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 Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:23 pm
The more he walked, the more his ankle began to ache. At first, they were little quips that he could dismiss easily, and he might spare a glance at his leg now and again when a stray car caught him in its headlights, but he saw nothing that betrayed the source of the pain.
In the distance, between buildings that rose up and gnashed at the sky, the cruel dark of night — he assumed night — brightened to an intransigent grey. The cusp of another dawn, then, and a full day for piecing together what had happened to him. His stomach twisted and growled as if to remind him that it had been some time since he last ate, though he couldn't rightly remember when. It didn't seem important. He needed to find a clinic first, then he'd get himself in order again.
But as he wandered the long and winding street, eclipsed by ancient buildings that struggled to stand and their decades-old hedges and trees, he wondered if he was anywhere close to one. The area seemed staunchly residential, home to childhood whimsy and tire swings and the inanities of family life. On the other side of the street, crossing two wide lanes, was a wrought iron fence with stern columns of stone breaking up their arching vigil. Two great gates interlocked together further on, and while he couldn't make out the name of it in the waning dark, he presumed those gates guarded a churchyard. Headstones were recognizable enough.
He supposed he wouldn't be needing a pastor — or a grave — just yet, though the constant pangs in his chest left him reconsidering. Maybe it was better to stop there, then. See if some live-in groundskeeper could point him in the right direction.
He crossed the road in the absence of cars. Further down from the enormous gate that barred entry to cares in after-hours, he found a smaller iron door for those on foot. Looked like it had once been padlocked, but the lock had been cut and discarded. Chains dangled and clinked haphazardly in a meandering breeze as he ventured across the threshold.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:25 pm
Not too far in, he was greeted first by a voice, clear and carrying, reciting something rather at odds with both a graveyard and the coming sunrise. "...one dozen chocolate chunk cookies, with the sprinkles, and a fifth of bourbon. Fell asleep on couch. Missed all of my shows." The voice tsked and the voiced turned conversational. "Geraldine, is this little fight with your friend really worth breaking your diet?' There was a boy stretched out lazily along a large upright gravestone that, on close inspection by the flickering bit of lantern light beside the reader, was detailed to look like a book case. Each marble spine carved out with exquisite detail, including the titles of what would assumed were the departed's collection of favorites. At the botton, nearly an after thought, as a small plaque reading: Geraldine Forscythe Mercopalis It had to have been ridiculously expensive. The boy lounging on top of it was also a bit ridiculous and gave of the air of someone equally expensive. His dark hair blended into shadow, a riotous suggestion of curls framing an extremely pale face. The rings at his fingers were not only gaudy, but the sort of gaudy that was informed by intention rather than cheap price tags. The same with the distressed edges of painted on black jeans and the glinting studs along his belt. With the chipped black of otherwise studiously manicured nails. Small field notebook in hand, reading by lantern light, Malory was very clearly posed. And yet it wasn't awkward or unnatural, because he was always settled into one pose or another. It was simply how he chose to exist in the world. Opening his mouth to continue, there was a sudden, halting pause as his eyes picked out the figure at the edge of the lamplight. "Hello." With a little smile that couldn't hide a certain sense of mischief, Malory closed the notebook and tapped his chin with it. "Do you come here often?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:26 pm
The boy stopped at the sight of someone lounging on a headstone, like one might sprawl upon a chaise. With only the amber light from the lantern and pre-dawn's soft ambience, he couldn't decide if the irreverent one looked more man or woman.
In truth, he was struck dumb at first, uncertain if he caught someone in a trespass or if he walked in on something that wasn't meant for his eyes. But the voice that greeted him clarified two things — the individual was decidedly masculine and he was likely as unwelcome in the churchyard as the blemished youth that just found his way in. Make that three: someone so blasé about death couldn't possibly be the groundskeeper. But just the same, he might know the way to the nearest clinic.
At first, he shrugged. Shook his head after. The place didn't look familiar. He couldn't recall ever setting foot in it.
His attention kept slipping from the perfect, pale face to the lantern that illuminated and colorized the boy. He wanted to say something. Anything would've sufficed. Hello. What the ********>. It didn't matter. Instinct warned him that it wasn't an option.
So he raised his hands instead. Feeling a little puzzled about it, he shaped his question with his hands, as if pulling it out of the air. Need a clinic, he signed.
That wasn't much of a question. He felt something loosely adjacent to
Know where I can find one? He hadn't quite caught up with the fact that he approached the boy until he reached a comfortable conversational distance and stopped himself. Lantern light gleamed over chipped nails, studded leather. Some billowing tangle of hair like an artist's bramble.
He wasn't afraid, but he felt
His hands hesitated. They started, stopped. Then — Got mugged.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:26 pm
He could tell the other was injured well before they stepped into the light and gave a clear view of a figure, skinny and scuffed up, with telltale tracks of alley grime. Their expression and body were halting, confused but nothing spoke of upset. Even as their hands, specked with yet more dirt and some glinting wet bits that were probably blood, began to explain the need for a clinic and the fact that they'd been attacked...there was a sense that they were unphased by it. Maybe by him, but that was to be expected.
It was tempting, to tease the other a bit by playing ignorant, maybe make them write it out for him with their aching, stinging hands. But his gaze kept snagging on their eyes. There was something both frustratingly familiar and also very odd in that look. But maybe odd was the wrong term for it, there was something...new about it. And Malory couldn't explain what it was, at least not yet, but it was more interesting than teasing out a little suffering in the other.
With a roll of hips, Malory tucked the slim notebook into a back pocket and slid off the headstone. With a mild smile, he began to sign as he spoke, "I do know where to find one, and you'll need my help in getting there." Pulling out his phone, it only took a few moments to summon a ride. Pocketing the phone, he gave them one last sweeping look before blowing out the lantern, leaving them both in the gentle dregs of the disappearing night. There was a bit of drama and fantasy to the other, underneath all the grime and hurt. But was it them or was it simply the moment and all the trappings of their setting?
Well, time would tell, now wouldn't it?
"It should be here in a few minutes," Malory's voice sounded in the dark, and now it was testing and teasing at the edges. "Enough time to get to know one another, right?" The other would find their hand gently taken, with care to avoid the palm.
"I'm Malory, and isn't it your pleasure to meet me?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:27 pm
Watching the boy move was perhaps the most agonizing part. Even as his hair swept over shoulders or rounded his neck in flagrant melodrama, the rest of him moved with purpose. Shifted like it was the easiest thing. Like he'd been born with a cat's grace in all of its hype and none of its exaggeration.
It didn't occur to him to stop watching this boy, who was clearly taller, until the graveyard boy touched his hand. hen his gaze flickered downward as if Malory was drawing his attention to something, and drawing it he was, between some difficult to translate lil of excitement paired with the instinctual recoil of something that was not to be touched. But the youth quelled it nearly as fast as that instinct had come on, and he tried to grip that felt cool to the touch. Like the hewn bookcase that Malory just descended like some spectral throne.
In truth, he was spellbound for a moment. Muted by the perfection inherent in their meeting. The odds weren't lost on him — he'd bet money he didn't have that such circumstances were unearthly slim, but fortunate he was to encounter someone in the dead of night, in a graveyard, who was willing to help him, who could understand sign language, who could respond with sign language, who knew where a clinic was, and who could — and would — provide a ride to get there.
It was a perfection that nearly compelled something in return. With some effort, he tore his gaze away from Malory's wrist and looked to his eyes.
Darker without the lantern light. In the early hours, he looked as much a corpse as the fresh ones that hadn't gotten their blanket of sod installed. But he held that perfect prettiness in a marble complexion from some grand and long defunct renaissance.
He could sigh about it. But that would mean remembering to breathe. Which he did, after a moment, and perhaps a little sharply.
He swallowed, the sharp peak of his throat bobbing while he kept his words in check. Then he raised that clasped hand to his lips in proffered deference, for Malory acted a touch like an owed debtor and he hadn't a scrap of anything to his name.
If he even had a name.
He followed up by signing with his free hand, pausing only briefly to sift his narrow fingers through some tousled wefts of raven black that wanted to escape into his face. Did you have me beaten and left in an alley, too? You seem too convenient for pleasure. Penance, maybe.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:28 pm
Where the touch of lips to his hand brought out a bemused smile, the proposed conspiracy startled a genuine laugh out of Malory. The sound of it carried across the graveyard and his smile dimpled, turning much more human in the process.
"Why can't I be both?" He asked in turn and began to lead the other out of the graveyard, a different path this time. As they passed by the copse of trees that hid a mirror, he had a moment of temptation. To bring them in. To see what happened. To fill the clean depths of their eyes with magic, the Mirror, and of course, himself. Well, he'd just have to settle for the latter, now wouldn't he?
"But no, if I asked for someone to beat you, of course, I would have watched," it was said lightly as he swung their hands between them. "You'll just have to settle for me being your angel." They were approaching a thick, wall-like row of lilac bushes that hid both the wrought iron fence, as well as a gap within said fence.
The other had yet to give him their name, but he decided to let it go, to see how long they could avoid it. It felt, a bit, like they were existing with fairy rules. At turns both whimsical and dire, but without too much malice to spoil the game.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:29 pm
Oh, how charming he was when he smiled, when he laughed. An intoxicating little gesture that stirred his heart and quelled his aches and pains just enough that he could forget himself for those first few steps. Then a bolt of revenge from a jilted sprain chased his thoughts back to the reality of his situation/
He wasn't dead or in imminent danger, but he was hurt. He was hungry. He'd need a place to stay until he could remember where the ******** he lived.
Malory was the patient sort, though. Not dragging him along by the fingers in a manner that he probably deserved. He'd paused long enough to ease his weight off the ankle and then step more deliberately, more carefully, to the welcome relief that the pain ebbed to an ache once more. Much like his head. Much like the dull throb in his palms or the half-numbed pulses through the spots where bones met asphalt.
You'd be too powerful, he responded easily with his free hand. While abrupt in its sincerity, he thought the comment only sensible.
Some time passed before he realized they weren't retracing his steps into the graveyard, but he had wasted too much time and attention on the boy next to him. who held his hand and kept a pace and decided at every turn to help him.
Branches brushed at him with cloying arms. He tore his attention from the boy, from their clasped hands, and looked out in the dim where trees had warded away all ambient light. He didn't recognize this place, either.
Why are you doing this? People acted out of self-interest, didn't they? But he couldn't say for certain. It didn't feel like his own thought, even though no one else's could possibly make their way into his head. He considered it, then left it aside, much like the fleeting glimpses of black that would tease the corners of his vision.
The question was asked in a manner dryly contractual. What do you want in return?
Angelic benefactor or not, he followed with no real consideration spared for the alternative. He hadn't looked back, either. Malory was taller, but as they slipped through a gap in the sanctity of the churchyard, he found they were both quite scrawny enough to emerge unhampered.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:29 pm
Malory considered taking the other's waist, supporting their weight rather than simply slowing down. But that seemed a bit too...well, that would imply a level of effort that he'd rather avoid setting precedents for. If this was a role of sorts, he'd rather not be the hero.
The thought wandered into his answer, more truthful than he had intended. "I like stories, quite a bit, and you seem to be in the middle of one," he explained softly, a little wistful around the edges.
They emerged from the bushes, the scent of newly blooming lilac briefly enveloping them before they emerged back into the world of the living. A blue SUV with a neon ride service sign lit up on the console was waiting for them. Leading the other over, he answered, "Well, we'll have to see, won't we? After all, if they took your phone and wallet, that means I'm paying your medical bill as well." There was nothing particularly unhappy about this in his tone. Money was not a burdensome matter, particularly for someone who has never had to earn his.
"And a ride home, I suppose? Unless there's someone you'd like me to contact? To pick you up?" Malory opened the door, letting go of the other's hand and gesturing for them to step in first.
"Good evening," he greeted the driver with a tired smile that hadn't been there moments ago, "and of course, good morning as well."
The driver nodded with a casual, "Long night?"
"The longest," a drawn out sigh. "My...friend," and it was said not so much as an uncertainty so much as a secret, barely hidden, that suggested some other story. Something for the driver to speculate on later at the light. "Well, you can see where we're going, right?" Another laugh, but this time low and intimate. Intentional.
Once seated he held out his hand toward his “friendâ€, the silent expectation of it clear.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:30 pm
Seemed true enough to him. He was in the middle of a story.
He dwelt on it while they approached a car that was already there and waiting. He remembered waking up and feeling a bit beaten — that much was easy — but what came before that? Watching the ground pass beneath their feet, he couldn't scrape anything out of his own head for the incident that left him on the ground, or if he had been trying to go somewhere, or what he was doing earlier that day. So he tried for something else.
He tried to remember learning sign language. That was certainly a skill that had to be taught, but even as he tried to recall something as simple as fingerspelling, he couldn't ascertain a single memory. Then he wondered about his childhood, but that, too, was blank. And his name? He couldn't think of one.
Crawling into the SUV proved a bit of a difficulty. HIs palms stung when he flatted them against the seat and headrest. Ducking in roused new aches across his back and he clipped his head on a small plastic hook near the open door. He winced, then, and hissed in a breath, but pushed past it and took his seat. And as he did so, he thought that what Malory said was quite right — he'd be shouldering the cost of that medical bill if he wasn't about to leave him at the entrance. Sounded more reasonable to just drop him off, but it seemed Malory was committed to his angel role.
He looked over. To his credit, the boy was divinely beautiful.
There's no one, he signed once Malory settled in. He spared a glance at the driver through his rear view, but the driver didn't seem to notice.
Looking down at Malory's hand, then at his hands as they pooled in his lap, as if asking them to do more talking for him with their history and muscle memory, he paused. Brows furrowed. Then the strange feeling passed. Maybe it was never there in the first place, so fleeting it was. He didn't know where Malory was going with this, but there seemed little harm in taking his hand. It was, after all, pleasantly cool, even if it hurt to apply pressure to his palms.
Then he elaborated. Might be in the middle of a story, but I can't remember where it starts. Just woke up, scraped myself off the ground, and went looking for a clinic. That's everything left in my head.
He fell quiet for a moment. Tried to look out the window while the driver fiddled with the sound system. An unfamiliar song sprang on. He glanced over to see what it was — more to lean a little closer to Malory — but it was an old LED display that scrolled the artist and song letter by letter. 'ELESS - ST. VINCENT was all he saw at first glance. He straightened himself in his seat.
Don't remember where home is. The car began to roll out, headlights on, back toward the road. Suppose I should be worried, but I'm not. Even if I tell myself you're planning to skin me alive and kill me slowly.
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:31 pm
Malory watched the puzzlement, followed by acceptance play out across the other's face, noting the slight tightening of the eyes at the pain it caused. No accusation or resentment or regret rose up in those eyes, and so Malory used his other hand to lightly pat the back of theirs. A small gesture the could be either comfort or approval.
That's everything left in my head.
Amnesia, was it? Years earlier he would have taken that in with a smile and a great deal of faux concern and the teasing pretense of belief. But well, Destiny City had something of an amnesia epidemic didn't it? At least compared to the rest of the world. Interesting.
Still more interesting was the calm with which the other had for the whole situation. Malory's felt more distress over getting a stain on a favourite jacket that this one felt over losing...everything. No wonder they felt so fresh, their gaze so clear and unencumbered.
The acceptance of his intentions, whatever they may be, gave Malory a warm sense of satisfaction that he hadn't been expecting, at least not yet. Voice low and intimate, closing the small distance remaining between them, Malory assured the other, "You're already so good, how could I bear to turn you into a mere belt?"
It would be more exciting by far, to see what they turn themself into. It was, perhaps the charm of a blank journal and looking forward to all its possibilities, even as he scrawled his own name into its margins.
"Do you remember your name?"
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Posted: Wed Jun 11, 2025 6:32 pm
Malory's closeness in his answer roused goosebumps on the boy's skin, which was thankfully much obscured by his coat. He felt warm afterward — too warm — so he broke their handholding routine long enough to slip off his outerwear and lay it across his lap. Underneath it was a black tank top with three bold words, one beneath the other: NON DUCOR DUCO.
He thought about telling Malory that he'd rather peel those pants off than hold them up, but he let the comment go. At least for now, he had a good thing here. Guaranteed ride to medical care. Potentially guaranteed medical care. And he didn't know Malory well at all; they met only ten minutes ago in a graveyard and all he'd been able to pick up was that he liked stories and seemed rather chameleonic in how he carried himself. Maybe Malory was an alias.
Point was, if he shot his mouth off now, that might be the end of all these good things.
How can anybody have you?
How can anybody have you and lose you?
He didn't care for the music, but the lyrics seemed appropriate enough. The car lurched a margin as they turned and the driver seemed as disinterested in carrying on the small talk with them as he felt about talking to the driver. But the lyrics led him to wonder if there was someone in Malory's life. How they might feel knowing that their boy was out picking strangers up from graveyards and ferrying them to clinics, holding hands all clandestinely in the back seat of someone else's car. Maybe that someone would be terribly upset. Maybe that someone was on their way out. Maybe that someone was long gone. Who was to say?
Certainly not him. He didn't even know himself.
Thus did he shake his head at Malory's question. Unless it was sewn into his ******** underwear at this point, there was no knowing it. He glanced again at the LED dash, where the same artist and the same song scrolled lazily across the display.
E-L-E-S, he spelled with his free hand. Call me that for now.
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