summonthesuit | IC Inbox

[Fuck his life. Quentin hates his own faerie nature as he takes a moment to think out his response, and it's-]

...Both. Both because if I'd gotten away with it, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Mysterio wouldn't be something I'm burying because- [A small, mirthless laugh as he scrubs a hand down his face again. Honesty is exhausting.] I hate this. I hate that I'm dressed like him, all the time, that I can't fucking- shed it. I want it gone. I don't want to look at it, and I can't because these are the fucking bracers, and gloves, and- everything.

[His next words are quieter, but Steven can probably still hear them as Quentin looks away.]

I ruined a kid's life. I ruined plenty of lives. And the longer I'm here, the more I see plenty of what I did in technicolor. Not just... numbers. Or little simulations to run around. I didn't want to get my hands personally dirty as Mysterio. Now? [He makes a vague sweeping gesture to indicate Ryslig in general.] I've died, twice. One of 'em was more visceral than I ever got, but that's not saying much. I'm tired, Steven. I don't want to go back to that.

[Steven hadn't taken into account that both was even an option, but since Quentin can't lie, maybe that's the best outcome that could've come from this question. The more he hears, the more the fight goes out of him. Quentin did horrible things, but he's suffering for it now. Ryslig's making him suffer for it. It still doesn't sound like remorse, but it's certainly moving along to something similar, isn't it?

The glow in his eyes finally goes out and he releases a deep breath.]

Then don't go back to that.

[A few seconds of hesitation, then he steps forward to take a seat on the other end of the couch. He's not looking Quentin's way, though. Leaning forward in his seat, his shoes are a safe bet for his attention.]

... Sorry for getting worked up. It's a... It's a Neph thing, I s'pose. 'Divine retribution' and all that. I'll try and get a better handle on it.

[Quentin can't help the small, tired laugh that breaks out of him. He gives Steven a brief glance, only to look away. How does he keep ending up surrounded by people who feel guilty over feeling things? Geeze. No one appreciates a good bout of anger these days.

The smell of butterscotch is a new thing, though. Halo looks nice. It makes him think of the way light glitters through glass beads.]

No, it's- fine. It's fine. Emotions are weird sometimes. I'm sorry this isn't... clean-cut, or neat. [He starts to reach out to pat Steven on the shoulder, only to hesitate and pull his hand back. He's not sure if the light touch would be welcome anymore.] It's... not going to be. Not all the time. You got any other burning questions-?

[Emotions are weird, Steven's just a bit miffed that the monster thing's making it all even more complicated. He doesn't want to judge and condemn everyone, that's a bit too much like a certain cult leader. He's still not entirely satisfied with what he's been told, but if Quentin wants to change, the guy needs to be given enough space to grow. So Steven shakes his head lightly.]

No. There's nothing else to ask of you. And I wanna be cross you didn't tell me, but that'd make the world's biggest hypocrite, wouldn't it? [He sits up a bit straighter, hands folding in his lap, but the sideways glance he throws Quentin's way is just a brief one.] ... Listen, I... I can tell you about Marc and me, but you have to promise not to hold it against him, yeah?

[Well, at least Steven hasn't left. That's... something. Quentin will take it at the moment, as he listens quietly. He doesn't miss that glance, though.]

...This doesn't have to be a quid-pro-quo thing if you don't want to. I still have a few secrets I won't give you, for a while. Things that are gonna stay mine. Not related to Mysterio but just- me. [He taps his own chest briefly, with the slight click of chitin against chitin.] But- sure. I won't. Barely know the guy anyways. I can give him the benefit of the doubt.

[Oh great. More secrets. But if it's not related to Mysterio, Steven doubts it's an 'I killed even more people' sort of secret. He'll let it slip.]

It's not a quid-pro-quo thing. I meant to tell you sooner, I just didn't know how. It's uh... [His voice reaches a soft little high note, as it often does when he's nervous.] God, this is gonna weird you out, I reckon.

[Because he knows exactly who caused that last death Quentin suffered. Dr. Osborn broadcast that for everyone in Ryslig to hear. It's for the same reason he didn't tell Peter. He's already said that Marc is harmless, but negative associations are bound to happen. So he breathes a deep sigh, hangs his head back for a second and finally runs both his hands over his face. Here goes nothing, and it's all coming out in an uncomfortable ramble.]

The reason Marc and me look alike is because back home, we share the same body. That's how it's always been. I dunno why the Fog decided we'd be better off having our own, but. Uh. Yep. That sleeping disorder that I thought I had? That was just Marc stretching his legs and doing his own things at night. Can't even say I blame him. Having to watch from the inside gets tedious fast. But now the body's all mine and that's even worse, somehow. Feels lonely. Barking, right?

[The softest little chuckle escapes him; something strained and weak. He throws another sideways glance Quentin's way, bracing himself for something like horror or disgust, or confirmation that he's crazy.]

[Quentin stares at Steven blankly for a moment, as things process.

Well. This is. Definitely not what he expected at all. But- okay. Sure. This may as well happen, then. And here he was just gonna guess the guy was an... estranged twin or something.

He's going to focus on the one part of this he even feels alright talking about.]

...Not... really? You got used to having him around, and then he was gone. It leaves a gap. It's not... something you get over overnight. Especially if you were- together, for a while? I don't know how to phrase this, that sounds wrong.

[Quentin's confused at the moment, but he's got the spirit. It helps that he's focusing on what's familiar to him though: loneliness.]

You get the point.

[A beat, before Quentin probably wades right into the metaphorical deep-end.]

...You swear he's not an evil twin or something, though? Just- [He laughs at himself, scrubbing a hand down his face.] First time I ran into him, I thought he was some Ryslig... thing. A warped reflection of you. That's. Kind of my only question at the moment. A double-check. You know the guy; he's the real deal-?

[It's a somewhat promising reaction at first. Understanding. And that's more than Steven can say for himself when he found out about the Mysterio thing. But then the conversation takes a turn and those last few words really hit Steven where it hurts. He would love to say he's made peace with this particular aspect of the situation, but he hasn't.

He raises one hand as if to move it up to his face, then drops it onto his leg again. His brow furrows so strongly that it almost hurts.]

He is. He's... He's always been the real deal. 'Cause he's the original, isn't he? I'm the warped reflection. Just a... an afterthought who came in later, and I didn't even know it. I'm not even really British. Most of my memories are fake. I... I'm not a real person. [Steven's voice cracked just a little bit on that last one. Oops.]

[Oh fuck. He's stepped into a conversational minefield he didn't even know was there. Quentin just meant 'real deal' in the sense that the guy was the one Steven knew, not- this. Oh no. Time to... figure something out, on the fly.]

...I dunno. You seem- pretty real to me. [He reaches over carefully to take Steven's hand. The grasp can easily be broken out of.] See? Solid. I knew you first, so that's why I... thought that. Him being potentially not- right. But you're right, you're not- bullshit. Take it from a bullshitter, if you weren't a real person, there wouldn't be-

[He gestures a bit helplessly with his free hand, struggling for a good word.]

Substance. Quirks. Things feel real when they have some truth in there. Ergo, you're real. Who else would write network messages like a letter, huh? Or know all those neat things about Dracula. I'm pretty sure that's all you, Steven. [He gives the other man's hand a small squeeze to emphasize his point.]

[Deep down, Steven knows exactly what Quentin meant when he asked. It just didn't stop his thoughts from derailing. He can't shake the image of a young Marc huddled up in his room, their mother banging furiously on the door. A memory that was never supposed to be shared between them, because 'that was the whole point of Steven'.

When Quentin's hand goes for his own, he doesn't shake it off. And he hears all of what's being said to him, but it somehow doesn't register as anything worthwhile. Who cares if he's different from Marc? Who cares if he lives life his own way? That was the whole point of him too.]

It is all me, but... But the only reason I exist is because Marc went through something horrible, and... [He swallows thickly, raising his free hand to his eyes. They're starting to burn. Some strained mix between a chuckle and a sob escapes him.] ... Hell if I know what happened at Tower Bridge. I don't remember anything like it. Chances are, I wasn't in town for it, but that won't stop me from thinking I've been living in London for years already. You know where... where he first got the accent? Off some movie he loved when he was just a lad. That just makes me the world's biggest joke, don't it?

[Oh, Steven. Quentin gives Steven's hand another small squeeze, and one of his wings very carefully drapes over the other man's shoulder. It's the best version of a hug Quentin can do without letting go.]

Hey, honey, no. [The endearment slips out before he can think about it.] No, you're not a joke. It means that you came from somewhere loved. That's gotta mean something, right? It's... I don't know how to talk about this kinda thing, but- it's your experience either way. Your life. This is your life here. Marc's just... showing up late to it, this time.

[He goes quiet for a moment, before deciding to give Steven another piece of things. One of those last remaining 'secrets' he's got.]

My uncle liked doing voices for fun. Does that mean he was a joke? Nah. You aren't either. Just means that something stuck. Was appreciated.

[Steven just feels so exhausted all of a sudden. And weak. He spent two months trying to adjust to life by himself; to be his own person again, as he always thought he'd been, but it just wasn't the same anymore now that he knows the truth. And having the body 24/7- not even getting a break to sleep- is much harder than it has any right to be.

He feels the squeeze into the palm of his hand, followed by the draping. It's like a soft quilt's been tossed over him and at first, that's what he assumes it was. It's not until he turns his head lightly that he realizes it's Quentin's wing. ... God, he's being comforted by the guy he was yelling at just a few minutes ago. He's really that pathetic, isn't he?]

Thanks... [He rubs at his eyes one more time before lowering his hand again. It comes to rest on top of Quentin's. When he speaks again, his voice is a little nasal.] 'M sorry for... For this. S'pose I'm just really tired too. But hey, all cards on the table now, right? ...Well, most cards. Those were the big ones.

[That whole Moon Knight thing is something for another day. Or possibly never. That's up to Quentin.]

[There's another small squeeze to Steven's hand. Quentin's not letting go any time soon, for as long as Steven needs it. Emotional stuff like this is... exhausting. This can be their small exhaustion zone for now. A place to rest.]

Hey, it was a lot to cover, lotta things to process. Shit like this is... [He lets out a small huff of a laugh, looking down for a moment.] It's a lot. But yeah, all big cards on the table. Think we can call this a success for now-? We could use the break.

[He's not ending the conversation at all. Just gently tabling this portion of things for a breather.]

[Once there's another squeeze, Steven's gaze strays down towards their hands and a faint smile tugs at his lips. The sensation- the warmth helps to ground him. He'd question if it's an act, but the gesture matches Quentin's words and he can't lie. For a 'bad guy', Quentin sure is a nice guy.]

Yep. Break sounds good. [The tip of his tail swishes, tapping against the bottom of the couch, near the floor. It has something of a mind of its own until he learns to control it better.] So how uh... How's your week been?

[Quentin can't help the genuine laugh that escapes when Steven asks him how his week's been. His wing slips off of Steven's shoulder before he gently thunks his head against the same spot, like a cat headbutting against a hand. God. Quentin is so fucked. Steven is such a dweeb, how dare he be charming even now.

The sudden snap of lingering tension is weirdly relieving.]

I- sorry, but, ah, alright, for the most part! [He's still smiling a little as he sits back up.] Bit weird, bit empty, but- alright. Coulda been better, coulda been worse. Happy we could talk. Was thinking about trying a new recipe I found so I could just- do something, y'know? Some kinda... bread thing, I think. You get up to anything recently-?

[Aw man, Steven liked having that wing there. It wasn't on the level of a weighted blanket, but it still spread the sort of pressure that brought comfort. He's not even sure what to make of that headbutt. Some sort of faerie thing, maybe? Or maybe Quentin's just that quirky. He doesn't mind it, but caught him off guard a little.

What Steven meant was whether Quentin saw any familiar faces in the batch of newcomers, or got caught up in that candy debacle or anything like that. But you know what? The resulting ramble about trivial things like bread recipes is nicer to listen to.]

Oh, uh... Not really. Just work and trying to avoid my lush, dodgy neighbour on account of a supervillain history. As one does. [He laughs weakly. Really, he feels bad about that, he does. The hand that's on top of Quentin's own gives it a quick pat.]

[Quentin snorts at Steven's reply. Honestly? Fair. If he was in Steven's position, he probably would have done the same.]

As one does, of course. I get that this stuff is lush- [He gestures to the red fluff around part of his neck, tone lightly teasing.] But c'mon. I think there's probably a better word for it. I'll give you dodgy, though.

[Steven blinks, unsure whether Quentin's just joking or whether he genuinely confused the British meaning of that word with the American one. He uh... Yep. He'll just roll with it, then.]

Dapper? Smart? ...Probably soft, it looks soft. Does it shed a lot? Big tufts of fluff in the shower drain? [God help him, he can't stop nattering now.]

[...Oh. Okay, that is- not what Quentin expected. Just gonna... quietly tuck that compliment away for later, as he looks away briefly. Scratches at his jaw absently as he can't meet Steven's eyes for a tongue-tied moment.]

I'll take smart. But it's- soft, yeah. Little bit weird, but not as messy as the... scales, I think? On these. [One of his wings twitches as he says 'these', like lifting an arm and then dropping it again.] They tint the water, looks- really weird, if you're not used to it. The fluff doesn't shed as much. Sorta like...

[Quentin's face scrunches up in thought. He's never had to describe this to somebody else.]

Hair, I guess? Some comes loose, but not- handfuls. Do you get feathers everywhere, or is it a similar deal?

[When Quentin brings up the wings, Steven takes a closer look at them. They tint the water? Now he's wondering how that works. He doesn't know enough about insects to trace it back to anything.

At the question, his own wings strain themselves a bit, their position tilting backwards.]

Ah, no, I barely moult. For most birds it's seasonal, so I expect I might be in for a trail of feathers everywhere I go when winter comes 'round, but... Depends whether angel wings follow the same rules as bird wings, doesn't it? Maybe they don't moult at all. There's not a whole lot of Nephilim around to ask.

[Quentin's only learned how moths vaguely... shed through personal experience. Before this, he knew little to nothing specific about insects. It's still off-putting sometimes.]

Huh. Well, I guess I can't really say 'birds of a feather flock together' then, if there's so few of you. But I'd say- maybe? [Another small thoughtful face scrunch as he looks at Steven's wings.] Most of us seem to take animal influences from somewhere. But your wings are... painterly. Nice. Look a little sharp there, but-

[He gestures at them loosely, careful not to touch even by accident.]

Wouldn't be surprised if they turned out to be soft. Place is always full of surprises, ain't it?

Not soft, actually. I wish. Turns out, feathers are real fragile, actually? And they can bleed? [Ronstadt gave Steven plenty of warnings about that and now he's honestly kind of terrified he'll accidentally break some feathers and bleed out.

But you know what? Beck seems to not have recognized just why Steven's wings look so 'painterly', which simply will not do.]

The influence is Egyptian. It's the kind of wings you'd usually find on depictions of Horus. You know, most commonly known as the god of the sky, including sun and moon. Which is different from the god of the night sky- that's Khonshu. Bet he hates Horus, come to think of it. More than he hates all the other Ennead. But anyway, you'd sometimes see wings like this on scarabs beetles, too. Scarabs were all over, in jewelry and such. And engraved into sarcophagi or tomb rooms. People saw it as an amulet of protection against disease and death. And it was interpreted as a symbol of resurrection, too. But don't think of the heart scarab, though. Those didn't have wings. But they're fascinating little trinkets. They'd place 'em on the heart of the deceased, right? So when they got to the afterlife, the scarab would bind the heart to silence while it was being weighed in the Duat- the underworld. That way, the heart couldn't bear false witness against the deceased and influence the scales. Brilliant, right?

[Oh no. This is all weirdly enthralling, and Steven is- very passionate about this. Quentin is... so very fucked, dear god he hopes he doesn't look head over ass or something right now. Oh no.]

Huh. So there are scarabs and then... heart scarabs? Do the heart scarabs have no open wings because they're... containing life, maybe? Keeping outside influence out of things. That is pretty brilliant, honestly. An interesting way to-

[Quentin makes a vague gesture as he tries to find the right word. Enjoy his vague theorizing, Steven. He was more of a Greek myth kinda guy growing up.]

Do the whole afterlife thing. What'd they way the heart against? Some kind of karma meter, or-?

[However Quentin looks right now, Steven's not really processing it. He's just happy he gets to talk about these things and actually be listened to, instead of being brushed off.]

No no, you weigh on scales. That's a common motif in a lot of religions, innit? In Greek Mythology, you'd have the golden scales that'd weigh fates. In the Iliad, during the battle between the Achaeans and Trojans, Zeus takes out those scales and weighs the keres of the Greeks and Trojans against one another. Keres are like death spirits, so they're "fateful portions of death". [He absolutely airquoted that.] But in the Testament of Abraham, the archangel Michael is shown weighing souls on Judgment Day. And then according to Egyptian beliefs, the Scales of Justice are used to weigh the ka, which is the heart. It's weighed against the Feather of Truth, and if the heart's heavier, the soul won't gain entry to the Field of Reeds. Which is, y'know, eternal bliss.

[...There was scales in Greek myth, not just woven tapestries of fate and shit? Neat. Also no one should look good while air-quoting something, and yet Steven is right here doing exactly that. Rude.]

Okay, so it's the heart versus- what. The truth as in some universal truth, some kinda- cosmic thing, maybe? Or the truth of the person's life? Like, the feather can pick up whatever lies you've told and go 'Nope, no bliss for you. No reeds, just-' I dunno. I do think that's some interesting overlap, though. The Greeks had Elysium Fields, and then there's the Field of Reeds with the Egyptians.

IC Inbox | Ryslig

[Action] cw: briefly touches on Ryslig-related deaths

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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, HASNOFEAR. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 13.15.15.14 * HASNOFEAR has joined 13.15.15.14 <HASNOFEAR>** Hello! This is Steven Grant! If you need something, just leave me a message and I'll get back to you asap!