(Untitled)

[e_delmar]

Ain't nothin' but a normal room. Pretty one, too, if'n you don't think too hard on what's goin' on in there. Ennis' sleeping more now, at least -- the drugs help with that -- but he's still awake a lot (and damn grumpy about it, too. But he ain't no less grumpy about the sleep, neither).

But he's there, and at least that's something.

Comments

[true_desire]

It's just a room in a widow's house on Shadow: Still, from the inside, it could be anywhere: Anywhere 'cept that trailer Ennis called his once, full of dust and heat and old memories that stir up when the wind's right. It's probably better to be here, since that other place only promised the end would creep up on an aged cowpoke, all alone 'til Death took his hand.

Death's a decent sort, anyone in the family can tell you.

Desire's a bitch.

Perhaps then it isn't a surprise when there's a faint scent of peaches and exotic cigarettes, fading into the room like it had always been there.

[e_delmar]

Ennis coughs, but then that don't mean nothin' about the smoke in the room, seems he does nothing but anymore. But that look on his face ain't like it normally is, and Ennis' stupidy grateful that Jack ain't in the room at the moment. He narrows his eyes, trying to focus, struggling against the drugs.

[true_desire]

"Tch," comes the soft, androgynous voice. "I quite can't figure whether you're fighting to the end or giving up."

The sound of a slow draw on a cigarette, the person standing at the foot of Ennis's bed shimmering in and out of view like a heat-vision or a mirage: All water in the desert, and just as cruel.

[e_delmar]

Ennis shrugs, looking down at the figure, eyes tryin' to focus and never quite able (but then, that ain't really nothin' new).

"Gotta be one?"

The words are like gravel, hard and quiet.

[true_desire]

Desire smirks, and maybe -- just maybe -- Ennis's eyes sharpen up enough to catch it. That small twist of lips is certainly there in the Endless's voice, so it's obvious one way or another.

"Rather hard to fight when you've already given up. Or so I've heard."

Strangely enough, for all the snark Desire doesn't sound particularly pleased that Ennis is here.
Dying.
Could just be that Desire hates losing good toys to the eldest sister.

[e_delmar]

Can't accept something and keep tryin'? It's what his mind's thinkin', anyway, though the words that come out ain't quite so clear.

Ennis shifts under his gaze, wincing at the pain, but it don't seem much, all things considered.

[true_desire]

Those unnatural eyes watch Ennis a moment, almost as if searching the honest meaning behind the incoherence: Whether Desire finds it or not is entirely up in the air, since the Endless merely snorts and returns to drawing breath on the cigarette.

There's the sounds of someone puttering around Ennis's room: The clink of the glass Jack'd given him, the water still sloshing around at about half-full. The crinkle of a pack of cigarettes, cellophane crushing and reverting when leaving hand for table.

A rattle of pills in a bottle.
Pause.

"Well. Aren't these interesting."

Ennis is still Desire's: The brat loves an addict.

[e_delmar]

Ennis tries to follow with his eyes, but he's slow, dizzy; things don't look right. That sound he knows, though, that sound he knows all too well.

"What."

It's not a question. Not really.

[true_desire]

"Want one?"
It's honest curiosity, or close as Desire gets -- followed by the sound of the bottle-cap opening.

"Tch. Not many left."
There's a slow rattle as the bottle is turned between too-warm, pale fingers. The sound of the cap being twisted shut is suspiciously absent, and there's a weight settling to the foot end of Ennis's bed.

"When was your last?"

[e_delmar]

"While."

And that's as close as he can get, hard to remember, hard to tell time, hard to figure out even if that feeling's the pain or the ghost of the pain.

[true_desire]

There's another soft sound from Ennis's companion, halfway between the expected tch and a tut of concern. "Here."

Fever-warm fingertips pause against Ennis's lips, a familiar shape resting there for him to take. A dull slosh of water nearby tells that Desire still has the partial glass at hand, perhaps to wash that small mouthful down.

[e_delmar]

Ennis' mouth opens, taking it willingly (Good Boy, he can hear his mothersisterAlmaJackSallie) and waiting, mouth dry for the water to bring something to help the pain or the thought of the pain and it's all the same anymore anyway. His hand comes up, shakin' just a little, and he places it on top on Desire's, eyes falling closed as he swallows.

[true_desire]

The water is doled out slowly, just enough to wash the pill down Ennis's throat without choking him: The edge tips up, away, but the fever-touch of skin remains beneath the dying cowpoke's hand, awaiting any signal for more. Were it anyone else, it would be a touching moment.

As it is, if Ennis had a clear thought in his head aside from ending the pain, he might ask why Desire chose this moment to be kind, to help him.

He might even ask if this was really helping.

[e_delmar]

There's no signal, there's no word. There's nothing but a sigh of relief (or something like it) and Ennis relaxing under Desire's touch.

He doesn't smile up at Desire, he ain't nearly so stupid even though the pain and the drugs, and he don't say much, the coughing and the wheezing's doing that for him aplenty.

If he'd had a clear thought in his head, he wouldn't've let Desire half so close to him. As it is, there's quiet and peace, of a sort, while he lays there, feelin' the heat, smelling the cigarettes.

(craving)

Until he opens his eyes, wide and (for once) clear.

[true_desire]

"So tell me, del Mar. What do you want now?"

[e_delmar]

There are a lot of things Ennis' wanted through the years.

Most of 'em don't seem so important no more. But when he looks up at Desire again (with a look that River would recognize) there ain't no question in his mind.

"To make sure Jack's alright."