[ After sending Four scores of texts; calling him half a dozen times; and knocking on his door repeatedly like -- not to put too fine a point on it -- an absolute fucking loser, Elan concludes the following: Either Four's grown a spine made of steel -- wow, how golem-like! -- or he's genuinely incapacitated. Neither possibility bodes well for Elan. And given that Four seemed especially susceptible to the so-called benefits of imprinted partnership, the latter's more likely -- and that gives Elan pause. Why would Four get into trouble? What trouble? Aren't their natural souls supposed to step in when shit's looking dire... ? Four's death wish and total lack of a will to life aside, he sure did show a will to survive (i.e., to win) his mobile suit duels...
Well, whatever. Elan's got bigger fish to fry -- or, more accurately, tech to triturate. Chances are high Five will be much more precious about giving Elan his Syntrofos, but Elan's sure he'll be able to improvise something. He just has to find Five first. ]
Where are you?
[ Then, suspecting Five will leave him on read, Elan adds, ]
"Enhanced Person No. 4" isn't in his room or picking up his phone.
[Gee, why wouldn't Four be picking up??? Mysterious mysteries! Mysterious mysteries that Five absolutely has the answer to, and is absolutely not about to provide... To anyone, generally, but ESPECIALLY not to the Original.
Five just really hasn't been himself (lol) since the incident, and now he's even less himself after returning from his first ~mandatory check-in~ and injection treatment with Patho-Gen. He has nowhere to go, no will to do anything other than curl up on the couch, with the fan at the end of his long tail swept up to cover his face.
He doesn't want to talk to anyone. He doesn't want to explain. Hell, he's seriously contemplating just going beyond the city barrier and disappearing into the woods for a while. That would be FAR preferable, over having to face Aether, or Momo, or him.
So yeah. Elan doesn't get any response. Not to the first message, or the second, or any message he sends after that. It only takes about four repeated texts/calls before Five picks up his syntrofos, annnnnd chucks it indiscriminately across the room so he doesn't have to listen to it buzz anymore.
Mind you: he has bird hearing, so. This doesn't actually help. He grabs one of the couch pillows and tries to smother himself with it instead, letting out a muffled yell of frustration into its fluffy interior.]
[Jamil has Not felt bad for Five ever since they brought him back drugged to the gills from Patho-Gen. He never again brought up the prospect of kicking him out, because he can now admit that was a little much, but he absolutely refuses to feel sympathy for the guy, purely because he is allergic to the idea.
He doesn't give Five a hard time, though, even as he proceeds to do nothing but mope pathetically on the couch all the time for days. He doesn't give Kalim a hard time about it, either. And he continues to make Five food.
It's soup today. Jamil holds it in his hands and purses his lips as he peers down at where Five is currently flopped on the couch, in the same position he's been in for a while, then sets it on the table with a deliberate noise.]
[Despite how much he just wants to lay there on the couch and rot, Five sits up a little to look at the bowl listlessly, his expression largely blank. It does... Smell good...
The audible growl his stomach lets out is a testament to how much he's been resisting consuming anything since he got back, but. He still seems hesitant. He glances away, ears pinned back.]
There's not... Meat in there, is there?
[His voice quavers a little on the word 'meat'. Like the mere thought of it makes him want to throw up. He's absolutely ashamed to ask it, too; he doesn't want to look weak in front of Jamil but... He can't...]
[Nightmares are commonplace now, of course. None of them have talked about what happened or made an attempt to piece together the events of their missing week from what are most likely repressed memories, which of course only makes the incidents worse, like ignoring an infected wound, but nobody in this house understands healthy emotional processing, so. Spending his nights with Kalim does help in the immediate aftermath, and with physical contact now an unattainable luxury otherwise Jamil has at least stopped pretending he isn't interested in doing so, but there's still only limited comfort that can be gained as a snake sleeping in a metal chamber, even in one as instinctively secure-feeling as Kalim's own body. Especially when he doesn't always wake up along with Jamil, and he's left shifting restlessly by himself in the dead of night. He's still not yet at the point where he's willing to seek comfort from Kalim over nightmares.
Tonight is particularly bad. The sense memories stirred up by his conversation with Momo cause Jamil to dream vividly about the moment of his death and all the moments leading up to it, for the first time since he'd realized that was what he was remembering--trying not to remember. He wakes with a pulse of adrenaline, his own scream and Kalim's sobbing lingering in his ears, still feeling the burning puncture in his nonexistent heart.
In that moment the walls of Kalim's head feel a little too much like confinement, and he disintegrates before his distress can wake Kalim through their connection and seeps out of the room underneath the door.
He doesn't know where he's going, except that he needs to be somewhere else and won't be going back to sleep anytime soon. Ordinarily--before--he'd put his anxious energy to productive use. He's no stranger to insomnia, and a lot of his cleaning or food prep had previously gotten done in the wee hours of the morning. But now--
He can't do any of that if he can't touch anything.
Jamil floats into the kitchen anyway, out of something like nostalgia. Frustration bubbles in him as he eyes the silverware drawer. It's so simple, so stupid--the handle is right there, the catch is even broken so that it slides out at the slightest nudge, it should be so easy to open it. It isn't fair that he can't do it--he should be able to do it! It's stupid!
Feeling like an idiot, Jamil focuses all his concentration on that handle. The ability feels right there, closer than just the wish for a limb, like there's something he can tap into and just isn't. He's sure he can almost feel the sensation of the handle, the physical shape of it somehow. With all his willpower at a pinpoint, Jamil steels himself and yanks with all his might.
...If Jamil still had his physical body, the drawer might well have been pulled out entirely, scattering the utensils all over the floor. As it is, it does slide a surprising amount, resulting in a loud noise when the contents rattle.]
...So. You can touch SOME things, kind of, if you put the proper amount of effort into it...?
[Sorry Jamil, your favorite guy is here to observe, idly leaning against the threshold to the kitchen with his arms crossed at his chest. How long has he been there? Good question. Don't worry about it.]
[ Kalim does actually remember what he promised, this time. Once Jamil is safely resting -- and Kalim can feel how comfortably asleep he is through their pair bond -- and Kalim has taken care of the worst of the nasty old withered flesh that was still clinging to the inside of his chest hole, he goes to get his Syntrofos and call Five. ]
Hey...! [ He's speaking quietly in an attempt not to disturb Jamil. ] I talked to Jamil. You can come home.
[ When Five doesn't reply, Kalim figures he's busy and gets on with it.
"It" here being ... just kind of puttering around the apartment ... Opening the fridge; closing the fridge. Scrolling on his Syntrofos and quickly getting bored of reading people's posts. Staring out of the window. He doesn't want to disturb Jamil by going out or doing anything boisterous or loud, but Kalim really isn't a sitting quietly and reading a book kind of guy. And, well, what if Five doesn't listen to his voicemail? Kalim knows he always forgets to check those! He'd better message him just in case, he decides. ]
Hey!!! I talked to jamil everythings ok! You can come home now 😚 Jamil said its all fine as long as we dont make out right in front of him LOL Hes asleep now though I dont know if it counts as in front of him if hes asleep inside my head??? I guess it depends on if he wakes up I think i should be able to tell if hes gonna wake up though cuz our imprint got really crazy Like i can feel that hes sleeping all cosy right now its pretty cute! Its kind of making me sleepy too actually....but i probably shouldnt lie down bcus itll make him fall over Anyway thank you for letting us talk it over im sorry you had to leave so we could do that 🥺 Ill do something nice for you when you get back to make up for it! What do you want?
[ A package wrapped in nice paper is left for Five one day with a little card from Dorothea. In it is a well made scarf of warm material, and a little cap that matches in color. Included is a note from Dorothea wishing him a good midwinter if he celebrates (or wants to), and to stay warm! ]
[This isn't the very first gift he's ever received, but it still hits him pretty hard that there are people around who like... Actually think of him enough to even bother?? It hasn't stopped surprising him whenever it does happen, and the novelty definitely hasn't worn off.
He's not really sure what to do. It feels wrong not to say... Anything? He should at least send some kind of thank-you note, right?
A few days later he settles on sending an (artfully well taken, tbh) selfie, where he's wearing both garments out in the snow. He's winking and sticking his tongue out at the camera, free hand held up in a peace sign.]
(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) Next year I promise I'll try to have something on hand to make this an actual exchange. Thnx. --🦖
[And now he has to hope this doesn't start a conversation, because he's not sure what else to say without being awkward about it. The downsides of digital communication, tbh.]
[Five will be welcomed by a mysterious box on his doorstep! Inside are heart shaped cookies and a note from a certain traveler.]
I heard that there's a tradition called the Valentine's Day, when you're supposed to gift people you cherish chocolates or other sweets. I made these chocolate cookies for you and I hope you'll enjoy them!
Aether
PS: Recipe for the cookies is on the other side of this note!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
forward-dated (!) to the end of september
[ After sending Four scores of texts; calling him half a dozen times; and knocking on his door repeatedly like -- not to put too fine a point on it -- an absolute fucking loser, Elan concludes the following: Either Four's grown a spine made of steel -- wow, how golem-like! -- or he's genuinely incapacitated. Neither possibility bodes well for Elan. And given that Four seemed especially susceptible to the so-called benefits of imprinted partnership, the latter's more likely -- and that gives Elan pause. Why would Four get into trouble? What trouble? Aren't their natural souls supposed to step in when shit's looking dire... ? Four's death wish and total lack of a will to life aside, he sure did show a will to survive (i.e., to win) his mobile suit duels...
Well, whatever. Elan's got bigger fish to fry -- or, more accurately, tech to triturate. Chances are high Five will be much more precious about giving Elan his Syntrofos, but Elan's sure he'll be able to improvise something. He just has to find Five first. ]
Where are you?
[ Then, suspecting Five will leave him on read, Elan adds, ]
"Enhanced Person No. 4" isn't in his room or picking up his phone.
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Five just really hasn't been himself (lol) since the incident, and now he's even less himself after returning from his first ~mandatory check-in~ and injection treatment with Patho-Gen. He has nowhere to go, no will to do anything other than curl up on the couch, with the fan at the end of his long tail swept up to cover his face.
He doesn't want to talk to anyone. He doesn't want to explain. Hell, he's seriously contemplating just going beyond the city barrier and disappearing into the woods for a while. That would be FAR preferable, over having to face Aether, or Momo, or him.
So yeah. Elan doesn't get any response. Not to the first message, or the second, or any message he sends after that. It only takes about four repeated texts/calls before Five picks up his syntrofos, annnnnd chucks it indiscriminately across the room so he doesn't have to listen to it buzz anymore.
Mind you: he has bird hearing, so. This doesn't actually help. He grabs one of the couch pillows and tries to smother himself with it instead, letting out a muffled yell of frustration into its fluffy interior.]
1/? strap in
2/?
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Fat chance.
4/?
5/?
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[ He's not. ]
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[ ... Why are his messages still getting through? Shouldn't Five have blocked him, like, ten texts ago? ]
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Are you okay?
13/?
14/14
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1/2 probs
2/3 two can play the cute sticker game
3/3
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are you fr for real right now kalim al-asim...
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1/? i'm sorry,
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3/3
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is this karteria's weirdest hostage situation ever?
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@b.mads
Hey!
This is Bruno!
I found a good spot for that campsite in case you were still interested!
[ He'll give directions in the message, typing them out the best he can. Basically, go west, follow the marked path off the biggest road, and so on. ]
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Let me know when you're thinking about going and I'll definitely be there. need to get out of this stupid city for a while.
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I swear I thought I replied to this already
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house thread backdated to end of september/post-cannibalism!
He doesn't give Five a hard time, though, even as he proceeds to do nothing but mope pathetically on the couch all the time for days. He doesn't give Kalim a hard time about it, either. And he continues to make Five food.
It's soup today. Jamil holds it in his hands and purses his lips as he peers down at where Five is currently flopped on the couch, in the same position he's been in for a while, then sets it on the table with a deliberate noise.]
Are you going to eat it this time?
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The audible growl his stomach lets out is a testament to how much he's been resisting consuming anything since he got back, but. He still seems hesitant. He glances away, ears pinned back.]
There's not... Meat in there, is there?
[His voice quavers a little on the word 'meat'. Like the mere thought of it makes him want to throw up. He's absolutely ashamed to ask it, too; he doesn't want to look weak in front of Jamil but... He can't...]
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🎀
nebulously backdated somewhen post-torture camp/possession incident
Tonight is particularly bad. The sense memories stirred up by his conversation with Momo cause Jamil to dream vividly about the moment of his death and all the moments leading up to it, for the first time since he'd realized that was what he was remembering--trying not to remember. He wakes with a pulse of adrenaline, his own scream and Kalim's sobbing lingering in his ears, still feeling the burning puncture in his nonexistent heart.
In that moment the walls of Kalim's head feel a little too much like confinement, and he disintegrates before his distress can wake Kalim through their connection and seeps out of the room underneath the door.
He doesn't know where he's going, except that he needs to be somewhere else and won't be going back to sleep anytime soon. Ordinarily--before--he'd put his anxious energy to productive use. He's no stranger to insomnia, and a lot of his cleaning or food prep had previously gotten done in the wee hours of the morning. But now--
He can't do any of that if he can't touch anything.
Jamil floats into the kitchen anyway, out of something like nostalgia. Frustration bubbles in him as he eyes the silverware drawer. It's so simple, so stupid--the handle is right there, the catch is even broken so that it slides out at the slightest nudge, it should be so easy to open it. It isn't fair that he can't do it--he should be able to do it! It's stupid!
Feeling like an idiot, Jamil focuses all his concentration on that handle. The ability feels right there, closer than just the wish for a limb, like there's something he can tap into and just isn't. He's sure he can almost feel the sensation of the handle, the physical shape of it somehow. With all his willpower at a pinpoint, Jamil steels himself and yanks with all his might.
...If Jamil still had his physical body, the drawer might well have been pulled out entirely, scattering the utensils all over the floor. As it is, it does slide a surprising amount, resulting in a loud noise when the contents rattle.]
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[Sorry Jamil, your favorite guy is here to observe, idly leaning against the threshold to the kitchen with his arms crossed at his chest. How long has he been there? Good question. Don't worry about it.]
Interesting...
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voice; backdated to mid october
Hey...! [ He's speaking quietly in an attempt not to disturb Jamil. ] I talked to Jamil. You can come home.
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"It" here being ... just kind of puttering around the apartment ... Opening the fridge; closing the fridge. Scrolling on his Syntrofos and quickly getting bored of reading people's posts. Staring out of the window. He doesn't want to disturb Jamil by going out or doing anything boisterous or loud, but Kalim really isn't a sitting quietly and reading a book kind of guy. And, well, what if Five doesn't listen to his voicemail? Kalim knows he always forgets to check those! He'd better message him just in case, he decides. ]
Hey!!! I talked to jamil everythings ok! You can come home now 😚
Jamil said its all fine as long as we dont make out right in front of him LOL
Hes asleep now though
I dont know if it counts as in front of him if hes asleep inside my head???
I guess it depends on if he wakes up
I think i should be able to tell if hes gonna wake up though cuz our imprint got really crazy
Like i can feel that hes sleeping all cosy right now its pretty cute!
Its kind of making me sleepy too actually....but i probably shouldnt lie down bcus itll make him fall over
Anyway thank you for letting us talk it over im sorry you had to leave so we could do that 🥺
Ill do something nice for you when you get back to make up for it! What do you want?
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1/? sorry in advance
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mid-december.
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He's not really sure what to do. It feels wrong not to say... Anything? He should at least send some kind of thank-you note, right?
A few days later he settles on sending an (artfully well taken, tbh) selfie, where he's wearing both garments out in the snow. He's winking and sticking his tongue out at the camera, free hand held up in a peace sign.]
(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
Next year I promise I'll try to have something on hand to make this an actual exchange.
Thnx.
--🦖
[And now he has to hope this doesn't start a conversation, because he's not sure what else to say without being awkward about it. The downsides of digital communication, tbh.]
Valentine's Day
I heard that there's a tradition called the Valentine's Day, when you're supposed to gift people you cherish chocolates or other sweets. I made these chocolate cookies for you and I hope you'll enjoy them!
Aether
PS: Recipe for the cookies is on the other side of this note!