SPRING BREEAKKKKK;

[howtheyshine]

He's in the dark. He's in the dark again. A pocket of alive-darkness that he can feel the edges of, he can feel the void that waits.

Well hello there, Yellowhead. We haven't been formally introduced. I'm....

Call me Carmichael.

The laugh that bubbles through the name makes Yellow's soul creep.

You're Kayne.

A silence ripples outward from the nothing-space the voice takes up, a silence deeper than the emptiness of John's unoccupied body. Yel-- Edwin, Edwin curls in on himself, tightening into a tiny knot of spectral energy.

He said the wrong thing, he said the wrong thing, he's going to get hurt--

And how, my little poppet, did you know that.

I-I...

Actually. Know what? Doesn't matter. Sorry to pull the plug on that little experiment so abruptly, but see, I made a deal with your better half--

John!

He can't stop himself. He realizes how stupid the flare of hope is a moment later, when that oppressive empty cold bleak dead cold silent dark silent dark comes creeping back up between him and the voice of Kayne.

I made a deal with him to get him back to Arthur, which means you needed to clear the way.

Of course, I can't be bothered to babysit you.

So you've got a couple of options, here, kid.

Well, two. Which is more like one. Unless you want to go back to the Dark World, in which case--

No-- No, please, I don't care what you want, I'll do it, just--

Okay, okay, Jeeee-sus, stop groveling. It took John a few good centuries to get to that point.

Yellow goes quiet, cowed.

There's this guy I want you to meet. He's like the worst version of Arthur got all the color sucked out of it and given eternal life.

Wh... What?

Well, technically you did meet him. I guess now he gets a chance to meet you, since he's so fucking eager to lick the feet of a god.

The unhinged laughter rings in Yel-- Edwin, Edwin, Edwin's ears as he feels the world get abruptly smaller and his senses get stripped back to shadows.

Comments

[lestercraft]

It's hardly Larson's fault that he passed out. He'd watched Arthur Lester get dragged across his dining room floor raving like a lunatic about John, gave the gesture to Jack and taken no small pleasure in watching his boy's ham-sized fist slam into Arthur's face and shut him up, and drop him like a limp rag doll into the pit.

He'd survive the fall. Probably. If he didn't, at least he wouldn't have to feed his damn pet for a while.

He'd turned to walk away, back to his seat so he could finish eating - they'd already prepared the meal, it'd be a shame to waste it - when his ears had suddenly started ringing, the world spun as he swayed...

...and when he comes to, he's being carried in the arms of his boy, cradled to Jack's chest with his glasses askew and a migraine that sizzles behind his eyes like a force against his skull, and it throbs as he presses the heel of his palm into his eyes.

"Put me down, Jack," he grunts, and with more care than anyone might expect from his brutish-looking son, Larson is put down and supported with a hand on his shoulder, until he can stand on his own two feet, straightening his glasses and then the rest of his expensive suit. "What in the hell was that...?"

FOR JOHN....?

[howtheyshine]

Larson is asleep. Even in the quiet dark, the wall he made is still in place. It would be impressive if it didn't make Yellow feel so trapped. He's left with his imagination alone to create the room around them, left to repeat poems to himself in silent mantra to try and make the time go faster.

Except somewhere in the middle of “Hope” is the thing with feathers he can't take it any more.

He calls his brother. He tries. With everything in him, as silently as he can.

John!

[howtheyshine]

I want to get to love you, John said.

(“Hope” is the thing with feathers -)

He experiments while Larson is unconscious, sinks him deeper into sleep the same way he drove off the headache. That doesn't take access to Larson's mind--sleep is a thing the body does, with or without dreams.

But it's something he can't stop Larson from waking out of, either. Not unless, maybe, Larson doesn't want to wake up. Or it doesn't occur to him to try. Edwin is terrified, uncertain, and clumsy at first, but he weaves Larson dreams he won't want to leave. He can't get past Larson's wall, maybe, but he can make a siren song of adoration that can lure Larson through it. Simple at first, basic feelings, half-formed images, but... but it works. It works, he can feel the inkling of Larson's consciousness, and he finds those threads and pulls to draw him in.

[howtheyshine]

Larson is asleep again, finally. Larson is asleep, and Yellow is exhausted from anxiety and enervated from use of powers he barely understands. Can't properly use without direction.

If John has tried to reach out to him, he's ignored it, too paranoid about Larson listening in somehow.

But Larson is asleep, and Yellow might not dare influence that again, but he needs to tell his brother something important.

There's no hiding his fatigue, but he can at least hide, he hopes, the way the day's work left him feeling stretched thin in places. Like bits of him are going to come away and disappear if he's not careful, pieces squeezed out and used up.

With no preamble, no hello:

Larson hired someone to kill you. To kill Arthur I mean. Because of Jack--Uncle. Probably also because of the creature in the caves. But more because of Uncle.

[howtheyshine]

When he reaches for John this time, there's no hiding the way his presence feels... sick. Worn through, diaphanous as a rag that's been used until it starts to come unspun.

I can't talk to you again after this. Not--

He made me bring something here that can hear me. Us. That can speak using the human it attaches itself to. If I... It will hear. It will tell him everything.

RescAUe

[deuceoftears]

There are multiple reasons, he muses, not to burn the place to the ground. Edwin might need a living host. There might be prisoners. He double-checks the compass lens - yes, the trace of the barge's ripples in this spacetime is emanating from inside this building, not something beyond it, or some tunnels in the mountains themselves, which is a relief. Jedao does them the courtesy of knocking, once, before he opens the lock mechanism from the inside.