mattersverymuch | 11 ɂ open spam

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11 ɂ open spam

[It's been so many years since the marquis was young that he'd almost forgotten what it was like. He had been so small, ill-fed and underweight, and so easily broken. Which, really, explains a lot about what he's become - none of which he particularly wanted explained to the Barge as a whole.]

[To distract himself somewhat from this unfortunate reality, he has begun work on a compendium of stories, as he has nothing else to do with his time. Much of his work is done in the library, but much is also done in the CES, which becomes, variously, an abandoned city in a mishmash of styles, a thick, temperate, and foggy hardwood forest, and a riverside. He works mostly from memory and attempts comprehensiveness, though his writings as late veer toward tales of the trickster.]

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[Dean, normally a loud and vivid presence throughout the Barge and the network, has been keeping to himself the past couple days. He's not offering any explanation, letting people decide whatever they like as long as they leave him the hell alone, because he's not so calm yet that he'll turn down a fight if it falls in his lap.

He doesn't like the CES, either, mostly. He has to go to the highest point on the stupid deck to get there and he just hasn't been interested, but he's also restless. The river is nice and the current is just too fast to really allow for what he's doing, but he starts collecting stones anyway to skip across the moving surface. He's kicked his boots off, anyway, and rolled his jeans up past his ankles before he notices he's not alone.

The hunter sighs but only inwardly. Outwardly, he pulls up his liar's smile, and waves in a facsimile of cheerful to the Marquis and his... crap, that's paper, isn't it. Dean sighs again, but silently.]

[It's a broad, steady river, one that reminds him of a place that once upon a time was his home, and therefore makes him uncomfortable. He's able nevertheless to sprawl under a tree as though the roots make a throne designed just for him, several books arranged at his side with the wind gently ruffling the pages.]

[He sees Dean long before Dean sees him, but keeps quiet. He has obviously noticed Dean's aggressive version of melancholy, and has been watching him lest he get into a situation that the marquis might be able to exploit. Eventually he sighs and leans back against the trunk.]

Carry on. Don't mind me.

[Everything Dean does is aggressive; even his failure to notice the Marquis - which he kicks himself for silently because he can't afford to give that kind of ground in whatever this is between them, not with the man living right next to him, but he just forfeited it anyway - is aggressive. He's collected a broad handful of rocks alright, flat, smooth stones that would get impressive distance on a still surface, and hedges his bet by moving closer rather than further from the Marquis.

He would not run into a burning barn in a panic, but Dean is absolutely the sort that engages the things he should be afraid of head on rather than letting them come at his back. For the most part, anyway. As far as anyone knows.]

Don't worry, I never do. [He moves closer, picking one of the rocks out of his collection, palming it in his free hand and rubbing his thumb over it almost thoughtfully as if to learn the shape of it.] I know you lie awake wondering about that.

[Fortunately for Dean, the marquis is not one to blindly stumble into violence. He uses violence as a tool, wielded by those indebted to him, when things go right.]

[To someone else, that sharp tone combined with those words might feel like a barb. Not to him. He just smirks. It's a weak attempt, if it even is one. In fact, it makes him feel better.]

I lie awake for plenty of reasons. [Since they both know anyway.] Not that one.

[He doesn't move away. He doesn't move closer. He doesn't move at all.]

[It wasn't intended for a barb, so much as it was just more of the same that he'd been talking about earlier: everything he puts back into the world when he gets too tightly wound is anger. He's still smiling, anyway, and he doesn't really react to the smirk, either. That's normal. That's expected.]

So I guess the real question here is, am I meant to ask about the books, or is that a trap for someone else?

It's a trap for someone else. It wouldn't catch you anyway.

[He knows the traps too well. Anyway, if anything, it's a trap for the marquis himself.]

[He looks at Dean innocently.]

Going swimming?

[Normally Dean might even be up for a little more of their usual verbal sparring, but today he just snorts roughly and gives him a doubtful look.

He doesn't want to know and he doesn't care, and he holds the rocks up as if to prove his point.]

Yeah, sure, I just thought I'd fill my pockets up with stones first to challenge myself.

I don't swim. [Except for how, metaphorically speaking, he always does. Except for how, when he has to, he will.]

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