Neal is not investigating lights. He's not testing them. He hasn't even heard about anything being wrong with the lights. He's kept to himself as much as possible, doing odd jobs for Bonnie and small assignments for ADI and talking to few people outside of his general acquaintances. Even those exchanges have been politely meaningless, but as charming and cheerful as he can possibly be.
He's getting used to being lonely again, which is good. He should have been working on that from the start.
Today he's out doing an odd job he kind of regrets offering to help with--a cranky old woman who frequents Bonnie's wants to put up Christmas lights outside her house. Neal, idiot that he is, volunteered to help when he overheard.
So here he is, weaving a strand of lights around the banister of her stairway, silently grumbling to himself about the cold and how his boots weren't made for this kind of snow.
Malcolm, still feeling raw after the whole mold and de-molding situation, hasn't been out much himself. Still, he can't stay in his room all the time. His claustrophobia starts to claw at his mind like a deep-seated itch.
He hasn't seen Neal since he gave him the friendship bracelet. He hasn't seen a lot of people since he was handing those out.
But that's... Neal up ahead. At some random house. He frowns. Is he hallucinating Neals because he misses him? Stop it, Bright. He squeezes his eyes closed, then opens them again, but Neal is still there. And now he's looking in this direction.
Malcolm raises his hand in an awkward wave. Neal could pretend he doesn't see it. It is, Malcolm supposes, an out for him.
Neal hasn't wanted to have this conversation. He hasn't wanted to touch this conversation with a ten foot pole, but he's also been increasingly worried about Jeff over the past couple of weeks. He's an adult. Jeff is a kid. He can get over himself.
But it's not just aversion that's kept him from seeking Jeff out. It's the fact that he's curious if Jeff can bring that euphoria back, if he would do it if Neal asked. He's immediately revolted with himself by the thought. It would be like forcing Jeff to deal him drugs in some kind of backward way.
Neal shakes his head, focusing on the task at hand. He spotted Jeff in one of the town's small parks, busking while locals string lights in the trees.
Deep breath, calm and friendly mask in place. He walks straight up to where Jeff is playing and gently puts a folded-up twenty in the guitar case.
The avoidance has been mutual, albeit for somewhat different reasons. Jeff doesn't fully realize the impact his impromptu Halloween "concert" had on Neal. Yeah, he remembers the guy getting swept up in it, but like... whatever, a lot of people were.
No, the reason he's been avoiding the man has more to do with what happened before his impulsive mindfuck of a performance. He can't look at Neal without seeing blood and hearing screams, visions of a massacre playing out in his head.
But now, here he is, dropping a twenty in Jeff's guitar case. Jeff looks up at him, and he tries to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
"Hey, man. You... uh, doing some holiday shopping?"
When Neal finds out that Meredith has been stuck in medical, he puts together a care package. Some sweet treats, a few smoked savory things that will keep on a bedside table. A bottle of (very weak) wine, just in case alcohol is a bad idea with whatever flare-up she's having. There's also a handful of books, and--if she can't do those--a little knock-off media player with an audiobook program downloaded onto it.
He walks in to the infirmary and his skin creeps a little, but it doesn't show in his expression. He's never been the best in places like this. Sick rooms, hospitals. Too many bad memories and anxieties too close to the surface.
Still, it doesn't take long to find Meredith's bed. He draws a chair up next to her with raised eyebrows, holding up his basket--and ducking a little as one of the attendants almost hits him in the head with a string of lights. "I come bearing gifts."
Meredith is more happy to see him than the presents, sitting up a little bit. She's lost weight, and she's weak, and she's not wearing makeup and she's in a hospital gown--not normally how she'd want Neal to see her.
But he came, and that means everything.
"And I haven't had the chance to buy yours yet. Or my boys', either."
Neal is paranoid. He's been paranoid ever since he got hit by those lights a second time, ever since he found out there was something concrete happening with them. He'd been one of the people to help round up every un-sold string from every store the ADI identified, not willing to help test anything or risk exposure again. He would stick to the ones that aren't lit. Screw that dice roll.
But paranoia doesn't stop him from keeping promises, and one of the promises he's made--to himself, if no one else--is to leave food near the homeless hot spots around town. He doesn't talk to any of them, doesn't get close. He's heard about what happens to people who spend too much time talking to a non-native. But plastic containers of hot food always end up stacked in places he knows they'll be found.
He's in the middle of one such delivery when he spots Kugrash, which isn't surprising. They've run into each other more than once doing this by now. "Enjoying the weather?"
Light sucks, the world's gone to shit, what the fuck else is new. Doesn't make it any less annoying. There were always problems in New York City--it's a special place, one where the Waking World and Dreaming World collide together. It's messy, it's nuts, and Kugrash is always handling something but most of the time it's little things, not a huge sucker punch every month.
He likes a bit of routine, so at least the little food and care routes are good. He's been spending some time in the sewers lately, avoiding the lights, but has made it a point to poke his head up now and then.
Neal passes by just as Kugrash is crawling out of a sewer grate--it looks incredibly horrifying, given his human glamour--and he's halfway out when he looks up and spots him.
"Fuck you," he quips, "My tail's gonna get frostbite." He'll squeeze himself out of the impossibly small hole and grunt, moving towards Neal. "Nice to see you though, kiddo. You find a place anywhere that gets pastrami on rye right? I want to eat, like, twelve of them right now."
Hi Neal. I know you just got out of jail yesterday but I need your help with something important. If you have time. And I'd also like to see you. If you have time. Maybe I can come by your apartment? Or you can come here. Or we can go to the coffee shop. Anyway, let me know if you have time.
[He hasn't seen Neal since he got back on his meds and a diet he can actually digest and he's not sure if he hallucinated some or all of what happened at the coffee shop. But he's being super smooth about it. As usual.]
Once they realize their trapped and they’ve attended to immediate needs like checking their food supply, Malcolm shuts himself in his bedroom and takes out his phone, dialling Neal, relieved when it rings, but anxious he won’t answer.
Neal answers as soon as he can excuse himself from his roommates, but it's not on the first ring. He shuts the door to his bedroom, exhaling softly as he says, "Hey."
There's unquestionable relief in the syllable. "Are you okay? Are Mere and Tim okay?"
[probably not long after this, next day or so, maybe?]So. My brother's attached to you pretty quickly, huh?
[The alarmed look on his face had, at least briefly, matched her own when Malcolm declared Neal family on the way to lunch the other day. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they hadn't discussed this idea before that very second.]
Yelena hasn't spent much time in the inn room they've been sharing for the past several weeks, but it's not entirely unusual for her to return once or twice during the day to fetch something, or to change her clothing. As is typical when she returns to find him in residence, she offers a brief, politely pleasant, "Hello."
The departure comes when she doesn't immediately head for her (painfully neat) half of the room to grab one thing or another, but instead pauses, considering for a moment, before adding, "You've been making friends with Cindy, haven't you? I have some intel they might find useful."
Neal smiles at her when she comes in, nods and returns the greeting when she says hello. He's starting to go back to his sketchpad, where he's roughing out a portrait of Ade, when she goes on. Neal looks up again in surprise.
"Yeah, you could say that. They don't dislike me, anyway." The fact that Yelena has information to pass on piques his interest even more. "What kind of intel? About the mine?"
And yet, to say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays.
Tim had said his goodbye to the owlbear with a promise to return soon-ish, had scuttled out of the kitchen and apartment and into the halls, and had given Neal enough of a head start that he had to almost jog to catch up to the guy.
Seeing as there was no way Neal didn't already suspect he would be followed, Tim skips the charades. From behind Neal he reaches out a hand to tap the man's forearm, not retreating the ghost of the touch until he's convinced the other will tag along. "C'mon," he says stepping in line with the man. "I have an order to pick up.
Neal sighs internally. He manages not to do it externally. Instead just nods, falling in with Tim and matching his pace. "If you have notes on my designs or you're worried I'm not going to make sure Rue gets paid since they seem very intent on helping and didn't mention costs, I'm going to make sure they do. I know what it's worth."
For all Neal's perceptiveness, every so often, he misses the obvious.
[Rue is generally put in a very good mood whenever the pair of them get together to gossip, so it's probably no surprise that the owlbear is simply beaming on their side of the screen.]
The Season's Changing festival that young Mercy and I have been working on the last few months is finally down to those last finishing touches, and I find myself most in need of your grand expertise.
Tim did battle that afternoon with the apartment's toaster. It tripped him up. He chucked it at the wall hard enough to put a sizable dent, and the brave little toaster was no more.
The rest of the day is a blur of gray, and then Tim sends the message:
Hey is it cool if I stay the night? Is Malcolm there?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text | un: tequila sunset
A REVOLUTION THAT WILL END THE WORLD AND HEARLD THE NEW ONE.
CORRECTION: HERALD
text | un: john robie
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look he can't write off anything insane here
famous last words
RIP
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pretend this is formatted
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[action, backdated to mid-december]
He's getting used to being lonely again, which is good. He should have been working on that from the start.
Today he's out doing an odd job he kind of regrets offering to help with--a cranky old woman who frequents Bonnie's wants to put up Christmas lights outside her house. Neal, idiot that he is, volunteered to help when he overheard.
So here he is, weaving a strand of lights around the banister of her stairway, silently grumbling to himself about the cold and how his boots weren't made for this kind of snow.
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He hasn't seen Neal since he gave him the friendship bracelet. He hasn't seen a lot of people since he was handing those out.
But that's... Neal up ahead. At some random house. He frowns. Is he hallucinating Neals because he misses him? Stop it, Bright. He squeezes his eyes closed, then opens them again, but Neal is still there. And now he's looking in this direction.
Malcolm raises his hand in an awkward wave. Neal could pretend he doesn't see it. It is, Malcolm supposes, an out for him.
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CONFESSIONS (Jeff) - Backdated to Mid-December
But it's not just aversion that's kept him from seeking Jeff out. It's the fact that he's curious if Jeff can bring that euphoria back, if he would do it if Neal asked. He's immediately revolted with himself by the thought. It would be like forcing Jeff to deal him drugs in some kind of backward way.
Neal shakes his head, focusing on the task at hand. He spotted Jeff in one of the town's small parks, busking while locals string lights in the trees.
Deep breath, calm and friendly mask in place. He walks straight up to where Jeff is playing and gently puts a folded-up twenty in the guitar case.
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No, the reason he's been avoiding the man has more to do with what happened before his impulsive mindfuck of a performance. He can't look at Neal without seeing blood and hearing screams, visions of a massacre playing out in his head.
But now, here he is, dropping a twenty in Jeff's guitar case. Jeff looks up at him, and he tries to smile, but it probably looks more like a grimace.
"Hey, man. You... uh, doing some holiday shopping?"
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CONFESSIONS (Mere) - Backdated to Early-to-Mid-December-Ish
He walks in to the infirmary and his skin creeps a little, but it doesn't show in his expression. He's never been the best in places like this. Sick rooms, hospitals. Too many bad memories and anxieties too close to the surface.
Still, it doesn't take long to find Meredith's bed. He draws a chair up next to her with raised eyebrows, holding up his basket--and ducking a little as one of the attendants almost hits him in the head with a string of lights. "I come bearing gifts."
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But he came, and that means everything.
"And I haven't had the chance to buy yours yet. Or my boys', either."
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CONFESSIONS (Kugrash) - Mid-to-late December
But paranoia doesn't stop him from keeping promises, and one of the promises he's made--to himself, if no one else--is to leave food near the homeless hot spots around town. He doesn't talk to any of them, doesn't get close. He's heard about what happens to people who spend too much time talking to a non-native. But plastic containers of hot food always end up stacked in places he knows they'll be found.
He's in the middle of one such delivery when he spots Kugrash, which isn't surprising. They've run into each other more than once doing this by now. "Enjoying the weather?"
It's cold. That's sarcasm.
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He likes a bit of routine, so at least the little food and care routes are good. He's been spending some time in the sewers lately, avoiding the lights, but has made it a point to poke his head up now and then.
Neal passes by just as Kugrash is crawling out of a sewer grate--it looks incredibly horrifying, given his human glamour--and he's halfway out when he looks up and spots him.
"Fuck you," he quips, "My tail's gonna get frostbite." He'll squeeze himself out of the impossibly small hole and grunt, moving towards Neal. "Nice to see you though, kiddo. You find a place anywhere that gets pastrami on rye right? I want to eat, like, twelve of them right now."
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Text
[He hasn't seen Neal since he got back on his meds and a diet he can actually digest and he's not sure if he hallucinated some or all of what happened at the coffee shop. But he's being super smooth about it. As usual.]
voice
“Hey, I’m free now if you are—your apartment is probably a better bet.”
A pause, and his tone doesn’t change.
“I’ve got new roommates, since Thackery disappeared and Abby moved out.”
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Phone - during the snowed in event Feb 2022
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There's unquestionable relief in the syllable. "Are you okay? Are Mere and Tim okay?"
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INTERNET THAT… signs I should have gone to bed rather than writing more tags
I KNEW WHAT YOU MEANT
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text; @blondeambition
So.
My brother's attached to you pretty quickly, huh?
[The alarmed look on his face had, at least briefly, matched her own when Malcolm declared Neal family on the way to lunch the other day. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out they hadn't discussed this idea before that very second.]
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Am I about to get a shovel talk?
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forgot: un is johnrobie
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omg i thought i tagged this baaaaack
it's okaaaay <3
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backdated to a few days before The Fishening
The departure comes when she doesn't immediately head for her (painfully neat) half of the room to grab one thing or another, but instead pauses, considering for a moment, before adding, "You've been making friends with Cindy, haven't you? I have some intel they might find useful."
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"Yeah, you could say that. They don't dislike me, anyway." The fact that Yelena has information to pass on piques his interest even more. "What kind of intel? About the mine?"
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Tim had said his goodbye to the owlbear with a promise to return soon-ish, had scuttled out of the kitchen and apartment and into the halls, and had given Neal enough of a head start that he had to almost jog to catch up to the guy.
Seeing as there was no way Neal didn't already suspect he would be followed, Tim skips the charades. From behind Neal he reaches out a hand to tap the man's forearm, not retreating the ghost of the touch until he's convinced the other will tag along. "C'mon," he says stepping in line with the man. "I have an order to pick up.
"Let's chat."
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For all Neal's perceptiveness, every so often, he misses the obvious.
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small mention of animal death in here
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uhhh cw child neglect idfk
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[video, 2/22]
[Rue is generally put in a very good mood whenever the pair of them get together to gossip, so it's probably no surprise that the owlbear is simply beaming on their side of the screen.]
The Season's Changing festival that young Mercy and I have been working on the last few months is finally down to those last finishing touches, and I find myself most in need of your grand expertise.
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April 6ish
The rest of the day is a blur of gray, and then Tim sends the message:
Hey is it cool if I stay the night? Is Malcolm there?
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The second, sent a minute later: Of course. Come on over.
The third, about thirty seconds after that: Where are you? Do you want me to come get you? I can do that.
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Mmmmmay
Anyway we are all out of milk
It's not my fault! We cleaned up.
[...wait, Tim thinks, that's not what he was going to say.]
we = me and stephanie she's from gotham and we really needed coffee