193 - Written

[impure_tale]

When next I visit Paviche I am going to have some very strong words for him. and a well-oiled belt if I'm to have my way

One does not come to realize how much they miss their voice until they haven't one at all. I have learned this time and again, usually metaphorically, but now quite literally. Fear not, my darlings -- though the fear of death is forever absolute in this place the after-effects, however unpleasant, are so blessedly temporary.

Now if only the dreams were as well.

(OOC: The Marquis had his throat ripped out in port, so he cannot speak and will not be able to for a few days yet. Him sads D: Infirmary people may spam with him but remember he can't do much more than talk-wheeze in short spurts.)

Comments

[impure_tale]

[It's not a grunt so much as a fast expulsion of air through his nose. About as close to a proper "hmph" of defiance that he can manage at the moment. "Is that so?" it seems to say, and he makes no move to release him.]

[umgekehrt]

Nothing but trouble, you. [His arm tightens a bit. There's one of those unfortunate wrist spasms he's been having, but he ignores it as if nothing at all happened.]

[impure_tale]

[He shifts a little, allowing Stildyne more room on the bed -- woefully small compared to the one in his room -- so that he could simply lean back against him. One of his legs dropped off the side of the mattress at the knee. At his best he was a bit more complicated than simple quiet intimacy could entertain, but a tired man with nothing to talk about and a journal of confessions and reactions to read had need of fewer things, perhaps. This was why he had told Stildyne before the port that he thought he would be all right. Because he does not awaken completely alone any longer.]