(Untitled)

[the_woodpecker]

Bernard and Anthony are taking a walk alone this afternoon. Ellie wanted to nap in a patch of sun in Sunny's room while Sunny drew beautiful things, and Hiss is proving a scarily decent lookout where Sunny's concerned

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[etananesoe]

Does he remember the blessed napthalot, the redolent herald of midnight? The sticky-sweet smell of it as it graced dark hair, as it invaded the rooms of the Bar. Does he remember the heat of the Chaos, like fuses burning low to the tinder?

Does he remember the feeling of Nightmare?

[the_woodpecker]

Buzz buzz buzzing in his--

Feet shuffling to a crunching stop, Bernard keeps his head down, staring at the brown leaves cradling his black boots.

Anthony does not stir in the carrier; he's fast asleep.

Bernard's breath makes quick white clouds in the air.

He doesn't dare look up.

[etananesoe]

"What is love?" No preliminaries; this one belongs to Desire.

Perhaps something of the Sibling can explain.

[the_woodpecker]

But love isn't the only emotion in Desire's province. Bernard finally looks up through his lashes and feels himself pale.

He swallows, his mouth gone dry, as the hand on Anthony's stomach deliberately does not clench.

"The biggest mystery of all," he croaks, finally.

[etananesoe]

Most of them are, really. Nyarlathotep understands none of them; even the ones he feels. Especially the ones he feels, "Why?" do you do it, seek it, put up with it, allow it, search for it, care?

[the_woodpecker]

Finally looking up into those red eyes, Bernard thinks quickly.

"For my part, I can't help it. It's like hydrogen and oxygen making water. I don't know how it is for other people."

[etananesoe]

"I do not understand." That has always been his problem. He does not understand.

She left him.

He does not hate her.

He does not understand.

[the_woodpecker]

"Well."

More quick thinking.

"Well, like I said, it's a mystery. I don't know that I fully understand it either, so you're certainly not alone."

What is he saying.

Kids, this is what happens when you do a lot of drugs in your 20's.

Bernard pinches the bridge of his nose and carefully sits on the cool ground crosslegged, to ease his back.

"What prompts your query?"

[etananesoe]

There is silence, for a time. Silence, the failure of leaves to crackle under bare feet the color of hopeless night, the failure of another body to breathe.

And then he is crouching, burning eyes boring into Bernard's; "Moiraine."

[the_woodpecker]

"...I see."

It's a real effort, not quailing. Bernard feels a spike of pride at being able to meet the eyes of the Crawling Chaos.

"It burns, doesn't it?"

[etananesoe]

"Yes." Feotid breath, filled with the nightmares of things never allowed to die, washes over him. Plants scream from it. There are worse things than Death.

He knows all of them. He is many of them.

[the_woodpecker]

Bernard's eyes fill from the smell of it, and he half-turns his face away.

Not so strong after all.

"Do you want me to talk about specifics? My wife? Or should we stick with generalities?"

[etananesoe]

Which is more important? Strong, or wise? There is silence again,

"What you think will make it clear."

[the_woodpecker]

Bernard would be hard-pressed to answer.

"Okay," he replies, licking his lips and turning back, conscious of Anthony's limp hand under his. "We."

Another slow breath. Really thinking now. "We came to each other already complimentary in many ways -- suited, I guess. But." His hand shifts minutely, and Anthony's small fingernail gets caught on the edge of his wedding ring. "But as time goes by, it seems like we've started to. To sort of change and fill in the spaces where we maybe didn't fit so well. And with someone else, maybe this would be friction, and it would hurt, and it would be horrible. And sometimes it does hurt when we come up against each other's rough places."

His gaze is as open and honest as he can manage through the pulsing fear.

"Love makes it possible, I think, to begin that process. And then the process itself both fuels and is fueled by it. Does that make sense?"

[etananesoe]

"She left me." in another voice, with another face, it would be pained.

As it is, perhaps painful is the right word.

[the_woodpecker]

"I'm sorry," Bernard replies, and he is.