voice (UN ????) | open to anon/misfire replies

[priorly]

What's that poem about how the world ends? Fire, or ice.

Funny, really, we've been at the sharp end of both in recent weeks and here we all are, still muddling along, impossible to destroy. Like cockroaches, or Twinkies. Well. Most of us, anyway.

But it seems to me that ice is more a paralytic than an ending. Perhaps a precursor to slow cessation. A numbing, which - left long enough - allows one not to even notice as all the more vital components gradually freeze. Stasis, an ending without closure. They're the worst kind, I think.

But don't mind maudlin old me. I haven't been sleeping well.

At any rate. If you knew Byerly or Dorian -

Well, lucky you. They're gone now. Stasis. I thought some people might like to know and it turns out to be torture to have to say it over and over.

And it's colder here than I anticipated.

That's all.

Comments

[priorly]

Mm, well. My looks are... not quite up to their former glory.

[He's only in the first flush of fading, an elegant wasting, but he was beautiful once and it's a sore point that there's no way back from here. But, no matter.]

But really, think about the people they've woken: soldiers, spies, magic workers. You think they'd wake me to give advice on effective pattern clashing?

[impavid]

Well if they only woke up soldiers then none of us would be taking care of ourselves and we'd all be dressed in nothing but black. Has to be a balance of skills, right?

[ His fingers fall back into a petting motion idly, smoothing hair out of Prior's face. ]

Anyway, if you were more good looking it'd be a public danger. So I consider it a service that you've dampened things down, reduces the risk of scandal and saves the rest of us feeling too bad about ourselves.

[priorly]

Idle flattery. I used to tell people I didn't like that.

[Byerly. He used to tell Byerly that he hated the flattery because everyone got that from him, and all Prior wanted was something real.

He's a little more open to platitude, now, while still dismissing it as nothing more.]

Are you going to stay until I fall asleep? Because I should warn you there's a danger things are going that way.

[impavid]

[ Idle flattery. He can't deny he's exaggerating a little, but... well, he still doesn't think there's anything strictly wrong with how Prior looks. He's tired, and thinner than he should be, but however animated and handsome he was before John still thinks he looks fine now. ]

That's my usual style, sneaking out while people are asleep.

[ Or, at least, that's the brand he pushes. ]

[priorly]

Who'd have thought you and my ex would have so much in common.

[Something of a private joke. There's not too much otherwise to compare John and Louis, at least so far.]

I'm sorry I'm flaking out on you, baby. So much for reckless and fun. I just - it's the alcohol, and I've barely slept in days.

[And John's warm, and his heartbeat's a soothing lull, and Prior never has been good at sleeping alone. He sighs and tips his head up enough to press his lips to the corner of John's jaw.]

After's fine. Just - stay 'til then, please? You're soothing. You are. Add that to your fighter pilot resume.

[impavid]

[ Getting drunk until he passed out is honestly more inline with what he expected would happen, so he hardly minds. Prior's lips brush against his jaw and John lets his eyes slip closed. Just - stay 'til then, please? You're soothing. You are.

As if John could leave. ]

As you wish.

[ It's criminal that Prior predates The Princess Bride. He squirms to move up the bed a little more, so he's laid out properly on it and propped up against the bedhead -- gesturing for Prior to make himself properly comfortable. ]

I've been told I make an excellent pillow.

[priorly]

[A tragedy of the highest order. But it seems a sweet sentiment anyway, even to his un-pop-cultured ears, and there's only a soft protest as John shifts away to stretch out on the bed. Prior leans on an arm, raising an eyebrow at that comment.]

Oh, by untold multitudes, I'm sure. You must have to fight off people wanting a nap on you.

[It's a little more awkward, a deliberate reassuming of a position they'd previously more or less fallen into. It makes it a little too obvious how intimate it was. Prior ends up a little less close than before, head tipped against John's shoulder but without that curled in contact of their hands, without his legs half tangled against him. It's enough.]

[impavid]

There's a line. I let you skip to the front.

[ He shuffles Prior once he rests his head onto his shoulder, coaxing him into relaxing properly like he was before -- both arms coming around him and face tipping a little into his hair. It's... too intimate, really, but at the same time John's already worked through this thought over the last ten minutes and accepted that. He'd rather have this closeness than not have it. He'd rather Prior trust him enough to comfortably slump into his arms than hide from him in a closet. ]

You get some rest, I'll be here.

[priorly]

Oh, it's so long since I've been able to skip.

[The intimacy in itself isn't unusual for Prior, among friends. But it's new with John and John's - still unknown, in many ways. Prior doesn't know where his lines and boundaries lie, only that he's...

not someone he wants to freak out on him. Not now. So he's careful, but gives in to the coaxing easily enough. In fact, as soon as John's arranged him, Prior presses him back and rearranges them both into a more comfortable alignment. Never try to organize an organizer.

The last move is to take John's hand again, curling it close against his chest.]

Mais bonsoir chérie, et beaux rêves. Don't let the door slam when you go.

[It isn't long, beyond that, before Prior's breathing grows softer and more regular, and he shifts to a looser lithe-limbed sprawl against John's chest. He really has been exhausted.]