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inbox ▣ saltburnt
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
SHANKS
text ❖ audio ❖ video
WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK
USERNAME:
SHANKS
text ❖ audio ❖ video
[ there’s an image attached to this message, that was definitely not meant for this recipient. ]
is this how this is supposed to work?
i see the appeal of course but don’t understand how this picture thing is any better than real life
i could just as easily come to your room
is this how this is supposed to work?
i see the appeal of course but don’t understand how this picture thing is any better than real life
i could just as easily come to your room
Edited 2024-07-29 17:30 (UTC)
You could, but you might be surprised by who you'd find.
( he will politely not say anything about that picture. not that he can't appreciate its ... aesthetic qualities, but he's very much aware it wasn't meant for him. )
( he will politely not say anything about that picture. not that he can't appreciate its ... aesthetic qualities, but he's very much aware it wasn't meant for him. )
Of course.
( just give him a minute to Type, okay, he doesn't have a qwerty keyboard like everyone else. #accessabilitywin )
I'm a little surprised you haven't barged into my room by now.
( teasing, a fond reminder of the boy who never knew what personal space was. but he isn't going to force luffy to talk in person if he doesn't want to, or even suggest a different method of communication, even if it would be easier for shanks to speak on the phone. it's about what luffy is comfortable with and shanks will always respect that more than personal convenience. )
What's on your mind?
( just give him a minute to Type, okay, he doesn't have a qwerty keyboard like everyone else. #accessabilitywin )
I'm a little surprised you haven't barged into my room by now.
( teasing, a fond reminder of the boy who never knew what personal space was. but he isn't going to force luffy to talk in person if he doesn't want to, or even suggest a different method of communication, even if it would be easier for shanks to speak on the phone. it's about what luffy is comfortable with and shanks will always respect that more than personal convenience. )
What's on your mind?
[He shouldn't. He really, truly, shouldn't -- that night in Otherworld had been (so much, a kaleidoscope of emotions and sensations and magic and red, red, red in his memory) nice, but what can Koby build on it? He has no claim, not over Shanks, even with their shared history, even with that night, even though Koby can still remember how he tastes when he focuses.
But -- a late night at the library, that hazy place between sleep and waking, halfway into a dream, the same dream, the one Koby always has when he's this tired, blood on the deck, bruised knuckles and sore ribs and a bonedeep exhaustion warring constantly with fear, the latter always winning. He jerks awake before it gets worse, this time, but he can feel those ghosts haunting the edges of his mind, ready to creep in, sink their teeth into him for another sleepless nights, blood and gunpowder and mine, always be mine --
And the message is written, sent, before he can think, because Koby can remember Shanks's body against his, his hand, his mouth, the way his touch drowns, consumes, blots out everything else. He can remember forgetting who he is, where he is, everything except the way he felt, the closeness, the protection that seemed immovable as a compass needle:] Are you awake?
But -- a late night at the library, that hazy place between sleep and waking, halfway into a dream, the same dream, the one Koby always has when he's this tired, blood on the deck, bruised knuckles and sore ribs and a bonedeep exhaustion warring constantly with fear, the latter always winning. He jerks awake before it gets worse, this time, but he can feel those ghosts haunting the edges of his mind, ready to creep in, sink their teeth into him for another sleepless nights, blood and gunpowder and mine, always be mine --
And the message is written, sent, before he can think, because Koby can remember Shanks's body against his, his hand, his mouth, the way his touch drowns, consumes, blots out everything else. He can remember forgetting who he is, where he is, everything except the way he felt, the closeness, the protection that seemed immovable as a compass needle:] Are you awake?
( it's rare that shanks ever sleeps well these days, unless someone else is sharing his bed, the warm press of another body anchoring him to this plane of existence where he might otherwise be lost in the wine-dark sea of past regrets and the blood of battle and the very real dangers of the sea. how many times has his subconscious conjured up some horrible way to watch his friends die, where he was powerless to stop it? how many times has he replayed that night of roger's execution, knowing there's nothing he could do to change it? how many times has he felt the sting on his face, the warmth of blood on his cheek, felt that chilling laugh carve deep into his bones?
he's only just collapsed into bed when the message notification blips, lighting up his phone's screen in the dark, and shanks instinctively reaches over the buggy pillow the library gave him to grab his phone from the nightstand, accidentally knocking over an empty bottle of rum in the process. he can't be bothered to pick it up right now. the staff, he knows, will tidy all the bottles away come morning, anyway. he's still pleasantly buzzed from his nightcap (or two, or five), but it hadn't been quite enough to stave off the restlessness that always persists when he hasn't drunk himself into complete oblivion.
it's later than he'd expect to hear from koby, which sets shanks' mind on guard, ready to act if needed. he takes some comfort in the fact that koby texted him, though, rather than called. surely whatever it is isn't life-threatening or urgent if koby is taking the time to write — and waiting for shanks to write back. maybe he should ask koby to bring him another bottle, while they're both still up, but he keeps the thought to himself for now. )
I'm awake.
Everything alright?
he's only just collapsed into bed when the message notification blips, lighting up his phone's screen in the dark, and shanks instinctively reaches over the buggy pillow the library gave him to grab his phone from the nightstand, accidentally knocking over an empty bottle of rum in the process. he can't be bothered to pick it up right now. the staff, he knows, will tidy all the bottles away come morning, anyway. he's still pleasantly buzzed from his nightcap (or two, or five), but it hadn't been quite enough to stave off the restlessness that always persists when he hasn't drunk himself into complete oblivion.
it's later than he'd expect to hear from koby, which sets shanks' mind on guard, ready to act if needed. he takes some comfort in the fact that koby texted him, though, rather than called. surely whatever it is isn't life-threatening or urgent if koby is taking the time to write — and waiting for shanks to write back. maybe he should ask koby to bring him another bottle, while they're both still up, but he keeps the thought to himself for now. )
I'm awake.
Everything alright?
( shanks dreams of death: the hiss of blades, the squelch of flesh, the thud of bodies, screaming screaming screaming. first a stormy sea, a battle, man overboard, sinking, swallowed by the maw, thick arms like a cage, head spinning, chest tight, wailing wailing wailing; then the rain, a bloodied scaffold, the sickening crack of a skull against cobblestones, dead eyes, damp straw, too late too late too late; then the woods, a grave, the chill of wet earth, hollow, everything hollow, blood-smeared, pink stained red, wrong wrong wrong —
the screams, the commotion that may have woken up the rest of the house bleeds into the ever-shifting nightmare, the gruesome reel of horrors that feel all too real, like someone has taken all the fear permeating the manor and turned it inward, blocking it off, shutting it in, a dark cloud gathering in his mind, impenetrable and heavy.
shanks doesn't respond to koby's message, doesn't feel that presence entering his subconscious senses as he usually would. but the door, as always, remains open. )
the screams, the commotion that may have woken up the rest of the house bleeds into the ever-shifting nightmare, the gruesome reel of horrors that feel all too real, like someone has taken all the fear permeating the manor and turned it inward, blocking it off, shutting it in, a dark cloud gathering in his mind, impenetrable and heavy.
shanks doesn't respond to koby's message, doesn't feel that presence entering his subconscious senses as he usually would. but the door, as always, remains open. )
( several hours pass from the time shanks receives the notification — several hours of debating whether he should respond or not, carefully avoiding opening the message until the time is right. the plan could still work, he thinks, if they sow enough doubt, but maybe he should cut his losses now and spare them all the grief. besides, koby wouldn't be reaching out if he thought any of it could be salvaged, and shanks knows this.
so, eventually: )
It was never meant to be entirely foolproof.
( it couldn't be, not with the time they had to put it together. not that that makes the deception any better. but he had rather hoped it would buy him more than a few days. )
so, eventually: )
It was never meant to be entirely foolproof.
( it couldn't be, not with the time they had to put it together. not that that makes the deception any better. but he had rather hoped it would buy him more than a few days. )
( things are still ... complicated, of course, after the recent events and more recent revelations, but now isn't the time to be hashing any of that out, especially given koby's delicate state. shanks is a generous enough man to set aside whatever feelings he still hasn't quite worked out aside long enough to be civil, because he does know louis cares about koby. and this is about koby, not either of them. )
I know. I will.
( he almost leaves it at that, but after a moment: )
I'd appreciate if you'd keep an eye on the lodge when you can.
My senses may have returned to me, but even I have my limits.
( and it wouldn't hurt to have an extra set of eyes so shanks can dedicate more of his focus to koby. )
I know. I will.
( he almost leaves it at that, but after a moment: )
I'd appreciate if you'd keep an eye on the lodge when you can.
My senses may have returned to me, but even I have my limits.
( and it wouldn't hurt to have an extra set of eyes so shanks can dedicate more of his focus to koby. )
I know there are things at work here that are beyond my understanding but I also know that there are many people who care a great deal for you.
One of them crying in my arms the moment the news broke.
And while I'm very glad you're not eating dirt out on the lawn, I'm keen to get some and make you taste it all the same. I'm glad you're alright.
One of them crying in my arms the moment the news broke.
And while I'm very glad you're not eating dirt out on the lawn, I'm keen to get some and make you taste it all the same. I'm glad you're alright.
( he was wondering when he'd be receiving a message like this ... and it does sting a little, rightfully. but such is the burden of making difficult choices no one else is willing to make. )
If it would make you feel better, I'm not opposed.
( to eating dirt, or whatever else quentin thinks is a suitable punishment. shanks knew what he was doing, and he knew it would not be well-received. all the same — )
I am sorry, for what it's worth.
It wasn't a choice I made lightly.
If it would make you feel better, I'm not opposed.
( to eating dirt, or whatever else quentin thinks is a suitable punishment. shanks knew what he was doing, and he knew it would not be well-received. all the same — )
I am sorry, for what it's worth.
It wasn't a choice I made lightly.
[There's a way these parties usually end -- Koby staggers away half-drunk and sore and giddy, collapses into bed for a few hours before staggering awake and to the shower, to the list of texts asking him where he is, how he is, recounting the events of the previous night. Sometimes it's embarrassing, sometimes it's a giddy rush, but that's how it's been in Saltburnt, for months. It's only October that things have changed. It's only October that has a knot in Koby's chest, a hitch in his breath that feels like a permanent part of him now.
He's still sore, half-drunk, but that hitch remains, that sense of a thread left undone, of something he still needs to do. Because there'd been the vote and the messages and that call, that selfish, desperate agony in Koby's voice -- don't ever do that to me again -- but nothing after, no resolution, no answer to the first thing Koby had ever feared asking Shanks for. For some part of him to stay, to remain, even if it was just letting Koby know he was safe and alive. He doesn't ask for all, for everything -- they know each other too well for that.
But for a part of this man he'd never met a year before, but who'd spread himself irrevocably into Koby's existence, like the scent of seasalt on the air. A part that belongs to a too-earnest, too-persistent crybaby Marine cadet.
And maybe Shanks will refuse. Maybe he'll say this is too much for Koby to ask, that he can't give him any part, not for good, not for real. And that'll be -- well. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing is permanent. So then, Koby will ask if he can have it just for now, just for as long as this strange, nightmarish, dreamlike house allows it. And he'll cling tight enough that maybe Shanks will feel him when he finally has to let go. But in order to hear either answer, yes or no or something else entirely, they need to see one another. They need to reconnect -- like Koby has with Quentin, with Nami and Zoro, with Tim on the dance floor, in the arms of half a dozen nameless guests, reminding himself what it feels like to be inside his own body.
And now: Koby is sore and half-drunk, his skin is still thrumming from the night's events, from the hands and mouths and bodies that have been pressed up against his in the past few hours. His knees are wobbly and he's long since lost half of his costume, strewn in pieces across Otherworld's glittery, alcohol-sticky floors and halls and rooms. What's left is little more than a clinging, insubstantial bit of nothing, silky white and dripping off his shoulders. And he should probably take a shower and go to sleep, but instead Koby pauses, leans heavily against the wall, resting his aching head against it for a long, long moment and trying for the first time since he'd thought him dead, to reach out for Shanks's presence.
And there's still that block, that weight, but it's soft enough around the edges that Koby (thinks, hopes) he gets through. That there's a blush-colored flicker in Shanks's mind, laced with the sweet liquor and the sweeter company, that the throb and ache of Koby's well-used body translates in every giddy, aching, blissful bit of clarity.
But just in case it doesn't: a message.]
Are you awake?
He's still sore, half-drunk, but that hitch remains, that sense of a thread left undone, of something he still needs to do. Because there'd been the vote and the messages and that call, that selfish, desperate agony in Koby's voice -- don't ever do that to me again -- but nothing after, no resolution, no answer to the first thing Koby had ever feared asking Shanks for. For some part of him to stay, to remain, even if it was just letting Koby know he was safe and alive. He doesn't ask for all, for everything -- they know each other too well for that.
But for a part of this man he'd never met a year before, but who'd spread himself irrevocably into Koby's existence, like the scent of seasalt on the air. A part that belongs to a too-earnest, too-persistent crybaby Marine cadet.
And maybe Shanks will refuse. Maybe he'll say this is too much for Koby to ask, that he can't give him any part, not for good, not for real. And that'll be -- well. Nothing lasts forever. Nothing is permanent. So then, Koby will ask if he can have it just for now, just for as long as this strange, nightmarish, dreamlike house allows it. And he'll cling tight enough that maybe Shanks will feel him when he finally has to let go. But in order to hear either answer, yes or no or something else entirely, they need to see one another. They need to reconnect -- like Koby has with Quentin, with Nami and Zoro, with Tim on the dance floor, in the arms of half a dozen nameless guests, reminding himself what it feels like to be inside his own body.
And now: Koby is sore and half-drunk, his skin is still thrumming from the night's events, from the hands and mouths and bodies that have been pressed up against his in the past few hours. His knees are wobbly and he's long since lost half of his costume, strewn in pieces across Otherworld's glittery, alcohol-sticky floors and halls and rooms. What's left is little more than a clinging, insubstantial bit of nothing, silky white and dripping off his shoulders. And he should probably take a shower and go to sleep, but instead Koby pauses, leans heavily against the wall, resting his aching head against it for a long, long moment and trying for the first time since he'd thought him dead, to reach out for Shanks's presence.
And there's still that block, that weight, but it's soft enough around the edges that Koby (thinks, hopes) he gets through. That there's a blush-colored flicker in Shanks's mind, laced with the sweet liquor and the sweeter company, that the throb and ache of Koby's well-used body translates in every giddy, aching, blissful bit of clarity.
But just in case it doesn't: a message.]
Are you awake?
[The gift comes wrapped meticulously in paper that, while not strictly holiday-themed is nevertheless very appropriate, considering who it’s from. The gift is inside, nestled in pale blue tissue paper: An assortment of candied fruit, nuts and chocolates from the faire, for those of his friends who actually eat. For those who don’t, this portion of the gift is replaced with a simple calendar.
: For Shanks, a somewhat worn, extremely warm leather jacket, with the left sleeve pinned up, of course. In one pocket, rolled up neatly – a map of the East Blue, from memory, as best as Koby could manage a year away from it. In the other, folded safely in a red silk handkerchief, a single red earring.
The note, on thick, cream-colored card stock, is in a somewhat wobbly, but earnest hand:]
The note, on thick, cream-colored card stock, is in a somewhat wobbly, but earnest hand:]
Captain -
I thought about pink, but ultimately that’s just another shade of red, isn’t it? A different frequency of light, according to all the books I’ve read, one that slips pretty easily into red. Like old scars, that heal pink, like the one on my hand. Like blood on the snow, back at the river.
There’s another book I read, one that says every decision we make creates another version of reality, splintering over and over. Maybe there’s one where I went with Luffy, all those months ago. Maybe there’s one where he never found me on that ship at all. Maybe there’s one where there’s a boat on a river in the snow, and we’re still by the fire and you’re still telling me stories while I braid Bee’s hair, and I’m looking at you instead of the fire, and I’m tethering myself to your voice and your smile and your warmth and you’re keeping me human and you’re keeping me safe.
Maybe when we go back home again, you’ll remember how the desert tastes and I’ll have a map to another ocean world written in my mind, and maybe you’ll remember that pink and red are almost the same, just a few frequencies apart. Maybe you’ll remember that boat, and know it’s still there, and I’m still there, and that’s where a part of me is always going to be, listening to and loving you.
I hope so.
-Koby
[It's actually not a text, not at first -- it's the dissolution of that presence, that light, that centering force that he's almost, almost gotten accustomed to feeling at the back of his mind. The group of them, the crew, locked into Koby's consciousness, aura as familiar as his own, close enough that he hardly needs to exert effort to sense them, to know where they are. When Luffy goes, it's like taking an extra step in the dark, foot expecting the support, then pitching forward through sudden nothingness.
His reaction is immediate: that rush of blushing pink slamming into Shanks's consciousness with the force of everything Koby's capable of, a power he's still feeling out, still learning to use, projected like a tidal wave. A pitch of panic, a wave of weak-kneed relief when his soul collides with red and there and okay, you're okay, you're here, you're here. And, perhaps, a pang of shame at how relieved he is -- selfish, still selfish, wanting to keep everyone here instead of at home, where they belong, where there's so much to do. Wanting to keep Shanks here, for a little longer. Just a little bit longer.
Then, once the wave of emotion swells and crashes and abates:] I can tell the crew. Things have been weird with them, but
You did it last time. [Beneath it: who will tell everyone when it's you? When it's me? When it's someone else we love?]
His reaction is immediate: that rush of blushing pink slamming into Shanks's consciousness with the force of everything Koby's capable of, a power he's still feeling out, still learning to use, projected like a tidal wave. A pitch of panic, a wave of weak-kneed relief when his soul collides with red and there and okay, you're okay, you're here, you're here. And, perhaps, a pang of shame at how relieved he is -- selfish, still selfish, wanting to keep everyone here instead of at home, where they belong, where there's so much to do. Wanting to keep Shanks here, for a little longer. Just a little bit longer.
Then, once the wave of emotion swells and crashes and abates:] I can tell the crew. Things have been weird with them, but
You did it last time. [Beneath it: who will tell everyone when it's you? When it's me? When it's someone else we love?]
( it's been a strange morning. he's felt simultaneously listless and ... in a strange way, relieved, to know that luffy is back where he belongs. or, at least, so they can only hope. but the lack of that warmth, the bright ray of sun in the back of his mind luffy usually occupies — it's a bit like sailing into a cold front and suddenly trembling under the chill.
shanks has spent years without that presence, of course, and would have continued to if something hadn't brought them here first; he imagines, more easily than the straw hats, that he'll grow accustomed to luffy's absence again. still, that doesn't mean that it doesn't ache, to not even be able to say goodbye this time.
he expects koby to reach out — both with words and without — so his usually well-hidden aura surges to meet the frenetic wave of koby's presence, the shadow of shanks' natural calm engulfing koby's rising panic, reassurances imparted through the steady beat of his heart and the heady weight of his own presence pushing back to say it's alright, i'm still here. )
It might be easier to swallow, coming from you.
( he's well aware how weird things have been, and they've only gotten weirder recently. )
Where are you now?
( as if he doesn't know. but it's less a question of where and more a question of why aren't you here. )
shanks has spent years without that presence, of course, and would have continued to if something hadn't brought them here first; he imagines, more easily than the straw hats, that he'll grow accustomed to luffy's absence again. still, that doesn't mean that it doesn't ache, to not even be able to say goodbye this time.
he expects koby to reach out — both with words and without — so his usually well-hidden aura surges to meet the frenetic wave of koby's presence, the shadow of shanks' natural calm engulfing koby's rising panic, reassurances imparted through the steady beat of his heart and the heady weight of his own presence pushing back to say it's alright, i'm still here. )
It might be easier to swallow, coming from you.
( he's well aware how weird things have been, and they've only gotten weirder recently. )
Where are you now?
( as if he doesn't know. but it's less a question of where and more a question of why aren't you here. )
[ⓘ MESSAGE NOT SENT] If you are avoiding ME, I will end you.
[ Eventually, the mobile phones stop working. A credit to their usefulness, that Set has always been eager to text — only to find that nothing is working by the time he reaches out to Shanks. Naturally, he tosses it aside the moment it becomes nothing more than a glorified paperweight, relying instead on age-old skills he possesses: a knowledge of psychology and a general stubbornness that translates into hunting people down like an animal.
Shanks is not that hard to find, honestly.
He knows him, by now. His sweet, sensitive companion whom he knows could, and would, pull himself together in service of others. Who would kill his own heart quickly, to be a steady presence for those who look up to him; Set hunts him down, so that he does not do that. Not in the wake of one of his people's deaths — the blond one, with the sloppy mouth — and the collapse of the others. It's not by scent, nor power, that he finds Shanks. Set simply takes the time to suss him out, coming to his side without fail. To slide his arms over the man's shoulders and balance his elbows upon them, curling his hands up into his hair.
A bracketing gesture, to cradle his face between his forearms. Saying nothing, but searching his face with the intensity of a predatory animal that's laid eyes on its prey. ]
[ Eventually, the mobile phones stop working. A credit to their usefulness, that Set has always been eager to text — only to find that nothing is working by the time he reaches out to Shanks. Naturally, he tosses it aside the moment it becomes nothing more than a glorified paperweight, relying instead on age-old skills he possesses: a knowledge of psychology and a general stubbornness that translates into hunting people down like an animal.
Shanks is not that hard to find, honestly.
He knows him, by now. His sweet, sensitive companion whom he knows could, and would, pull himself together in service of others. Who would kill his own heart quickly, to be a steady presence for those who look up to him; Set hunts him down, so that he does not do that. Not in the wake of one of his people's deaths — the blond one, with the sloppy mouth — and the collapse of the others. It's not by scent, nor power, that he finds Shanks. Set simply takes the time to suss him out, coming to his side without fail. To slide his arms over the man's shoulders and balance his elbows upon them, curling his hands up into his hair.
A bracketing gesture, to cradle his face between his forearms. Saying nothing, but searching his face with the intensity of a predatory animal that's laid eyes on its prey. ]
( it isn't hard to find him, if one pays the slightest bit of attention to his habits, which generally involve alcohol in some form or another. set knows this about him better than anyone else in the house, probably, aside from the straw hats — but even they don't fully understand why, or how much, or how frequently. there are some things they're better off not knowing. understanding who shanks is or how he copes isn't something they need to worry themselves with, especially not with so much else going on. (that hasn't ever stopped koby from trying, nor has it stopped shanks from letting him, but that's just how they are.)
so it isn't a surprise when set eventually joins him in the wine cellar — an inevitability, more than anything. that's how they are, always drawn back to one another, always seeking each other out to share these private moments, vulnerable moments.
he tips his head into the gesture, closing his eyes briefly to center himself against the weight of each point of contact, realigning himself toward the blazing red sea he knows should be there, now only an afterimage burned into his mind. when he opens his eyes, he lists forward with a familiar lazy-tipsy-coy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his hand slipping across set's waist and up the length of his spine. )
Missed me that much? ( an easy deflection as much as it is a half-hearted attempt to mask why he's once again turned to the bottle. why it's easier to reach for liquor first than for flesh and blood. without waiting for an answer, he presses a slow, indulgent kiss to set's lips, savoring the taste like he would a particularly fine vintage. eventually, he pulls back, his voice softer, more earnest. grateful. relieved, to not not be alone. to not have to shoulder this on his own like he always has. to not have to be the strong one for a little while. to know he can let the grief sink into his bones and he won't drown, not as long as set is holding him, keeping him afloat. ) I knew you'd come find me.
so it isn't a surprise when set eventually joins him in the wine cellar — an inevitability, more than anything. that's how they are, always drawn back to one another, always seeking each other out to share these private moments, vulnerable moments.
he tips his head into the gesture, closing his eyes briefly to center himself against the weight of each point of contact, realigning himself toward the blazing red sea he knows should be there, now only an afterimage burned into his mind. when he opens his eyes, he lists forward with a familiar lazy-tipsy-coy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his hand slipping across set's waist and up the length of his spine. )
Missed me that much? ( an easy deflection as much as it is a half-hearted attempt to mask why he's once again turned to the bottle. why it's easier to reach for liquor first than for flesh and blood. without waiting for an answer, he presses a slow, indulgent kiss to set's lips, savoring the taste like he would a particularly fine vintage. eventually, he pulls back, his voice softer, more earnest. grateful. relieved, to not not be alone. to not have to shoulder this on his own like he always has. to not have to be the strong one for a little while. to know he can let the grief sink into his bones and he won't drown, not as long as set is holding him, keeping him afloat. ) I knew you'd come find me.
The chain they gave me is too long. I have to wear it like this.
[completely innocent image attachment]
[completely innocent image attachment]
I need a stiff drink and a stiffer cock if you’re game.
Bad night?
( rhetorical, because he can feel the anger emanating from hawk like fresh rope burn flaring under his skin. )
You know I'd never turn down a drink.
Lucky for you, I've got a bottle of cognac with your name on it.
( acquired under less than reputable circumstance. yes, he stole it from giles. )
( rhetorical, because he can feel the anger emanating from hawk like fresh rope burn flaring under his skin. )
You know I'd never turn down a drink.
Lucky for you, I've got a bottle of cognac with your name on it.
( acquired under less than reputable circumstance. yes, he stole it from giles. )
)
![[completely innocent image attachment]](https://i.pinimg.com/474x/d9/47/03/d947030b49b29b1e3e067bb14e10bbe4.jpg){kind=link}
[ Shanks could be a wolf. He wouldn't even know it, but all the same. He could be.
Set finds him, at some point during the day's activities, grabbing him around the waist and drawing him in close. Something feels different, like he's been severed from some innate knowledge — lingering on the verge of death. ]
There's something I can do. I want to know what you think, though.
[ A god of war has always sought counsel, and here... he seeks his husbands. ]
Set finds him, at some point during the day's activities, grabbing him around the waist and drawing him in close. Something feels different, like he's been severed from some innate knowledge — lingering on the verge of death. ]
There's something I can do. I want to know what you think, though.
[ A god of war has always sought counsel, and here... he seeks his husbands. ]
( in a morbid way, it's because of this game they find themselves in the middle of once more that they stand where they are now: together, husband and wife. shanks certainly wouldn't have made the vows he did in that chapel if it hadn't been for their unconventional partnership during the last game, if he hadn't been swept up so swiftly into a blazing desert storm. if he hadn't sought set out to feel something, only to realize it was more than just something he wanted.
here, it isn't the roof of an english manor that they steal away to — out of sight from prying eyes, out of range from prying ears — but it would be impossible not to recall that day an alliance was formed and sealed with a kiss, not to feel some sense of history repeating itself. they've done this once, and they'll do it again, better than before.
wryly, shanks thinks, at least i can see his whole face this time. his palm sweeps over set's cheek, settling warm against the length of his neck. as if this sort of discussion needs an anchor, lest set slip away. )
You have a role? What is it?
here, it isn't the roof of an english manor that they steal away to — out of sight from prying eyes, out of range from prying ears — but it would be impossible not to recall that day an alliance was formed and sealed with a kiss, not to feel some sense of history repeating itself. they've done this once, and they'll do it again, better than before.
wryly, shanks thinks, at least i can see his whole face this time. his palm sweeps over set's cheek, settling warm against the length of his neck. as if this sort of discussion needs an anchor, lest set slip away. )
You have a role? What is it?
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