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I need you to look into a sundries shop in the Down.
Standard rate.
I have a Statement from someone who purchased a grandfather clock from that location that's been giving them nightmares of rapid aging and death.
I'd like to know the providence of the clock and if it has any link to Insincerity.
Standard rate.
I have a Statement from someone who purchased a grandfather clock from that location that's been giving them nightmares of rapid aging and death.
I'd like to know the providence of the clock and if it has any link to Insincerity.
Edited 2021-03-24 18:43 (UTC)
It's beginning to feel like when Jar Jar got his hands on things, my love.
[ Following this. There's not a lot else he wants to do around this place. Sharkface shows up in the clothes Drake lent him fairly soon after their conversation and knocks on the door. He's got his hood up when Drake answers the door.
His smile is faint, but there. ]
Hey.
His smile is faint, but there. ]
Hey.
[There's no denying that she is a little curious after their brief conversation. It is one of the reasons that Padmé did accept, that, and she does find Drake surprisingly easy to talk to. It's taken a little time for her to make her way to the Up, but there does come a knock on his door as she waits outside of it.]
[ It doesn't take Caleb long at all to get to the location Drake had sent him. In eight months he's gotten to know the city pretty well, moving easily through the crowd while avoiding the SIN guards. The dark clothes he wears blend with the mark on his throat, making it easier for him. On some days.
Today it goes well, and he stops outside the place, looking around for someone that matches the image on the finder. ]
Today it goes well, and he stops outside the place, looking around for someone that matches the image on the finder. ]
[With Anakin gone, Padmé knows that things have changed. Obi-Wan has told her that she can still contract to his Dominant, and yet... It may well be in her head, but she would rather not be a third wheel, so to speak.
It is one of the reasons that she does reach out today. That, and she does want to check up on him.]
Hello Drake. I hope you've been doing well after all this kerfuffle that's happened?
It is one of the reasons that she does reach out today. That, and she does want to check up on him.]
Hello Drake. I hope you've been doing well after all this kerfuffle that's happened?
[ Life goes on. Sharkface finds a rhythm. Makes it work. He's got enough art supplies that even when he finishes the mural of the black cliffs, he's not at a loss for space or inspiration. Piece by piece, night by night, he fills up the sketchbook. He even breaks out a couple canvases and starts smaller pieces. Works on what he pleases.
In some ways, it's better than prison. There are restrictions, but he's not locked a cell. He can eat when he wants, so long as he can afford it. No one takes his paints away.
It could be worse. But the nightmares, oh. Those are the same.
He's sitting on his bed, pen and sketchbook in hand, when he hears the knock at the door. Majima's out. Sharkface wasn't expecting him back for a while, either. He stands with a frown, tucking the book under his arm, and blinks when he sees who's at the door. ]
Drake?
In some ways, it's better than prison. There are restrictions, but he's not locked a cell. He can eat when he wants, so long as he can afford it. No one takes his paints away.
It could be worse. But the nightmares, oh. Those are the same.
He's sitting on his bed, pen and sketchbook in hand, when he hears the knock at the door. Majima's out. Sharkface wasn't expecting him back for a while, either. He stands with a frown, tucking the book under his arm, and blinks when he sees who's at the door. ]
Drake?
we should talk. can i come over?
[ Guess who's soaking wet and knocking on Drake's doorstep. Sharkface shut himself away after shit went down on the beach, unwilling to risk company or conversation. He's come back to himself in the aftermath, though without much grace. And still the waters keep on rising, cold and filthy.
He holds the key in hand, but he knocks anyway. It feels better that way. So he's not barging straight in and making a mess on the floors uninvited. ]
He holds the key in hand, but he knocks anyway. It feels better that way. So he's not barging straight in and making a mess on the floors uninvited. ]
[ Bad decisions have been made. Ephemera manages to make it back home more or less upright, but it's a close thing. At least he hasn't been shot. But the damage is starting to stack in a way that's begun to show.
There's a lot of blood, is the thing. He's tied off his arm and snapped his nose back into place, but the rest -
He needs a shower. He might have a concussion. Fun.
He staggers through the door, manages to keep his feet. ]
Drake?
[ He sounds nothing but tired. He's got his prosthetic eye tucked away into his pocket, the socket red and raw where Felix punched it straight out of his skull. There's blood in his hair, dried in streaks down his face. ]
If you're here, don't freak out.
There's a lot of blood, is the thing. He's tied off his arm and snapped his nose back into place, but the rest -
He needs a shower. He might have a concussion. Fun.
He staggers through the door, manages to keep his feet. ]
Drake?
[ He sounds nothing but tired. He's got his prosthetic eye tucked away into his pocket, the socket red and raw where Felix punched it straight out of his skull. There's blood in his hair, dried in streaks down his face. ]
If you're here, don't freak out.
[ Ephemera comes back covered in oil and bite marks, and blood streaked all the way down his throat. Later, he'll feel the bruises settle in. No broken bones, a few bruised ribs. One of the milder beatings he's taken over the years, aside from a possible concussion. He'll deal with it later.
He shuts the door without a word and just heads for the shower. He hates how the oil feels. How it's soaked into his hair, gotten behind his prosthetic. The smell of it.
Which is, of course, when he rounds the corner and nearly runs smack into Drake. Shit.
Ephemera stares at him for a good three seconds. ]
I need to shower.
He shuts the door without a word and just heads for the shower. He hates how the oil feels. How it's soaked into his hair, gotten behind his prosthetic. The smell of it.
Which is, of course, when he rounds the corner and nearly runs smack into Drake. Shit.
Ephemera stares at him for a good three seconds. ]
I need to shower.
where are you
[ There are times when he loses himself in the painting. Locks himself away and lets the outside world die, where nothing exists but the image and what he does to make it real. In some ways, it's like fielding a drop. You compartmentalize. There's nothing but the objective and the details required to survive it. The rest becomes noise. Nothing but a nuisance. Nothing that needs to be remembered, so he doesn't.
He doesn't remember the first time he saw combat. It's gone, an old memory. All the color washed out. No point in dwelling. And he doesn't remember how he gets home after knocking York unconscious in the alley.
It happens. At some point he comes back to himself in his own room, surrounded by canvases and an empty bottle of whiskey. Fielding an awful headache.
Fuck, Ephemera thinks, and drags a hand down his face. Fucking hell.
He exhales. He's painted violent things. Nothing so straightforward as portraits. It's all abstract shit now. Eyes and half-formed faces, corpses burning. A series of three connected pieces that bridge the gap between a night sky and the aftermath of a plasma bombardment - either way, the black shine of dying things, trailed by ghosts. The only good thing is that at least he hasn't painted York. Ephemera doesn't think he could come back from that one.
He swallows, his throat dry. He's drunk enough to know he's utterly wasted, but not far gone enough to pass the fuck out.
A shame. That'd be easier.
He sways. And then he heads back out to get some water before he makes his impending hangover all the worse. He knocks on Drake's door, in the meantime. ]
'm not dead.
[ In case he was wondering. ]
He doesn't remember the first time he saw combat. It's gone, an old memory. All the color washed out. No point in dwelling. And he doesn't remember how he gets home after knocking York unconscious in the alley.
It happens. At some point he comes back to himself in his own room, surrounded by canvases and an empty bottle of whiskey. Fielding an awful headache.
Fuck, Ephemera thinks, and drags a hand down his face. Fucking hell.
He exhales. He's painted violent things. Nothing so straightforward as portraits. It's all abstract shit now. Eyes and half-formed faces, corpses burning. A series of three connected pieces that bridge the gap between a night sky and the aftermath of a plasma bombardment - either way, the black shine of dying things, trailed by ghosts. The only good thing is that at least he hasn't painted York. Ephemera doesn't think he could come back from that one.
He swallows, his throat dry. He's drunk enough to know he's utterly wasted, but not far gone enough to pass the fuck out.
A shame. That'd be easier.
He sways. And then he heads back out to get some water before he makes his impending hangover all the worse. He knocks on Drake's door, in the meantime. ]
'm not dead.
[ In case he was wondering. ]
so
funny story
funny story
I'll ask Mr. Morgan to bring you an extra heater. Please don't respond to this message, I will not read it.
[ Ephemera leans against the door to Drake’s bedroom, hefting a small cardboard box. Stuffed full of stuff. Good stuff, too. ]
So. Think I freaked somebody out when I was talking about home.
So. Think I freaked somebody out when I was talking about home.
Hey.
You owe me a drink. Still interested?
You owe me a drink. Still interested?
MEET ISAAC WESTON GATES, YOU TWO SHOULD TALK ABOUT VINCILAGNIA!
MEET SAMIL, YOU TWO SHOULD TALK ABOUT THROATFUCKING!
sooooo
i may be kinda beat up rn
and literally everyone i know is gonna judge my ass and i mean
it’s absolutely fucking earned but i’d rather like
deal w/ YOU judging me
than my girlfriend or best friend rn
[ Blunt as ever, South. At least she’s up front about her reasoning here? ]
aka do you have a first aid kit
i may be kinda beat up rn
and literally everyone i know is gonna judge my ass and i mean
it’s absolutely fucking earned but i’d rather like
deal w/ YOU judging me
than my girlfriend or best friend rn
[ Blunt as ever, South. At least she’s up front about her reasoning here? ]
aka do you have a first aid kit
[ The Monday after they return from Insincerity, Drake gets a text from Val with an image attached. In all honestly, even though things are better after Generosity, it still feels... awkward, sending this, knowing there's no way he won't be drinking at his own engagement party, but even if they weren't also inviting Ephemera it would be far more awkward in the long-run not to invite Drake, so... ]
You still want to show me some places?
[Because he's out and free and excited to see Drake now]
[Because he's out and free and excited to see Drake now]
Are you on your way to the jail right now?
[Someone sounds upset, and barely awake, and has definitely been told that he is but suddenly feels the need to verify everything that comes out of their mutual acquaintance's mouth.]
[Someone sounds upset, and barely awake, and has definitely been told that he is but suddenly feels the need to verify everything that comes out of their mutual acquaintance's mouth.]
Jesus comes in person once he's checked in with Rosita and gathered his things. By the time he reaches Drake, he's calm again, most of the jittery, irrational nerves in him are settled. Most of them.
He thinks about opening the door and reasons he'd probably be allowed but he knocks anyway.
He thinks about opening the door and reasons he'd probably be allowed but he knocks anyway.
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