It is exceedingly rare in the concrete Manhattan wilderness to find so much as a lone twinkle within the nighttime sky, but three hours out where the roads merge into the Keystone State and where white dots pepper and wheel all above, there is a lonely suburb tucked by the lemon trees showered in stars. 

Cliff is a city boy born and raised in Dallas, now a citizen of New York. The twinkles he sees are the flashes of radio towers and helicopters crawling by. 

Tonight, he watches a falling star, and he feels marvelously small. 

“Hey, Theo. I appreciate you coming all this way for me,” Cliff says in that sighing way of his, disappearing like a feather. He cracks open seltzer. “And for filling my car.” 

Moments earlier, he’d run on empty and parked on the side of the road. Theo had miraculously been not too far. Now they’re here, Cliff sitting on the hood with the smell of lemons and too-long grass wafting in the air. A breeze blows. He looks over.

10:34 and crickets chirping. Dandelions at their feet. Theo has this way about them where they seem to wear the night, dark and unknowable and starry, and maybe they've eaten constellations. That's why their teeth are gold.

Safe and comforting. Like the glow-in-the-dark stars he had as a boy.

@goldfanged asked: "it's just a nosebleed."

[x]

atieno knows that they can't be surprised when they see theo in the evenings. if one didn't know better, they could be accused of seeking the other out on purpose during these times. it's not exactly.. inaccurate. if atieno happens to be around, they would be glad to see theo. appreciating his company in ways that inspires a lot of thought.

but for now they are appreciating the absolute silence of the night, the comfort of isolation, of the quiet that can be overwhelming to those not versed in it.

atieno chuckles in response to theo's statement. "suppose i couldn't expect anything different from you." not with the nature he has.

their own nature couldn't bring much different either. atieno is stepping closer, sensing that they have permission to move towards him, to stand close to his side.

The night’s fresh air envelops her like a cool wave, chilling the sweat that clings to her. It was an hour ago, at least, that Mundus chose to once again drag his favorite Demon into Limbo and lock her there. Now, after a truly exhausting affair, she’s out, flat on her back in the middle of a forest she has never delved into before, legs shaking and lungs on fire. There was an opening so she took it, consequences be damned. She has been lost before, she will find the way back again. And mercifully, the air here is crisp, a shock compared to the stale and humid air in Limbo that always smells heavily of blood and sulfur. That too sticks to her, but she can take care of all of that with a long shower. It was the absence of that shiver up her spine that signals the presence of Demons that she’d been looking for, and here in the middle of nowhere she finally has it. Peace at last.

Once her knees aren’t quite as shaky and her lungs only feel like they’re charred, Ebony starts picking herself off the ground. She doesn’t even make it onto her feet, still seated when the distinct sound of a twig snapping beneath the weight of something has her frozen. It’s subtle, but there’s a gentle rustle of leaves that follows closely. It could be anything, she reasons, so why is she right back to where she was minutes ago, wanting to run? Could she even run, if she had to? The past hour took a lot out of her and going back into Limbo is not an option when they’re still searching.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐅𝐎𝐆 — she holds, tight, but the cold does not stay long. it dissipates, too quickly, and too quickly the drink becomes lukewarm — relief is ephemeral, the one luxury this place can't offer. she promised herself a hundred times that she would not cry over herself, commiseration stings harder in a place like this. yet monday nights are the loneliest, and there isn't much to do if not long for another life, dirt-poor and broken, but true. her gaze wanders somewhere outside, to the blackness of the night, thoughts of anguish floating lazily in her head. what good is immortality when you're only half - living ? suddenly, fred grabs her glass and downs the content in one gulp — in turning, she's surprised to find a witness to her gloom. blinks once, establishes him as not a threat ( for now ), and then returns to lean against the bar top, pointing with one finger to a bottle just behind the counter, nearer to the stranger than it is to her. ❝ would you mind passing me that ? ❞ she asks, eyes fixed on the label of top-grade whiskey whose flavor she couldn't care less about. with half a smirk, fred shrugs. ❝ barkeep's gone left me for dead, i might as well just prove him right ❞. —— @goldfanged.

Edward leans backwards against a table. He's finished setting up his next clue for the Dark Knight, had just ransacked a building not two hours ago and planted the riddle front-and-center, the note waiting to be found and seen, admired.

He'd stolen something, too, as a little souvenir, hiding it curiously behind his back. Edward smiles, and he wags his finger to stop Theo from moving. "Can you guess what I have?" he plays.

The Riddler and his incessant, little games.

He spins his cane, and he points it to them.

“I am used in goodbyes and I’m sorrys; in winter, I am few. You give me to say, ‘I remember’," he croons, absolutely incorrigible, "and of course, ‘I love you.'"

Maybe Theo knows. They should. It doesn't matter. Edward steps aside, and a bundle comes into view.

A bouquet of marigolds.

"Flowers," he says, unabashedly sly.

There is no sound save for the humming of computers. Pipes crackle. The marigolds: bright and intentional. Then, not so suddenly, a laugh—Theo with their shining gold teeth, a soft, rolling sound that wouldn't stir you from sleep—because Edward is entirely too clever for his own good, and finally someone recognizes his sheer and insurmountable brilliance. Edward is fun.

He picks the bouquet up with a flourish, stretches it out to Theo, then tosses his hand as a showman does, smiling and bright. He looks like a cat, and he turns on his heels.

“ if i was a man,  i’d be the man. ”

[x]

Atieno has their ways of expressing a little bit of worry, a little bit of concern. Are these the feelings that they have for Theo. Maybe. They’d wrap it in trying to figure out what he’s trying to do next. For as much as he has the right and the ability to handle himself on his own - there are moments that capture their attention.

Their notice. Perhaps that’s why they had bothered to try and stop Theo at this moment.