[Alas, as a human he actually has to sleep these days, so the text wakes him up. Henry squints at his screen, but to his credit, it doesn't take long to reply.]
Maybe no one expected you to die so quickly. You just got here.
[Burden, huh? Henry's only ever gotten perfectly harmless ones, but he supposes it was a matter of time before someone on Pride... did not.
Well. He can ask more questions later.]
Pleasant. On my way. Hang tight.
[Not that he has a choice.
Give him a bit. He's going to make his way over to the morgue, and when he arrives he opens up the mortuary cabinet that is presumably making some noise. It slides open with a metallic creak.
[ He sure is in there. It's probably a very big drawer to accommodate his stupid proportions. He blinks a couple of times, squinting. Blue sparks run up the side of his head. ]
[ there's little in the way of rest at Pride, tonight—at least not for Sprezzatura Vaux. what a cruel mistress, sleep... always so cold to her on those nights she longs for her most.
but once the house has fallen silent, and she's truly, truly sure...
she finds herself in Henry's doorway; frozen in Henry's doorway. blue light spills in through the window and bathes the room. her heart throbs painfully in her fingers, ears, throat.
she can't tell from here without her glasses... if he's truly, deeply, asleep. ]
He’s been in bed even before he regained his human body, having hopped up here as a baby demogorgon, burying himself into the blankets, and stubbornly going to sleep. He was so worn, so exhausted, his mind filled with unkind thoughts. Sleep is rarely an escape for Henry, but after that wretched game… it was a necessity.
And maybe his transformation mid-sleep is the reason why his sheets seem tangled and lopsided, but at least it affords her a clear view in the pale light. Lying on his side, breathing deeply in only the way a man deep under the thrall of dreams can. At least the transformation back was nice enough to put him in his night clothes, too.
It’s going to take a little more than her standing in his doorway to wake him up.]
and for a few minutes, at least, she tells herself (tells herself tells herself tells herself) that this will be enough. he's alive. the game is done. the seams of her shoulders still ooze and throb, Aventurine's taste lingers on her tongue, and she can still feel Henry going down--but it is done. there will be no more.
so just seeing him there should be enough.
it's not enough.
her body moves again. she peels the twisted sheets gently down and, after a few more hesitating moments, settles in the empty spot behind his turned back. she curls in very tight, knees to her chest... forehead barely touched to his nape. ]
[He doesn’t even so much as stir as she slips into the bed with him, not when she pulls and adjusts at the sheets when she settles behind with her legs curled up. Even when her forehead brushes against his nape, he keeps sleeping.
It’s only a few more moments, when the warmth emanates nearby from her body, a sensation that is pleasant but too instinctive to be leery of, his body too used to being changed, that he’s drawn back into wakefulness.
Bleary wakefulness. The realization that he has human limbs now — human senses. Something pressed into the mattress beside him, the faint scent of sulfur. That telltale heat.
[ her eyes aren't quite closed—heavy-lidded, that's all. she sees the way he stirs and hears the breath he takes and knows she's made another in a string of idiotic decisions.
[ and a racing heartbeat. she lays her hand atop his offered palm, fingers curling and squeezing as if to say, happily. all the better to leave behind the overwhelming perfume and atrocious, tinny music of this shop. she'll come back if she has to, but for now... a far more satisfying morning awaits.
He squeezes her hand, too, which has become habit by now. Back to Pride, then down the hall to his room. The door swings open and he leads her in.
As expected, just like before, it is very neat in here. Everything in its place — not that there’s much to his name. A few books from the library, his sketchbook on the dresser. A spa gift basket next to that. A pack of tarot cards! An impeccably well-made bed.]
[SHE SURVIVED FOR ONE WHOLE HOUR AND I’M SURE HENRY DIDN’T TEASE HER EVEN ONCE THE WHOLE WAY—
He smiles, and of course, predictably, moves to sit beside her. The tubes of lipstick are placed between them, and they roll towards and away depending on where they both make dips in the mattress.
His door closes and locks with one more use of his powers.]
Perfect. So… you definitely picked more than a few. [His turn to pick one up and waggle it at her.] Where to start?
Behold Henry Creel’s room (she’s seen it before): all neatness and organization. A made bed. A stack of books on his desk, a closed sketchbook. A spa gift basket that has little use, now that they have an upgraded bathroom. A closet with a closed door — but have no doubt all of his clothes are hanging neatly within. On the other end of the room, a small project: a vivarium in the making.]
No need to stand on ceremony here. The bed’s all yours.
text; night 30 so late it's pretty much morning 31
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Maybe no one expected you to die so quickly. You just got here.
[Vox??????]
Is this your way of telling me you need a pickup?
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yes
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Well. He can ask more questions later.]
Pleasant.
On my way. Hang tight.
[Not that he has a choice.
Give him a bit. He's going to make his way over to the morgue, and when he arrives he opens up the mortuary cabinet that is presumably making some noise. It slides open with a metallic creak.
ya in there buddy]
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[ He sure is in there. It's probably a very big drawer to accommodate his stupid proportions. He blinks a couple of times, squinting. Blue sparks run up the side of his head. ]
About time.
[ He means "thanks." ]
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the wee hours of 36
but once the house has fallen silent, and she's truly, truly sure...
she finds herself in Henry's doorway; frozen in Henry's doorway. blue light spills in through the window and bathes the room. her heart throbs painfully in her fingers, ears, throat.
she can't tell from here without her glasses... if he's truly, deeply, asleep. ]
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He’s been in bed even before he regained his human body, having hopped up here as a baby demogorgon, burying himself into the blankets, and stubbornly going to sleep. He was so worn, so exhausted, his mind filled with unkind thoughts. Sleep is rarely an escape for Henry, but after that wretched game… it was a necessity.
And maybe his transformation mid-sleep is the reason why his sheets seem tangled and lopsided, but at least it affords her a clear view in the pale light. Lying on his side, breathing deeply in only the way a man deep under the thrall of dreams can. At least the transformation back was nice enough to put him in his night clothes, too.
It’s going to take a little more than her standing in his doorway to wake him up.]
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and for a few minutes, at least, she tells herself (tells herself tells herself tells herself) that this will be enough. he's alive. the game is done. the seams of her shoulders still ooze and throb, Aventurine's taste lingers on her tongue, and she can still feel Henry going down--but it is done. there will be no more.
so just seeing him there should be enough.
it's not enough.
her body moves again. she peels the twisted sheets gently down and, after a few more hesitating moments, settles in the empty spot behind his turned back. she curls in very tight, knees to her chest... forehead barely touched to his nape. ]
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It’s only a few more moments, when the warmth emanates nearby from her body, a sensation that is pleasant but too instinctive to be leery of, his body too used to being changed, that he’s drawn back into wakefulness.
Bleary wakefulness. The realization that he has human limbs now — human senses. Something pressed into the mattress beside him, the faint scent of sulfur. That telltale heat.
What? What’s happening, is that—]
Sprezzatura… is that you?
[What? What what what]
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murmurs, sound but no words. ]
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/3
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1/2
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I see. But not always. I’ll be an exception today. So…
[Offers her a hand, more excess tubes being picked up by that invisible force.]
Come to my boudoir, Ms Vaux. We’ll find the perfect color for you yet.
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[ and a racing heartbeat. she lays her hand atop his offered palm, fingers curling and squeezing as if to say, happily. all the better to leave behind the overwhelming perfume and atrocious, tinny music of this shop. she'll come back if she has to, but for now... a far more satisfying morning awaits.
snatches a bottle of hair oil as they pass it. ]
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He squeezes her hand, too, which has become habit by now. Back to Pride, then down the hall to his room. The door swings open and he leads her in.
As expected, just like before, it is very neat in here. Everything in its place — not that there’s much to his name. A few books from the library, his sketchbook on the dresser. A spa gift basket next to that. A pack of tarot cards! An impeccably well-made bed.]
Sit wherever you like.
[…her options are limited to: the bed. :) ]
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crossing her legs at the ankles, the picture of refined elegance ]
How about here?
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He smiles, and of course, predictably, moves to sit beside her. The tubes of lipstick are placed between them, and they roll towards and away depending on where they both make dips in the mattress.
His door closes and locks with one more use of his powers.]
Perfect. So… you definitely picked more than a few. [His turn to pick one up and waggle it at her.] Where to start?
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we should have put an nsfw warning on this like 5 tags ago
........ oops
IT'S FINE no one look
😳
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Day 39;
Ruby: you like spiders
Ruby: i like skincare
Ruby: how do you feel about skincare that attracts spiders
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Henry: Are you saying that this is something that actually exists?
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Ruby: i already picked up a jar for you!!!
Ruby: a bunch of articles said it had spider pheromones or whatever in it
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[Clearly a normal reply.]
Henry: You should hang around to see the results, too.
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Ruby: i will but only because it's you
Ruby: i'll bring it over!
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[Once they arrive, he opens the door for her.]
In you go.
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Behold Henry Creel’s room (she’s seen it before): all neatness and organization. A made bed. A stack of books on his desk, a closed sketchbook. A spa gift basket that has little use, now that they have an upgraded bathroom. A closet with a closed door — but have no doubt all of his clothes are hanging neatly within. On the other end of the room, a small project: a vivarium in the making.]
No need to stand on ceremony here. The bed’s all yours.
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What have you here?
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real tag
crying
🤡
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