[closed] from green to gold
Who: sonvisage, lumenrelegandus, and the fact of Tonks.
When:
Part I (flashbackdated) right between this and that.
Part II (slightly less backdated): as everyone picks themselves back up after the Abyssal War (which ended, belatedly, for these two here to there.)
Where: Lust and Lupin’s apartment
Format: Prose; not bothering to color-code: Lust is Lust, Lupin is Lupin.
What: How Lust and Lupin ended. …And possibly begin.
Warnings: ¡!¡
~ Then ~
Never leave someone still sleeping to wake up and find you gone; never go without saying goodbye.
Especially when you’re running.
That doesn’t make any sense, complained Sirius.
Talk to me after someone’s done it to you. Like you kept doing to me.
Even though he had to get out, of the room the building his skin, he would never leave without telling her.
That’s why he packed at all. Nothing material had the slightest interest to him, but he put some things together
his clothes
as many books as wouldn’t overload the briefcase’s extension charm
forge wand photograph
but no blankets because they smelled like
not his best coat the one she bought for him
no music, not a single record, even the ones he’d bought, they were all for her
just to take up the time, to keep him from bolting, until Io came home.
And so she had.
Humming to herself as she’d crossed the threshold, for once not stopping to frown at the tiles there as she removed and hung her coat on the set of hooks just beside the doorway.
Turned and moved toward the parlor, stopping a few steps in with a smile and a question dying on her lips - a scalebound tome (dragonhide, actually) dropping from her grasp to thud soundlessly (at least to her it’s all a rush in her ears as she sees him) at her feet.
Her eyes are on the suitcase first - covertly beyond to the halfbare shelves behind that damnable settee (sofa? were they all one and the same, why so many words for the same thing?) and at the last, on his.
She may as well be a statue.
It may remind him of something
He straightened, fully intending to speak to her. Be open and forthright and as honest and decent and cushioning as possible to diminish this situation she hasn’t earned never deserved. But the look in his eyes (no word comes as close to describing it as panic) said it all, especially how there simply aren’t words. There’s no way to diminish it.
They stand a moment, both perfectly still-
This is my favourite myth, Io. I want to tell you. Zeus, father-king of the gods, and his son Apollo, god of light, went to earth to test the hearts of humankind. They disguised themselves as poor beggars and went from house to house asking for charity. At every house they were insulted and turned away, every door slammed in their faces. Until they came to the poorest house in the town. It was old and run-down, barely suitable to live in, but Baucis and Philemon, the couple that lived there, ushered them so kindly inside, gave them their only chairs, made them as comfortable as they could by the sparse fire, offered their guests the little food they had, and they all passed the evening in friendship and respect. Then Zeus and Apollo revealed themselves as gods and declared that they were going to destroy the town, but that Baucis and Philemon, who were generous with so little and showed true hospitality, would be spared and rewarded. Baucis and Philemon were both very old and had been married for nearly their entirely lives, and they had only one wish: that they should die at exactly the same moment, so neither would have to live without the other. Years later as both lay dying, they looked at each other, took the other’s hand, and transformed into two trees. An oak and a linden, with their trunks and branches intertwined. So they would grow together forever.
-and just look at each other.
They had both seen the network. They both knew She was back. Both knew there was no scenario that didn’t end with him gone.
So, with what felt like (and please god might be) a unanimous decision, they didn’t bother with any scenario. He picked up the suitcase and walked away.
~ Now ~
She stood, black hair streaming, in the street, looking at the remains of what had been her their her apartment building. All windows had been shattered, the front door smashed, walls splintered to the beams, possessions in fragmented chaos, dog evacuated, landlord dead.
The home was gutted, but the structure was still intact.
One could only hope.
He came up from behind her to stand at her side. Between them, Lupin brushed Io’s hand with his.
“Can I help you rebuild it?” he asked. “…Unless you’re going somewhere new.”
“I don’t know where I’m going.” she says, blinking at the brush of contact, remaining still for a long moment before turning her head only slightly.
“Why build another at all?” It’s a murmur of a question, soft and questioning and accusatory and full of misdirection. A catch between rawness and utter detachment (Should she thank them? Have they freed her from the obligation of these human ties? She could walk away now if she wanted, couldn’t she?)
Which one does she curse? Everyone involved, of course.
Tentatively, he curled his fingers around hers, and turned to face her.
When:
Part I (flashbackdated) right between this and that.
Part II (slightly less backdated): as everyone picks themselves back up after the Abyssal War (which ended, belatedly, for these two here to there.)
Where: Lust and Lupin’s apartment
Format: Prose; not bothering to color-code: Lust is Lust, Lupin is Lupin.
What: How Lust and Lupin ended. …And possibly begin.
Warnings: ¡!¡
~ Then ~
Never leave someone still sleeping to wake up and find you gone; never go without saying goodbye.
Especially when you’re running.
That doesn’t make any sense, complained Sirius.
Talk to me after someone’s done it to you. Like you kept doing to me.
Even though he had to get out, of the room the building his skin, he would never leave without telling her.
That’s why he packed at all. Nothing material had the slightest interest to him, but he put some things together
his clothes
as many books as wouldn’t overload the briefcase’s extension charm
forge wand photograph
but no blankets because they smelled like
not his best coat the one she bought for him
no music, not a single record, even the ones he’d bought, they were all for her
just to take up the time, to keep him from bolting, until Io came home.
And so she had.
Humming to herself as she’d crossed the threshold, for once not stopping to frown at the tiles there as she removed and hung her coat on the set of hooks just beside the doorway.
Turned and moved toward the parlor, stopping a few steps in with a smile and a question dying on her lips - a scalebound tome (dragonhide, actually) dropping from her grasp to thud soundlessly (at least to her it’s all a rush in her ears as she sees him) at her feet.
Her eyes are on the suitcase first - covertly beyond to the halfbare shelves behind that damnable settee (sofa? were they all one and the same, why so many words for the same thing?) and at the last, on his.
She may as well be a statue.
It may remind him of something
He straightened, fully intending to speak to her. Be open and forthright and as honest and decent and cushioning as possible to diminish this situation she hasn’t earned never deserved. But the look in his eyes (no word comes as close to describing it as panic) said it all, especially how there simply aren’t words. There’s no way to diminish it.
They stand a moment, both perfectly still-
This is my favourite myth, Io. I want to tell you. Zeus, father-king of the gods, and his son Apollo, god of light, went to earth to test the hearts of humankind. They disguised themselves as poor beggars and went from house to house asking for charity. At every house they were insulted and turned away, every door slammed in their faces. Until they came to the poorest house in the town. It was old and run-down, barely suitable to live in, but Baucis and Philemon, the couple that lived there, ushered them so kindly inside, gave them their only chairs, made them as comfortable as they could by the sparse fire, offered their guests the little food they had, and they all passed the evening in friendship and respect. Then Zeus and Apollo revealed themselves as gods and declared that they were going to destroy the town, but that Baucis and Philemon, who were generous with so little and showed true hospitality, would be spared and rewarded. Baucis and Philemon were both very old and had been married for nearly their entirely lives, and they had only one wish: that they should die at exactly the same moment, so neither would have to live without the other. Years later as both lay dying, they looked at each other, took the other’s hand, and transformed into two trees. An oak and a linden, with their trunks and branches intertwined. So they would grow together forever.
-and just look at each other.
They had both seen the network. They both knew She was back. Both knew there was no scenario that didn’t end with him gone.
So, with what felt like (and please god might be) a unanimous decision, they didn’t bother with any scenario. He picked up the suitcase and walked away.
~ Now ~
She stood, black hair streaming, in the street, looking at the remains of what had been her their her apartment building. All windows had been shattered, the front door smashed, walls splintered to the beams, possessions in fragmented chaos, dog evacuated, landlord dead.
The home was gutted, but the structure was still intact.
One could only hope.
He came up from behind her to stand at her side. Between them, Lupin brushed Io’s hand with his.
“Can I help you rebuild it?” he asked. “…Unless you’re going somewhere new.”
“I don’t know where I’m going.” she says, blinking at the brush of contact, remaining still for a long moment before turning her head only slightly.
“Why build another at all?” It’s a murmur of a question, soft and questioning and accusatory and full of misdirection. A catch between rawness and utter detachment (Should she thank them? Have they freed her from the obligation of these human ties? She could walk away now if she wanted, couldn’t she?)
Which one does she curse? Everyone involved, of course.
Tentatively, he curled his fingers around hers, and turned to face her.