#morwood

Arthur Holmwood's Diary, Written in by Quincey P. Morris, October 14th

The sun isn't up yet, so I'll take this time to write. Journalling ain't usually my thing, but some good's gotta come outta this whole vampire mess, and I'm certainly not gonna lose this memory to time or whatever meets us in Varna. Art — if you're reading this, I hope you don't mind I nicked that journal of yours. I don't have one of my own, and I know you well enough that I'm sure you'd want a record of last night too.

The three of us have been through a lot. Probably more adventures than those folks who call themselves blood brothers. We know everything about each other. Art, I know you like to gussy up your animals when you're too worried to think straight, and I've heard that I cling to people when I'm dead asleep. So I don't know why Jack thought we didn't notice him shivering up a storm in that bunk of his. He's always the first one to feel the chill, but Lord forbid the man actually open his mouth to say something about it. Art told me it was something about medical school and blood pressure that got Jack to seal his lips? Some theory about womenfolk being more susceptible to the chill, I think. Now the man would rather let his skin go blue than admit that he needs some warm bodies by his side. But it's not like anyone in this group of ours is inclined to judge anything, and at the very least, Art and I already knew about what the doctor didn't want people to suspect. Mina was even snuggled up, happy as a clam with that husband of hers. The two of them made for such a pretty picture, and I can't think why Jack was so against being like them, all warm and comfortable-like. It's not like he would ever get mad at me though, so I went and cozied up with our darling doctor. That wasn't entirely altruistic on my part. A warm body can help stave off the cold, but the presence of a true, dear friend is more than needed to fight off that darkness that we see ahead. I told Jack as much. The man won't take handouts, but he'd do anything to help his own. He's got a heart as pure as gold beneath all that gloom; besides the professor of his, I can think of no better shepherd of the sick. He held himself stiffly for the first few moments, but soon enough he was melted to my chest like a frozen cold kitten scooped up off of the ground. Art, of course, was not one to be left out, and he was bright enough to see our doctor begin to flush and think of propriety. With the smarts of the hunter he is, he strolled over and laid himself down across our laps, all cat that got the canary like. Jack certainly wasn't going to stand up and cause our lordling to topple to the floor, so the poor lad was trapped between our affections. The darling thinks himself subtle, but both Art and I are sharp enough to notice the relieved smile that curled at the edges of his pretty lips. Even without the threat of someone standing up, Art's position was far too precarious for my liking. So I tugged the two of them back with me, arranging us all on the bed more comfortably than how we had been perching on the edge. It's sweet how Jack flushes whenever I haul him around, but I wasn't inclined to embarrass him further, so I didn't say much to that effect. The three of us have bunked in worse places than a traincar that's just a tad too cold, so we settled quickly enough into a position that's comfortable for all of us. Just as I like to cling with my dear ones in my arms, Jack likes to feel the weight of something solid on both sides of him; spending too long in the realm of the mind probably leaves him needing a reminder of what is solid and real. Art, of course, managed to take up more space than we thought possible, stretching across the two of us like he was making his claim. There was a moment of silent peace, all of us understanding each other without a word shared. But our doctor couldn't stop his buzzing brain, and soon enough he opened his mouth to speak.

"What if-"

It doesn't take the brightest mind to figure out that he was going to let himself discuss only the worst possibilities, so with all the grace that I could never muster, Art rumbled out the sweetest, laziest whine into Jack's chest. That was enough to stop that train of thought in its tracks. The claim that Art holds over our Jack's heartstrings is nothing short of impressive, but they've had decades to grow fond of each other, I suppose. Still, such an efficient shutdown of Jack's overthinking ways did tickle me, so I suppose a chuckle escaped my mouth. Again, our doctor goes red, though I suppose the rumble of my chest against his face sparked some other, better thoughts in his head. I wish he knew that he need only ask, and both Art and I would be happy to do whatever he wished to him. But this isn't time to push; perhaps after we come back from this latest adventure of ours, we'll sit our boy down to run another gauntlet of proposals.