[closed] may Helen be there with mirror of gold
Who: lonestray and lumenrelegandus
When: Post-Hearts Aflame
Where: the open market
Format: /sets phasers to Prose/ /switch at will/
What: How have these two not talked yet? 'Cause they both really need to and haven't to anyone else. About sonvisage.
Warnings: Aaaaaaaaai'm a lumberjack and I'm okay… I log all night and I log all day…
It's hard not to be religiously superstitious when one's world does seem out to get you.
He'd seen Dora die. He'd been killed and reawoken, seemingly by Lestrange. He'd literally fallen into Io's arms. They'd lived together as friends and allies. They'd become lovers. They'd started truly falling in love. Cue Dora returned to him. …Except not to him, not slightly, not Dora but Tonks. Leave Io-shatter her. Begin to put things together. Start to start again with Tonks. Attempt to repair with Io. Cue Lestrange annihilating Tonks. Scene: can't speak to Io, can't attack Lestrange, can't overburden Tonks. Enter a mystical matchmaking thank you. With, make no mistake, a lovely girl, once upon a time Lupin's exact type- (doesn't take much, really. Kind, intelligent, redhead) -but sorry, so very sorry, Verity, does one totally unsuitable man, one unromantic life, one ridiculous month need this much romantic demolition?
…And yet. And yet. It got him back outside.
He'd been cloistered in the Clinic, attending to Tonks and ranting at Shirley, for a week. Lestrange had trapped him in Misty nonexistance/time-lapse for a week before that. He'd been manning the battlestations in the Abyssal War before that. He'd been punishing himself for hurting Io by consuming himself with overwork at the Clinic and the Dojo for weeks before that.
How long had it been since he'd taken what had once been his daily walk through the marketplace?
The same vendors are still there. They still recognise him. Though it's been so long since he's come this way to say hello, they are more familiar with him, more welcoming than ever before. He'd treated some of them, or their loved ones, during the battle. Others had heard how hard the Clinic had worked and fought for, and employed, Anatoleans, especially during a Scorched incident. They were glad to see him… and he could hardly believe how glad he was still capable of being, now seeing them.
It was invigorating and exhausting. At last he sought refuge where he always did: the book vendors.
These knew him perhaps the best-and so doing, knew when he wished for sanctuary in solitude.
He was feeling more himself-better, the more internally quiet version of himself-than he had for a month or more, as he drifted near the table with the records, where he used to stop to search for contribution to Io's collection.
Cue again: the vividness of memory that was Io.
They'd been private. They'd managed, as far as he knew, to keep their relationship almost entirely off the forge network. It had felt good at the time. What they had was no one else's business, and anyone's intrusion was simply unnecessary distraction. They were private not to hide, not out of embarrassment, not out of fear of being judged-not wanting to bother with judgment, certainly, those who hated her for past crimes and natures, and those who desired her luminosity and would hardly believe the unattractive he could ever be so lucky-but simply because what they had was theirs. They'd been self-sufficient in it.
But now that it was over, it seemed terrible to him that it was entirely unknown. As if it hadn't happened. No witness. No support structure for Io. No common knowledge for himself. It was too easy for him to keep this from Tonks-especially because he wasn't trying to keep it from her. He wanted to tell her. He'd wanted to introduce her and Io. What had happened to prevent that… if only that opportunity were even close to the worst loss…
But it wasn't known. He'd spoken of it to no one.
…With that thought was when he spotted the man standing on the far side of the vendor's table.
Lupin stopped, blinked, made sure he was seeing right.
I'm not Scar. You're not Dora.
But you're here with Dora, aren't? And I'm here with-
It was hard, at times, not to be superstitious. When the world seemed to be working against or for you.
It had been a day of reconnecting and unaccustomed outspokenness.
No reason to stop where it may matter most.
Setting down the record he'd been looking at, Lupin circled the table toward the other defaced man.
"Hullo, Scar?"
[ooc: Sorry this took me so long. I'm actually right now in the play the subject line and cut text are quoted from… Also have I mentioned I teal deer more when tired?]
When: Post-Hearts Aflame
Where: the open market
Format: /sets phasers to Prose/ /switch at will/
What: How have these two not talked yet? 'Cause they both really need to and haven't to anyone else. About sonvisage.
Warnings: Aaaaaaaaai'm a lumberjack and I'm okay… I log all night and I log all day…
It's hard not to be religiously superstitious when one's world does seem out to get you.
He'd seen Dora die. He'd been killed and reawoken, seemingly by Lestrange. He'd literally fallen into Io's arms. They'd lived together as friends and allies. They'd become lovers. They'd started truly falling in love. Cue Dora returned to him. …Except not to him, not slightly, not Dora but Tonks. Leave Io-shatter her. Begin to put things together. Start to start again with Tonks. Attempt to repair with Io. Cue Lestrange annihilating Tonks. Scene: can't speak to Io, can't attack Lestrange, can't overburden Tonks. Enter a mystical matchmaking thank you. With, make no mistake, a lovely girl, once upon a time Lupin's exact type- (doesn't take much, really. Kind, intelligent, redhead) -but sorry, so very sorry, Verity, does one totally unsuitable man, one unromantic life, one ridiculous month need this much romantic demolition?
…And yet. And yet. It got him back outside.
He'd been cloistered in the Clinic, attending to Tonks and ranting at Shirley, for a week. Lestrange had trapped him in Misty nonexistance/time-lapse for a week before that. He'd been manning the battlestations in the Abyssal War before that. He'd been punishing himself for hurting Io by consuming himself with overwork at the Clinic and the Dojo for weeks before that.
How long had it been since he'd taken what had once been his daily walk through the marketplace?
The same vendors are still there. They still recognise him. Though it's been so long since he's come this way to say hello, they are more familiar with him, more welcoming than ever before. He'd treated some of them, or their loved ones, during the battle. Others had heard how hard the Clinic had worked and fought for, and employed, Anatoleans, especially during a Scorched incident. They were glad to see him… and he could hardly believe how glad he was still capable of being, now seeing them.
It was invigorating and exhausting. At last he sought refuge where he always did: the book vendors.
These knew him perhaps the best-and so doing, knew when he wished for sanctuary in solitude.
He was feeling more himself-better, the more internally quiet version of himself-than he had for a month or more, as he drifted near the table with the records, where he used to stop to search for contribution to Io's collection.
Cue again: the vividness of memory that was Io.
They'd been private. They'd managed, as far as he knew, to keep their relationship almost entirely off the forge network. It had felt good at the time. What they had was no one else's business, and anyone's intrusion was simply unnecessary distraction. They were private not to hide, not out of embarrassment, not out of fear of being judged-not wanting to bother with judgment, certainly, those who hated her for past crimes and natures, and those who desired her luminosity and would hardly believe the unattractive he could ever be so lucky-but simply because what they had was theirs. They'd been self-sufficient in it.
But now that it was over, it seemed terrible to him that it was entirely unknown. As if it hadn't happened. No witness. No support structure for Io. No common knowledge for himself. It was too easy for him to keep this from Tonks-especially because he wasn't trying to keep it from her. He wanted to tell her. He'd wanted to introduce her and Io. What had happened to prevent that… if only that opportunity were even close to the worst loss…
But it wasn't known. He'd spoken of it to no one.
…With that thought was when he spotted the man standing on the far side of the vendor's table.
Lupin stopped, blinked, made sure he was seeing right.
I'm not Scar. You're not Dora.
But you're here with Dora, aren't? And I'm here with-
It was hard, at times, not to be superstitious. When the world seemed to be working against or for you.
It had been a day of reconnecting and unaccustomed outspokenness.
No reason to stop where it may matter most.
Setting down the record he'd been looking at, Lupin circled the table toward the other defaced man.
"Hullo, Scar?"
[ooc: Sorry this took me so long. I'm actually right now in the play the subject line and cut text are quoted from… Also have I mentioned I teal deer more when tired?]