[Spoiler (click to open)]He'd done it. Jack had asked his own father to kill him, to order his execution. Thomasina had said, "Your father wants for you a living death, to brick you into a wall with someone who loves you - who you can't stand the sight of... until you produce an heir, which Silas will take, and raise right this time
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Neville looks like a happy man. It's a good look on him. He's got plans for dinner and a evening walk with Zhane; yes, it's a date. One he's really looking forward to, actually. As he comes down the stairs in a jacket and tie, he's not in a rush because he's early. He wants to make sure dinner is still ready. He'd cooked a lasagna earlier, leaving it in the oven on warm, with a note for his fellow Mansion-ites to please not eat because it was made for a special occasion.
Jack can run into him on the stairs or in the kitchen. He'll likely be his usual, friendly self.
Jack has frankly no idea what he's doing at this point. Separated from everything and everyone that he knew, robbed of his lifelong goal, lost in every possible sense of the term, he's adrift.
That's why he'll bump into the other man on his way up - while he would have (should have) spotted him, decided he was handsome and worthy of attention on any other day, today, he bumps into Neville by sheer virtue of self-absorption.
It's only after he spots him that...
"... Oh, sorry."
A little smile, lifeless. The stitches on his wrists are not apparent, but there's white gauze sticking out of his jacket.
Neville doesn't notice the gauze right away, but the other guy's distraction is evident by sheer force of their bumping into one another. He might reach to steady the stranger, if typist allows, but his hands wouldn't linger.
He'll look at him more closely, to see if he knows him, but no, this man is a stranger. "No problem," Neville offers an easy smile. "Are you new here?" Because it's the obvious question, and might also explain the man's distraction.
The lifeless smile is there, forced and false, not because of hypocrisy, but by practice. This man looks handsome, clean, cultured, and like the type of guy Jack would have wanted to seduce, in the secrets of his closet, in his past life.
And now he's trying, desperately, to fight despondency.
"Ah, well, it can come as a shock," Neville nods. "I take it someone has shown you around?" The guy is sad, but not wide-eyed in shock so Neville presumes he's not the first person to come upon him. "Are you -- well?"
Neville notes that Jack is a handsome man, but he's really rather taken. He isn't sure if the smile is fake or not. It seems so, but who is Neville to judge?
"We haven't. I've forgotten my manners." He holds out his hand in an offered shake. "I'm Neville. Originally from England, but I've lived here for quite some time now."
"Shiloh," Neville repeats, looking thoughtful. "I'm not familiar with it."
He notes the wince, his eyes falling to their clasped hands briefly. He spots the bandage, which in turn makes him wince. He didn't realize the man was injured. He doesn't make the quick leap to what kind of wounds that might cover.
"I have some time," Neville replies. Not much, if he doesn't want to be late for his date, but he's not going to refuse helping someone who clearly needs it. "Shall we find a seat in one of the lounges or in the foyer?"
Neville, ever the gentleman, strides toward a settee before gesturing with his hand for the other man to sit. He'll sit, but there will be plenty of space between their bodies.
"Ask your questions. I'll do my best to answer," Neville smiles.
"To put it simply, I have no idea where we are. So I guess that would be the start? Is this Gath? Are we dead? Did the King create this for prisoners? What is going on?"
Neville tackles it a question at a time. "This probably won't reassure you, but no one here has any idea where we are. It's like an island, except not literally. There's mountains and a large lake and forest. If you try to leave by any of those ways, you'll end up right back here." He sounds sorry to be the bearer of bad news.
"No one's ever named this place. Most people just call it the Mansion because that's where most of us live. Unless they build a cottage on the grounds." He scratches his head lightly, feeling a bit bad that he can't offer any real answers.
"There's no King here. There's a agency of sorts, that patrols. We try to keep people safe, but there's no official government. No prison. It's the people that have magic that tend to keep things safe, but even the most powerful magic users haven't any idea where we are in the world."
"I'm afraid that's all I can offer," Neville answers solemnly, tone quiet. "Because it's the truth." Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned magic, but it's such a big part of the Mansion, he would have felt remiss if he'd left that out. "You'll find our very quickly that I'm being completely honest. The Mansion tends to almost have a mind of it's own, and if that's not magic, I don't know what is."
His expression is kind and patient. "For instance, if you die here, you come back to life soon after. Occasionally, the Mansion will turn you into an animal. Or a child. Sometimes it will even change you into a woman. All temporary conditions."
"Thank fuck," is what Jack finds to say. He'd hate to be turned into a woman - he's way too aware of what burdens they bear. Not to mention: he likes dicks. His own, and other people's.
That does raise the question, though: if you can't die for long, why did those two interlopers stop him from actually dying?
"... so how do people get here?"
Are they all messed up fucks like Jack Benjamin? This one looks upstanding, if anyone ever was.
Jack can run into him on the stairs or in the kitchen. He'll likely be his usual, friendly self.
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That's why he'll bump into the other man on his way up - while he would have (should have) spotted him, decided he was handsome and worthy of attention on any other day, today, he bumps into Neville by sheer virtue of self-absorption.
It's only after he spots him that...
"... Oh, sorry."
A little smile, lifeless. The stitches on his wrists are not apparent, but there's white gauze sticking out of his jacket.
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He'll look at him more closely, to see if he knows him, but no, this man is a stranger. "No problem," Neville offers an easy smile. "Are you new here?" Because it's the obvious question, and might also explain the man's distraction.
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And now he's trying, desperately, to fight despondency.
"Yes," he replies. "Apparently."
It's still all incredibly strange to him.
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He summons a smile, a bit wider.
Like cranking the gears of a well-worn mechanism.
"I'm sorry, have we met?"
Quite painfully, Neville reminds Jack of Joseph.
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"We haven't. I've forgotten my manners." He holds out his hand in an offered shake. "I'm Neville. Originally from England, but I've lived here for quite some time now."
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Can't say he's ever heard of England.
He takes the handshake, which is good, firm, but induces a wince, because he'd momentarily forgotten the stitches.
"I could do with some explanations, if you could spare a moment."
Taken, not taken, you're still lovely to look at, Neville.
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He notes the wince, his eyes falling to their clasped hands briefly. He spots the bandage, which in turn makes him wince. He didn't realize the man was injured. He doesn't make the quick leap to what kind of wounds that might cover.
"I have some time," Neville replies. Not much, if he doesn't want to be late for his date, but he's not going to refuse helping someone who clearly needs it. "Shall we find a seat in one of the lounges or in the foyer?"
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That, and get drunk, though he's thinking anymore of that and he'll be sick.
And he's running out of ideas on how to kill himself (for now), which is good for the typist and bad for Jack.
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"Ask your questions. I'll do my best to answer," Neville smiles.
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Jack: lost. The word.
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"No one's ever named this place. Most people just call it the Mansion because that's where most of us live. Unless they build a cottage on the grounds." He scratches his head lightly, feeling a bit bad that he can't offer any real answers.
"There's no King here. There's a agency of sorts, that patrols. We try to keep people safe, but there's no official government. No prison. It's the people that have magic that tend to keep things safe, but even the most powerful magic users haven't any idea where we are in the world."
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"... Magic."
Because, what?
"... that was a nice story. How about you tell me the actual truth, Mr. Longbottom?"
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His expression is kind and patient. "For instance, if you die here, you come back to life soon after. Occasionally, the Mansion will turn you into an animal. Or a child. Sometimes it will even change you into a woman. All temporary conditions."
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That does raise the question, though: if you can't die for long, why did those two interlopers stop him from actually dying?
"... so how do people get here?"
Are they all messed up fucks like Jack Benjamin? This one looks upstanding, if anyone ever was.
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