek. ]
It is good to see you again, Rich.
[ You know. With her fingertips. She won't linger on the what's happened, she of all people doesn't want to entertain the thought of welcoming him to the life immortal, or whatever other miracle occurred to him. She'll glean enough for herself and allow herself to enjoy his company unmarred. ]
no subject
That fails to happen though. There's a small form up against his, arms wrapped around his middle and cheek to his chest.
Richie's blanked for a moment. But then the stun wears off, and he entwines around her in kind. One hand to the back of her head, thumb brushing softly over her hair, the other resting near her waist. He chokes up some in the throat. That can't stop the chuckle at her tragic turn of phrase.]
Ditto, Sandy.
[She's been living with the crew that had dusted up and dropped off his carcass. Of course she'd heard. He wasn't sure how she'd take it, being what she was. What was the cost of immortality, outside of the long stretch you find yourself running? That all your trackmates peel off the lanes, one by one, and new ones join the race all the time but you, old girl, you're the only one in it for the finish line aren't you? Except they keep switching it around on you, and no one can keep up.
She's been in his thoughts a lot as during that dragging, listless spell. Nothing could numb him enough, neither for as long or as cold as he wanted, and so his mind had skittered over the anomalies he'd known. It's his own body he'd woken up in (or something close to it, with the scars he'd had in May of 1985 but nothing he's gained since), and he's not sure he wants to take it on a test run. Immortality seems like a stretch even now, soft-fleshed and free of ball-and-chains, no talismans to haunt for him. But at least...
Well. If he can't die anymore, he'd at least have company. Good company.
Richie pulls back, swapping that hand around to the front. Cupping her cheek and brushing his thumb over the bone. She's so beautiful, it's a crime she can't even see her own fucking reflection. His heart has a squeeze on it. He's done a lot of crying as of late, shameful to say but true. Richie digs teeth into his bottom lip and huffs.]
God, I missed you all. Imagine that? It feels like a lifetime and no time all at once. I didn't expect all this fanfare after just a few months, but... [He shrugs. Lets his hand fall to the safety of her shoulder.] We're what we've got now, aren't we?
no subject
We are. All equal nothings, here. [ As Hedwyn was so fond of putting it. The sound of Richie's struggle to swallow the start of tears puts a curl to the corner of her lips, even as he leans to regard her, his hand brushing the side of her face before it falls away. It was for simplicity's sake that she had long since replaced the majority of her expressions besides irritation with that of amusement. Especially tears of her own. Warm or cold, that particular well had long since dried. ] Ill fortune makes for some of the fastest of friends.
[ He should know. She does know, and she hates it more than anything. They had all been stripped of their worlds and contexts, but she had thought, perhaps, with the other opportunities presented to them that they would be even less likely to pay her any mind with their own lives to lead... She had feared, above all else, that with the loss of her own context would come the loss of her everything. ]
[ But really, even moreso than in the Downside... They were not outcasts. They were total outsiders. Even she—the most nothing thing a human being could be stripped to—had a note in the margins of the Book to her name. Now even that Book meant nothing as well. Held no knowledge, held no power... It was the lot of them, kings and saints and peasants and murderers against this brave new world. Sometimes no common factor makes for the strongest sort. And by this odd little family, she has yet to be forgotten. ]
[ Anyway, this meeting is about him in the end. Sandra extricates herself from his embrace, though not without tracing down that arm of his and locating the bottle she'd felt knock against her hip, and her grin sharpens. ]
Well, before you start assuming you are nothing but a source of libations to me, perhaps you ought to have the first drink this time around, [ she hums, pressing it to his chest and leaving her tone uncautiously light. ] And perhaps, this time... we ought to consider toasting your health after all.
no subject
I don't know, Sandy, should we? I mean if the lords above us are so keep to patch me up and haul me back after I'd been chucked over the brink of death, what's the point in wasting a toast? They're watching our asses so we don't have to.
[Brave words. Brave claims. There's no guarantee their mercy is endless, after all. Some people go back into the pods for good. Foster sounded like he was still waiting on that daughter of his. For all the piss takes he'll make, Richie is in no hurry to pull a miracle again.
He relinquishes the bottle to her when she takes it, but stops short suddenly. He pats his pockets (stupidly) in the confusion. He clucks his tongue in dismay.] Oh hell, I forgot the glasses. I was all nervy on the way over and skipped out the house without them. Is drinking from the bottle all right by you, babe?
[And, emboldened by the warmth of her greeting, the surety of her presence, he deigns to risk meeting the sharp palm of her hand once more. Richie's grin is broad and he harries the muscle of her shoulder with a light pinch, softened even further by the raiments no doubt.] Unless you got a problem swapping spit...
no subject
I do suppose—if anything—my first hundred years or so were rather pleasant in that regard, but whatever protection may be over you, it is not invincibility by any means. I would have assumed you would at least take from this that the chucking process is not one that bears repeating, if one can help it.
[ And she knows by now, via gossip and prying, that his brink had been a grizzly one indeed. Yes, at the start, she had not quite envied those still capable of experiencing such lethal agony as that Golathanian's blade had dealt her, the daily suffering afforded by her training. Now, of course, is a different story. It's a gaping hole in her own humanity, and one she would not see him try and pretend to have. ]
[ At his sudden realization, she tsks, but her grin suffers not even as he rustles her at the collar. Shoving the bottle into his hands proper, she knocks a knuckle firmly against the side of it in lieu of a glass. ]
To your health, you imbecile. Do drink before I make a tradition of my impatience.
[ No problem at all. ]