[ Not the first voice that's slipped inside, but the first one that's done so with intention, that's called out to him by name. Delightful in some small way, that someone who has been in his head before would want to be there again.
After all, he's hardly gotten the hang of this; he might've made a bad impression. ]
[ And what a question it is! But he did give her his express permission to be nosy... ]
I've been surviving on the same animals since I arrived, but which parts I prefer, well, ahaha... How do I explain this gently? [ beat ] Do you know how parasites feed?
[ she comes back to the penthouse a little bloody.
don't worry about it. it's not hers.
she's got that ratty backpack with her, full of (????) that she retrieved from one of her safe houses.
she'd made sure to hang onto some plants and fungi before the cold had forced it all to die out. not that she could've known what was coming—rather, she's simply obsessively prepared.
the cold granted one advantage, too. the greenery she brings back is still fresh, because it's frozen. though she can no longer feel the fire's warmth, she figures it can't hurt to try to see if the flames will still thaw what she hopes will be food, anyway. she opens her backpack, spreading a few plants and mushrooms on the hearth before the fire.
and then she goes to find Ivan. don't mind her new teeth or flat, amber eyes. or the fact that she's barefoot, because her feet have become mostly paws and shoes no longer fit.
they're both a little monstrous. ]
Ivan~ [ she's exhausted, but still tries a smile. ] I've brought something back I'd like you to try.
Ivan sits impassively before the spread, and aids their cold, stunted fire by chipping at the ice crystals with his chitin claws. Once he can better see the characteristics beneath, he begins to categorize everything. On the right, he places the plants he's had in the past. The ones he sustained himself on in his early, uncertain days here, by copying the rabbits. On the left goes a serrated leafy green that once made his entire mouth go numb before he could even swallow it. He also sorts a red-tinged cluster of fungal stalks there after bringing them briefly to his nose. A single sniff is enough to raise his hackles.
When he agreed to this, he didn't care if something horrible happened to him, but circumstances have changed somewhat. He wishes for Till to always have enough to eat, and that is assured if he stays alive. So—if his instincts shout at him so loudly that something is poison, he'll listen.
Done sorting, it's mostly the fungi that are left in the middle. Arguably, these are some of the things that are most likely to kill someone, but they're also the most valuable if they can indeed be eaten. They're protein that doesn't need to be hunted.
Indicating the righthand pile: ]
These are all safe. I'll sample them in front of you now, if you don't want to take my word for it.
[ He rolls a mushroom with a cap like a large, sagging umbrella into the palm of his hand. ]
Tell me about this one; do you remember where you found it?
[ It's one more question than he usually asks, when they do this. ]
Lortel sits beside him, leaning into his side as easily as she normally does. if his chitin plating or frankly bizarre anatomy ever bother her, she's never given any sign. ]
I don't need you to prove it. I believe you.
[ if only because:
she, too, is aware of the change in stakes that has come with Till's arrival. she knows Ivan is invested, now—if not in his own safety, if not in hers or Noah's or Sunny's, then in Till's.
it would have been impossible to miss how concerned and possessive Ivan had been. he'd reminded her rather of herself, with Sunny.
in this, his word is now enough. it's not as if she can afford to lose him, either. ]
Sprouting from the cracks in the pavement beside a building. [ not a natural place for fungi to grow, necessarily. but there'd been many such growths when they'd all first arrived. ] Not harvested from Central Park, which is where I found most of this.
[ She'd tell him if it had been sprouting from something like a dead body, mm? He gently tears off half the mushroom's cap, though there's no science behind his portioning. This is what feels like enough.
Without ceremony, he neatly places the piece into his mouth, chews, and swallows it with grace. It's like taking a bite of rubbery skin slathered with dirt. It would have been better cooked, but what's there to be done about that with this supernatural cold sapping the heat from fire itself?
Now, they wait.
He smiles, like the clock isn't ticking. ]
So Lortel, how would you like to spend the next few hours?
[ If he's still fine by tomorrow they can consider the test a success. ]
it doesn't serve her to lie. not to him, not about this.
she watches him somberly, thinking about what she's done. it's not as if she forced him. still, she also knew just as well that he wouldn't refuse her. her human experiment.
she is a terrible person.
idly, Lortel reaches up to stroke his hair. ]
Stay with me. Tell me about your life. I've been wondering.
[ he and Till say such strange things, after all. ]
[ The smile is returned, of course. Welcoming others with only his best is the polite thing to do. It doesn't matter that he's not sure, still, what to think of the man who filled his head with violence so vivid that it could be seen.
Directed at the person he wants alive at any cost. ]
I feel much more relaxed now that there are no more rumblings down below us all. Till is fine, too. Just checking in, Yuuto, sir?
[ Yuuto needed to do quite a few things as a "pick-me-up" to return to any semblance of himself. Has he changed? Yes. But only on the inside. His outsides can be however he wants them to be. And isn't that nice? ]
Yes. I remembered your faces and names... I wanted to make sure you were both okay and felt one would be more honest than the other.
It's true that Till will say anything to sound tough. But I think he's earned any bragging he wants to do for a while, ahaha. [ If not for that explosion of magical energy that may or may not have been equivalent to a small sun, Ivan would be parasite paste! ]
( Knock-knock, who's there on the dream-murmur — )
...ah! There you are. Good morning. ( It's sleep time, it's night — ) All this matter of stalls and maze hedges got me thinking you must be struggling for space under our latest... costumed circumstances.
[ What is night if not the awakening hour of a nocturnal being? ]
You were seeking me out, sir? [ Well, as a performer, he's overly used to costumes... but given a platform to complain, he supposes it's alright if he does so, just a little.
It's expected—anticipated—! ] Yes, this heavy armor does seem a little redundant, haha! Harder to move around in than my own, as well...
That is what Till has kept telling himself since the painful events of that recent dream with Sleep. The difficulty of keeping that promise has been put to the test.
Not because he wanted to run. From the moment he realized Ivan was alive and himself again—as much himself as he could be, in that transformed body—Till had wanted to hold on and never let go. He would give anything, do anything, to keep him alive and at his side.
And yet the very real fear that he is bad for Ivan—unhealthy, dangerous—has lingered in the back of his mind. Ivan had been destroyed, a second time.
Because of him.
Those thoughts keep circling, relentless, even when he tries to shut them out. For the past week, their tether has ached. On some level, Till has believed he deserves it. Whatever pain or rejection or jagged emotion perforated their connection, he accepted it without protest, because he hasn’t felt worthy.
In no world does he believe he could ever be worthy of Ivan’s love, no matter how fiercely he craves it.
The thoughts are still there, but compared to the last few days, a new fear has risen up and taken hold: the inexplicable terror that Ivan might leave him.
Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Till knows that, and despite that, all he wants is to cling close. He hates it when Ivan disappears, even for a little while.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And yet, here he is. Ivan is inside their shared room, and Till lingers in the hall, face flushed as he paces back and forth.
Come on. Just go inside. This isn’t embarrassing.
It is embarrassing. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but Till isn’t good at this kind of thing on the best of days. He’s got a little book clutched in both hands, fingers digging into the worn cover. He’d found it—found a lot of material like it—while raiding an abandoned apartment, and the content inside had… left him thinking about quite a number of things that weren’t easy to put into words.
Finally, at last, he raps his knuckles against the door and steps into their cozy yet spacious room.
Hey—
[What an awkward start. He sends the word along their converged tether instead of voicing it aloud. He hasn’t had much desire to physically speak lately. It’s easier to talk like this. Safer. Emotionally. Mentally.]
[ Ivan has nothing in his arms. And he hates that.
It's been too long since he's been able to hold Till without feeling like his very presence was cutting into him. Keeping away is not what he wants at all, but it's necessary, is it not? He can only hurt him so much before he starts to think that it's just selfish to even try to endure. Hunting is his convenient excuse to be somewhere else, always crucial to them all surviving.
That's not what he's doing now, of course, in their room all alone. Till's suspicions are correct, though the resting is not itself restful. His now-natural glow glints off of Ivan's jet black exoskeleton, highlighting exactly where he is in the inner darkness. It reveals an enormous, tight spiral in the dead center of the carpeting, because that's the only place he has room to be in such a pose. His body is wound around and around itself, his just-barely human head and shoulders eclipsed by the endless extra legs he's using to hug himself. He's gotten so used to being near someone in his sleep, this is all he can do to stifle the awful awareness that he isn't.
The voice that slips inside his head is more soothing than any of that. Still, mixed with the sudden rush of relief, there is a sense of alarm. he's not sure that it's safe yet... for Till to approach.
Then he cracks an eye open, finding himself already looking at him. ]
No.
[ Stated firmly, Ivan immediately beginning to stir, squirm, rise from his creature-esque contortion toward the doorframe with a restless neediness he's been saving up and up and up. Whether it's going to sting when he touches him, he just can't help himself. ]
I'm not resting anymore, now that you're here. I want to do what you want to do.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Ivan~ I have a job for you, if you’re interested.
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After all, he's hardly gotten the hang of this; he might've made a bad impression. ]
Of course, Lortel, how can I help you?
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A question, first. Has much changed about how you eat, with the … changes to your body?
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I've been surviving on the same animals since I arrived, but which parts I prefer, well, ahaha... How do I explain this gently? [ beat ] Do you know how parasites feed?
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… so he’s been surviving on the local animals … he sounds the same. hm. ]
Assume I don’t. No need to be gentle.
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don't worry about it. it's not hers.
she's got that ratty backpack with her, full of (????) that she retrieved from one of her safe houses.
she'd made sure to hang onto some plants and fungi before the cold had forced it all to die out. not that she could've known what was coming—rather, she's simply obsessively prepared.
the cold granted one advantage, too. the greenery she brings back is still fresh, because it's frozen. though she can no longer feel the fire's warmth, she figures it can't hurt to try to see if the flames will still thaw what she hopes will be food, anyway. she opens her backpack, spreading a few plants and mushrooms on the hearth before the fire.
and then she goes to find Ivan. don't mind her new teeth or flat, amber eyes. or the fact that she's barefoot, because her feet have become mostly paws and shoes no longer fit.
they're both a little monstrous. ]
Ivan~ [ she's exhausted, but still tries a smile. ] I've brought something back I'd like you to try.
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[ And she's brought back quite the variety.
Ivan sits impassively before the spread, and aids their cold, stunted fire by chipping at the ice crystals with his chitin claws. Once he can better see the characteristics beneath, he begins to categorize everything. On the right, he places the plants he's had in the past. The ones he sustained himself on in his early, uncertain days here, by copying the rabbits. On the left goes a serrated leafy green that once made his entire mouth go numb before he could even swallow it. He also sorts a red-tinged cluster of fungal stalks there after bringing them briefly to his nose. A single sniff is enough to raise his hackles.
When he agreed to this, he didn't care if something horrible happened to him, but circumstances have changed somewhat. He wishes for Till to always have enough to eat, and that is assured if he stays alive. So—if his instincts shout at him so loudly that something is poison, he'll listen.
Done sorting, it's mostly the fungi that are left in the middle. Arguably, these are some of the things that are most likely to kill someone, but they're also the most valuable if they can indeed be eaten. They're protein that doesn't need to be hunted.
Indicating the righthand pile: ]
These are all safe. I'll sample them in front of you now, if you don't want to take my word for it.
[ He rolls a mushroom with a cap like a large, sagging umbrella into the palm of his hand. ]
Tell me about this one; do you remember where you found it?
[ It's one more question than he usually asks, when they do this. ]
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[ it's a rhetorical question.
Lortel sits beside him, leaning into his side as easily as she normally does. if his chitin plating or frankly bizarre anatomy ever bother her, she's never given any sign. ]
I don't need you to prove it. I believe you.
[ if only because:
she, too, is aware of the change in stakes that has come with Till's arrival. she knows Ivan is invested, now—if not in his own safety, if not in hers or Noah's or Sunny's, then in Till's.
it would have been impossible to miss how concerned and possessive Ivan had been. he'd reminded her rather of herself, with Sunny.
in this, his word is now enough. it's not as if she can afford to lose him, either. ]
Sprouting from the cracks in the pavement beside a building. [ not a natural place for fungi to grow, necessarily. but there'd been many such growths when they'd all first arrived. ] Not harvested from Central Park, which is where I found most of this.
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Without ceremony, he neatly places the piece into his mouth, chews, and swallows it with grace. It's like taking a bite of rubbery skin slathered with dirt. It would have been better cooked, but what's there to be done about that with this supernatural cold sapping the heat from fire itself?
Now, they wait.
He smiles, like the clock isn't ticking. ]
So Lortel, how would you like to spend the next few hours?
[ If he's still fine by tomorrow they can consider the test a success. ]
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it doesn't serve her to lie. not to him, not about this.
she watches him somberly, thinking about what she's done. it's not as if she forced him. still, she also knew just as well that he wouldn't refuse her. her human experiment.
she is a terrible person.
idly, Lortel reaches up to stroke his hair. ]
Stay with me. Tell me about your life. I've been wondering.
[ he and Till say such strange things, after all. ]
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somewhere in december.
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Oh, why hello, Jinx. Is our resident rebel just bored or does she have a specific individual in mind?
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I've just met up with an old friend and I thought it'd be really swell of me to show some generosity about this new realm we're living in.
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[ Oh, he is absolutely being called upon to scare the shit out of someone, isn't he... ]
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cw: joking about vore?!?!??!?!
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sometime in january (wiggles arms)
[ He sends a smile that wraps around his greeting. It's like a bow on top of a friendly hello. ]
post-rat spin
Directed at the person he wants alive at any cost. ]
I feel much more relaxed now that there are no more rumblings down below us all. Till is fine, too. Just checking in, Yuuto, sir?
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[ Yuuto needed to do quite a few things as a "pick-me-up" to return to any semblance of himself. Has he changed? Yes. But only on the inside. His outsides can be however he wants them to be. And isn't that nice? ]
Yes. I remembered your faces and names... I wanted to make sure you were both okay and felt one would be more honest than the other.
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It was impressive, what he did down there.
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march...!!!
...ah! There you are. Good morning. ( It's sleep time, it's night — ) All this matter of stalls and maze hedges got me thinking you must be struggling for space under our latest... costumed circumstances.
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You were seeking me out, sir? [ Well, as a performer, he's overly used to costumes... but given a platform to complain, he supposes it's alright if he does so, just a little.
It's expected—anticipated—! ] Yes, this heavy armor does seem a little redundant, haha! Harder to move around in than my own, as well...
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April - Week 3
That is what Till has kept telling himself since the painful events of that recent dream with Sleep. The difficulty of keeping that promise has been put to the test.
Not because he wanted to run. From the moment he realized Ivan was alive and himself again—as much himself as he could be, in that transformed body—Till had wanted to hold on and never let go. He would give anything, do anything, to keep him alive and at his side.
And yet the very real fear that he is bad for Ivan—unhealthy, dangerous—has lingered in the back of his mind. Ivan had been destroyed, a second time.
Because of him.
Those thoughts keep circling, relentless, even when he tries to shut them out. For the past week, their tether has ached. On some level, Till has believed he deserves it. Whatever pain or rejection or jagged emotion perforated their connection, he accepted it without protest, because he hasn’t felt worthy.
In no world does he believe he could ever be worthy of Ivan’s love, no matter how fiercely he craves it.
The thoughts are still there, but compared to the last few days, a new fear has risen up and taken hold: the inexplicable terror that Ivan might leave him.
Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Till knows that, and despite that, all he wants is to cling close. He hates it when Ivan disappears, even for a little while.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
And yet, here he is. Ivan is inside their shared room, and Till lingers in the hall, face flushed as he paces back and forth.
Come on. Just go inside. This isn’t embarrassing.
It is embarrassing. Maybe it shouldn’t be, but Till isn’t good at this kind of thing on the best of days. He’s got a little book clutched in both hands, fingers digging into the worn cover. He’d found it—found a lot of material like it—while raiding an abandoned apartment, and the content inside had… left him thinking about quite a number of things that weren’t easy to put into words.
Finally, at last, he raps his knuckles against the door and steps into their cozy yet spacious room.
Hey—
[What an awkward start. He sends the word along their converged tether instead of voicing it aloud. He hasn’t had much desire to physically speak lately. It’s easier to talk like this. Safer. Emotionally. Mentally.]
You resting?
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It's been too long since he's been able to hold Till without feeling like his very presence was cutting into him. Keeping away is not what he wants at all, but it's necessary, is it not? He can only hurt him so much before he starts to think that it's just selfish to even try to endure. Hunting is his convenient excuse to be somewhere else, always crucial to them all surviving.
That's not what he's doing now, of course, in their room all alone. Till's suspicions are correct, though the resting is not itself restful. His now-natural glow glints off of Ivan's jet black exoskeleton, highlighting exactly where he is in the inner darkness. It reveals an enormous, tight spiral in the dead center of the carpeting, because that's the only place he has room to be in such a pose. His body is wound around and around itself, his just-barely human head and shoulders eclipsed by the endless extra legs he's using to hug himself. He's gotten so used to being near someone in his sleep, this is all he can do to stifle the awful awareness that he isn't.
The voice that slips inside his head is more soothing than any of that. Still, mixed with the sudden rush of relief, there is a sense of alarm. he's not sure that it's safe yet... for Till to approach.
Then he cracks an eye open, finding himself already looking at him. ]
No.
[ Stated firmly, Ivan immediately beginning to stir, squirm, rise from his creature-esque contortion toward the doorframe with a restless neediness he's been saving up and up and up. Whether it's going to sting when he touches him, he just can't help himself. ]
I'm not resting anymore, now that you're here. I want to do what you want to do.