“ it almost sounds like the lead up to a joke, doesn't it? ” theo chuckles, running potential punchlines through their head. “ a hunter, a wolf, and a demon walk into a bar...? ” they trail off, lifting thick eyebrows.

     they allow her the time to wade through her thoughts until she settles on an apt description, not speaking until she's finished. “ your body temperature fluctuates easily? hot to cold and back again. ” her forehead knits into fine wrinkles, HURT flashing into theo's palms, and he loosens his grip until he's cradling instead of gripping. it must be something of a shock to go from nearly subzero air to the self-contained heat of his skin, almost like there's a fire burning steadily in his veins. maybe there is. “ lucky you have me here, then, hm? who knows what would have happened to your hands otherwise. ”

@ebonyforged said, “ don’t take this the wrong way, Siebren, but you are a bit high-strung. a little beauty sleep would do you wonders. ”

                 “-- Is there even any other way to take that…?” SIEBREN snorts indignantly, casting Ebony a condescending glance before giving a slow roll of pale lavender eyes. “Tch– you act as if it’s supposed to be some semblance of compliment.” 

… Then again, looking around at the scattered paperwork surrounding him in tattered piles upon the floor, his temper seemed much more volatile than usual– even by his standards. There isn’t even an external catalyst at this point; he’s just tirelessly working himself in circles, like a rabid animal pacing within its cage. An error had been found in the most critical of data-- utterly useless to him, the entirety of it.

It had to be destroyed; calculative errors were dangerous-- fatal, even. But had he truly needed to cry out? To shout his anger into the empty, sterile atmosphere of his laboratory? Probably not-- but it wasn't like anyone was usually down here.Of course, by himself, he doesn’t really see this as the base issue at play– he can't cry, but he can shout. Yet, to Ebony and SIGMA, he’s just getting worse and worse about it. At this point, it isn’t even a lack of effort on his counterpart’s behalf; it’s just a culmination of the ever-widening overlapping of his exhaustion and frustration. Worst yet, how exactly did one “sleep off” such a monumental workload….?

At what point can he simply place the stylus back onto the desk and retire to his bed, merely closing his eyes and waking up fully rested…? Why couldn't anyone else recognize how important this is to him?

                His gaze trails from the newest mess to where Ebony sits perched one of his spare [ UNCLUTTERED ] workstations, and while his expression remains creased with irritation, he regards her with a degree of muted disappointment; not because she dared say anything at all– rather, that she, like SIGMA, did not seem to properly grasp the significance of any of this. He had thought that Ebony was finally beginning to grasp the importance of his mission-- that she may, genuinely, have the potential to see things from his perspective, for a change... He would've tried to control his temper better if he'd taken more care to remain aware of her presence-- she didn't have to see that, and the accompanying implication that he might have been more appreciative without the stray adage that he "sleep it off" only further bitters his initial dismay. It’s difficult not to feel singled out when he’s working so tirelessly– only to be continuously reprimanded for his outbursts and exhaustive efforts, his drive to reclaim that which had been taken from him only ever met with equal, opposing frustrations. 

“... Sorry.” He mutters, with an ambiguous degree of sincerity.It’s a waste of energy to lie and deny how exhausted he is– so he says nothing at all. Unlike SIGMA, he’s aware that no one truly cares how tired he is. His outbursts were... embarrassing. He's been trying to get better about where he has those...

    Arthur hated to admit just how much of a damn BLEEDING HEART he was for horses. 

    He didn’t have many in his lifetime, usually keeping a single horse until it busted a leg or it was clearly approaching death. Boadicea was his longest lasting horse, and with him recently losing her in the Blackwater fiasco, he was still getting to know his new horse and vice versa. Vik, so far, was steadfast and calm, which was a good sign. However, Arthur couldn’t really BLAME HER for getting agitated when another horse came charging up to them–he could see it had a saddle, but no rider. 

    Whatever was happening, it seemed like this horse was spooked. As much as he knew he could just ride on and leave the situation to whatever poor rider was missing it, he paused regardless. With the horse hesitating to bolt, he found himself cooing out toward it to see if he couldn’t calm it down. Which eventually led to him sliding out of his own saddle to approach the now notably more relaxed horse, muttering assurances as he did so. With a pat on the side of her neck, Arthur grasped the rein that was hanging around her head. 

“I’ve killed people before now.” || @ebonyforged​​

“Yeah? So ‘ve I.”

He snatches the wine bottle from her to take his own swig before handing it back. Ah, death, a familiar aspect of their respective lives… why was it always the one thing that seemed to bind them all together?

her proposal of an inhuman space shudders down his spine, oily and slick and uncomfortable where it tangles up into a coiled knot somewhere in his gut. they've been in those kinds of places before, and they thought they'd left them behind; not far enough, apparently, if her mention of them brings unfortunate memories back to the forefront of his mind so readily. the kitchen during that one unforgettable night had been the most inhuman space of them all.

it wasn't the only one, however. the hospital room had been another, machines chugging and beeping to keep him breathing. he still remembers the flare of white-hot pain when he'd initially woken up and accidentally torn his stitches.

“ inhuman spaces also make human monsters, ” he points out blandly. “ and i have to imagine human spaces make inhuman monsters. ” they drum their fingers on the tabletop, chin propped in a calloused hand, and smile thinly. “ which one made you? ”

A FULL FIT FOR @ebonyforged SELECTED BY VIROTE SRISATI AND HIS STYLING SKILLS. IT’S PAST MIDNIGHT BUT WE'RE GOING OUT ANYWAY, SUPER LATE NIGHT SHENANIGANS WITH THE SUPERNATURAL, BUT YOU LOOK REALLY GREAT IN SILVER.

@ebonyforged​ ASKED:  Does Clark have any guilty pleasures? Secret hobbies? Sneaky little vices he doesn’t want anyone to know about?

Oh, does he! Guilty pleasures? Romcoms. Like we’re talking H*llmark grade too. This man will plop himself down in front of the TV after a shitty day and just GO (especially during the Fall and Winters when they go crazy). He likes trashy convenience food (pizza rolls, take-out, frozen waffles, etc).

Secret hobbies? Mmmm, none really. He still games now and again but there’s nothing too outlandish about that considering that, despite being 100+, he did go to school and stuff for tech-related shit and it was his first interest.