vecna | ☣️ midwestern mayhem inbox.

[ but she wasn't allowed to be afraid, because she held that branch. she wasn't allowed to choose how, because in the end, she was still eaten. the way she's obsessing over that, those small minute details that make her feel like her decision was bastardized... isn't entirely fair, but it's the only way she can rationalize the pain she's in. if she did have full control, then why does it still feel this way? ]

This all feels like nightmares I can't wake myself from.

[He knows they took part of that agency away. But he's not even thought that Vil's kindness could seem as though she, too, was not allowed to choose to keep her fear. Maybe he'll see that eventually, as well.

Nightmares that she can't wake from. In the early days in the lab, he felt like that all the time. Wanting an escape but finding none. He would have done anything to have someone close to him like tonight.]

So what can we do? To make ourselves feel better tonight, to keep the nightmares at bay for just a few hours? Tell me, and I'll do it for you. Anything.

[ crawls off him on shaky limbs, on the opposite side this time so she's on the furthest side of the bed from the door. Henry in between.

the tears have dried up as fast as they came. ]

Just let me rest here.

[Almost as though he’s keeping her partitioned in his own room. He doesn’t mind it.]

You can stay here as long as you want.

[Lifts up his sheets so she can tuck herself beneath them if she likes.]

Let me lie close to you?

[Just let him be near, if he can do nothing else.]

[ she doesn't want to be beneath the sheets, so just shakes her head and tucks them down around her back as she once more curls down on her side, like an old dog seeking somewhere to rest. ]

Do what you like...

[He looks at her, still aching for how much she hurts and how little he can do to help. Hates how he felt like he was better at this when he was younger, and so was she.

...

For some reason, he recalls Wrench telling him to keep trying. "Keep being weird." Well. What better time than now?]

[Henry grabs two tiny items from off his dresser, groping a little in the dark for them. He then turns around and ushers the blanket at the foot of the bed—having been nearly kicked off when he transformed from tiny demogorgon to human—to rise and lift. It hovers over them with his telekinesis as he lies on his side, facing her, encasing them like a little tent. A secret place.

Click. A tiny light comes on. It's a worm light from their hard-won sewing kit; made to attach to a sewing machine, but he's simply stolen it away for his own purposes. The second item is held in his palm, obscured. Hard to tell what it is, but it seems rectangular.]

Hey. Let me share a secret of mine before you try to sleep.

[ she is so, so wearied that whatever he's doing first prompts this overwhelming sense of exhaustion, I don't have the energy for this, but it does carry also the sense of secrets shared. innocence. it certainly makes her feel more childlike.

her dark, lambent eyes slide down from the light--in which Henry can make out the rare ring of her irisis amongst all the violet black--to the item held in his hand. ]

I like secrets.

[A little bit of interest. It's the best he could hope for. He smiles, faint, but the way one does when they are about to share a secret.

Of a sort.]

I don't let many people know this, but I'm...

[He sets the item down between them, then fans it by drawing his palm languidly over its top. The shape of them is unmistakable -- it's a pack of tarot cards, spread slightly, face-down.]

...a renowned fortune-teller in my world. [His "secret" is just a bit of childlike fun. Something to distract her, maybe to ease even slightly her pain.] Every future I predict is fated to come true. And I sense good things for you, Sprezzatura, even now. Pinpricks of light in the mire.

[He meets her eyes. Hers are so dark, always so deep.]

Why don't we see what the cards have to say for you? Three is enough to divine plenty.

[ ah, so it's all a joke. but, still, what a gentle joke it is.

maybe, in another life... this could have been real. Henry Creel, the seer, for whom life in a cold, sterile box would never have been.

smiles, too, equally faint. ]

Why not.

[Oh. A smile. Maybe he should have started with this instead, something lighthearted and easy. The simple pleasure of being in someone’s company, a mindless activity for fun. He’s a fool; but he’s glad to see her lips take that shape all the same.]

Okay, let’s begin. Just a little bit of focus, and…

[His powers slowly pull out a card at random and flips it over. It’s The Magician.]

The Magician. This is a card of potential — which I think suits you pretty well. You’ll gain the means and energy to see your desires through to the very end, to learn and grow. That’s a boon in a place like this. Despite the all of the pain and darkness, the trials and tribulations only make you grow stronger. You’ll learn to take control, able to make change happen via your willpower… and your own physical efforts. The passage of time grants you knowledge; studious as you are, that’ll always translate into strength.

Not a bad start, right? Maybe this card should be called “The Wizard.”

[Heh.]

[ all very easy to say ]

You pick that one on purpose.

[Wow. He huffs, amused.]

I didn’t, I promise. It really is fate trying to tell you something. I am a famous diviner, after all.

I have never heard of you. [ she lifts one hand to tuck her hair behind her ear; a gesture which belies how she wants him to continue. ] Go on.

Tough crowd, Sprezzatura.

[He chuckles but continues as told. Another card slides out and flips over — it’s The Lovers.]

This one, The Lovers… [Henry pauses, running his finger gently across the design.] …This one represents connection. Nothing hidden from each other; the true self exposed, and the strength of a bond that comes from it. I think being on Pride has already proven this card’s presence in your life. Our team’s an easy representation. And…

[Ah, he only thinks of little Henry and little Sapione. Hearts exposed to each other, the desire to protect, hands linked together.

Maybe that much doesn’t need to be said.]

It’s the kind of connection that grants a different type of strength. It guarantees that you’ll always be supported if you find balance in those you surround yourself with. It sounds to me like we will always be there for you, no matter what. Through the good… and the bad.

Never alone.

[He smiles, then looks up at her again. Only one more.]

Edited 2024-06-19 04:35 (UTC)

[ his gaze raises, but hers is downcast; inspecting the pattern of the card. the lovers... a powerful sense of connection... that couldn't feel further from the reality, and now she's certain he's picking them with deliberation and trying to soothe her damaged ego. to unmake the harm of the game, which left her so completely unmade.

but she's still hiding herself, and she doesn't intend to stop. people who have never heard of Teaferth don't deserve to know.

a gentle sigh. ]

And for my last...?

[He doesn't expect her to take to the idea so quickly. It's the epitome of vulnerable, of baring yourself so completely to another person, even to someone who hasn't anything to keep guarded. Henry's a special case. Henry's always wanted that, more than anything.

Nothing to do but to let the fortune settle in her, and move along. The final card takes its place next to the other two, flipping over, and yes, it's at random. Even if narratively it isn't. It’s The Tower.

His expression tinges with satisfaction in the little burst of light within their makeshift “tent.” Henry’s learned he likes this one; he’s glad she gets to see it, too.]

And this is the Tower, a symbol of cataclysmic change. The whole world upending, sometimes violently, to make way for something new. Everything crumbling and shattering, leaving nothing untouched.

Some fall from their high tower, losing everything they ever had in the upheaval. But then there’s the lightning bolt itself—

[He taps that jagged lightning strike.]

That’s you. Bolstered by the other cards, you strike down prison walls. You make the people running Shadowpeaks topple. You make them pay, and their world will never be the same.

[Yes, this is a very good card.]

And you can take that change with you. Apply it to anyone who’s ever wronged you, and they’ll suffer for it. All of them falling down… one by one. They can’t do a thing to stop it.

[ she's the lightning bolt. she's the woman falling from her tower. she's more than the world is ready for.

now Sprezzatura reaches forward, pressing her fingertips down on the card, and fans them all together: her fortune, fated to come true. Henry Creel said so. ]

That's... good. [ low, nearly choked. ] I must be...

[ the most fortunate tiefling alive. but she doesn't say that, because she's surging forward and fitting their lips together fervently, scattering the cards as she closes that space. ]

[He doesn’t expect a kiss. When she surges forward to meet him, and their lips crash into each other, he feels just as caught off-guard as the first time this ever happened — but all the same, it takes a half-second at most for all the other emotions to catch up and collide into him with dizzying force.

Warm. Electric. A tingling buzz all up and down every nerve-ending, and his heart beating all the way up into his throat. This— this is the kind of thing that sparks changes in Henry Creel, shifting his world’s axis to lean incrementally closer in her direction. This is his little lingering hope given even more encouragement. This is that remnant of "happiness" he mentioned, the real part still living inside of him, brought to the forefront again.

After all, it’s very hard to misread intent in a kiss.

When his thoughts snap back into his place after having flown away in myriad directions, Henry manages to close his eyes and nudge forward, kissing her back. A little clumsy, but soft, and eager. The tarot cards have gone askew, and their mini-light tips over to shine directly above them, but it’s the last thing he’s worried about right now.]

[ a kiss. her mouth parted and sliding to fit in the dips and swells of Henry's lips, oh, she has wondered now and then how they would feel. just... like this, moulding to the shape of each other, warm and damp. they're soft. she'd imagined they would be. the kiss feels pillowing; makes her heart beat fast.

scrapes her fingers up his nape and clutches into his hair. this is not a slow kiss, not a strictly tender one. met by his eagerness, she meets him in kind. little breathy sound. relief. her teeth tugging and plucking at his lower lip. she is so exhausted, but she wants this, badly. ]

[They’re both worn, though once rational thought filters back into his brain, Henry’s certain he’s not going to be able to fall asleep again for a while yet. He feels alight, absolutely buzzing. She meets him with the same eagerness, and her lips are so soft, fitting perfectly against his own.

His pulse feels like it exists everywhere. Ears, neck, wrist, even his fingertips as a hand slips to move behind her back and press in near. Close. Close is nice.

She tugs at his hair, tugs at the bottom of his lip. He’s never been kissed like this before, and he gives her a low moan that might be more embarrassing if he were anyone other than Henry Creel. He presses his mouth closer to her again, and his words are clumsy still because of it.]

Ms Vaux approves?

[best fortune he’s ever told]

Yes. [ breathy, hurried; she doesn't want to stop kissing for anything, in case the exhaustion sweeps in to ruin it. her limbs are already so heavy... ] Open your mouth.

[ let her in!! ]

[😳🫡 yes ma'am

Parts his mouth for her, only to realize belatedly that she might want more room for her tongue — her very long and very tapered tongue.

His cheeks flush a little, hard to see in the lopsided lighting, but he's definitely warming up by a few degrees just thinking about it slipping inside.]

[ why imagine when he can experience? her eagerness surges anew when his lips open; yes, yes, this is what her mouth is meant for. to kiss and please. tucks the very tapered tip of it between his lips, sighing out in sweet relief, and squeezes herself closer.

this feels right. feels good. so much better than anything else today. ]

My hair...

[ tug on it. is that even clear? does it matter? ]

[It's not clear, but he can guess at a halfway point: he draws his hand up almost mindlessly—it's hard to focus on anything other than the molten heat of her tongue slipping between his lips—and threads his fingers through her hair. His hand curls, knuckles against her scalp. It's not a forceful gesture, but the way he catches strands of her hair in his grip probably gives her the little tug she wants to feel.

Meanwhile, his tongue nudges up against the underside of hers, seeking. Henry shifts his body closer, wanting to seam up right next to her, to take advantage of every place where they could touch; rip his tarot cards. But he can sort them out later.]

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