[identity profile] atrarosa.livejournal.com
The time we have been waiting for. After sunset.

I put on a purple dress, to help me be brave. I grew out of my favourite one - I grow out of everything so fast - but Mama got me a new one. It's meant to be for going to parties, but I won't be going to any more of them. But I don't want to think about that right now. It makes my stomach hurt.

Mama made me go to bed not too long ago. She says that even though I'm a big girl now, I still need lots of sleep. I always argue with Mama about bed time, so I made sure to argue this time too, so she wouldn't think anything was strange. And I made my mind quieten down when I was lying in bed, so she'd think I was falling asleep. Mama's clever. But I know lots of tricks now. I can hide my thoughts, if I want. So I got up, and I got dressed, and I snuck out. Father told me I would know how to, when I needed to, and he was right.

So I go out of the house, and I go towards the tower. I have to walk through the field to get there, and the grass is so high. It looks creepy in the dark. But I know nothing will happen to me, because Father is watching. He wouldn't let anything happen, not before I do what he wants me to do. But I'm still scared, all the same.

[Open to Iblis]
[closed]
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Friday, July 9th
[Day 404]
Late night, around and outside Excolo


It’s not been a good week or so. Verdi’s been nothing but kind, of course, but I can see she’s hurt over what happened with Ri, too, and the fact is that all the praying in the world, to her or anyone else, won’t mend things with the three of us. Verdi’s for here and now and moving on, but I can’t help looking back on just how badly I’ve fucked up, and in how many ways.

Not often I have a Friday off and nothing to think of doing with it, with Verdi working. Mrs. Danvers did let me in her kitchen after I got up, told me to stop moping around, too, and we made some stew and muffins and a berry crumble big enough for everyone to have some. In the afternoon, I took a covered dish of the stew over to Verite, just left it with her and said I was sorry, didn’t try to start anything. It was on the tip of her tongue to say I loved her, too, but I said I wouldn’t go chasing after her. She’d have yelled at me for it, too.

It’s falling dark now, though, warm summer dusk, and my hands are itching to pack my bag and be gone down the road. I do pull my rucksack out, just to have something to be doing, put a change of clothes in it and some sundries. After that it’s easy to start out walking. Out’s out. I saw Arkady at last week’s market, and he was friendly. I know where his farm is, too, and he’ll just be putting the animals up now. I could go offer a hand, with the horses and with anything else we might get up to in the barn.

I find myself passing by the road to the Chernys’, though, and not even stopping to think of turning down it. Find also that I’d really like to be where no one knows me just now, have a fresh start, like they say. I stop walking once the moon’s risen, just to stand in the road and look up at it through the trees. I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s pulling me.

Sit down under a tree and wrap my arms around my pack, still studying the sky. It’s a nice night. I could sleep out and not even feel it. I’ve gotten too used to soft beds and people around me, I guess, because I can’t get to sleep. I get up and try another tree, then another. Spoiled is what I am. I start back down the road, think that the moonlight’s enough to find my way back to Arkady’s, and that if he finds me in the barn in the morning, at least he won’t throw me out.

There’re clouds over the moon by the time I get back that way, though, and I think I’ve missed the turn, anyhow, so I just keep walking, starting to think about how I have to open the bar tomorrow night, and how pissed at me Mr. Laclos would be if I just didn’t show without giving notice. Peter has a date out with that girl from the carnival too, and Adam said something about a high-stakes game, so it’s not like one of them could cover for me. And that’s three people in town to think badly of me who aren’t already. And there’s precious few of those left, God knows. I keep walking.

After a while I can see the lights of town and I sigh. Wonder what time it is. Near mdnight, surely. Not too late to go to the Tavern, but thinking of Arkady’s got me wanting a man, and I can’t think of any one in town who’d have me. That sets very badly with me, and I start back toward the Boy, footsore and hard and pissed right off.

[OPEN to Iago]
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Friday, July 9th
[Day 404]
Late night, around and outside Excolo


It’s not been a good week or so. Verdi’s been nothing but kind, of course, but I can see she’s hurt over what happened with Ri, too, and the fact is that all the praying in the world, to her or anyone else, won’t mend things with the three of us. Verdi’s for here and now and moving on, but I can’t help looking back on just how badly I’ve fucked up, and in how many ways.

Not often I have a Friday off and nothing to think of doing with it, with Verdi working. Mrs. Danvers did let me in her kitchen after I got up, told me to stop moping around, too, and we made some stew and muffins and a berry crumble big enough for everyone to have some. In the afternoon, I took a covered dish of the stew over to Verite, just left it with her and said I was sorry, didn’t try to start anything. It was on the tip of her tongue to say I loved her, too, but I said I wouldn’t go chasing after her. She’d have yelled at me for it, too.

It’s falling dark now, though, warm summer dusk, and my hands are itching to pack my bag and be gone down the road. I do pull my rucksack out, just to have something to be doing, put a change of clothes in it and some sundries. After that it’s easy to start out walking. Out’s out. I saw Arkady at last week’s market, and he was friendly. I know where his farm is, too, and he’ll just be putting the animals up now. I could go offer a hand, with the horses and with anything else we might get up to in the barn.

I find myself passing by the road to the Chernys’, though, and not even stopping to think of turning down it. Find also that I’d really like to be where no one knows me just now, have a fresh start, like they say. I stop walking once the moon’s risen, just to stand in the road and look up at it through the trees. I don’t know where I’m going, but it’s pulling me.

Sit down under a tree and wrap my arms around my pack, still studying the sky. It’s a nice night. I could sleep out and not even feel it. I’ve gotten too used to soft beds and people around me, I guess, because I can’t get to sleep. I get up and try another tree, then another. Spoiled is what I am. I start back down the road, think that the moonlight’s enough to find my way back to Arkady’s, and that if he finds me in the barn in the morning, at least he won’t throw me out.

There’re clouds over the moon by the time I get back that way, though, and I think I’ve missed the turn, anyhow, so I just keep walking, starting to think about how I have to open the bar tomorrow night, and how pissed at me Mr. Laclos would be if I just didn’t show without giving notice. Peter has a date out with that girl from the carnival too, and Adam said something about a high-stakes game, so it’s not like one of them could cover for me. And that’s three people in town to think badly of me who aren’t already. And there’s precious few of those left, God knows. I keep walking.

After a while I can see the lights of town and I sigh. Wonder what time it is. Near mdnight, surely. Not too late to go to the Tavern, but thinking of Arkady’s got me wanting a man, and I can’t think of any one in town who’d have me. That sets very badly with me, and I start back toward the Boy, footsore and hard and pissed right off.

[OPEN to Iago]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Early morning of Saturday, July 3 (day 398)]
[At home with breakfast, making plans]


It is a pleasant morning; I admit that we had nothing like this in Dunwich, certainly not in the heart of town. There was always a certain closeness to the gabled streets, a certain grounding warmth to be found in the weathered brick. But this day is a balance of spring rush and summer warmth, and I feel my spirits quickening.

I have lain fallow too long; it does me no good to leave my plans unrealized. Nothing of note was ever created by one who could not move past the stages of planning.

Creepy. )

I imagine it would not be that hard; she does occasionally stop by, and the shop (such as it is) is never very busy.

[Closed]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Early morning of Saturday, July 3 (day 398)]
[At home with breakfast, making plans]


It is a pleasant morning; I admit that we had nothing like this in Dunwich, certainly not in the heart of town. There was always a certain closeness to the gabled streets, a certain grounding warmth to be found in the weathered brick. But this day is a balance of spring rush and summer warmth, and I feel my spirits quickening.

I have lain fallow too long; it does me no good to leave my plans unrealized. Nothing of note was ever created by one who could not move past the stages of planning.

Creepy. )

I imagine it would not be that hard; she does occasionally stop by, and the shop (such as it is) is never very busy.

[Closed]
[identity profile] docconstantine.livejournal.com

July 3rd, Friday night
Stumbling homewards along the bank of the river


I am not sure who is helping who to walk; Iago helping me or me helping Iago. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to grab him and take him over to La Fee Verte ... but he was mopey and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Admittedly, I don't have the best track record with good ideas. We got drunk on absinthe. Then I thought it would cheer him up ever more, so we went to see the show at The Grindhouse. Then Daiyu happened. Before I could say 'boo', we were back in her trailer, chasing the dragon. What happened next is still rather fuzzy. I am pretty sure we didn't have sex, with either her or each other, but I am pretty sure we got a private viewing of her contortion act.

But now my head just hurts, and Iago's giggling madly and stumbling over his own feet, and I may just need to sleep this off.  Maybe I just want to get back inside....

Shake my head to make that crawling feeling go away.  I'm being silly, it's not like I am out alone, after all.  Iago is babbling something about his cousins, and I can't follow any of it.  "You are an absolute mess, do you know that?" I say, half sighing, half laughing. "Granted, I am an absolute mess too." We both stumble and barely keep each other from going down face first into the river.

"We are never telling Glass about this, right?"

(open to Iago and Marbas and Kaeli)

[identity profile] docconstantine.livejournal.com

July 3rd, Friday night
Stumbling homewards along the bank of the river


I am not sure who is helping who to walk; Iago helping me or me helping Iago. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to grab him and take him over to La Fee Verte ... but he was mopey and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Admittedly, I don't have the best track record with good ideas. We got drunk on absinthe. Then I thought it would cheer him up ever more, so we went to see the show at The Grindhouse. Then Daiyu happened. Before I could say 'boo', we were back in her trailer, chasing the dragon. What happened next is still rather fuzzy. I am pretty sure we didn't have sex, with either her or each other, but I am pretty sure we got a private viewing of her contortion act.

But now my head just hurts, and Iago's giggling madly and stumbling over his own feet, and I may just need to sleep this off.  Maybe I just want to get back inside....

Shake my head to make that crawling feeling go away.  I'm being silly, it's not like I am out alone, after all.  Iago is babbling something about his cousins, and I can't follow any of it.  "You are an absolute mess, do you know that?" I say, half sighing, half laughing. "Granted, I am an absolute mess too." We both stumble and barely keep each other from going down face first into the river.

"We are never telling Glass about this, right?"

(open to Iago and Marbas and Kaeli)

[identity profile] shards-of-alice.livejournal.com
[Sunday, June 20th (Day 385)]
[Just past midnight, the woods outside of Excolo]

I feel my lips move but the words don't want to come out, the sounds grabbed up and gobbled by the nighttime shadows.  It's darker now and I don't know why.  When my voice comes out, when I make it come out - "Micah?" - it's so small I can barely hear it, so small and alone.

Alone.

And that's when I know why it's dark, that's when I know why it feels like nothing but me and woods and darkness, stretching on into forever.  Because I can't see him, because I can't see his colors anymore, even though he was so bright before in the dark.  Because Micah's gone.

"Micah?" )


[Open to Gaueko and Micah]
[Cut for flashbacks and general disturbing things]
[Caution for both]
[identity profile] shards-of-alice.livejournal.com
[Sunday, June 20th (Day 385)]
[Just past midnight, the woods outside of Excolo]

I feel my lips move but the words don't want to come out, the sounds grabbed up and gobbled by the nighttime shadows.  It's darker now and I don't know why.  When my voice comes out, when I make it come out - "Micah?" - it's so small I can barely hear it, so small and alone.

Alone.

And that's when I know why it's dark, that's when I know why it feels like nothing but me and woods and darkness, stretching on into forever.  Because I can't see him, because I can't see his colors anymore, even though he was so bright before in the dark.  Because Micah's gone.

"Micah?" )


[Open to Gaueko and Micah]
[Cut for flashbacks and general disturbing things]
[Caution for both]
[identity profile] iago-excolo.livejournal.com
[Saturday, June 19th (Day 384)]
[Noon, Miskatonic Cafe]



It's been a boring, boring day. I've been idle and that's never a good thing. It's when I feel the most mischievous and most likely to follow some long-winded multi-tiered scheme to get something I want. The issue is deciding what exactly it is I want at this moment. Other than the usual and the obvious, I'm stumped.

The waitress returns with my order, flipping her blonde hair while she laughs at my witty comment. She introduces herself and I chuckle, finding it too easy to flirt with her. It's obvious that she'd follow where ever I led but this isn't the kind of entertainment I'm looking for. Besides she looks nothing like Glass. I give the blonde, Alex she called herself, a winning smile to soften the blow of my rejection.

She takes it well, leaving me with an open offer before she sashays away. I watch her hips sway briefly before turning to my food. She's still not Glass. It always comes back to her, and I consider formulating a scheme in that vein. I may as well. My thoughts drift there often enough anyway.

Speaking of, that reminds of other people as well. I still have most of Dorian's cookware at Alessandra's house. That damn bed as well. Does this count as hiding it? And does it count as hiding if no one's looking for it? I chuckle to myself, remembering times past and hidden garlic presses. I believe I actually miss all of that, and with that in mind, I decide what I want most. I want my family back and I want to go home.

Soon enough. For now though, I just have to soldier on by being my normal charming self. Yes, isn't that always the way, and I catch the waitress' attention again to order a coffee. Black, like my sense of humor, and I grin as I watch her walk away a second time.


[Open]
[Warning: Violent Imagery]

[Closed - continued here]
[identity profile] iago-excolo.livejournal.com
[Saturday, June 19th (Day 384)]
[Noon, Miskatonic Cafe]



It's been a boring, boring day. I've been idle and that's never a good thing. It's when I feel the most mischievous and most likely to follow some long-winded multi-tiered scheme to get something I want. The issue is deciding what exactly it is I want at this moment. Other than the usual and the obvious, I'm stumped.

The waitress returns with my order, flipping her blonde hair while she laughs at my witty comment. She introduces herself and I chuckle, finding it too easy to flirt with her. It's obvious that she'd follow where ever I led but this isn't the kind of entertainment I'm looking for. Besides she looks nothing like Glass. I give the blonde, Alex she called herself, a winning smile to soften the blow of my rejection.

She takes it well, leaving me with an open offer before she sashays away. I watch her hips sway briefly before turning to my food. She's still not Glass. It always comes back to her, and I consider formulating a scheme in that vein. I may as well. My thoughts drift there often enough anyway.

Speaking of, that reminds of other people as well. I still have most of Dorian's cookware at Alessandra's house. That damn bed as well. Does this count as hiding it? And does it count as hiding if no one's looking for it? I chuckle to myself, remembering times past and hidden garlic presses. I believe I actually miss all of that, and with that in mind, I decide what I want most. I want my family back and I want to go home.

Soon enough. For now though, I just have to soldier on by being my normal charming self. Yes, isn't that always the way, and I catch the waitress' attention again to order a coffee. Black, like my sense of humor, and I grin as I watch her walk away a second time.


[Open]
[Warning: Violent Imagery]

[Closed - continued here]
[identity profile] docconstantine.livejournal.com
Saturday, June 5th
The Doctor's office, late morning


I've been here a year.  Just realized it today.  Rolled into town the last day of May a year ago, thinking I'd be off again in a week.  Who would have guessed how much a simple town stop could have changed my life?  In some ways for the worse, but ultimately for the better, I suppose.  So much changed in those first two weeks...

and a year ago tonight I saw her dance.  It was a year ago today everything changed.  And even though it ended, it was a change for the better.  I... I should go and thank her.  It's Saturday and the 'Boy will be busy, but I don't think Miao would mind if I just stopped in for a minute, just to say hello.  It should not hurt as much.  I hope it won't, at least.

Still debating on how brave I actually am, I rake hair away from my face and make notes in the appointment book at the front desk.  I don't think there's anymore appointments today.  Maybe I can leave soon.

(open)
(Medical *GYN* procedures being done and delicate conversations, caution)
[identity profile] docconstantine.livejournal.com
Saturday, June 5th
The Doctor's office, late morning


I've been here a year.  Just realized it today.  Rolled into town the last day of May a year ago, thinking I'd be off again in a week.  Who would have guessed how much a simple town stop could have changed my life?  In some ways for the worse, but ultimately for the better, I suppose.  So much changed in those first two weeks...

and a year ago tonight I saw her dance.  It was a year ago today everything changed.  And even though it ended, it was a change for the better.  I... I should go and thank her.  It's Saturday and the 'Boy will be busy, but I don't think Miao would mind if I just stopped in for a minute, just to say hello.  It should not hurt as much.  I hope it won't, at least.

Still debating on how brave I actually am, I rake hair away from my face and make notes in the appointment book at the front desk.  I don't think there's anymore appointments today.  Maybe I can leave soon.

(open)
(Medical *GYN* procedures being done and delicate conversations, caution)
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Evening of Tuesday, May 18 (day 252)]
[Over near Silk Road]


Knew what was happening, no surprise there. No warning, either, or may be I'd've done something, may be...

Went quicker than I'd've thought, even with the time what it is now. And afterwards, lying there and my sight pulsing bright and dark, and the blood on the floor's clinging and tacky and the blood in my head is roaring and quicker than I'd've thought's still hours. And want to lie there and drop down into the darkness, and if I do then I'll wake again and the only thing as'll change will be blood drying--and the smell, and with the crack in the window...

And the blasted llygotwr. No. No.

Can do a lot, you set your mind to't and there's no better choice. The soap smells sharp and greasy, and the water's so loud at times I can't hear myself think and that's alright, in the end. Really no surprise to any of it, weight or colour or the soft shape of the face. Tended to others, a time or two. No reason to be different.

Light drips over the windows, grey and bright and cool again. It takes too long, and you never really get blood out, I know, you never really... I'm remembering blood drying into slick patches on smooth riverstone, hair caught in the black of it, and last time too much gained and this time too much lost and... I'm a mess. Distance between here and the Abbey's too far to go, too far for anyone as can't go unseen, but I've remedy for that, don't I? Feather and blood and thread, from the last time my blood spilt. There've been enough of them.

Down to the Abbey. Down to the graves. And this I cannot do, not now, and Dove's out in the garden and I watch her dig and wonder where Oya is now, the bones coming to light through old skin, and her nameless to whoever finds her, and the night is coming on. I can see. I can`t not see.

We are not pretty birds, love,
And so we walk alone...


And this done with, too, and the weight in my hands slipping away with time. I know it, but I don't remember. Mam clean as river-ice in the end, and what will I be, alone? Been through worse than this, yes, but that's no comfort. And comes to me in time that I ought t'tell them as well, as that's how it is, and I'm too tired to cringe at the thought. Stops and starts and slow careful moving, all in feathers and mist, and making my way down along the alleys running even with the cobbles, slow and careful. Just a little further; just a little more.

[Open to Dorian]
[Closed]
[identity profile] glass-beddau.livejournal.com
[Evening of Tuesday, May 18 (day 252)]
[Over near Silk Road]


Knew what was happening, no surprise there. No warning, either, or may be I'd've done something, may be...

Went quicker than I'd've thought, even with the time what it is now. And afterwards, lying there and my sight pulsing bright and dark, and the blood on the floor's clinging and tacky and the blood in my head is roaring and quicker than I'd've thought's still hours. And want to lie there and drop down into the darkness, and if I do then I'll wake again and the only thing as'll change will be blood drying--and the smell, and with the crack in the window...

And the blasted llygotwr. No. No.

Can do a lot, you set your mind to't and there's no better choice. The soap smells sharp and greasy, and the water's so loud at times I can't hear myself think and that's alright, in the end. Really no surprise to any of it, weight or colour or the soft shape of the face. Tended to others, a time or two. No reason to be different.

Light drips over the windows, grey and bright and cool again. It takes too long, and you never really get blood out, I know, you never really... I'm remembering blood drying into slick patches on smooth riverstone, hair caught in the black of it, and last time too much gained and this time too much lost and... I'm a mess. Distance between here and the Abbey's too far to go, too far for anyone as can't go unseen, but I've remedy for that, don't I? Feather and blood and thread, from the last time my blood spilt. There've been enough of them.

Down to the Abbey. Down to the graves. And this I cannot do, not now, and Dove's out in the garden and I watch her dig and wonder where Oya is now, the bones coming to light through old skin, and her nameless to whoever finds her, and the night is coming on. I can see. I can`t not see.

We are not pretty birds, love,
And so we walk alone...


And this done with, too, and the weight in my hands slipping away with time. I know it, but I don't remember. Mam clean as river-ice in the end, and what will I be, alone? Been through worse than this, yes, but that's no comfort. And comes to me in time that I ought t'tell them as well, as that's how it is, and I'm too tired to cringe at the thought. Stops and starts and slow careful moving, all in feathers and mist, and making my way down along the alleys running even with the cobbles, slow and careful. Just a little further; just a little more.

[Open to Dorian]
[Closed]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Late evening of Wednesday, April 21 (day 325)]
[Approaching one's goal, or the end of one's rope, in the less reputable part of town]


It was the soup spoon, oddly enough. An accidental jostle of the draining rack while I was washing up after Sunday dinner, and I saw it start to fall and reached out on simple reflex to catch it easily out of the air. And then I stood in the kitchen for a moment, looking at it and turning it slowly between my fingers, which did not tremble or break.

I know--I have known quite well that the dreams are only that, even a shared phantasy is still only smoke and mirrors, but they have affected me quite strongly; I have been haunted by the uncanny clarity of the memory of my hands burning and shattering, and the lost and crumbling words of Bethlehem. And sometimes I will wake in the night and I am unwilling to reach for a light, out of fear that touching something will make my hands fall to pieces. I can certainly keep my home and person presentable, but my movements and grip have become taut and awkward when I pay any attention, as if I feared (so foolishly!) that whatever I was touching would turn to hot brass and sear me to the bone.

But I am well again, I have been since I reached my agreement with Morningstar. I know this, and while I am certainly willing to grant that there are things I do not fully understand, that does not excuse such unthinking and unnecessary avoidance of my calling. A man may accept that he does not possess the sum total of all knowledge without being reduced to a superstitious coward.

I have nothing to fear from dreams.

And it has been months since I worked properly on something.

So I have nerved myself to come out, and come looking for raw material. The streets south of my home are pleasant enough for a short distance, but as you go further and towards the west, a certain dilapidation grows. If I do not find someone, then there will be other nights--perhaps during the weekend, Market always seems to bring in rather a crowd--but I am rather optimistic.

[Open as discussed]
[identity profile] westin-sagert.livejournal.com
[Late evening of Wednesday, April 21 (day 325)]
[Approaching one's goal, or the end of one's rope, in the less reputable part of town]


It was the soup spoon, oddly enough. An accidental jostle of the draining rack while I was washing up after Sunday dinner, and I saw it start to fall and reached out on simple reflex to catch it easily out of the air. And then I stood in the kitchen for a moment, looking at it and turning it slowly between my fingers, which did not tremble or break.

I know--I have known quite well that the dreams are only that, even a shared phantasy is still only smoke and mirrors, but they have affected me quite strongly; I have been haunted by the uncanny clarity of the memory of my hands burning and shattering, and the lost and crumbling words of Bethlehem. And sometimes I will wake in the night and I am unwilling to reach for a light, out of fear that touching something will make my hands fall to pieces. I can certainly keep my home and person presentable, but my movements and grip have become taut and awkward when I pay any attention, as if I feared (so foolishly!) that whatever I was touching would turn to hot brass and sear me to the bone.

But I am well again, I have been since I reached my agreement with Morningstar. I know this, and while I am certainly willing to grant that there are things I do not fully understand, that does not excuse such unthinking and unnecessary avoidance of my calling. A man may accept that he does not possess the sum total of all knowledge without being reduced to a superstitious coward.

I have nothing to fear from dreams.

And it has been months since I worked properly on something.

So I have nerved myself to come out, and come looking for raw material. The streets south of my home are pleasant enough for a short distance, but as you go further and towards the west, a certain dilapidation grows. If I do not find someone, then there will be other nights--perhaps during the weekend, Market always seems to bring in rather a crowd--but I am rather optimistic.

[Open as discussed]
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Small hours of Tuesday morning
9th March, Day 282
Jarmyn's room, Whitechapel Inn

[CLOSED]

Continued from here.

Cut for self-harm )
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Small hours of Tuesday morning
9th March, Day 282
Jarmyn's room, Whitechapel Inn

[CLOSED]

Continued from here.

Cut for self-harm )
[identity profile] jaeresteade.livejournal.com
Small hours of Tuesday morning
9th March, Day 282
Jarmyn's room, Whitechapel Inn

Continued from here .



I wish he’d leave me alone for a minute and let me concentrate on stretching this out, but no, before I can say anything he’s kneeling in front of me, long, cool fingers on my calf as he looks up at me through his hair. Of course he’d be good with his hands, but does he have to pick now to exercise his skills? I bite my lip hard as another spasm runs up to my knee, and then the pain eases considerably as he presses in and starts to rub. He does know his business, and at least he’s bent his head now to concentrate on his work and isn’t looking up at me anymore.

What he’s doing doesn’t feel good, precisely, but it helps, and he doesn’t stop until I can flex my leg easily. “Thank you,” I tell him, and mean it. I look down at him, seeing him in a different light, as actually useful for something and not awkward as hell. “What else can you do?” And after the words are out of my mouth, it occurs to me that I probably shouldn’t have asked him that when he’s on his knees in front of me.


[Open to Tarquin]
[CLOSED]

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