IC Inbox

[summertimeblues]

Shit there's video calling now?





((content warning for aspic, please avert your eyes all ye who enter here))

Comments

[vorrutyer]

I'm Vor, Ricchio. Of course I've been involved in attempted murder.

[ Well...no. Not exactly. He's been a second at two duels, one of which ended after some negotiation and one of which ended with both parties deloping. And then there was Richars, but that was never really about ending anyone's life, as much as Byerly had been certain as a boy that Richars would be the end of him. And as for his work for Imperial Security...well. If they ever saw fit to involve him in any murders, they certainly wouldn't be attempted. Though thankfully, ImpSec had always used people who were a bit more professional when it came to dealing death. By, truthfully, gets a bit queasy at the thought of dead things - he tries not to think too hard about where his protein is coming from, here, because it certainly isn't being cloned in a nice, sanitary, murder-free protein vat like it was back home. ]

What's life without spice, after all? Sex is dull if you don't have a bit of uncertainty about your partner's intentions. And friendships, too. If you're going out with someone, it's best if you're expecting a knife in the back - makes you all tingly any time they reach over to clap you on the shoulder.

[summertimeblues]

((woops he just said richars was in stasis my b))

the only uncertainty with sex I'm interested in is whether it can happen again and how soon

You're a strange one. Who did you shank? I know it wasn't Richars, more's the pity. Sounds like he and old Henry would have buddied up pretty good.

[vorrutyer]

[ Rather than answering that question... ]

What drove your Henry mad, anyway? Why did he come after you? Seems an odd thing.

[summertimeblues]

are you avoiding answering me

that's really fucking rude

and crazy is crazy, what can I say? He started the summer of '59 out trying to carve his name on my friend's stomach because he wouldn't let him cheat off his test paper, it was an ass to head somersault downhill from there.

[vorrutyer]

Was the fellow rich? Powerful in some way?

[summertimeblues]

nope, he was a farmboy

[vorrutyer]

And, what, he got a place in a sanatorium after doing something like that? You Terrans are gentle, aren't you?

[summertimeblues]

[...this is getting too close to things he's not willing to spare spit on. And yet, almost inexorably, he types out:]

no. he got pinned for child murder.

[vorrutyer]

[ Hm. ]

Someone you knew?

[summertimeblues]

some.

[vorrutyer]

[ ...good god. ]

How many children, exactly?

[summertimeblues]

they only found some of the bodies, most are still missing

[vorrutyer]

But you don't think he was guilty.

[summertimeblues]

for the dead kids, no. if he'd gotten the chance later on he might have killed us, but we never gave it to him.

am i interesting enough to fuck yet

[vorrutyer]

Is that what you're shooting for? There was an easier path to that, you know.
Why did they think it was poor monster Henry?

[summertimeblues]

hard to think why else you're so interested in a bunch of baby murders from 27 years ago on a planet you've never been to

but you're right, totally cocked that one up good didn't I? Let me make it up to you By-By, I promise I'll be sweet

[And later...as a most reluctant addendum.]

there was no one else to blame

[vorrutyer]

Ah. And why don't you think it was poor monster Henry?

[summertimeblues]

[There is an explosive ball of hate rioting in his gut. Richie spits and seethes at the phone, lets it go for several minutes. Fetches himself a snack. Puts on a record, one of the new ones dropped in his lap from some magical split in the sky, and throws back a shot of rye.

Yet he comes back. He can't say why, but he finds fingers clasping at the phone, pulling up the message, and letting the surge of anger bring high colour to his cheeks, the tips of his ears. It's obvious now, he was being led on, goaded, and he wants nothing more than for Byerly to regret fucking asking in the first place. He needs something stronger than a drink.]

i don't know, how many twelve year old boys can rip a kid's arm out of his socket so fast he dies from shock in the middle of the street?

[vorrutyer]

[ Byerly, though, in his own strange way, isn't goading. It's a puzzle, and he's drawn to puzzles like a moth to flame. He's a man of many appetites - for wine, for sex, for finery, for recognition - but no appetite is stronger than his hunger for knowledge. Even knowledge about child murders that occurred more than a thousand years ago.

It takes him a few moments to respond, because he's wandered away from his phone. Once he sees there's a reply from Richie, though, he picks up again, answering: ]

A twelve year old driving a heavy vehicle, I suppose.

[summertimeblues]

cute.

Is your dick hard yet?

[vorrutyer]

[ That draws a little ripple of revulsion even from him. Well. ]

I'm certainly not saying it's likely, but I assume there was more than simply discomfort with the method to go off of.

[summertimeblues]

fuck off. I'm done giving you your kicks for today

[vorrutyer]

Do you honestly think I enjoy the thought of child murders, Richard?

[summertimeblues]

do you think i enjoy fucking talking about them? I'm done

[vorrutyer]

And what if your murderer wakes up? Comes out of stasis?