the wicked this way comes

Welcome to the Asssassin's Creed RP Nexus!

Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

Welcome to the Assassin's Creed RP Nexus! We want to use this post and blog to help AC RPers find fellow members of the Brotherhood and even some Templars and allies. All entries in the series are welcome as are anyone who has an OC or an AC verse for a non-AC character. A masterlist will be posted to this site soon, in the meanwhile, please feel free to give this a reblog and include the following information in the tags.

Golden eyes lidded and gazing through curled lashes, affix upon the Lady Mullendore's face. Truthfully, Atlas wanted her. And she'd wear whatever face needed to get her. To steal her away from that wretched dog of a husband, fucking anything that moved and nary a grateful word to his wife. He didn't deserve to breed.

"must there be reason? Why search for the sun when you can bask in its rays?"

There it is, the spark of life in those lovely eyes. Atlas gently tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. They are much closer to one another than is appropriate, but what use did the Beloved Beast have for propriety and rules of mortals?

Brilliantly warm hues are hidden by pale lids, thus rendered unwarned to the incoming kiss. But it is not unwelcomed, full lips laxly and comfortably pressing against the plushness of the other's.

This Lady Butterfly, though she may not initially want to, is the first to pull away, revealing to Atlas the scarlet hue that kisses the height of her cheeks and the top of her ears. She stares for a moment before girlishly resting her cheek upon her shoulder, glancing downwards to avoid the other Lady's gaze.

She knows she desires to indulge. And if Atlas is to take her hand and lead her out of the cage she will. Lady Soleil wants her to take, to seek out her satisfactions. After all, her husband had no qualms in seeking his own.

Delicate fingers trace along Marietta's cheek. Tilting her face up as she murmurs to look at her. Swooping down for another kiss. And this time it is to steal her breath and taste her. Atlas wanted her to feel. To come alive once more and see how glorious it would be to let go and bend the rules of Westeros to her will.

She merely jests, the worry seems to slide away, her face softened. Atlas leans into his touch, a free hand coming up to trace his cheek.

"those clothes must weigh so much upon the shoulders. Would it not be better to free yourself of them and lay with me?"

When laughter subsides and his head cants, icey hues watch her with great consideration. "Has the wine honeyed your blood, My Lady?" The jingling of his cloak's clasp follows his returned jest, the heavy garment being tossed to some chair in the distance. "Surely you do not mean to keep me here? All to yourself?"

"perhaps it has. I seem to have sweet tooth lately."

Atlas steps forward, curling her arms around him. Seeking out contact like a feline twining itself around a master's leg. A shawl is wrapped around her, to protect from the cold. Though she still remains barefoot even in her own chamber.

"and what if I do? How cruel I must be to steal your attention. To keep the Lord Gewilde all for me. How could it be that I am selfish when you come willingly?"

Tears rain from halcyon eyes. Torn between kissing him or embracing him tightly. He's waited so long. There were days when he chased Federico in his daylight dreamings, pondering if he should look for him or remain where he was. Atlas had promised to wait for him, but what he hadn't expected was how agonizing it was to be alone. To lose Federico's scent from his bed. Nights when he woke up crying. Does he know what it did to him? Atlas had thrown himself into his art. No other could be his muse.

Hands trembling, Atlas cradles the man's face, fingers tracing his jaw and stroking over his cheek.

"I waited so long, I thought--"

He can't hold back the quiet sob falling free from his radiant smile.

"--I thought I would wait for eternity."

Atlas would wait for all of time if that's what it took. To bear the pain of loneliness and wondering.

Atlas wants to cherish and indulge. To imprint the memory of Federico within himself. Everywhere on his body. Eventually he feels the need to breathe begin to rise, reluctant to break their connection. He gently pulls back, placing his forehead against the other, softly panting.

"you must be tired from your journey. My room is open if you desire rest. The nights are cold now, we could keep each other warm?"

 [ SEEN ] for receiver to find sender after they’ve killed someone.

 [ ERASE ] for receiver to help sender clean blood off themselves. 

[ ACCEPT ] for receiver to clean up the aftermath of sender’s crime. 

(thought I'd combine these all into one hehehehehe)

He'd always been capable. With the study of bodies and art came the knowledge of what could kill. How to heal and to maim. To break and mend. Atlas never thought he would have to. But he'd be willing to take a life to protect.

They had questioned him. Came into his home as if he were already guilty. No amount of placation would send them away.

And then they said his name. They said his eagle's name and Atlas knew what they were after. They knew that he knew. But he would rather die than tell them anything.

The fight was fast and vicious. Paint splashed in a violent display of chaotic distress while he scrambled to stall and escape. Objects splintering or breaking, crashing through the room. Atlas didn't know it would end with his bloody victory. His mouth and chest was soaked with their amaranth. He could still taste the iron on his tongue. Thick and cloying through his sense of smell. Was this what it was like to kill? He had torn out the man's neck with his teeth after he stabbed them and was pinned. The artist fought as a cornered animal would. Clawing and stabbing until there was no more breath. Just wet warmth quickly turning cold.

Atlas blankly stared at Federico and almost didn't recognize him. His golden hair stained with red. Perhaps luck was on his side, that someone had attempted to end him in his studio. The mess could be excused as paint and cleaned up before anyone knew. The knife used for his paintings was still clutched tightly in his slick hands. Leaning against the wreckage of an easel and sitting in the pool of blood spreading from the assailants body. A faraway, shell shocked expression on his face. Murmuring in the silence,

"they were looking for you...I told them nothing.."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 is a dance most dangerous, and at times, can be the most deceiving until one realizes what is truly at stake. Often times, it is more than the life of the dancer but those of his beloveds. He should know, for he once had a father and brother most beloved, now gone. And at this very moment, while urging his horse to go faster, Federico prays that he will not have to witness another loss so grim that his heart would torn apart yet again. 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐦, but at times they are all a man has. Curses too. Only God - or whatever divinities out there - knows how much he is currently cursing at his folly for not recognizing what that sly Cardinal was up to sooner. He should have listened to his gut when the man caught a glimpse of the artist near him. A moment so fleeting is often times forgotten easily, should have been forgotten so easily, yet, alas, some conniving minds do beg to differ. For them, such moments are quite sweet — too luscious to be forgotten so quickly.

The silence looming over Atlas' studio is concerning. His heightened senses fail to catch any sound of footsteps or sign of struggle as he gets off his mount, there is only the stench of blood and his own breaths. And when he finally dives into the building, the assassin needs a moment to let the reality of the sight before him sink in.

❝ Atlas. ❞ A calm, soft utterance. Not to startle them and to still his heart as well as hyped senses. The strides that follow are taken in very much the same fashion until his body sinks right next to theirs. ❝ Are you alright — not hurt anywhere, are you? ❞ Concern visibly taints his features, especially when his hands gently check out their frame for any possible wound. A tinge of relief washes over him upon realizing the vibrant crimson staining their flesh and garments is not theirs but that of the fallen bastard. There is so much Federico wants to say but reckons now is not the time so, opts to biting his tongue instead. Very slowly, the bloodied knife in the artist's hand is taken away, with his free hand Federico gently cups their face and tilts it so that those blank eyes should have no other option but focus on his own. ❝ Look at me — I am so glad you are alive. ❞ Unable to hold back these words, he murmurs beneath his breath and then, leans forward to embrace them tightly.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆. Harm was bound to find the other the more they stayed together and it will again, it is inevitable, he muses to himself while doing his best to ignore the corpse, the proof bleeding not far from the two of them.

❝ Let's get you cleaned, shall we? ❞

The moment he's touched, his body is quick to tense and relax in equal measure, the semblance of a flinch. And as he looks into those golden eyes, eyes that he has attempted to paint time and time again, the environment comes crashing down in a wave on his senses. Breath quickening and heart still pounding. His hands shake in the assassino's and he can't seem to get any words out. Lips moving silently and unable to take a breathe as panic briefly consumes him.

Alive? What had he done? He can't help trying to burrow into his embrace as a sob leaves his body. Gasping the man's name and starting to shake as he comes down from the high of adrenaline. He glanced down at his hands coated in the slick leaving the cooling corpse beside him.

It's the kiss that redirects his attention and grounds him. Atlas nodded, the sheen of barely held tears in his own gaze. He could feel the cold, wet, redness soaked into his clothes from where he was sitting. The filth was touching his skin and he needed to get it off, to clean and scrub until his skin was pink.

The corpse would need to be disposed of before anyone finds out he killed a false guard in his studio. Atlas shakily stood with Federico, wobbling as the various aches and bruising began to set in. He'd been thrown into furniture or whatever happened to be in the way whenever he tried to get past his assailant. But they're dead and he's alive. That's the end of it.

"the carcass ...give it to a dottore... they won't mind donations to their studies."

She sighs softly through her nose. Reluctant to remove contact. Atlas follows impulse. Indulges in desire. Lips chastely press to Lady Mullendore's cheek. Fingers tracing her jaw and down to her neck.

Atlas speaks near her ear. Murmuring sweetly.

"you are the morning star, rising to a new day."

She takes one of her hands. Stroking over the knuckles and bestowing a ghost of another kiss to her palm.

"and each day I will rise to meet you."

Warm hues flutter up from the lips pressed to her knuckles, wide - eyed and, for the first time since her girlish youth, hopeful.

Golden eyes lidded and gazing through curled lashes, affix upon the Lady Mullendore's face. Truthfully, Atlas wanted her. And she'd wear whatever face needed to get her. To steal her away from that wretched dog of a husband, fucking anything that moved and nary a grateful word to his wife. He didn't deserve to breed.

"must there be reason? Why search for the sun when you can bask in its rays?"

There it is, the spark of life in those lovely eyes. Atlas gently tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. They are much closer to one another than is appropriate, but what use did the Beloved Beast have for propriety and rules of mortals?

"beauty is fleeting, mio caro uccellino. We both know this. One day we are young and vibrant, the next our bodies are worn by time and experience."

What was he saying? To choose another? How could he leave the only one he's loved and known? Atlas feels no spark for another muse, it burned brightly for the one in front of him already. Would it not be cruel of him then, if what he can offer is the once burning coals of that fire? If all that he had was ashes and embers? Atlas could not give himself away so freely.

"I have been yours since the day we met. Even when I was an apprentice, part of me knew that..."

A trembling hand squeezes back the one that holds his. He'd been so enraptured, taken since he first laid eyes on Federico. Every waking thought about what his life might be like, and so many questions he wanted to ask.

"...that you would be my muse until I take my last breath. I thought you were the one in the story my first patron told me. About a boy and his bird."

Atlas never told him of that. At the time it had seemed insignificant, embarrassing even. That he pined for one that hardly knew him then, infatuation that had perhaps would've looked like obsession. But they had both grown, and he was able to put words to feelings in a way that enlightened his world. Federico brightened his days, even now when he doesn't....

Doesn't return it. This. But he made peace a long time ago.

"the boy met a stunning bird. Feathers like sunlight and knives for claws. They were always gentle with him. And one day the bird starts getting hurt and the boy always tends to them. He never tries to cage them, he knows the bird is meant to rule the sky. They come and go as they please, days or even a year they're gone. But they always return and share where they've been. Then they're gone again."

Atlas let's the story pour out. Staring at their intertwined hands. As if any moment, his Federico will vanish before he can get the rest of the words out. Eyes distant with the memory of the day he heard the tale. A tragedy of undying devotion.

"The boy grows into a man, never marries, and still waits for the bird. He collects the feathers they leave behind and always finds them. He is there when their wings are broken and cares for them until they can fly again. He does this until he is old as the tree in his garden. So that in their next life, he can weave a mantle from those feathers for them."

It didn't matter if he couldn't give back what Atlas gave. That the artist would wonder if he'd return alive or in a stone casket. At the very least he would keep his word in being at Federico's side. Who else would stay?

Who would clean his wounds and whisper words of comfort and endearments? Who else would not question why but instead hold him when he needed it most? Who could do what Atlas has done without wavering? Who would be there if he let go?

"To have you is once in a lifetime, even if it is not what was intended."

His other hand rises to trace the man's jawline. Softly cupping his cheek and thumb caressing along where the bone of it should be. Atlas couldn't even begin to think of being without him. Of trying to give himself to another muse and failing. He'd always compare them, and it wouldn't be fair.

❝ But it shouldn't be, caro. ❞ His warm breath lingers over the skin of their knuckles where a kiss was just pressed. Through lowered eyelids, he watches the dance of shadows to the flickering candlelight ; his bearing is stained by weight of the reality of danger lurking nearby, clinging to his every step and deed. Not only his but his brother's, who is still a baby in his eyes. His family's. Death is way too closely knitted to his skin and he is afraid that it will infect them, Atlas included. The Pope is looking for them, that foolish prince too, and alas, there are times those cruel, repulsive men are successful. What if . . No. To dismiss the thought of the worst, Federico's eyes fall close for a moment, a sharp exhale then follows before he meets Atlas' gaze gain. ❝ And I do not want harm to befall you considering how danger lurks closer than before. ❞ 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑, as the poet say. His younger self certainly couldn't grasp the weight of it, now that he thinks about.

To a lover, all these may sound like excuses, and to the other, all these may sound utterly real. So then, what should be done?

Through curled lashes, he watches Federico, ruminating on how much his eagle has changed. Always protective and thinking of others. Blaming himself for misfortune that befalls them. Did he ever take for himself? Did he ever think of what he wanted and not of the benefit he could give others? Where were those who once stood with him? Did they run when they realized they would get nothing from him, or did they too, obey his words to leave him and find their peace elsewhere?

Atlas is familiar with death. With misfortune. Born to single mother that encouraged him to be greater than himself. Soon finding himself alone when sickness took her. He was lucky to apprentice and live with another artist.

There is perilous possibilities that Federico sees but Atlas can't bring himself to...to what? To believe? He knows the dangers of association, of being seen with him. But what wasn't dangerous in his life? If the common people knew of his inclinations for romance of this sort, he would be jailed would he not? Made a pariah and expelled from his career. Yet that can't possibly compare to what Federico wants to protect him from.

Atlas slowly shakes his head. A smile tinged with sorrow graced his features. Much like the statues of saints, frozen in time with ethereal sadness.

"I will not—I cannot abandon you. Merely the thought makes my soul ache. I knew I had given my heart to you before I had the words for it, how could I break my promise to stay at your side?"

There is conviction in his words, murmured between them reverently like a prayer. He wants Federico to take, to devour him even, tear him apart with his talons, and keep him for himself. A viciously wild and selfish god that Atlas would gladly worship.

"Federico."

He exhales his name as if it were prayer. Leaning back into the man and craving for every scrap of touch and affection he could get. Closing his eyes and taking in the scent of his muse. Hands now idle but heart beating at a rabbits pace. Cheeks flushed a rosy hue in Federico's presence.

"When have I not missed you?"

The next question is cut off. Dropping his brush and palette on a side table and turning to drape his arms over armorless shoulders. Placing a delighted kiss to his lips and giggling. Does Federico know he hungers for him? On the nights he is alone in his chamber or bathing, how he writhed in need for him?

"I think I must study my muse closer in another room... I seem to have forgotten a few important details."

Atlas murmured. Placing a hand on Federico's heart. He could never hate him. Never turn him away. Federico could break his heart and he'd still crawl back to him.

( @coyotecryptids )

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐒 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋 whose stories have remained intertwined since the dew of their youth. A miracle of a sort, Federico thinks to himself whilst drinking their marigold glowing sight in the candlelight. Atlas, my beloved, his touch whispers once the back of his fingers ever so gently brushes their cheek. ❝ I should have been kinder to you, scusa. ❞ A smile, a hint of youthful tint to remind them of the two's golden days, should have lit up his features upon their words but alas, only his apology laced, mellowed out tone answers. Their hand on his chest feels heavy, for he has always been aware that he has never been fair with the other. Even though they had once told him that it was okay if what they had was one-sided, to see them still waiting for him . . Will there even come a time when he will be able to truly appreciate love? 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ? Frankly, the assassino does not think so, the horizon of his inner skies are as dark as ever. ❝ It has been such a blessing to be your muse for all these years, caro. ❞ Slowly, his hand drops to curl over theirs, gently squeezing it.

"beauty is fleeting, mio caro uccellino. We both know this. One day we are young and vibrant, the next our bodies are worn by time and experience."

What was he saying? To choose another? How could he leave the only one he's loved and known? Atlas feels no spark for another muse, it burned brightly for the one in front of him already. Would it not be cruel of him then, if what he can offer is the once burning coals of that fire? If all that he had was ashes and embers? Atlas could not give himself away so freely.

"I have been yours since the day we met. Even when I was an apprentice, part of me knew that..."

A trembling hand squeezes back the one that holds his. He'd been so enraptured, taken since he first laid eyes on Federico. Every waking thought about what his life might be like, and so many questions he wanted to ask.

"...that you would be my muse until I take my last breath. I thought you were the one in the story my first patron told me. About a boy and his bird."

Atlas never told him of that. At the time it had seemed insignificant, embarrassing even. That he pined for one that hardly knew him then, infatuation that had perhaps would've looked like obsession. But they had both grown, and he was able to put words to feelings in a way that enlightened his world. Federico brightened his days, even now when he doesn't....

Doesn't return it. This. But he made peace a long time ago.

"the boy met a stunning bird. Feathers like sunlight and knives for claws. They were always gentle with him. And one day the bird starts getting hurt and the boy always tends to them. He never tries to cage them, he knows the bird is meant to rule the sky. They come and go as they please, days or even a year they're gone. But they always return and share where they've been. Then they're gone again."

Atlas let's the story pour out. Staring at their intertwined hands. As if any moment, his Federico will vanish before he can get the rest of the words out. Eyes distant with the memory of the day he heard the tale. A tragedy of undying devotion.

"The boy grows into a man, never marries, and still waits for the bird. He collects the feathers they leave behind and always finds them. He is there when their wings are broken and cares for them until they can fly again. He does this until he is old as the tree in his garden. So that in their next life, he can weave a mantle from those feathers for them."

It didn't matter if he couldn't give back what Atlas gave. That the artist would wonder if he'd return alive or in a stone casket. At the very least he would keep his word in being at Federico's side. Who else would stay?

Who would clean his wounds and whisper words of comfort and endearments? Who else would not question why but instead hold him when he needed it most? Who could do what Atlas has done without wavering? Who would be there if he let go?

"To have you is once in a lifetime, even if it is not what was intended."

His other hand rises to trace the man's jawline. Softly cupping his cheek and thumb caressing along where the bone of it should be. Atlas couldn't even begin to think of being without him. Of trying to give himself to another muse and failing. He'd always compare them, and it wouldn't be fair.

@coyotecryptids

@coyotecryptids

Vinny hadn't been to her room before. And he felt a bit bad for not visiting sooner. He needed to reach out more, instead of waiting for her to come to him. But he didn't want to be a bother either.

He nods. Shoving away the thoughts and sighing quietly.

"Sure. I uh, never been invited inta' other rooms before...this is new."

Being tense was his default. Muscles flexed and ready to flee at a moment's notice, slouching to make himself look smaller. But this was Wanda and her room piqued his curiosity enough to relax. Subtly sniffing the air and detecting her scent all over the place. He awkwardly looked around for a place to set the cannoli down.

He's much like a nervous dog in an unfamiliar space. But he's trying. He's got no reason to be unsettled around Wanda. A bolt of warmth shoots through him as he processed what she said at the door.

Had no one thought of her? He's one of the few. She seemed the type who would make so many friends. Not that he was assuming.

"Leo was hissin' up a storm this morning. I guess it was his way of gettin' me outta my room. I swear that cat is smarter than most."

@acromanlion | Send ❥ for an emotion-based starter for our muses! | Emotion chosen: Happiness

Wanda packaged up her little present to Vinny and headed over to his room. She’d had some extra downtime that day during which she was supposed to be relaxing, but she never did well with downtime. It gave her too much time to think, and that very often led her mind to dark places. So… she decided to do some baking instead. Cooking and baking always made her happy, even though the people it was associated with weren’t with her anymore. She learned a lot of what she knew how to do from her mother, and Pietro of course had been the one to eat most of it. Wanda didn’t have anyone to cook or bake for anymore… or did she?

She’d purposely baked more than she could possibly eat herself and then went to knock on Vinny’s door. Standing there with a little pan resting on her hands, Wanda couldn’t help but smile. With any luck at all, this would serve to cheer Vinny up a bit. Of course she knew that nothing was a total balm for the soul, and that some things only lifted spirits for a minimal amount of time, but she’d also learned to appreciate those times, even if they were short.

As he explained further about his brother and how he was an empath unable to control his powers, Wanda’s heart dropped. She knew just how strange, nebulous, and unpredictable the powers of an empath could be. She’d had trouble getting a handle on her own powers, and that was why she didn’t touch a lot of people and kept her hands to herself. Sometimes she would glean things that felt private, or glean too much to handle on a day when she wasn’t prepared or receptive to receiving the emotions of others.

“I’m sorry…” Wanda whispered, seeing how upset Vinny was. “He probably didn’t even know he was doing it,” she said gently. “Being an empath… It’s a difficult thing to master. I am still learning to control it myself. A lot can happen passively in a short amount of time, whether the empath wants it to or not. It sounds like he channels through his hands, too. I do the same. If I touch something or someone, or if someone takes my hand, especially if I am not expecting the contact, then I am not guarded or prepared for what happens.”

"It ain't....It ain't that--I mean--it's...he hid it from me, Wanda. He didn't want me worryin' bout him."

He couldn't be mad about the lack of control. He wasn't. Lord knows he barely had control of his own abilities. But having it hidden from him stung in a way. His brother was trying to protect him. Now that the man thought about it, Quentin was always defending him. So small yet doing his best.

"Protectin' is supposed ta' be my job. Not the other way around ya' know? He's such a sweet kid, always thinkin' of everyone before himself."

Vinny let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He'd been terrified and alone when raising his kid. And this new...situation..has dredged up a time he thought he buried and left behind. Wanda understood, and that was all he needed. He wasn't asking for miracle work or some quick solution. He could only do so much, and truth be told, he didn't want to overwhelm Quentin with his own problems. Especially since he could pick up on things even without his abilities.

"I guess now is a good time ta' say he's been askin' about ya'. Been excited ta' see the one friend I made here. Besides my therapist that is."

Wanda's offer had reminded him. It was his way of trying to lighten the mood. Besides, she's the only person he really trusted to come around Quentin, without some righteous bullshit about raising him to use his abilities for good. Or quarantining him.

"Thanks for...making the bread too. I kinda forgot ta' eat today...I think."

@acromanlion | Send ❥ for an emotion-based starter for our muses! | Emotion chosen: Happiness

Wanda packaged up her little present to Vinny and headed over to his room. She’d had some extra downtime that day during which she was supposed to be relaxing, but she never did well with downtime. It gave her too much time to think, and that very often led her mind to dark places. So… she decided to do some baking instead. Cooking and baking always made her happy, even though the people it was associated with weren’t with her anymore. She learned a lot of what she knew how to do from her mother, and Pietro of course had been the one to eat most of it. Wanda didn’t have anyone to cook or bake for anymore… or did she?

She’d purposely baked more than she could possibly eat herself and then went to knock on Vinny’s door. Standing there with a little pan resting on her hands, Wanda couldn’t help but smile. With any luck at all, this would serve to cheer Vinny up a bit. Of course she knew that nothing was a total balm for the soul, and that some things only lifted spirits for a minimal amount of time, but she’d also learned to appreciate those times, even if they were short.

It seemed very lonely inside his room, despite the cat’s presence. Or maybe she was just picking up on something from Vinny himself. It was too quiet and too clean, like someone existed there but wasn’t really living there. Wanda wondered if anyone else bothered to check up on Vinny at all. They should, she felt, if they weren’t already.

When she asks, he takes a moment to pull himself together. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve and taking a deep breath. His therapist said he had to open up. Even if it was to one person. But he didn't want to dump everything on Wanda. She had her own problems. But she was asking.

"I've had better nights I guess..."

The words are stilted and awkward but he's trying. That's all he can do is try.

"I uh...I got some news today from one of the nurses assigned ta' my brother. Went ta' visit him an' he's in remission but...."

He needed help. He couldn't process the news by himself. Vinny exhaled a shaky breath. It was going to be difficult to explain.

"He's special. From the way she described it, Quentin is....kinda like ya'...? Not with the mind stuff just....the way he connects to people and feels things. It's a two way street. He can pick up on people's moods at a pretty good range; the nurse said she held his hand and felt everything from his perspective."

Vinny was visibly shaken. He had expected his kid to be just himself. A person who would grow and live their life. And beat the illness he was inflicted with. Now something else has come and made it more difficult. He didn't know what to do. He didn't have anyone to talk to but Wanda. He wondered if she understood why he was this way. Abilities meant scrutiny and more things to protect Quentin from.

"I told her to keep it to herself. I...I thought ya' would maybe know how to deal with it at least? I'm in over my head. And...I don't want anyone else sniffing around him."