Participants:
| Scene Title | Portage |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Once upon a time, in New Chicago, two people and a wolf come together to reminisce on and read His Dark Materials. |
| Date | July 7, 2021 |
New Chicago, Seren's Home
The hour is getting late, Seren thinks to themself as they look out the window of their loft apartment. Their eyes half-lid as they consider the horizon beyond, seeing shapes swirling in the darkness, either imagined fully or perhaps a trick of the light from the city against low-hanging clouds over the lake's edge. They breathe in deep once, and with an exhale out, they push through the act of separating their shadow from themself.
Behind them, it ripples away from the edges of their feet, a billowing one-dimensional smokecloud blooming away and fighting to take its own shape before it grows– gaining sharpness and also volume. From a tear of almost nothingness, and a tear of a gasp from Seren, a hulking wolf made of blackness emerges into being. Starkly white eyes bearing amber orbs of light within them snap open, and with a chuffed snort, the wolf slowly turns back to consider Seren, the broken shackle on its front left paw clinking softly on the ground with the turn.
Seren doesn't need that signal to turn and face him in turn, their eyes tired. "I know, bud," they whisper softly, but there's no apology to be found in it. Earlier, they did what had to be done. Baird had done more than look into the minds of those who they'd gone to greet, he'd dragged their fears to the surface and made them be felt. Worse still, he'd acted out. "I'm not exactly happy we were made to be the welcoming committee, either, frankly."
"At least there was a familiar face among them, hm?"
Baird only snorts half of a sneeze and turns his head away, mouth rippling. That surprises Seren, and their brows arch a hair in return. Usually he thinks much more highly of Elliot.
"You'd better turn this mood around if he comes to visit after all," they relay in a dismissive clip, turning away in return and striding to the kitchen to find themself something to snack on. "I'm not going to let you go chasing off potential friends twice in one day. You can go right to bed if you're going to be shitty all night."
Their summon only chuffs, neither aggressive nor yielding, and continues to prowl the lavish apartment, one rolling walk of paw in front of the other. From the kitchen, Seren glances his way and breathes out a silent sigh from their nose. Some days, turning off all the survival instincts that lead them here to this nicer position far from the clutches of the Canadian government, far from everything else that would have dominated their lives again in all those years after its fall– it could be hard. Clearly, this was one of those days.
But Seren, for their part, was determined not to shut everyone out, even if Baird was content for it to be only the two of them ever.
Elliot, wearing the coat, pants, and shirt of the Elliot who walked Seren to meet the man in charge, stands outside their door. The safe kid had relayed everything his alternate self had said and done while pretending to be him, but he's still worried that he missed something important. That the person on the other side of the door will suss him out immediately, leading to scrutiny of the convoy and unhelpful revelations.
Baird is more worrisome; there's not a lot that Elliot can do to defend himself against an angry shadow that can manifest personal insecurities. He was promised a bath, though, and that balances out the threat of being mauled by a shadow monster. He clears his throat and knocks politely.
"Come in," Seren calls from the kitchen, listening and alert in case they need to act, but also unyielding in their desire for a late dinner. They open the egg box in the open cabinet near the hot plate stovetop, pull two, and lay them on top of the kale they've acquired before shifting to get out a pan.
At the door, Baird waits, expectant and almost domestic in politeness compared to his earlier greeting of people who weren't him. He steps forward when the door comes in, gives Elliot enough space only to enter as he goes about a process of sniffing him– he's been so many places, done so many things, maybe he really should–
Oh. Baird's tail slowly begins to wag and the sniffing nose turns toward Elliot's hand, bumping the cold coal of it into his palm to instead ask perhaps for forgiveness. Whatever happened earlier, perhaps, is now bridge under the water. Elliot feels properly like Elliot again.
It's then, on hearing and feeling that Baird hasn't downturned on mood, that Seren looks back to see him properly. "Everything go well?" they ask, then turn back to what they were doing. Baird remains a shadow by Elliot's side as he moves in, more dog than wolf even as the wags of his tail still leave behind wisps of smoke.
Elliot relaxes and smiles when he isn't eaten alive, giving the dæmon a gentle ruffle between the ears with his fingertips. He leaves space for Baird as he makes his way toward the kitchen, allowing himself to be herded. “Went well, all,” he tells them with a shy smile upon finally seeing them, “things considered.” He snaps his fingers beside his leg, making more motion than noise.
He looks at the food being readied, unsure if any of it is for him but unwilling to be presumptuous. He listens to the sound of the foreign Elliot moving right to left from his perspective. “He was,” he adds, “patient.” Normally Wright does all the talking, and Gideon isn't the kind of man you can shoot for putting words in your mouth when you can't put them in order yourself.
"You had a somewhat captive audience, after all," Seren says over their shoulder again. "It makes me glad to hear he comported himself, though." When it came to the subject matter… that wasn't always the case. Though even then, it tended to happen in quieter outbursts than most would ascribe for a man with that much power.
World-end or no.
"If Wright still isn't back yet–" they wonder, and seem to be hesitating before adding items to their pan. "Do you want to stay over? If you and Baird are on good terms again, it's no trouble."
Baird indeed does appear to be in a much better mood, ears up, eyes of molten amber continuing to peer up at Elliot with curiosity, sniffs resuming. Eventually he tires of his examination, though, and pads off between furniture in what passes for the sitting room in the open floor plan, head down, seemingly looking for something.
It takes Elliot a moment to grapple with the invitation to sleep over. He'd love to, though the ‘it's no trouble’ makes him guess he'd be on the couch. It would be more comfortable than the cot in the safe room for sure, though not as comfortable as the warmth of Seren's bed. “Yeah,” he says stupidly. “I mean…”
He clears his throat, tastes eggs and kale when he sees them on the counter. He remembers a similar meal from his childhood, and tastes spinach instead for a moment until he can forget the parts of the memory he doesn't enjoy. “I got,” he says instead, “that book that I told you about. If you want to read it. It's not a, not a movie but. Could make it a night in.” Mortified, he looks away to study the room for a bit, and feels his footing isn't good enough to remind them about the bath yet.
“Oh,” he interrupts a possible reply, fishing into Elliot's jacket for the other thing he brought. He sets a scuffed Ziploc bag containing a book to one side, making room to set down the real prize: a second, less timeworn bag of dried venison. “Also, got a deer. Wright did. If you fancy that sort of thing.” He tastes venison then, though as it was freshly roasted on the trail.
The moment that Elliot agrees, even if it's done automatically, is the moment Seren starts to make dinner for two instead of for one. They don't feel their footing is enough to do more than offer a safer, more comfortable place to be and the amenities that go with it. As much as they're fond of him, everything beyond that is nearly foreign to them– and that aside, Elliot and getting him to a state where he actually feels comfortable feels akin to successfully coaxing in a cat from the cold.
When he says what he's brought with him, they brighten considerably while waiting for the oil-dashed kale to begin to wilt. "We could make it a movie night," they offer up, almost sheepish with the suggestion. Their ability isn't something they use often in that way, but when they look back to him, it's with a smile of someone eager to give something a shot. Once upon a time, after all, they were able to manage such things. "As long as you're willing to bear with me, anyway."
Their eyes go to the other procural next, gaze thoughtful. They crack eggs open into the pan after deciding the kale pieces have wilted enough, then after swirling the pan wonder aloud, "Where'd you find it?" There's uncertainty, maybe a little hope in the leading question of, "Somewhere cleaner than here?"
“Pennsylvania mountains,” he explains. “Somewhere in the woods. Saw tracks, followed for a while. Also we ate a lot of it already so I'm confident it's safe. Didn't see any sick animals in the area either.”
He talks softly, but more evenly now. With some idea of how the night is likely to go, he's less nervous. He relaxes into a lean against the counter in a spot he feels likely not to be an obstruction. “Always happy to bear with you,” he says, “Not like we'd get through the whole book anyway.” But who doesn't love a little magic?
“I'm still trying to find copies of the other books that have the,” he laments, “dæmons in them. Baird would like those ones. This one though is my only childhood relic.” He nods toward the bag where he left it. This specific copy is the only thing other than Wright that made it through the apocalypse with him. He worries that the admission is both too personal and too presumptuous, though he isn't sure why.
Breakfast for dinner is abandoned entirely as Seren is drawn by magnetic force toward the packages brought for their benefit– ignoring the venison entirely to take in the book, to pick it up in gentle handles that cradle it and look through the imperfect but serviceable covering of ziplock to examine the cover, to crave recollection from it, but it turns out that imagery is missing. They flip it over to the back to read the summary written there, eyes roaming it desperately, desperately. "May–?" they start to ask before they stifle the question away. They'd been given permission, of sorts, already.
"Get the eggs turning before they burn?" Seren asks with some intensity. If they ended up being scrambled rather than made into omelet, they wouldn't mind particularly. They carefully unzip the book from its plastic cradle, gingerly and gently pulling it free to look over the book with their own eyes, flipping to a page somewhat near its center in the needful way that one does when looking for gospel.
They couldn't remember where the concept of Baird had come from. It came from a story they read long ago, of course, but the details had faded and were recalled only fleetingly. They recalled, of course, Pan and the concept of him– a shapeshifting something, a piece of soul made manifest which would change and change suiting the soul's shape as it grew and adapted, at least…
At least until she grew up, the girl in the book. For some reason the concepts remained, but the greater details of the story had faded. Here, in shaking hands, it could be like finding who they were all over again, even if it was a different book than the one they had read– perhaps especially if it weren't the one of the series that they recalled from long ago. Something new now, like they were– like they both were.
Baird looks up from his search by the couch, and almost immediately as he found what he was searching for does he drop the rubber ball made of shadow like him back down to the ground, letting it roll off of the rug and away on the wooden floors.
"I'm very grateful," Seren is sure to remember to say, the words slow and preciously enunciated. "That you were willing to share this with me. I'm…" They stop midline on the page they were reading, one which didn't evoke anything in particular in them, but surely there would be pages and pages in it that would. The book is gently closed again, held intently with both hands. "I'll look forward to reading this again. To maybe enjoying it with you as a play in shadows."
Elliot grimaces quietly as he's asked to cook, something he's never had the finesse for. Before the world ended, meals came in cans. After, you made do over a fire on the side of the road. He pokes at the eggs tentatively with a spatula. At the very least, he remembers what an omelet is supposed to look like, and it doesn't smell strongly yet, so it's neither cooked nor burnt. He wonders if the Elliot who has recently rounded a corner and changed directions knows how to cook; that man's world still has meals that come in cans.
Elliot reads Seren's little behaviors as their words proceed haltingly. Sees their recognition of his vulnerability as he shares the last remaining vestige of his childhood. That it's important to them that he know it's seen and appreciated.
He looks away to hide how grateful he is to not be mocked for sharing a children's book. He quickly realizes that hiding it won't get him what he wants, and a small smile flickers into being at the corners of his mouth. His posture relaxes to show them how comfortable he is with the idea of being able to attend their shadow play. The spitting image of the man who used to be just like him, who did the same thing earlier while pretending to be him in more ways than he’s aware.
He prods underneath the eggs around the sides of the pan, releasing a smell closer to edible food. “I'm glad I found,” he says, “someone excited to read it. Not a lot of books handle exposure to the elements well. Knowing someone else…likes the same book you do is also very cool. Happy I get to share it with you. Recovering it from the cache was a relief on its own. Was worried it would be below the lake instead of near it. How does one…omelet?”
Seren has been in the process of trying to decide if they want to read more, but opting to gently put the book down on the bag it comes from instead. Elliot's train of thought leading him to admit he has no idea what he's doing with the food leads them in turn to suck in a breath, coming back to the moment. "Ah," they quip right away, a self-conscious edge of chuckle in it. "Uh, very carefully."
Baird has already made his way back over toward them both, lingering nearby as moral support only while Seren closes in on Elliot's other side. A glance is given to the consistency of the mixture, and then they move to his other side, lay their hand over his, guiding it to scoop the spatula underneath. "It's pretty solid, so from there, I would cheat a little by letting gravity help, and…" Carefully in the mix of arms, they finesse the handle of the pan around. "You hold that bit up, and we'll let the rest slide down," they tell him as they begin to tilt the pan, the eggy bits on top of the crisping outer layer beginning to shift. "Then flip it over on itself." With their help, since it was asked.
It's not particularly pretty, and it comes with the mess of coming displaced both inside the folded omelet and on the pan in a place where it hadn't entirely let go of its surface, but Seren only shrugs at both things. They pat his arm as they let go, the smile they wear being more in their eyes than in the curve of their mouth. "You'd make a fine sous chef yet," they assure Elliot and step back to let him take over pan babysitting duty while they step aside to hunt down suitable plating material.
"So you found it in a… time capsule of sorts, then?" Seren wonders as they drift those few steps away. In the process they slide the venison off the counter to put it away somewhere more appropriate. "Or was it some other type of cache?"
Elliot, not expecting to be entangled with Seren in order to execute the pan flip, handles himself carefully. He has no idea what he's worried about, and is grateful he found a package of toothbrushes recently. Having completed the operation at least well enough to earn a compliment, he happily pokes the half circle around the pan.
“Buried some stuff,” he explains, “in this yellow plastic clamshell case a while ago. Trade value stuff mostly. Also a pair of very… orange shoes that didn't make it. Thought we'd be back that way sooner than it turned out to be. Took a detour on the way to meet back up with Wright on her way out of New York.”
He slips the spatula under the omelet to prepare it for removal from the pan. “How've things been,” he asks, “here? How have you been, I mean?”
"We've–"
Seren pauses, a clinking of ceramic as they pull down two plates from a shelf preceding a harder sigh. "I've…" they correct, but the thought still takes them a while. Baird's tail sweeps left then right as he looks between the two humans in the room and then decides to go chase the ball laden with shadows he'd forgotten after all. This breakfast doesn't suit him, he finally decides.
With his bouncing across the loft on heavy pads of feet, front paws opening like a cat's as he bounds and leaps, aiming to grab the ball, it leads Seren to let out a nearly humorless laugh and shake their head to themself. "I've been well," they say with confidence, their voice lifting in pitch. "All things considered. I have all this; I have a stable present, and I'm working on making it a stable future. That's all one can hope for, right?" They give something of a smile with the thin press their mouth makes, setting aside the plates on the counter to be near enough to the hot plate.
"I remind myself every single day that in a dying world, I live in the lap of luxury," Seren relays as they turn and lean one hip against the counter, torso mostly turned to keep an eye on Baird in case his playfulness turns objectively violent toward the furniture surrounding him. He would forget himself, at least until something broke, and they'd like to bring him back down to earth before then. When he flops onto his back, paw clasped around the tangle of shadows, and flops again onto his side, maw open and flashing, they narrow their eyes thoughtfully. "What happened to Gideon's daughter hit all of us in some way, though. I want there to be more than the hope of a stable future… to not live feeling like we're just the dying gasp of a world that forsook us anyway. It's all so fragile, though, she reminded us."
"Donovan and I have been keeping things running even through the gloom, though. Business as usual, even if we're struggling to find what we can do to make more out of this without overextending ourselves, run the risk of losing it all."
They smirch their tongue off the back of their teeth thoughtfully, looking back toward Elliot. "Those Easterners that came in might change the tide, so to speak. Delphi, the 'Pelago– connecting the coast with the Midwest might do something appreciable for the people living here as well as there. Might get the people living along those roads to do more than kill each other on sight, once word gets out there's money in making a circuit."
"I'm fine," Seren lies. "I am glad to see you again, though." Not a lie.
Elliot excuses the lie as a social nicety and appreciates the truth. He clicks off the hotplate and backs away from the device, deciding that Seren is better suited to deciding on who gets how much of the food he wasn't expecting and when. It definitely smells edible now, and better than the street fare he had before spending all the calories running to replace his interdimensional doppelganger in a bathroom. He can't help but notice that the other Elliot's wandering now places him on the opposite side of the building from where he started. The man is triangulating his location.
“Glad to see,” he admits, clearing his throat, “you too. I've been looking forward to it.” Since taking the job and heading east, though he doesn't feel like overplaying his hand.
“Stability is definitely worth fighting for,” he says, “and it's always good when there's less killing on the roads.” Not that he minds having to kill people on the roads when they think it's fine to try it themselves. “When it's down to killing over scraps, there's not a lot of reason left in people to convince them it's a bad idea. The worst ones are organized raider gangs, but they tend to be in groups large enough to spot and avoid.”
Seren facilitates handoff of the food, picking up spatula to spear the omelette-looking egg patty roughly in half, slipping it off onto the plates. "That's the biggest challenge," they note while they take the slightly smaller portion for themself, scraping the leftover shavings of egg that have stuck to the pan over the food to waste as little as possible. It's not beautiful garnish, but it'll do. "Making sure none of those assholes get it in their head to challenge us. New Chicago might win, but that doesn't mean we can afford to lose any of us in the process."
"Making new and strong connections is how we'll get into a better future… how we'll grow sustainably… even if living by example is terrifying."
Seren pulls out silverware from a drawer, passes an elegant fork to Elliot before taking one for themself. "I really am sorry for the way Baird reacted earlier, by the way. I think he was on edge because of the new people. We never know what to expect. I asked him to look into their fears, seeing if there were anxieties around us…"
Gideon. The Group. Them.
"I didn't realize you'd be there." Didn't fault him for having any concerns about dealing with Gideon, apparently. "Though, I was surprised… one of them apart from you had a healthy fear of Baird." Seren cants their head as they cut off a portion of omelet with the side of their fork, apparently content to stand at the counter and eat rather than risk a shadowy wolf-like thing deciding he would like a taste– and potentially getting one. "I wonder if she'd heard stories, or something. Interesting that she didn't tell the others with you, if she had."
"I tried, though, to…" Their eyelids flutter closed, fighting with a small flicker of frustration. "Do and be better. It's easy to be intimidating. I'm… still working on being welcoming."
Biting the tines of the fork, they slide it free of food and then gesture loosely with it, one eyebrow arching almost lazily. "So you tell me," they open the floor to Elliot with an amount of self-aware humor in their tone. "Am I getting better at it?"
Elliot savors his meal happily, it's the best thing he's eaten in months. He looks awkward for a moment thinking about how he has no idea how the other Elliot reacted to seeing Baird. Afraid, apparently; does he have some connection to the Seren of his world, or to Gideon?
“Maybe she had a bad experience,” he wonders, having no clue who in Elliot's group already knew about Baird, “playing Twilight Princess as a kid?” His mouth twitches in a smile as he looks at the broken chain on the dæmon's ankle.
“As for me I don't,” he tries but fumbles for useful truths. “I don't have a good history with being given bad orders by dangerous people, I worry about it happening again. My relationship with the DoEA went bloody at the end.” He killed more people than he remembers on the way out, according to Wright. “I also was waiting for Wright to get…to do the talking, and…” He shrugs. “Should have just found you straight off, I know, but I was nervous.”
“Not that I find you intimidating,” he assures them. “You're very welcoming. I feel…welcomed.” Baird might be a legitimate threat, but it would be easy enough to kill the source of the problem if it came to that. Not that he has any desire to hurt Seren, people are just easy to kill and he always knows where his exits are. He'd very much prefer that they stay alive and near him. “I just overthink things sometimes.”
The mention of the video game brings Seren to repress something of a laugh, hand coming up to cover their mouth. They snort a breath out, shaking their head to themself while they chew. They're spared having to answer immediately as he goes on speaking, though, and they eat in quiet. The mention of the DoEA brings them to shoot a sudden, tension-filled glance toward Baird to mind his behavior, but he's dropped to the ground, gnawing on the side of his ball. After being glanced at, though, an ear turns their way after all.
They just shake their head once to him. If Baird wasn't going to go off at the mention of that old hurt, then neither would they. Seren exhales, looking back to Elliot, trying to tune back into the conversation quickly, not let on that trauma could have overwhelmed them at the very mention. They're on their best behavior right now, after all.
"I know what that's like," they say at the end, eager enough. Seren goes to fix themself another bite, adding on almost as if it was nothing, "My relationship with the DoEA, also, it…" They take another bite quickly, speaking around it. "Very different," they clarify. "Just as poor, though." Their eyes stay down, the shining silver in them mostly hooded over by lashes. "They thought I was intimidating… and that was back when Baird couldn't have even hurt a lamb."
"I don't think any of Gideon's lieutenants wouldn't turn if he gave bad orders, though. We have more than just a say in how all this goes, after all…" They turn to look out the window, despite the dark. This is their city, run by their command, even if Gideon sat over them. It meant something. It was something they were proud of.
They'd come far from the child who'd almost been too afraid to leave her cell after having it beat into her that she was both too dangerous for the world and it too dangerous for her.
"I'm glad to hear I'm getting better at hospitality, though," Seren circles back to as they work another bite free for themself.
Elliot nods, taking a moment to eat as he processes the subtle communications between Seren and Baird. Clearly it's a sensitive topic, understandably so. Most of the people he brought in for the department were treated very badly. It's amazing how much suffering he was responsible for in such a short time. Maybe if he'd killed his way out of the office sooner, fewer people would have suffered. He can't change the past, and he's tried to make up for it by killing remnant agents when the opportunity arises. Gregory is here in town, and he's next. Bastian's black list is almost complete.
The other Elliot completes his walk around the building, the ringing in Elliot's ears that locates him in the street pauses to consider its next move. Maybe there's an opportunity there to do what needs doing while respecting Wright’s wishes that he not kill her father.
“I'm sorry,” he says quietly, “that you were on the inside of it. I did as much damage as I could, but…”
He sets down his fork so he can snap his fingers before the need to do it grows any more annoying, then picks the fork back up. “By the time I started killing off agents… the world was already ending. But I've kept busy cleaning up anybody who escaped accountability when… I find anyone. Gregory.” An implied etcetera.
“I'm sorry,” he repeats, because it's never going to be enough. Never going to save the boy who never deserved the hell of his life.
"You aren't single-handedly responsible for the world thinking people like us are a threat," Seren regards Elliot out of the top of their eyes as they almost admonish him. Glittering silver dances over him, assuring, "What you're doing to try and make the little bit of wrong they did near you right… that's enough. That's more than I think anyone would have done for us if the world hadn't ended, for that matter."
They take a deep breath, holding onto that notion for its duration before they let go. In that time, Baird lets out a mouthy, husky-like grumble into the air, adding his own opinion. It actually startles Seren into letting out something of a laugh, looking back at their familiar with interest. "Rare, that you'd speak up," they note to him with teasing fondness.
At that, Baird replies with more of the feral, dangerous growl that usually comports his communication with others. Somehow, it endears Seren even further, fearless of their protector's sharpest of moods.
"He's asking me to tell you thank you for killing anyone who might still do us harm, even though the world is the way it is now. He says it saves him the trouble," Seren relays with just a touch of knowingness that sounds condescending enough that Baird chuffs haughtily and pushes himself up to his feet. Where his paw scrapes the ground in the shuffle, the sharp of his claws leave a trio of divots in the wood flooring, ones which definitely weren't there before. He pads off to find some other space in the loft to sulk and stand watch from.
"Let me know when you're up for that bath," Seren segues as they finish their portion of food. "I'll get the water going."
Elliot smiles at Baird in acknowledgement. It doesn't bother him doing what needs doing. Bad people are expendable, and the ones who really make a mark become Problems. “Happy to do my part,” he chuckles.
He takes a moment to eat while he chews over Seren's offer of a bath. The other Elliot is holding still now, or maybe moving directly away at the very least. “Should probably,” he says, “take a quick trip to my safehouse to grab clean clothes first. Didn't have a chance since you… brought me to the boss.”
"Ah," Seren intones with understanding, even if it's far from guilt. "I'd tell you surely there's something around here that could serve, but…"
They set aside their fork and plate and turn, heading for the open entry where sliding wall could otherwise obscure their sleeping area. Across the loft they go, one hand mussing the top of Baird's head while he paws the space grumpily, leaving him to snap half-heartedly after them. Oblivious or uncaring, they slip into their bedroom to retrieve something from out of sight, only to return with a black-lacquered coin in hand. "Here," they indicate as they near Elliot again, arm offered out. "I'll need it back when you return, but this will get you back in the building without questions."
Elliot accepts the coin and tumbles it over his fingers, flipping it from knuckle to knuckle. The sound of the other Elliot's positional ringing catches his ear, and he palms the coin in a graceful moment of sleight-of-hand. He can bring the other man along with him to ask an impossible favor. “No worries,” he says. “I'll be back as…quick as I can.”
He looks at his book, feeling the desire to take it with him but deciding it's a better show of faith to leave it here. “Thanks for dinner,” he says, “by the way. Should have said that already.”
“And you,” he says to Baird as he heads toward the door, “better not sell my book for snack money. I'd be so sad.”
Baird lifts his head from where he was about to lay it on his paws to chuff, woundedly. Honestly, all these attacks on his person.
Seren can only stifle the somethings of a smile. They see Elliot to the door, placing a hand to the small of his back along the way. "Don't mention it," they assure him, and pull the door open, giving him a small nod. "See you in a bit, then. I'll probably get reacquainted with this story while we wait."
Later
If Elliot really thinks about it, the other Elliot having the ability to create a telepathic network isn't the weirdest thing he learned in the last half hour. It's certainly weird, but not the weirdest. The other Elliot is also married, to a woman named after a wizard. He never thought of himself as the marrying type, but that's still not the weirdest thing. Wright is married to a woman with whom she has a daughter. Wright has never shown interest in women, so this Marthe must be interesting. He wonders how she'll react when he tells her about this whole mind-fuck. He wonders if the women he and his partner could have been married to are even alive here in the real world.
He packs all the inexplicable bullshit into the bag that carries a towel and clean clothes, swinging it back over his shoulder as he knocks on Seren's door for the second time tonight. With any luck, he'll be enjoying his book in a way he never has before while the weird other Elliot kills someone for him. Not for free, of course, but it's out of his hands now.
When Seren answers, it's in more comfortable clothing. Flannel pajamas, long in sleeve and pantleg, which guard against the onset of chill along with the dark, thick socks worn along with them.
"Are you all right?" they wonder on seeing him, something about his presentation leading them to ask. "Did you run into someone on your way back?"
Despite apparently finding him in a perhaps concerningly different state than they left him, they still grant him entrance and bolt the door behind him, rather than leaving themself an easy out should it need taken – should something either explicable or not have happened while he was gone which might remove Elliot from their better graces. It's enough of a concern that Baird raises his head from where he lies on the couch to peer at them both, amber eyes narrowed in thought.
Elliot looks Seren up and down upon entering. “Wow, you look,” he imagines, “fucking cozy.”
He lowers the bag from his shoulder, closing the door with his foot in a way that doesn't make a loud clack because it was drilled into him as a child that he was too loud. “Some guy from that convoy,” he says casually. “Recognized me from earlier. Wasn't a problem, just talked a lot more than seemed necessary.” Certainly a lot more than he himself does, and with much better cadence.
“Got some clothes,” he shrugs, “though, so that's…a bonus. A success, not a bonus. Mission accomplished.” He grimaces, stepping into the space. He doesn't immediately return the black lacquered coin, looking uncertain what to do with his backpack and his hands both.
Seren only weaves their head, glancing down at themself and then back up at him with an arched eyebrow daring him to judge them for being comfortable at this hour. "It's bedtime," they justify themself, failing in not sounding offended, even if they aren't.
Their posture indicates their continued comfort, that that's just who they are. "Congratulations on a mission well-done," comes from them with a more teasing tone. With a hmph and a small smile, they gesture with an uplift of their chin toward the open door to the bedroom. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable, too. Water should run warm if not hot." The truest of luxuries. "I've been enjoying the glimpses into the world I remember."
It's quickly they go back to the couch, a hand ruffling the top of Baird's head– which he snorts at derisively– and then they scoop up the book preciously, turning it out to show how far within the height of the pages the thin metal bookmark they've placed is. "Honestly… it's more than nostalgic. It's… the next steps of Lyra's story, even though it's the first book. And it's…"
Seren looks back to Baird for a moment, and his colors seem to have lightened from the deep, shadowy black in patches that look like more natural colorations. Rather than acknowledge it, they only brighten themself for a moment and look back to Elliot. "It's hard to put words to," they admit in tones somewhat sheepish, a far cry from the sharp and cutting aura they usually present with.
Elliot can only look chagrined at Seren's reaction to his statement. He tries to think of something to say just in case they're actually offended, but nothing comes to mind, at least not in the right order. The apologetic smile will have to do.
He crosses the space to the indicated bedroom, thinking about what even a warm shower will feel like in comparison to not having had a shower at all in weeks. Stopping briefly, he absorbs Seren's unfiltered reaction to his novel, noting the genuine enthusiasm. They're the only person who's ever touched the book other than Wright. Well, Eddie touched it, but only to tear the cover and title pages off, letting them drift to the floor in a way so unlike how he later fell toward the sidewalk.
He feels mildly embarrassed that he doesn't have the books that Seren better identified with. He always felt closer to Will, though he never left a mother behind; only pushed someone to their death. He considered asking the other Elliot about his world’s version of the story, but couldn't wrap his head around the books being in the wrong order. The Elliot who didn't cause an Eddie to make such a noise when he hit the ground that Elliot can still feel it as a physical sensation in his ears fifteen years later. The Elliot who's about to murder Wright's father.
“I could probably quote large sections of that book,” he says quietly, regretting it instantly. It seems like a non-sequitur. “I'm happy someone else gets to enjoy it.” Realizing that the only thing preventing him from enjoying it with them is the bath he's been thinking of for hours, he steps into the room to see how quickly he can get it over with.
By the time he comes out, Seren is curled up on the broad bed, nestled beneath a shroud of fleece while a sealing quilt remains turned down. They've made it roughly a quarter through the book while Baird looks on through the open door, curled up on the loft's couch. When Elliot opens the door from the bathroom, a trio of shimmering slits in reality float in the bedroom, two small while the other nearly stands from floor to ceiling– a hazy but indistinct glimpse of cities beyond whispered between all of them. Seren knows they should look up at this point, but gleaming silver-white eyes remain glued to the page, lost in the text.
They finally reach the end of the paragraph they were on and at last begin to glance up, looking him over. "Welcome back," they greet him calmly.
The mirages flicker out of existence with the lift of their head, and it doesn't seem they noticed their existences at all.
Elliot stares at the alien landscapes, his eyes seeing a tower of angels where Will fought a boy and got his knife, but his mind lost on the roof of the group home where he fought a boy and got his own. Even as the images disappear he's there a moment longer in the cold autumn wind. Seeing Eddie keep not getting back up off the pavement forever even though he only fell from the roof once. He blinks three times to forget.
He smiles when he sees Seren in an even deeper state of coziness, though he doesn't comment on it this time just in case they were annoyed when he made his earlier observation. “Needed that,” he says. He hasn't been this clean in months, and the clothes he took from the filing cabinet in the office were spared exposure to the elements and carry no annoying scents. “Many thanks. Take it you're enjoying the book.” He makes no move to join them past the open bathroom doorway, not wanting to presume he's getting in on the coziness.
"We are," Seren answers, even though only one half of their whole remains in the room at present. They also spare Elliot the need to presume by patting the space next to them on the large, plush-covered bed, providing clear invitation.
It's followed by a quick consultation of where they are in the book, only to close it and turn it out and over to him, their eyes still glimmering like starlight - inscrutable and alien, almost, save for the interest shown by how their gaze doesn't break from him as they offer the book back out.
"Can you show me your favorite part?" they ask of him, any childlike wonder in it suspended by years of masking their interests. The question comes across almost demanding as a result, curt at the very least, almost urgent. They would like to know, they hope to convey, at least. They begin to wriggle beneath the plush blanket to unseal its warmth from around them, the potential to share it unlocked. This wasn't a world where they could necessarily rationalize a second luxury like that, given the loft usually contained them and only them.
Elliot accepts the silent invitation just as silently, seemingly unfazed by any brusqueness of the inquiry. He settles himself carefully onto the bed, fighting a worry at the back of his head that Baird might lunge at his ankles from beneath the bed frame. He makes himself comfortable, but not too comfortable, leaving room to relax further into place once he feels okay taking up space. Feeling Seren’s warmth is very pleasant, he realizes.
He takes the book, feeling better just having it in his hands. One thumb riffles the soft edge of the pages, thinking through scenes as his thumb passes their relative depths in the book. The back is too far, the parts he doesn’t relate to. The book’s protagonist is searching for a parent he’s never met, whereas Elliot often wondered but never got the courage to go looking. As he got older, he stopped caring as much.
His thumbnail tracks backward toward a page that had been dog-eared in the past, but has since returned to its proper position. The mark is barely perceptible as a warp between other pages near the top of the book. He opens there, scanning the words for a good place to start. “As a kid I was always partial to him finding the knife,” he admits. His voice is low and confident, if mildly embarrassed to be talking about things that were important to a child he hasn’t been in ages. “Fighting off the bigger kid, having a way to defend himself against the mind-consuming creatures from between the worlds. Losing two fingers obviously is not optimal, but hey. Cool knife.”
Seren lets out a smile that comes with a huff of a fond breath with it, their eyes gleaming as Elliot's recollection is something they read from just as keenly as the book. "It is, isn't it. A cool knife."
They shift in closer to Elliot as they pull the blanket over their laps both. In the other room, Baird lifts his head visibly from the couch to peer toward them, ever on guard, like a particularly overprotective parent… but he stays where he is, afar, and slowly begins to lower his head back down. In the meantime, Seren remarks, "I had gotten to just before that point, I think. No play in shadows, not to start. But your memory is good enough."
"Baird's good at reading into people's fears– the things they imagine that might hurt. Reads them as easily as words on a page," they explain absently. "But…"
When their hand hand pulls back from tending to the blankets, two fingers are notably missing from their hand, the remaining wrapped loosely around a wooden hilt leafed with gold, the image of an angel seen in partial view. One side cuts the physical, the other– the ethereal. Elliot knows.
It's everything he ever imagined the blade might look like.
"You'll want to be careful with that," Seren cautions, all while Baird chuffs agreement from the other room. Seren's being reckless, frankly, in his nearly invisible opinion. "It won't… be the real thing, of course. But it will cut. And if there's a place you can imagine, maybe it can show the slightest bit of there."
They breathe out slowly, something that wants to be a smile coming over them. There's a nervousness to it– the act of sharing this, in every sense. The white, starlike glimmer in their eyes trends more silver with the knife's creation– with the bit of it they take into themself to bring Elliot's recollection into reality, or something near enough to it.
Silently beside him, their heart races. They weren't sure they'd be able to conjure something with this much fidelity, but their head swims with that reality at the moment instead of their own. Maybe that's made it easier.
Elliot marvels at the knife, exactly as he's imagined it so many times. He reaches toward it but stops before taking hold, a giddiness spoiling his delivery of a joke. “You've already,” he stops for a voiceless huff of a laugh. “Your fingers,” he clarifies, “you're the wielder, we have to…”
He looks irritated at himself for a moment, but he centers himself because the joke needs to land somewhere that doesn't sound like a death threat. “I'd have to fight you for,” he explains as he tamps down his excitement, “it, or…it wouldn't work for me.” He chuckles, pretending he isn't embarrassed and snapping his fingers once, twice, three times. The hand that almost took it remains close, clearly wanting it but backed into a corner by his observation.
As soon as Elliot points out that Seren is the owner, color floods into their cheekbone and blooms shortly after across the rest of their face. They try to speak past it and around it, but The Reality has already been established, and Elliot seems to respect it, so changing it feels to make light of it, to break the magic.
"I… that's my mistake," they finally manage to say, looking the least confident they ever have before, certainly vulnerable in this moment. A nervous smile twitches its way over them as they suppose, "Or maybe it's secretly by design so you can't just … go," on the edge of a chuckle of their own.
They very carefully set the knife down between them and him, allowing it to be picked up, even if not fully used.
"But, you still could hold it," they propose. But that somehow doesn't feel like enough. They swipe their hand over the top of the blanket for a lack of another outlet. Words try and fail to come to them before they finally offer up somewhat more hopefully:
"Did you like there, best? Cittàgazze? Or somewhere else?"
Elliot is kind enough not to draw attention to Seren's fluster. He carefully lifts the knife then tosses it through the air into the hand further away from them, quickly and alarmingly twirling it between his fingers with the familiarity of an inconceivable number of hours spent practicing just that. “I don't mind,” he offers to soothe their embarrassment as the knife comes to a much safer position in his grip, “being the blonde one with the external soul. I'm less blonde than I was as a kid but I can pretend. And you could be the one…who gets us places.” Even though that's his job, though never as spectacularly as it would be with the knife.
“Cittàgazze is the most fleshed-out,” he decides, eyes somewhere between Baird and the doorway that leads to him. “And the other worlds got progressively weirder.” Despite the determination that he isn't the wielder, he searches around the air in front of him with the tip of the knife for the familiar sweet spot where here and there might be caused to collide.
Seren lets out a shocked flutter of laughter when Elliot offers to be the one with the external soul, knowing in their heart that that's not right. Their gleaming eyes shift to the doorway as well, following the invisible bond that lies between themself and Baird until they see the darkened shape of him in the other room, giving them a knowing return of a look in kind. No– the reality of it was, they were the ones who lived that role. Seren doesn't remember far enough back to know whether Baird came first or if they had read what they had of the Golden Compass and then Baird came into realization, but…
He had changed, when they were a child. Changed so often. Changed every day. Changed at will. And then– they'd grown up. They'd grown up so fast.
Their gaze floats back eventually to the knife that's stopped its breath-stopping spinning, to the hand that holds it. Their eyes follow the trace of the knife as its tip seeks to change the world, and they process Elliot's words gradually. Their expression tics inscrutably, and then their hand shifts, lifting off of the bed.
Seren's gaze begins to glow softly again, pupils disappearing amidst the glittering silver that suddenly overwhelms the white. Their hand comes to rest over the back of Elliot's, guiding his touch, lending him their power.
The knife's tip finds purchase in reality, and with the sound of a warning growl from Baird, one cut off before it could become anything else, the cut between reality widens ever so slightly– and then all things flip inside and out. Suddenly, the bed they lie on transforms into one more brightly decorated, one Elliot envisioned to be in the house Will and Lyra stayed in while in Cittàgazze. Windows open out with a view of the city, bringing with it a more pleasant scent of sea than the poisoned pools of Lake Michigan– one borrowed from both their memories and made satisfying through nostalgia.
Sitting side by side like that, the entire world turned around so completely that the other world was left behind in an unintelligible haze, a mere dreamlike slit rather than a concerning and inescapable thing, they finally slowly let out a held breath. Seren's hand remains gently over Elliot's, frozen as they begin to turn their head and look over all of what's changed. The details aren't particularly familiar to them, and yet they've manifested with such concreteness all the same.
Baird is missing. Everything about where they come from, for the moment, seems to be gone, right down to their clothing.
Seren begins to let out a timid, incredulous laugh.
Elliot's excitement at the sudden immersion is palpable, he can feel his heart hammering and he breathes in deeply in surprise. The sensation of pure, childlike wonder feels almost foreign to him. His imagination has always been vivid, but this is orders of magnitude more magical.
He tries to find words, nothing coming close to being put in order. What can he say that wouldn't lessen this gift? He carefully lowers the knife, hand still held, wanting to say be careful but not having the will to speak. His jaw works, he swallows, he doesn't snap his fingers. In the moment, all he can do is prevent himself from tearing up unexpectedly. He begins to taste the foods described in the book, remembers the cafes and tastes coffee.
He finds Seren's gleaming eyes, trying to impart wordlessly that this is the greatest moment in living memory.
In looking Elliot over, Seren's brows tic upward in surprise to find his hair colour changed to be more gold than brown, notes that when they pull their hand away from his, different fabric than before adjusts its sit on their own skin. Gone is the fleece of their warm blanket, in is the warm of the sea air. A faint breath leaves them, their eyes beginning to close at peace, listening to and feeling the world around them come to life.
And then they notice what's missing– their link. Their bond. Their other half.
It comes clawing for them anyway, full of panic.
Seren. Seren!
It screams out in tortured and lonely panic, and Seren sucks a sudden breath in, the entire world folding back in on itself just as rapidly as before, condensing back into that single, hazed slit of light. Gone is their changed body, changed clothes, changed everything. There's only the present, and that includes a wolf-sized shadow that leaps onto the bed and lays itself vigorously down over Seren's lap, nuzzling his head into them roughly while he keens a high-pitched note of need. Paws dig at them, like Baird is trying to find his whole way back into their being.
His being back reminds them of what was lost for that moment– and glowing, diamond tears fill the corners of their eyes as they wrap their arms around Baird. "Shh, shhh shh," they soothe him, and his massive form becomes… smaller. Shrinks away from a thing of terror to something more like a real creature, one small enough it can share the bed with Elliot and Seren both even as Seren pulls Baird to them, hands stroking down his shadowy back.
Baird whuffles, but calms in his outward distress quickly.
"I've–" Seren starts for their part, and has to swallow away the sudden dryness in their mouth. A glittering streak runs down the cheek farthest from Elliot, made somewhat visible when they turn their head almost blindly in his direction. "I can't even remember the last time I did something like that."
Was able to do something like that.
Elliot manages to avoid rolling off the bed like somebody has just tossed a grenade onto the quilt when Baird crashes through the vanishing illusion, but only at the cost of a handful of years off of his life. He clenches his jaw and then his fists for good measure as he tries to get himself to relax. In the silence, for a moment, all he can hear is where the foreign Elliot is in relation to himself.
He sighs, letting it go as a sad chuckle. No perfect moment can last. “Sorry,” he says quietly, “Buddy. Didn’t mean to panic you.” He does not attempt to give the monster any pats of consolation, as that feels very much like a Summoner Only moment and he’s too familiar with rules about when it’s okay to touch.
It makes him think back further, to things around the rules, to other rules that they’d figured out with Bastian as he gained control over his mindscape. Rules of dream logic, where some things are unnatural and harder to sustain unless they’re relevant to something else. He and Seren had been practically irrelevant in the juxtaposition of their thematic appointments in the narrative of the shadow play. He isn’t the one with the external soul. They aren’t the one who pushed someone to his death. Maybe that matters. Maybe it’s just nostalgia.
“Maybe we were wrong to play against our types,” he says, mostly in jest. “Too much interference trying to be in the other person’s role.”
Seren lets out a surprised bark of laughter and then, curling the inexplicably puppy-sized Baird against their chest, letting him nest his shadowy head over their heart, begins to shake their head. Additional glittering streams fall from their eyes, which they haven't fully clocked for what they are aside from tears. Their hand not pressed to Baird's back lifts to swipe the heel of their palm against their cheek. "I'd say maybe," they allow. "But even to have made it that far, I…"
"When I said shadow play, I meant– literally," comes with an almost bitter smile when they consider the vibrant, colorful immersion they'd been able to summon even if only for a moment. The power of the fires of imagination having been lit for the first time in… "The last time I was able to do something like that, I was a child. These days, it's just–"
The words catch, and they consider why it is they have not nearly long enough. It might break them otherwise. When was the last time they had cause to imagine anything nearly so fantastic?
Baird breathes out a sigh against Seren's chest, amber eyes considering Elliot warily before he shifts his head and lets them close, settling into a peace. "He knows it wasn't your fault, by the way," they aside rather than pick up the dropped thought. "He was just afraid that my ability to make things real might've separated the two of us for good. And Baird and I, we've…" Seren's voice softens, then, as they stroke his dark back, the little puff of shadow that he is. "Been together a long time now."
A beat lapses, before they offer more earnestly, "Thank you. For giving me this back." They let out a slow breath of their own, one relaxed, one more at peace. "The travelers from the Archipelago have a library, they've said. Perhaps it's one I should look into acquiring copies from." A faint breath, something like an amused snort, leaves them then. "Or open a New Chicago branch, perhaps," comes from them with idle and deadpan humor.
Elliot feels an odd combination of happiness to have helped and a featureless embarrassment. He smiles, though, to both of them. “Happy to accidentally help,” he mumbles.
His attention is drawn to the glitter around their eyes, which isn’t going away with the rest of their imaginings. His expression turns to concern, and he wishes he had a handkerchief to hand them. That got traded away a long time ago. “Are you,” he attempts to ask, gesturing at his own face instead of reaching for theirs.
Seren blinks, and they self-consciously swipe at their cheek again. "Oh," they murmur, dragging the heel of their hand against their face a bit more vigorously. Only a bit of remaining wet is scrubbed away, but the glittering silver line remains embedded across their features. They look down at their fingers, noting the fragments of silvering substance that are at odds with what normal tears look like.
From the bed, they cast a look to the corner of the room where a standing mirror normally helps them assess their outfit selections. It assists them now with verifying the state of their face– the diamond glittering in their eyes now rather than just the silver as much as the remnants of their silent promise to Baird to never be parted.
Their eyes flicker in surprise, and further glowing substance gathers and falls, though this time it doesn't stain. It just…
"Fuck, what is that?" they wonder, and wipe their cheek again. They rub their forefingers and thumb together as they look at the silvery, salted mixture. A thought passes over them and they brace their tongue firmly into their cheek. They sigh and shake their head, putting off an air of being unbothered.
"Sorry," Seren apologizes with the brightness of one who is still trying to be a good host despite something unexpected happening. "Everyone's gift has its quirks, I suppose."
“It doesn’t bother me,” Elliot says nonchalantly, “that you’re cooler.” He props himself forward, wrapping his arms around his knees to maintain the position.
“There was an old Sci-Fi Channel show,” Elliot says with a flickering half-smile, “The Invisible Man. Did you ever watch that? Turn of the millennium. Kind of looks like the quicksilver he used to turn himself invisible to… solve quirky crimes for a secret government agency. Maybe you can turn invisible now. Fight crime.”
Seren snorts before shaking their head, one hand absently stroking the pup nestled over their heart as they rest back against the headboard and pillows of the bed again. "I don't know about that," they balk dubiously. "For all the different things I can do, turning invisible historically hasn't been one of them."
"I could think of some jumpscares, though, that might make it worth it," they aside with a long glance over to him and a wicked grin. They seem pleased that the altered look, for however long it lasts, isn't such an oddity. Maybe Elliot is just being polite, though.
Their smile fades before they wonder, hand still over the distinct greys and browns hiding beneath their palm, shadows no longer seeping between their fingers, "Not to change the topic, but… have you given much thought into what comes after the hunt, yet? Where it'll take you?"
Elliot rests back against the headboard with a smile that doesn't fade entirely as he looks away from Seren to contemplate an answer. He spends a moment tucking his feet back under the quilt.
“Thought about it,” he admits, “a lot. Been kind of single-minded about the pursuit but. Could just keep going, poking around for more former co-workers. The man up… top said the old man was going on about remnant government out west. Seems like as good a place as any to look for people I didn't get to kill around the water cooler.” It's said with a levity that seems disproportionate to the amount of effort involved.
“That's also kind of exhausting,” he admits, “though. Gregory is kind of the highest point in the organization I'll have been able to get since the first person to go. Hard to top her, honestly. Could just…just retire somewhere with irritated, snow-covered white sand beaches. Though I do like infrastructure.” This last comment directed out at the city wistfully.
Seren chuffs for a moment at the idea of just continuing to hunt down former coworkers who were tangentially-responsible for the villainization of all people like them and had brought about the end of the world. They wouldn't hate that for him, somehow, and imagine themself living vicariously through him, always offering New Chicago as a place to land for a safe night and a warm bed while on the hunt.
But they just as much understand being tired.
They smile faintly at the mention of infrastructure, nodding. "If you feel like trading one oil-slicked body of water for another, it is warmer down south… but there's no place like Chicago. You're right about that." A beat. "But if you're not, I expect you come back and tell me, so I know about it, too."
Baird's tiny form under their hand is abruptly getting less tiny, a wolfish pup with greys and browns not at all like the normally inky, shadowy, nearly unreal thing he's always been. They let him slide down to their lap and to their side not facing Elliot, letting their familiar otherwise rest while still keeping his head on their leg.
"Though if you wanted to just… stay," Seren offers. "Maybe while waiting to hear back if any civilization does exist out West, I'm positive we could figure something out. Find a suitable scout to range while you get to rest."
Elliot looks away to hide how grateful he is to learn Seren expects that of him. He quickly realizes that hiding it doesn't help him get what he wants, and a small smile flickers into being at the corners of his mouth. His posture relaxes to show them how comfortable he is with seeing them more often.
“You’ll be the first to know if I find a better place than this,” he says. He thinks about how Wright would probably be first to know in actuality, assuming she doesn’t kill or disown him for hiring a hitman to murder her father. He doesn’t mention any of that, because it’s nice to have something that’s only about him. And Seren.
He produces and tumbles a small wooden horse over his fingers, making it look like it’s galloping from knuckle to knuckle. The sound of a different Elliot moving south catches his ear, and he palms the horse in a graceful moment of sleight-of-hand.
The way he says that sounds earnest enough, genuine enough, that Seren in return eases. The situation somehow feels less… transactional, now. It doesn't feel like he's telling the Administrator he'd found someplace else, it feels like he'd tell Seren that information. And that… distinction means something, doesn't it.
Their head quirks thoughtfully in the easy silence that elapses, and then they let their eyes drift to the toy he rolls over his knuckles, contenting themself with interest in that. "Clever, that." they note without preamble, seeming impressed just as much when it's folded into his palm.
"All right, Baird," they murmur as they suddenly lean forward, nudging the gangly-legged wolf curled up against their side. "Time for bed. Up up." To which he begins to growl upon the prodding, a not uncommon affair, but it's without the low, threatening bass it normally carries. Somehow, Seren is nonplussed about the drastic change to him, letting out a snort. "Come on," they nudge again, with more force, and Baird starts to lift up on his haunches, still fierce and grumpy about his comfort being disrupted. They smirch their tongue off the roof of their mouth and concede, "You can stay up here if it's in shadow."
The familiar considers, and then becomes smokelike; brown and grey misting down toward Seren's being and becoming one with them.
"I'm going to turn in," Seren repeats, this time for Elliot's sake. They look toward him and shift the book that belongs to him back his way. "If you want to stay up and read or do something for a bit, just turn the lights down when you're ready, all right?"
Elliot accepts the book, fanning through the soft edges of the pages out of habit. He could read it, it's been a while since he dug in. But it's warm, and Seren is sleepy, and it's been a long, strange day. Maybe the ringing in his ears that tells him that Elliot has stopped moving will go away if he falls asleep.
He sets the book and the little wooden horse on the bedside table, then clicks off the lamp.
"Good night," Seren says as the light fades. They settle in, and try not to linger too long on how long it's been since the last time they had anyone near enough to say that to apart from Baird.
It was nice.