[IC/OOC] Fade Rift Inbox & Contact

[faithlikeaseed]

(( Need to get a hold of Myr? Drop him a line. Notes, in-person visits, sending crystals, spooky Fade dream shenanigans, you name it. Just specify the type of contact in the first comment of the thread and away we go.

Need to get a hold of the player? Plagueheart#0051 @ Discord or a DW PM is the easiest! ))

Comments

[misdirection_hex]

["I was wrong" are three of the sweetest words in the entire Trade language to Vandelin, second only to "you were right," and both of those preferable to "I love you." That last is not something he and Myr are in the habit of saying to each other in any case, not explicitly, and certainly not recently--not in the past three years, obviously, and not in the tense months leading to the uprising, and that's far enough back that Van can't remember any specific examples before it.

But he knows when Myr means it, recognizes it instantly when he hears it, and even if Myr had meant to keep it closer to the vest--as Van would have advised him to, as Van wants to do even now--he's moved enough by it to be stricken briefly silent. There's not a word of that lost on him, and the implication that Myr had wanted to find him again--had been willing to seek him out, had thought of him as lost rather than willfully abandoning his family, had thought of him at all, overcomes him with emotion. It isn't that he hadn't done the same, missing Myr and worrying for him and hoping against helpless secular hope that he was alive and safe, but for some reason, he hadn't known for sure it would be reciprocated.]

...yeah, well. I've been the brains of this setup for twenty-five years. You need me. I wouldn't leave you in the lurch. [Not again, his unfamiliar guilty conscience whispers.]

You stay safe, and I will too. I'll be back before you know it.

[faithlikeaseed]

[It's true, for all Myr still hasn't worked out how to forgive Van for what happened. And like any truth there's a vulnerability in it; he knows it, knows how Van would advise him here--if, apparently, the admission hadn't shut his cousin down completely.

He's not sure if that's a good sign; sits twisting his sending crystal between his fingers as he considers what he's just confessed to and awaits a response.

That it slots so comfortably into their old disrupted patterns gets a huff of a laugh out of him.]

Yeah, yeah. Don't know how I got on without you for the last three years. [He struggles to keep the words light and dry and teasing; the pain still stains them like blood on cloth. It's several moments' work to swallow it before it can blossom into an accusation.] Besides I ought to know better--you'd be too much for even a squid to stomach. You'd hex its guts right out of it for having the gall.

But I won't be making any trips to Darktown while you're out, promise; I'll stick to the chapel instead and beseech the Maker for fair winds and safe travel for you. Just--don't be so safe you can't have an adventure out there, too. [Because that's what freedom means, doesn't it?]