[ Minuet with all his perception probably clocked Mute clocking him a good 20-30 minutes before they come meet him on the roof. By now, they know that they don’t need to intentionally give themselves away when they approach. They can come in with all their carefully practiced stealth and unnatural blending into darkness, and it won’t startle him.
They’ve brought quite a few jobs tonight: knives from the kitchen, knives from the shack where the fresh game is cleaned, a few weapons they lifted from friends or team mates. Their own tools, though, have seen recent enough upkeep and infrequent enough use that it’s mostly everyone else’s blades they have decided need it.
Without a word, they spread out their kit next to him and go to work. ]
[ It's true, he doesn't startle. Just looks over at their spread, like this is the most natural thing in the world. It's gotten to feeling like that by now. ]
[ They tip their head towards him in acknowledgement, but keep focussed on their task quietly. After a few minutes, when they are done with their first knife/stone combo, they pause. ]
Can you . . . look at my threads? I . . . wish to . . . try something.
[ when he checks, they'll still look mostly like they always have. Many to Bluebell and Lily, a few to Rose, and Daffodil, and the Weeds clubhouse. Some to the world itself: the forest where they hunt, the NPCs they worry about, the patch of red geraniums that they've still been visiting when they think he won't notice. ]
[ They close their eyes and concentrate. It's almost tangible, the shifting of their mind, the movement of those briars that protects their inner world. One by one, the strings begin to shimmer and fade. First those to other teams, then to the physical places they've tended. It takes a little longer to let go of their tethers to Bluebell, to Harmony, Fantasia, Crescendo. Longer and harder than that is letting go of the thread that leads towards Rubato's room. Until finally, finally, there is just the thread reaching from their heart to his. The wind picks up, cool and crisp, as that line fades as well. ]
I can't- . . . I can't fix him. I know that now. What I did to him can't . . . be undone. But I can give . . . him a chance to grow, heal. To . . . love and be loved before he . . . does something that can't be undone.
I . . . wish . . . that he finds friends. That he finds good people who . . . love him, and are w-worthy of his love, the way Bl- . . . the . . . the way Blue- . . .
[ They've gotten better at crying, after a few good chances to practice. They don't panic and choke, just hold tightly to his coat as they let the waves of their grief crash around and through them. ]
If you know your brother will be taken care of -- then let yourself chase your own happiness. Even if it takes time, or you don't know what that looks like yet. Don't forget that you deserve it too.
[ they chew on their reply a long moment. It had been part of their calculus, in finding the necessity of this wish: untangle their life from Nemo’s. Untangle their future from their past, their goodness from their transgression. It would be easy to tell Minuet that this had already been their plan.
But instead they reach up and put a hand on each of his cheeks, knowing that their skin is once more mammalian-warm because of what he has given them. ]
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featherduster) wrote2023-06-15 02:30 pm
Night 85, late
They’ve brought quite a few jobs tonight: knives from the kitchen, knives from the shack where the fresh game is cleaned, a few weapons they lifted from friends or team mates. Their own tools, though, have seen recent enough upkeep and infrequent enough use that it’s mostly everyone else’s blades they have decided need it.
Without a word, they spread out their kit next to him and go to work. ]
Re: Night 85, late
You're over-achieving tonight, looks like.
Re: Night 85, late
Minuet . . .
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[ when he checks, they'll still look mostly like they always have. Many to Bluebell and Lily, a few to Rose, and Daffodil, and the Weeds clubhouse. Some to the world itself: the forest where they hunt, the NPCs they worry about, the patch of red geraniums that they've still been visiting when they think he won't notice. ]
Re: Night 85, late
... It looks mostly the same as before.
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Mute?
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I . . . know my wish.
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Your brother?
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If you could . . . if you could have . . .
[ sniffs ]
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... Mmm.
But it doesn't have to be that way, for him. And you.
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I . . . wish . . . that he finds friends. That he finds good people who . . . love him, and are w-worthy of his love, the way Bl- . . . the . . . the way Blue- . . .
[ their mouth twist as their throat closes up ]
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Bluebell . . . Bluebell . . . Minuet . . .!
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It's okay.
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But instead they reach up and put a hand on each of his cheeks, knowing that their skin is once more mammalian-warm because of what he has given them. ]
Will you?
[ mutually assured self-actualization ]
Re: Night 85, late
He huffs out a watery chuckle ]
Brat.
[ But isn't it the same for him? Sitting out here with blonde hair and no scars ]
. . . I will.
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