lestercraft | TLV: IC Inbox

His hand moved carefully, brushing the beside with the side of his hand to get a feel for the space as he nudges it, and gives a satisfied little hum when they've got it set up.

There's a record already on it, but that's secondary to the fact Arthur can already smell the food cooking, and the smile on his face because of it. "Nat, that already smells delightful."

"Almost ready." Not soon enough, but still soon. "And the offer to hop over and hope you get to taste it is always open, John."

Nonsense. You did all the work, you get to enjoy the taste.

The left hand is going to pick out a punk album for her, but he'll keep the volume low so as not to startle Arthur.

"And what point is there in doing the work if you don't share the results?" Arthur points out with a light smile. "We're always going to offer, John. Sharing food is the most enduring acts of companionship of- of any species."

"Not tasting a few bites won't bother me." It'd be like having a stuffy nose. Temporary.

She gives a quick little smile at the choice of music.

"Come on. I'm gonna set it to simmer for a few minutes. Might as well all sit in the kitchen."

[You're just tired of hearing me sigh every meal.]

But, er-

I wasn't going to point out that the mask is broken, but the mask *is* broken. Remember?

Arthur just rolls his eyes as he moves back to the table. And then pauses when he hears the text-to-speech.

"...right. That is, er. A bit of a difficulty." He didn't realise quite how much he took John's ability to leave him for granted, until he suddenly couldn't. He makes sure he's sitting down properly before he reaches into his jacket's inside pocket to feel the mask, careful (this time) of the broken edges.

...broken edges, that. He is having difficulty finding. What.

"--w-wait, hold on a- um. John?" He grips the piece of the mask he can find and pulls it out, and the shift of his jacket certainly suggests it's whole - and when he holds it up, Nat and John will see how where the mask was split in two, there's now a thick line of bright gold holding the pieces together.

Actually, she had forgotten that, what with being so relieved he's okay and they're all together now. At least she has her back to them when John says as much, so he can't see the wince that crosses her face when he has to remind them of that.

She turns just as Arthur pulls out the mask, and stares at the gold crossing the familiar ceramic like a scar.

"It's in one piece." She draws nearer, gaze fixed on the mask, a small, amazed smile on her face. "I think-- it's healing. Like a body would. Except it's got gold, not scar tissue."

[ I feel as if that makes more sense than it doesn't, though I couldn't tell you why. ]

There's a pause before he types anything for both of them. He's-

I would guess, from the state of my mask, that I've 'revived' as any warden would. Which means-

Well, we should probably test what it means. Arthur, if you would put my mask down for the moment?

"It's poetic, if nothing else. Though somewhat heavy-handed," he comments dryly.

And part of him doesn't want to put the mask down, for the sheer uncertainty; but he's not going to hold John hostage over it. "Of course, John." So onto the table it goes.

The mask floats up and the robes are just starting to form... when it zooms over to Arthur's left arm and immediately plants itself there again.

[ Holy shit, that hurts like a motherfucker. ]

Natalie watches this happen with interest, and then the mask flies back to Arthur, and fear lances through her.

"What happened?"

He feels the phantom weight of John lift from his mind as he releases the mask -

- and then John's words, not seconds later, as the speed of the mask attaching itself tugs on his sleeve, and the abruptness of it gets a bark of surprised laughter out of Arthur before he can stop himself, clapping his hand over his mouth to try and keep the rest of it in.

"Er--" He holds his hand up for a moment, one finger extended in a brief 'wait' gesture before he can make his voice stop trembling with the force of his amusement. "I-I'm sorry, John, I'm terribly sorry-- er, Nat, to, uh- to quote, holy shit that hurt like a motherfucker."

[The hell you are. It's not funny, Arthur!]

And then there's just some murmured muttering that isn't exactly words, but there's a very irritated fractured deity kicking a pebble around his insides, for lack of a better feeling.

It's more than when you died. I wasn't expecting it.

...maybe you two just... pass the mask to one another?

"Yeah, whatever helps." She eyes the mask, the gold keeping it together. "So it's like you actually got injured. Makes sense, kind of, even though the mask isn't alive."

No no nervous system, no blood vessels, nothing that one would associate with pain.

"I'm gonna serve us stew. Then we can see if you get to taste this."

She gets up and goes to do that.

"I-" he's settling now, the laughter easing off with the admonishment, but there's still a fond glow of amusement in his tone. "Of course it's more than when I've ever died, John, I don't believe you've ever felt those yourself, not physically. Perhaps the, er- our being shot here, or our finger in the Dreamlands might be better for comparison."

But since he hears Natalie leave the table, he makes no effort to move the mask away, just lifting his hand to drape on it idly, like he's stroking a spooked cat.

It's a strange thing, how he feels things through his mask. It's always more when it's Arthur, though. And this is... strangely sweet. It makes him think of Arthur playing piano, of the songs on the album he was given for Christmas. One of them drifts into his mind, distracting in a pleasant sort of way, before he shakes it off.

[ I was actually talking about Natalie. When she woke up from dying, I took her sense of touch and with it, some of the pain. ]

He doesn't talk about or think about the times Arthur has 'died' for the same reason he doesn't often talk about the specifics of the Dark World.

I feel it when you stub our toes. Or our arm gets cut.

She comes back with two bowls of beef stew, gets spoons and cloth napkins, and sits across from Arthur again.

"Ready when you guys are."

She doesn't mind not getting the first taste of it. There's plenty to go around, and there will be leftovers.

"Right then. John?"

He lingers for a moment, though; tracing along the strange gold line, feeling the cool, contrasting texture of the metal on the ceramic mask, before he hooks his fingers under its chin with a firm grip to hold it out for Natalie to take.

[ I can stay with her a little even if I don't get her sense of taste. ]

Give Arthur a little rest in holding onto him. Make it more of a choice now that it is.

When Natalie takes the mask, though, he does get her sense of taste. Also her left foot and her right leg.

Natalie will then hear-

[ I think I'm getting a better handle on picking the sense. Nothing for the rest, though. Which makes sense. ]

It's starting to become familiar, the sensation of John sliding into her and settling in with the few parts of her he gets. The randomness is still kind of weird, but only until she figures out what limb and extremity he ends up with.

"Long as it makes sense to you, that's what matters." Because it doesn't make any more sense to her now than the first time.

Anyway. You ready for this? She fills a spoon with stew, making sure to get at least a carrot in there with the meat and thick brith, and has the spoonful. It's really fucking weird not to taste what she can smell, but it's really fucking nice to know that John can taste it.

Edited (format lolol) 2023-01-13 02:26 (UTC)

It's strange, being on the outside when John is possessing someone else and talking to them. It was hard to envision the empty portions of the conversation other people experienced, when John was so often with him, but he's starting to get a sense for the awkwardness of it.

It doesn't bother him, particularly. It's just unusual.

He's also got better things to focus on, when he finds the bowl with his hand, and makes sure to pull it close to avoid making a mess. But even the first mouthful gets a pleased hum from him, so congrats Nat! Lester Approved!

John gets a taste of the soup, and he'll hear a very pleased little rumbling from him.

[Oh Natalie... that is lovely. The sweetness from the carrots balances the savory flavors from the meat perfectly. You've gotten better with adding the right amount of salt; the salt makes the potatoes sing, and the texture of the stew liquid is perfect: the way it lingers and coats the mouth, providing a lovely texture to the whole thing. Which herbs did you use for seasoning? I can taste the thyme and some of the bay leaves but the rest are so well integrated, all I can say is that it's delicious.]

A month ago, she would've actively resisted the way that praise makes her feel. But now, after all that's happened, she's actually comfortable around them.

So she doesn't fight it. She lets herself smile and feel the kind of quiet joy of being recognized as being good at something, something she hasn't felt for decades.

"Rosemary," she says once she's swallowed the mouthful. "Bit of oregano. Garlic." She looks at Arthur as he savors his own bowl of stew. "Sounds like Arthur likes it too."

He holds a finger up briefly as his hand covers his mouth, because of course he has a mouthful of food just as Nat refers to him, and when he swallows there's a broad smile on his face.

(And John will know the glow of contentment that comes with that specific smile, the fondness and warmth associated with it from the inside.)

"I can hardly say I've got particularly exacting standards for food, but this is delicious, Nat," he says. "You've gotten remarkably good at your flavouring."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject