⇒ 82

[ofhope]

[ This is playing in the background while he writes. Even without any lyrics, he doesn't feel like talking over the music right now. It had taken a bit to figure it out after being unable to find him; hurrying to the castle to check and now back...

The music seems to echo even more than before, taking on a somewhat creepy undertone. One by one, they've all gone. ]

Zelman Clock has returned to [ Hm. Oblivion? Strike that. ] left. There's nobody here now that he would have wanted to say goodbye to, so don't bother missing him. But he doesn't belong on the list with the rest of Paradisa's rejected souls. He never did.

[ The music fades into static, and Joshua can be heard muttering the last words. ]

Quiet. You did promise.

later; [Lucrezia's Room]

[ It had started as a filter, with him trying to will her to wake up. But of course, he realizes how ridiculous it is to try and wake someone up through their journal. Sure they'll sometimes slip open, but when was it ever convenient?

Making the actual trip feels tedious when it shouldn't, not for him, and it makes him feel even more entitled when he just turns the door knob until the lock breaks rather soundly (what a mortal creation), letting him enter her room at his leisure. Joshua's aware that both Uru and Cesare might be awake and able to hear (the paranoia never leaves, not even when comfortable), so he doesn't turn on the light or make any sound, but the moon is still bright from the recent harvest moon.

The illuminated angel tucked under her covers seems to draw about so many protective gazes. Even his, for reasons that nobody else could understand. Only she seems to, and still she abuses it.

As they all do.

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Joshua nearly leaning across her with one hand propped against the mattress, he's reminded of a fairy tale when peering down at her. He starts to say her name, but remembers another fairy tale.

Ducking down, the prince touches his lips gently to the princess's forehead. Wake up. ]

Comments

Joshua

[mors]

[Ryoji doesn't sound in the least surprised, though perhaps a bit unhappy. His general cheer, at least, is obviously nowhere to be found.]

You're late.

Death

[ofhope]

[ Because learning new names is hard. Things are weird. ]

I just saw him yesterday. Unless I was dreaming... [ His voice is distant; small. Clarity is not his strong point right now, if that wasn't already obvious. ]

Joshua

[mors]

[He pauses at the filter name, though only slightly. It's a little surreal, though it shouldn't be.]

You weren't.

[Unlike usual, he doesn't really have the words right now. There are no words that could possibly fit into the hole that remained here, where Zelman had been.]

A dream wouldn't be anything like him. [There was nothing like Zelman, not even an imitation.]

Death

[ofhope]

I only dream in the day, anyway. Not his favorite time.

[ ... ]

Now there's too much Coca-Cola in the fridge.

Joshua

[mors]

No, it wasn't.

[A moment of silence, before he decides to scrap the journal thing. He closes it, and the moment he does Ryoji appears out of nowhere in the room that Joshua is in, still tucking the journal into the pocket of his pants.]

[payback]

Wow, really...

[ofhope]

[ Oh even worse...mood ruiner...thinger... ]

Come to gloat?

[payback]

Sure. Good riddance to him.

[ofhope]

Do it elsewhere, miss.

[payback]

Don't tell me you're not used to this by now. [Leaving tho.]

action forever!

[heloise]

[ A sleep such as hers would be a hard-won luxury in Rome, precariously kept. No one should be able to sleep so deeply, undisturbed even when the intruder breaks her lock, when enemies lurk in every city corner with weapons drawn to bring down the Spanish Pope.

But her armor is made of stronger stuff than doors and bolts and blades.

Lucrezia barely stirs from the new weight on her bed. Keeping those protective gazes means she must tolerate late-night visits to quell their concern, though the kiss has her drawing a deep breath and shifting closer toward the intruder. Her brother, surely. Who else could it be? ]

[ofhope]

[ Joshua draws away when she moves closer, though, leaning back and resting his hand on her leg (well, the blanket). And one would accuse Joshua of being a hard sleeper when he's truly comfortable. This would still be impressive, if his thoughts could make any sort of linear sense like that.

His voice is low; barely a whisper. ]

You are your own worst enemy.

[heloise]

[ Lucrezia knows someone is watching her, somewhere between sleep and waking, only she is loath to leave her deepest slumber when it would only bring back all the unpleasant feelings, the frustrating thoughts. She sighs slowly, holding her blanket tighter before attempting to open her eyes, barely enough to see anything.

Even the moon seems too bright and her voice is hoarse from hours of disuse. ]

Cesare?

[ofhope]

[ There's no answer immediately, giving her eyes time to adjust and her senses to gather. ]

No.

Dictated forever

[mal_addict]

[There's a part of her that's sad. Zelman was a jackass and pretty irredeemable in almost every way. But still, even if he was...pretty much everything she hated in other vampires (and as such the person she was once herself) she knows she'll miss him. And that's just SAD]

...Well. That's that, then.

[She almost asks Joshua how he's coming with this, but she knows she probably won't like the answer]

Dictated forever

[ofhope]

That.

[ Legato left. Zelman left. ERRONE'S HAVING A PARTY... ]

It is what people make of it.

[mal_addict]

[Why are all you ex prisoners leaving? She LIKED you guys :<]

I suppose so.

...


Holding up okay?

[ofhope]

Worried I might do something drastic?

dictated;

[workaphilic]

Pity.

[It's said more at the words on the page than to them. One more off the list of worthwhile people to talk to.]

dictated;

[ofhope]

[ That should be sarcasm or something but Joshua is't hearing it. Then again, he's not at his most lucid today, either. ]

He would hate pity. Even in his absence.

Re: dictated;

[workaphilic]

Lucky he won't be hearing it, then.

dictated;

[ofhope]

No.

[ Just trying to figure out this angle. Zelman didn't have friends. Except perhaps for Langley... ]

Who are you?

[inafadingcrown]

No. He never did. Whatever else might be said of him, Zelman is rather singular. [Huh. They weren't friends, certainly. They were both well aware that they were playing on opposite sides of the chessboard. But it's strange to see him go, all the same.]

[ofhope]

Of his own making.

[inafadingcrown]

Yes. That is fitting, I think. For good or ill, he is that.