Neal sent Malcolm a message the day after he got back to the Barge with the kitten he'd found, after he'd gotten someone to look at it, help him clean it up, give him the supplies to take care of it. He asked Malcolm to meet him in his room. His room. Danny Brooks' room.
Which is where he sits now, on the floor, in jeans and a button-up, said scrawny tabby kitten exploring the jungle gym of his crossed legs.
Which is where he sits now, on the floor, in jeans and a button-up, said scrawny tabby kitten exploring the jungle gym of his crossed legs.
Neal may be the Inmate, but he’s been nothing but courteous. When Malcolm reaches his cabin, he knocks.
Once Neal is cleared by the infirmary, informed of the temporary nature of his change, and taken back to his cabin, he…
Well, he doesn’t do anything. He lies on the couch, mouth slightly open, fangs just visible under his upper lip. Blue eyes somehow made even bluer by Lestat’s ‘gift’ fix on a point in the middle of the ceiling, pupils huge, while he breaths shallowly, savoring each intake of air and the way it slides down his throat and into his chest.
George is snuggled up against his side, apparently unbothered by the fact that Neal is more predator than caretaker at the moment. It’s fine. For now. Neal is too high off Lestat’s blood to do much more than stare at all the colors on the spectrum he’s never been able to see before and breathe in long and slow enough to feel the way it slides in rapidly warming currents against the tissues of his lungs.
He can feel e v e r y t h i n g dude.
Well, he doesn’t do anything. He lies on the couch, mouth slightly open, fangs just visible under his upper lip. Blue eyes somehow made even bluer by Lestat’s ‘gift’ fix on a point in the middle of the ceiling, pupils huge, while he breaths shallowly, savoring each intake of air and the way it slides down his throat and into his chest.
George is snuggled up against his side, apparently unbothered by the fact that Neal is more predator than caretaker at the moment. It’s fine. For now. Neal is too high off Lestat’s blood to do much more than stare at all the colors on the spectrum he’s never been able to see before and breathe in long and slow enough to feel the way it slides in rapidly warming currents against the tissues of his lungs.
He can feel e v e r y t h i n g dude.
Malcolm isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do for Neal, so he just… puts him on the couch of his restored loft with George and hangs around. He makes tea. He reads in an adjacent chair.
[The Guardian who had done the deed was familiar with Neal the traveling librarian, and Shaw had given him examples of some locations that Neal frequents on his route; presumably, the guy will be able to track Neal down in one of those spots, and give him the letters that Shaw had written. They're folded into each other, Neal's on the outside and Eiffel's on the inside. Each letter is labeled on its outermost fold: Neal on one, and Doug on the other.]
I'm hoping whoever I found to deliver this filled you in on what happened, but in case they're a big enough asshole to just shove this in your hand and walk away: I'm dead. I got bitten while hunting this morning, and so I turned myself in to the Guardians. By the time you're reading this the deed's been done, so don't think about trying to launch some half-baked rescue mission.
The bullets in my pack should last you another month if you're careful. Talk to Jennie Trench at the armory in town, she'll be able to give you the names of some of my contacts in other cities for when you need to stock up. She'll teach you how to disassemble and clean my guns, too. Don't half-ass it.
Avery McDonough at the market owes me two pounds of fresh deer meat. Show him this letter and he should let you collect on my behalf. If he tries to reneg, Huang Min at the stall next to his is great at kicking ass and taking names, and she'll help you keep him honest.
Brendan James (the hermit guy with the goats out in the woods) doesn't owe me anything, but if you could let him know what happened to me that'd be good. You don't have to tell Franky, I'm getting a letter to her too.
I know you're really pissed off right now, and this letter probably isn't helping because I suck at stuff like this. Sorry about that. This was my decision and I don't regret making it, but I figure it's going to hurt you and I really hate that part. But you're alive, and you're safer than you would be if I were with you.
Take care of each other. Never stop doing your nerdy library thing. Practically speaking, it's useless, but I wouldn't have stuck around if I didn't think it was pretty cool too.
Sameen
P.S. - You were always my favorite. Feel free to hang that over Eiffel's head.
[But she's writing the exact same thing in Eiffel's letter, ribbing them both from beyond the grave.]
I'm hoping whoever I found to deliver this filled you in on what happened, but in case they're a big enough asshole to just shove this in your hand and walk away: I'm dead. I got bitten while hunting this morning, and so I turned myself in to the Guardians. By the time you're reading this the deed's been done, so don't think about trying to launch some half-baked rescue mission.
The bullets in my pack should last you another month if you're careful. Talk to Jennie Trench at the armory in town, she'll be able to give you the names of some of my contacts in other cities for when you need to stock up. She'll teach you how to disassemble and clean my guns, too. Don't half-ass it.
Avery McDonough at the market owes me two pounds of fresh deer meat. Show him this letter and he should let you collect on my behalf. If he tries to reneg, Huang Min at the stall next to his is great at kicking ass and taking names, and she'll help you keep him honest.
Brendan James (the hermit guy with the goats out in the woods) doesn't owe me anything, but if you could let him know what happened to me that'd be good. You don't have to tell Franky, I'm getting a letter to her too.
I know you're really pissed off right now, and this letter probably isn't helping because I suck at stuff like this. Sorry about that. This was my decision and I don't regret making it, but I figure it's going to hurt you and I really hate that part. But you're alive, and you're safer than you would be if I were with you.
Take care of each other. Never stop doing your nerdy library thing. Practically speaking, it's useless, but I wouldn't have stuck around if I didn't think it was pretty cool too.
Sameen
P.S. - You were always my favorite. Feel free to hang that over Eiffel's head.
[But she's writing the exact same thing in Eiffel's letter, ribbing them both from beyond the grave.]
Edited (i am belatedly editing one of the names because i straight-up forgot we have a character with that surname in-game) 2023-03-14 05:03 (UTC)
It takes him a bit of time to track the man down, given the transient nature of his work, but Harkin is able to find him. His affect is somber when he presents the letter.
"I believe this is for you. Please confirm if you're the right individual."
Notifications are never easy, and it's even shittier to have to do one when he's not sure he has the correct recipient.
"I believe this is for you. Please confirm if you're the right individual."
Notifications are never easy, and it's even shittier to have to do one when he's not sure he has the correct recipient.
[After this.]
I can relate to the murderous urges. [Maggie and her inmate featured too, after all.]
You need some company or distractions?
I can relate to the murderous urges. [Maggie and her inmate featured too, after all.]
You need some company or distractions?
How are you feeling? How is the painting coming?
audio, after the hubbub has died down in the infirmary, post-Malcolm attack
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
empathicfault
2023-06-18 11:32 pm (UTC)(link)
I'm not going after Lestat. Just so you know.
Hey. [He’s pleased to hear Lestat’s voice. His own is rough, the normally soft cadence carrying an edge of gargled rocks.] I’m sorry I didn’t send you a message directly. Made a post on the network telling people I was tolling, but Malcolm mentioned you’d been told, so—
[a pause and a cough]
It’s terrible, but it’s also my fourth time. Third and a half. So nothing surprising.
[a pause and a cough]
It’s terrible, but it’s also my fourth time. Third and a half. So nothing surprising.
I thought you should know:
I've confirmed that you are under no supernatural compulsion, as per the Admiral. He confirmed it.
I have also secured testimony, for lack of a better word, from Mr. Hancock, who served as his warden after those past events.
I need to get back to it, but I thought you might like to know.
I've confirmed that you are under no supernatural compulsion, as per the Admiral. He confirmed it.
I have also secured testimony, for lack of a better word, from Mr. Hancock, who served as his warden after those past events.
I need to get back to it, but I thought you might like to know.
[ Neal stares at the message for a few seconds, confused and slowly growing more alarmed as pieces click. Checking with the Admiral about his mental state is gathering evidence. Going to Hancock means it has to do with Lestat's actions during that flood, at least in some portion.]
Testimony??
Testimony for what??
Testimony??
Testimony for what??
[When Neal gets back to his cabin, his file is on the table with the origami flower from under the counselling office door and a handwritten note that says ‘I’m proud of you. Call me when you’re free and don’t have any visitors.’]
He does throw up on the way back to his cabin, and—to his annoyance—he has to do it in the communal bathroom. He waits until he’s sure the place is empty before he leaves the insulted stall, washing his hands three times before rinsing his mouth out another three.
Then he gets home and pours himself a drink. And then another one.
And then he notices the things left on his table.
As soon as he hears the sound of Malcolm answering his communicator, Neal blurts out, “I’m sorry.”
Then he gets home and pours himself a drink. And then another one.
And then he notices the things left on his table.
As soon as he hears the sound of Malcolm answering his communicator, Neal blurts out, “I’m sorry.”
[ His voice is tired, but clearly much refreshed. ]
I don't mean to take up much of your time, I only meant to see if you were feeling better. I know you chose to be there, but I still regret what part I played in the strain that was put on you.
I don't mean to take up much of your time, I only meant to see if you were feeling better. I know you chose to be there, but I still regret what part I played in the strain that was put on you.
[Also tired and to a trained ear, still a bit tense, but at least not on the verge of implosion.]
You're always welcome. We're neighbors, for one thing.
[A slow, deep breath as he considers the question.]
Better, yes. Good, no, but that's kind of the way of things here.
You're always welcome. We're neighbors, for one thing.
[A slow, deep breath as he considers the question.]
Better, yes. Good, no, but that's kind of the way of things here.
[continued from here]
He gasps in air as the kiss breaks, dizzy from the intensity of it, his whole mind occupied by Raylan's hand under his shirt and the grip on his neck.
Shame we're not someplace with a bedroom, Raylan says. Neal has the chance for another sip of air, the first edge of the words There's mine, and then Raylan is kissing him again and Neal's mind fills with a delightful static. When he's allowed another gulp of air, he gasps, "Can we. Can we be where there's a bedroom."
He's disoriented by how turned on he is. He doesn't care if it's his bedroom or Raylan's bedroom or an unoccupied cabin with no lock.
Raylan is, unquestionably, stronger than he is, for all that Neal takes care to keep himself in attractive shape. That's the point. It's attractive. Yeah, it helps with the scaling of walls and hauling of safe cracking gear, but that's not the whole point of it. Raylan has the strength of a man who needs to use it. Neal's bright blue eyes are huge as he looks into Raylan's steady brown ones, his breathing reduced to greedy little pants.
He gasps in air as the kiss breaks, dizzy from the intensity of it, his whole mind occupied by Raylan's hand under his shirt and the grip on his neck.
Shame we're not someplace with a bedroom, Raylan says. Neal has the chance for another sip of air, the first edge of the words There's mine, and then Raylan is kissing him again and Neal's mind fills with a delightful static. When he's allowed another gulp of air, he gasps, "Can we. Can we be where there's a bedroom."
He's disoriented by how turned on he is. He doesn't care if it's his bedroom or Raylan's bedroom or an unoccupied cabin with no lock.
Raylan is, unquestionably, stronger than he is, for all that Neal takes care to keep himself in attractive shape. That's the point. It's attractive. Yeah, it helps with the scaling of walls and hauling of safe cracking gear, but that's not the whole point of it. Raylan has the strength of a man who needs to use it. Neal's bright blue eyes are huge as he looks into Raylan's steady brown ones, his breathing reduced to greedy little pants.
Edited 2023-06-30 02:00 (UTC)
It was all the gunslinging and manhandling that set Raylan up the way he was. Sure, he wasn't lifting weights, but he was using muscles that he'd been strengthening since he was a teenager. First baseball, then mining, then Marshaling. If there was one thing Raylan knew how to use better than his guns, it was his hands. He just didn't know how well that power worked on people, though he'd enjoyed its rewards many times.
Neal's answer was music to his ears. Half unexpected - Neal had a lot of options around the Barge - half not. This kind of electricity was hot, heady, powerful in it's own rite and Raylan could feel he wasn't wrong in the question of if it was shared. His eyes roam over Neal's face, taking in the needy pants, the way Neal's lips looked post kiss.
"I think we can make that happen." Except he was absolutely going to kiss Neal again, hard and hungry, before pulling away and letting go of his neck so he could shift out of the booth, hand already out to 'help' Neal to an upright position after straightening his hat. His erection was promising, tight jeans somehow tighter, and he wasn't going to bother adjusting himself or trying to talk it down.
"Leave the bottle to whichever lucky fucker finds it," he says. "We can be in my room inside five minutes.. If we make it outta the elevator with our clothes on."
Neal's answer was music to his ears. Half unexpected - Neal had a lot of options around the Barge - half not. This kind of electricity was hot, heady, powerful in it's own rite and Raylan could feel he wasn't wrong in the question of if it was shared. His eyes roam over Neal's face, taking in the needy pants, the way Neal's lips looked post kiss.
"I think we can make that happen." Except he was absolutely going to kiss Neal again, hard and hungry, before pulling away and letting go of his neck so he could shift out of the booth, hand already out to 'help' Neal to an upright position after straightening his hat. His erection was promising, tight jeans somehow tighter, and he wasn't going to bother adjusting himself or trying to talk it down.
"Leave the bottle to whichever lucky fucker finds it," he says. "We can be in my room inside five minutes.. If we make it outta the elevator with our clothes on."
[He feels like Neal has a lot on his plate right. He just became a Warden, he’s planning a trip to New York. Still, he’s been wanting to talk to him about this. He won’t really be affected by it anymore, since he is suddenly no longer Malcolm’s inmate, but Malcolm still finds himself wanting the man’s opinion. He’s far from certain about all this.
He doesn’t show up at his cabin. He phones.]
Hey. It’s me.
He doesn’t show up at his cabin. He phones.]
Hey. It’s me.
Neal?
[He’s flushed and a little breathless. Like he’s been running.]
[He’s flushed and a little breathless. Like he’s been running.]
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