i suppose how malicious it is depends on whether or not this is Sodder or...something else. i'm taking a tissue sample to the FEAR lab later today. [ Wait, did he say 'tissue', not 'ground'? Moving on... ]
you're still recovering from last month, aren't you? did you run out of peppermint tea? [ Supplies had been scarce, and yet Will had felt nothing but gratitude that Ben had had some herbs left while the shelves for actual food had been empty. Ben had had enough trouble keeping food down, after coming back. ]
or what's shaped like the moon. i can't decide if the sky might be the same material as the ground, right now. if it's all a dream, why assume it follows any rules?
( yeah, Ben...sees that. tissue sample. and you know what? he isn't asking. yet. )
Let me know your findings. My reluctance keeps me from being able to say I'm curious, officially, but my dread also means I need to know regardless.
Thankfully, still have enough peppermint to fuel me for the next week or so. I was feeling better until the pulsing finally started to dig into my brain, in my lungs at this point.
Wonderful. Now I'm paranoid the moon is a giant, extraterrestrial eyeball. Are staring contests a peril we're facing now?
( well...Ben's doing it. he's daring to step out his front door, and into the street. )
( while Will's responses shiver away in his closed fist, Ben ventures out into the open stretch of east Main Street. what he encounters has him unresponsive for the next two minutes. not even so much as a read receipt goes up.
until Ben sends a photo. standing back inside his technical foyer in his old-fashioned townhouse, it's his point of view looking down at his legs and feet. his shoes gleam in wet flecks, while they spray up his clothed shins and knees.
he's wearing khakis, which means the hue of blood isn't very mistakable in the indoor light. )
The dogs are making their rounds again. And this one I met was drenched in blood.
Because of course it was. Why wouldn't it be?
I don't know if I reached my weekly quota for declarations on how much I hate this place, I've lost count already. ( and it's only Tuesday. )
[ They're well past any concept of Will trying to pretend he isn't full of anxiety over every new development here, no matter his language used for discussing it. Waiting on a reply for any more than about thirty seconds from Benedict Dearborn could mean one of two things: he's died again, or he just got distracted by fussing with something.
Seems it was the latter, thankfully. ] can you keep a sample of that blood? i want to see if it matches.
[ And then Will undergoes his own long pause, although he does give a read receipt before his response eventually rolls in five minutes later. ]
mine just came by too. i kept my pants cleaner than yours, but i can't say the same for my kitchen.
( Ben is standing in his doorway, trying to slide out of bloodied clothes, and Will asks Ben to collect...
it's fine. it's fine, just— give Ben a few minutes. )
You can have the entire damn outfit, I won't be needing it anymore. ( definitely got on his shirt. and his face. can this place ever stop splashing blood on his face? )
Mine did, yes. My reward for cleaning up with be getting to open up my very first cryptex.
Can't wait for that to splash blood on me next. ( he's feeling very optimistic about this, you can tell. )
you'd blend in with the scenery if you kept them. [ Will is mostly, but not entirely, successful at ignoring the undefinable emotion that's triggered by the idea of being handed a full set of Ben's clothes.
He's also busy examining his very own cryptex. ]
six letter word. [ Attached is a photo of Will's. It's blue and white and appears delicately ceramic; like those dining sets popular with the over-forty population. ]
Never have I wanted to stand out more. ( blend in with blood-drenched, gothic Deerington? wow, no thanks! )
Funnily enough, I just got done washing mine off, it was covered in blood, or so I thought.
( the image he sends shows that his cryptex is very much brushed metal, and no — the color isn't a trick of the garish moonlight. )
I think mine's brass, except it's...blood red. ( because of course! it is!! why wouldn't his be! )
Can we trade cryptexes? ( a half-hearted joke, and before Ben can finish off another message, originally 'yours looks far more pleasant,' Ben...stops. he remembers something Sodder once said to him, one of the only things she ever said to him. something that has him rescinding his fussy complaints before he can even send the rest of it. )
Edited 2019-10-06 17:58 (UTC)
i still can't believe you photoshopped that entire cryptex into that pic
when i asked if yours looked the same, i was expecting maybe a different amount of letters.
i think maybe we shouldn't trade.
if we'd all been given different gifts at a christmas swap back home, i wouldn't think anything of it. but here, everything's personalized. the gift baskets. the dream guides.
if they're different...maybe each one only opens for one person. [ He can feel the rest of this idea in the back of his mind, if he can just connect it all into one smooth concept... ]
( this is awkward, Ben feels awkward, but he also...thinks it's kind of charming that Will takes him so seriously when he says something, especially something ridiculous. thank you for the vote of confidence, Will. )
I'm just slightly afraid of what I'm going to find inside. Especially if it may be personalized.
Perhaps that's the key behind the password as well.
[ Ben was joking? That's awkward. Now Will sounds like an idiot who can't have normal conversations, or something.
How awful. ] well i'm definitely afraid at what i'll find inside.
it came from the dogs. they seem to work for sodder. maybe even are parts of her. i think it's more likely it's good than bad.
but she's obviously not entirely cognizant of what's helpful for us.
[ personalized passwords... ] does yours feel personalized? how it looks.
i think...mine might be.
i'm going to try a password. [ If it knows about this...
It's right. The sense of violation is appalling, like the bottom fell out of his stomach and he's holding his intestines in his hands again, desperately trying to keep their ragged ends inside.
He forgets to check his phone again for several minutes. ]
Well, now I have to ask what you're so afraid of being inside. ( since Will is being so ominous about it. )
If mine is personalized to me, then I'm not sure what the association is. I probably just haven't put two and two together.
( something personal? he can think of five-letter words to fit him, or concepts that are important to him: angel, demon, virgo, study, bless, sigil, third. but six letters — is trickier. purify — doesn't work.
spirit — nope.
none of those feel personal, though, only familiar. he has to look up from his seat at the table and look around his abode — not his home, because that isn't what this is. this is a dwelling, one that suits him, but isn't his.
what is his, then? what did he add to the space that made it more of his own? the herbs which he bundles or steeps, hangs over doorways or burns as incense. books which he organizes, builds structure in his space, padding his house with knowledge like a bird adds something soft to the weaving of its nest. his skincare items, the smallest and simplest practice that Ben clings to dearly: his self-care, a facet of his health, a routine that grounds him.
routine. grounding.
Ben aligns the dials on the pointed indicators, almost scared to discover if the words that comes to mind is accurate.
[ Will's palm is sweating. He notices only when it causes him to almost drop his phone. ]
you got into yours. was your password an insult too?
[ Will realizes, too late, that... ] it can't have been. or you would have brought that up before the ominous halloween invitation.
[ Will's head ends up cradled in his hands, his entire body thrumming with anxious energy. He suddenly doesn't feel safe, in this house that he'd been considering a home with a dogged determination.
Toast whines and noses at his calf. Will pulls in a deep breath and stares at his cryptex, feeling the pointed urge to break it. ]
Considering the quality of insults in the past, I'm sure it wasn't.
What kind of insult would someone have set yours to? Something generic, or...personal?
I'm not asking you to tell me what it is exactly, obviously that isn't any of my business. ( it's a product of concern, because Ben's was nothing of the sort. he mulls his own password over again, scrutinizing it further in his mind. it feels associated to Ben, but it doesn't feel that personal.
personal. [ Will reads Ben's last reply over. Again.
He's not demanding the exact word, and maybe that's what causes Will to want to share it. He teeters on the edge of doing so anyway, to be contrary, to be brave about this, but what he ends up settling on is a curious if cowardly: ] at what point does being polite become turning people away?
( personal. Ben might level a heartfelt 'oof' if he were a lesser man, but he sentiment is there in spirit.
Ben moves along to add on to the conversation, some theories he has about the incense, the location of the country club, letting logic guide his focus. )
( but when Ben receives that second message...the indicator disappears, followed by a few beats of idle nothing.
it takes some time for Ben to reel about the question, double-triple questioning how much of that remark is really meant for him, directly. )
Hopefully not before the point where one finds themselves concerned about another's vulnerability, but doesn't know if they have the right to ask someone to put something personal on display.
So, perhaps the point where the phrase "that isn't any of my business" was used. ( he can see that now, now that he's dissecting the scene that played out a moment ago. )
I'm sorry. I've had to handle quite a lot of explaining-myself-from-scratch in life and it's never been pleasant. I don't want someone else thinking they owe me an explanation for something personal. It's tricky, wanting to know more about someone else, and knowing most of what to navigate is uncomfortable. I don't mean to turn you away.
I can rescind my remark about it not being my business, considering I would be happy to make it my business. If it isn't too late to make an edit to the conversation.
[ There's an impulsive edge to being rude that never quite anticipates a considerate response. The more texts that roll in, kindly addressing what Will sniped a complaint about just a few minutes before, the more he feels his stomach knot up with an awkward, self-aware apology that he doesn't want to have to voice.
Will's reply, even though he indirectly requested this, is several moments in the making. ]
i'd offer up a suggestion for later, but i don't think i'm a good person to ask about my own personal boundaries. if we negotiated it ahead of time, i'd probably warn you away from me in general.
it's only in the moment that i surprise myself with wanting to tell you things. or wanting to find out if you WANT me to tell you things.
it was an insult that was used to...frame me as fragile, and to turn me against someone else. and then later it ended up as part of a metaphor about impossible, broken things fixing themselves. me, fixing myself. so it was less an insult and more a [ he hesitates to use this word here, but ] grooming tool.
'teacup'. sounds harmless. and it's obvious based on what my puzzle looks like. but there's no chance that word wasn't picked on purpose.
yours doesn't seem as obvious, not unless it was 'copper'.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wontgraham) wrote2019-04-10 08:46 pm
no subject
I really hate that that theory makes sense. Glad it hasn't been a malicious change so far...yet.
( considering that at least a couple of his neighbors are up and missing, Ben...really is fearing the worst, right now. )
I could be a lot better. All of this pulsing is making me queasy. Disorienting.
Have you gone outside yet? I haven't ventured past my back garden, but I think this red light might be the moon?
no subject
you're still recovering from last month, aren't you? did you run out of peppermint tea? [ Supplies had been scarce, and yet Will had felt nothing but gratitude that Ben had had some herbs left while the shelves for actual food had been empty. Ben had had enough trouble keeping food down, after coming back. ]
or what's shaped like the moon. i can't decide if the sky might be the same material as the ground, right now. if it's all a dream, why assume it follows any rules?
no subject
Let me know your findings. My reluctance keeps me from being able to say I'm curious, officially, but my dread also means I need to know regardless.
Thankfully, still have enough peppermint to fuel me for the next week or so. I was feeling better until the pulsing finally started to dig into my brain, in my lungs at this point.
Wonderful. Now I'm paranoid the moon is a giant, extraterrestrial eyeball. Are staring contests a peril we're facing now?
( well...Ben's doing it. he's daring to step out his front door, and into the street. )
no subject
[ Ben was feeling better. It sets a small warmth in Will's chest.
One that's still a bit shadowed by the blood moon going on outside, but beggars can't be terribly choosy, here. ]
someone else's rhythm inside all of us wasn't what i expected when i woke up, either.
not much contest when it's got us surrounded. unless we can figure out a way to poison it.
[ Or. Well... ] or communicate. at this point i don't know how to assume if it's friendly or threatening.
no subject
until Ben sends a photo. standing back inside his technical foyer in his old-fashioned townhouse, it's his point of view looking down at his legs and feet. his shoes gleam in wet flecks, while they spray up his clothed shins and knees.
he's wearing khakis, which means the hue of blood isn't very mistakable in the indoor light. )
The dogs are making their rounds again. And this one I met was drenched in blood.
Because of course it was. Why wouldn't it be?
I don't know if I reached my weekly quota for declarations on how much I hate this place, I've lost count already. ( and it's only Tuesday. )
womp womp
Seems it was the latter, thankfully. ] can you keep a sample of that blood? i want to see if it matches.
[ And then Will undergoes his own long pause, although he does give a read receipt before his response eventually rolls in five minutes later. ]
mine just came by too. i kept my pants cleaner than yours, but i can't say the same for my kitchen.
did yours bring you a gift along with your paper?
no subject
it's fine. it's fine, just— give Ben a few minutes. )
You can have the entire damn outfit, I won't be needing it anymore. ( definitely got on his shirt. and his face. can this place ever stop splashing blood on his face? )
Mine did, yes. My reward for cleaning up with be getting to open up my very first cryptex.
Can't wait for that to splash blood on me next. ( he's feeling very optimistic about this, you can tell. )
no subject
He's also busy examining his very own cryptex. ]
six letter word. [ Attached is a photo of Will's. It's blue and white and appears delicately ceramic; like those dining sets popular with the over-forty population. ]
does yours look the same?
no subject
Funnily enough, I just got done washing mine off, it was covered in blood, or so I thought.
( the image he sends shows that his cryptex is very much brushed metal, and no — the color isn't a trick of the garish moonlight. )
I think mine's brass, except it's...blood red. ( because of course! it is!! why wouldn't his be! )
Can we trade cryptexes? ( a half-hearted joke, and before Ben can finish off another message, originally 'yours looks far more pleasant,' Ben...stops. he remembers something Sodder once said to him, one of the only things she ever said to him. something that has him rescinding his fussy complaints before he can even send the rest of it. )
i still can't believe you photoshopped that entire cryptex into that pic
i think maybe we shouldn't trade.
if we'd all been given different gifts at a christmas swap back home, i wouldn't think anything of it. but here, everything's personalized. the gift baskets. the dream guides.
if they're different...maybe each one only opens for one person. [ He can feel the rest of this idea in the back of his mind, if he can just connect it all into one smooth concept... ]
listen........
I was sort of joking.
( this is awkward, Ben feels awkward, but he also...thinks it's kind of charming that Will takes him so seriously when he says something, especially something ridiculous. thank you for the vote of confidence, Will. )
I'm just slightly afraid of what I'm going to find inside. Especially if it may be personalized.
Perhaps that's the key behind the password as well.
cw gore (narration)
How awful. ] well i'm definitely afraid at what i'll find inside.
it came from the dogs. they seem to work for sodder. maybe even are parts of her. i think it's more likely it's good than bad.
but she's obviously not entirely cognizant of what's helpful for us.
[ personalized passwords... ] does yours feel personalized? how it looks.
i think...mine might be.
i'm going to try a password. [ If it knows about this...
It's right. The sense of violation is appalling, like the bottom fell out of his stomach and he's holding his intestines in his hands again, desperately trying to keep their ragged ends inside.
He forgets to check his phone again for several minutes. ]
no subject
If mine is personalized to me, then I'm not sure what the association is. I probably just haven't put two and two together.
( something personal? he can think of five-letter words to fit him, or concepts that are important to him: angel, demon, virgo, study, bless, sigil, third. but six letters — is trickier. purify — doesn't work.
spirit — nope.
none of those feel personal, though, only familiar. he has to look up from his seat at the table and look around his abode — not his home, because that isn't what this is. this is a dwelling, one that suits him, but isn't his.
what is his, then? what did he add to the space that made it more of his own? the herbs which he bundles or steeps, hangs over doorways or burns as incense. books which he organizes, builds structure in his space, padding his house with knowledge like a bird adds something soft to the weaving of its nest. his skincare items, the smallest and simplest practice that Ben clings to dearly: his self-care, a facet of his health, a routine that grounds him.
routine. grounding.
Ben aligns the dials on the pointed indicators, almost scared to discover if the words that comes to mind is accurate.
and then: )
All that for a damned party invitation?
no subject
you got into yours. was your password an insult too?
[ Will realizes, too late, that... ] it can't have been. or you would have brought that up before the ominous halloween invitation.
[ Will's head ends up cradled in his hands, his entire body thrumming with anxious energy. He suddenly doesn't feel safe, in this house that he'd been considering a home with a dogged determination.
Toast whines and noses at his calf. Will pulls in a deep breath and stares at his cryptex, feeling the pointed urge to break it. ]
no subject
What kind of insult would someone have set yours to? Something generic, or...personal?
I'm not asking you to tell me what it is exactly, obviously that isn't any of my business. ( it's a product of concern, because Ben's was nothing of the sort. he mulls his own password over again, scrutinizing it further in his mind. it feels associated to Ben, but it doesn't feel that personal.
it almost feels like...a message of some sort. )
no subject
He's not demanding the exact word, and maybe that's what causes Will to want to share it. He teeters on the edge of doing so anyway, to be contrary, to be brave about this, but what he ends up settling on is a curious if cowardly: ] at what point does being polite become turning people away?
no subject
Ben moves along to add on to the conversation, some theories he has about the incense, the location of the country club, letting logic guide his focus. )
( but when Ben receives that second message...the indicator disappears, followed by a few beats of idle nothing.
it takes some time for Ben to reel about the question, double-triple questioning how much of that remark is really meant for him, directly. )
Hopefully not before the point where one finds themselves concerned about another's vulnerability, but doesn't know if they have the right to ask someone to put something personal on display.
So, perhaps the point where the phrase "that isn't any of my business" was used. ( he can see that now, now that he's dissecting the scene that played out a moment ago. )
I'm sorry. I've had to handle quite a lot of explaining-myself-from-scratch in life and it's never been pleasant. I don't want someone else thinking they owe me an explanation for something personal. It's tricky, wanting to know more about someone else, and knowing most of what to navigate is uncomfortable. I don't mean to turn you away.
I can rescind my remark about it not being my business, considering I would be happy to make it my business. If it isn't too late to make an edit to the conversation.
no subject
Will's reply, even though he indirectly requested this, is several moments in the making. ]
i'd offer up a suggestion for later, but i don't think i'm a good person to ask about my own personal boundaries. if we negotiated it ahead of time, i'd probably warn you away from me in general.
it's only in the moment that i surprise myself with wanting to tell you things. or wanting to find out if you WANT me to tell you things.
it was an insult that was used to...frame me as fragile, and to turn me against someone else. and then later it ended up as part of a metaphor about impossible, broken things fixing themselves. me, fixing myself. so it was less an insult and more a [ he hesitates to use this word here, but ] grooming tool.
'teacup'. sounds harmless. and it's obvious based on what my puzzle looks like. but there's no chance that word wasn't picked on purpose.
yours doesn't seem as obvious, not unless it was 'copper'.