How's Space?

(( Working on the reboot blog tonight. Any replies will be done over there when everything’s done and ready and this will be converted into a sort of archives blog

Send “Who did this?” for your muse to discover my muse with a black eye or a busted lip

“An alien.” 

A proud statement.

The lead-in gets a yes with no hesitation, and the drawn out silence that follows does nothing to try his patience. He may seem naturally unflappable, but in truth much of it was forged from years of dealing with Dmitri. After a while you either learn how to deal with anything or you go insane from how mindbogglingly stupid a genius can be. In comparison, whatever inane and typically harmless desires she has are a trifle to fulfill.

So as she sits and stares at him he sits and stares right back, the smile that seemed near permanently affixed to his face growing just a bit as time went on. When she finally breaks the silence-a hair before he did-the question itself comes more as a relief than anything else. He’s known from the moment she saw him on her couch and learned who he was that there had to be a sea of questions she’s wanted to ask. They usually drop in moments like this, when curiosity finally wins out over trepidation, and he’s usually eager to oblige, though this question has a particularly straight-forward answer.

“Yea. I mean, I wanted to find Dmitri. When I fond out what he’d done and where- er when he’d gone, I knew I was gonna have to go after him. It was really that simple for me. Ever since I showed up, I’ve only become increasingly glad I did. I’d have missed out on far too much if I just stayed wher- when I was. …Man time-travel does not get any less weird to talk about.”

“Uhhh... okay.”

It’s clear from the way she readjusts her seating that that wasn’t exactly the answer she was looking for, and for a moment she ponders how better to phrase her question. There’s something underneath the surface of the situation with her, Dmitri, and Jamie -- something that nags at her thoughts and refuses to be tamed or silenced. It does not quiet with more time spent, but grows itself in uncertainty the more comfortable she becomes around Jamie.

Send “Who did this?” for your muse to discover my muse with a black eye or a busted lip

“I-- don’t wanna talk about it.          I’d rather drop dead, actually.”

He waits a moment, staring fervently at the floor before he touches his lip gingerly with the tip of his finger. Darcy seems, for a moment, surprised to find dark blood there, thick and flowing, and he replaces his hand to repeat the process twice more, still bewildered when, each time, his fingers come back coated in more blood.