datadiving | if we're fused together who's driving the car

[ Part of him almost suggests going back, and is quickly and violently quashed by all the other parts, hard enough to feel in their shared body. ]

It wouldn't hurt to look around, maybe.

After all, the worst has already happened. I don't think anything else could hurt more.

[ Another brief swirl of emotions; pain, anger, a deep and bitter sense of betrayal. Another flash of memory from that lost time they both share.

--giving up his soul, it's so easy to feel those deaths, that destruction. The pain and fear of an entire kingdom soaks into the water and dyes it red, and dyes him too.

It's power that he can't control, a raging tide. Chains and ice, stone and soil, everything breaks in the face of it-- ]

[He's glad for the rejection, even contributing to it. Just the thought of going back to the manor makes him sick. He still can't wrap his head around it--how she could do that to him, how she could hurt Ekke, and Avery isn't sure what he would do if he ever saw Vanessa again.

The fact that it's fear that gnaws at his insides more than anger only cements his desire not to think of her.]

Might as well. Could be a survivor or two.

[But he doubts it. The way they look now--the unnatural, spectral quality to their form--makes him wonder if they even managed to survive at all.]

There's a tree nearby.

[The image flashes in their mind clear as day, less a tree and more an unholy union of fungi and plant stretching up toward the night sky]

Should be easy to spot the damage from up there.

[ That fear cuts through his slow-burning anger easily, leaving nothing but a sick emptiness in its wake.

To take his mind off all of it, to take their mind off all of it, he diverts attention into movement instead. And while he's not sure about wholly enjoying it, moving - once they've gotten used to it - is easy, fluid and agile in a way that no living being could easily achieve.

There's a benefit to being quadrupedal, he supposes. It's almost enjoyable, moving through the forest, the world blurring by. It seems that no time at all passes before they reach the tree, and what would have taken him a while to climb, even as an adult in the prime of his life

--it's night and he's climbing; he looks over to Avery to see him staring at the moon, and he looks so happy that he can't help but feel happy too--

seems to take no time at all before they reach the top. ]

[The memory pulls a smile out of him, and it reflects on their face (as much as it can).

Here he'd thought he was the only one who got anything out of those nights, that Ekke was just indulging him.

The sight below them is ghastly, a twisted mass of shadowy vines, soul-tainted swamps, ruins, and ice, but if he tilts their head up to look at the moon and stars, it's almost like they're children again, seated on the edge of a mountain during a foray to the Skylines, the sky wide and open for all to bear witness to.

For the first time in days, he feels a little warm.]

[ Greeted with the sight of the starry sky, he can almost believe he can hear the distant sound of the Bell, or the wind whistling through the horns on the mountain peaks.

(He answers the question left unsaid through a fleeting thought; as long as you were happy, so was I.)

Even if what remains of their home is a distorted, twisted ruin of its former self, even if they've changed so much....the stars, the moon, the sky, are still the same, and that's some comfort, at least.

He vaguely wishes he could hold Avery's hand properly. He tries anyway. ]

[Something brushes up against him--him, not them--and it would startle him if not for the warmth. It's not the same feeling as touch. There's no skin or cloth or give of flesh, but he feels the presence all the same.

It takes him a moment to return the motion, a little unsure and self conscious and all the other little feelings he'd normally hide behind a joke and a smile out on display in a way he's wholly unused to.

But he's not alone--neither of them are-- and he doesn't want to think about what it would be like if they were, if they'd even be here at all. His thoughts had grown so dark down there, and if he'd lost Ekkehardt--

"It's my fault," he'd thought. "You fool, you saw the signs and did nothing because you were too busy playing HOUSE. Look where it got you!"

Too late he realizes the memory was on display, and he mutters out a muffled apology, shoving it aside]

Edited 2019-08-13 17:25 (UTC)

[ It's odd, to have the feeling of touching someone in a way that isn't much like it at all. For a moment he thinks he's made a mistake, and there's a clear feeling of doubt that collapses into relief and an unmistakable surge of affection when Avery returns the gesture.

He's embarrassed by it, that's easy to tell, but not embarrassed enough to push it away or hide it.

He frowns at the memory, though. He curls his fingers around Avery's hand, squeezing gently. ]

You couldn't have known she'd take it that way. So you shouldn't blame yourself.

[ There's a brief pause. Guilt and sadness, shoved aside, returns; it's sudden and exhausting. He tries to push it away, but it's still noticeable. ]

And if it's anyone's fault, it's mine.

[ He'd noticed - it was impossible not to. Slow changes over time, the way he could never say no to her, had to talk her into everything. He'd acted and smiled and pushed himself just to please her; lost the things about him that Ekkehardt had always liked him for.

He'd scolded himself for it, that unhappiness (that heartbreak) he'd talked himself into not feeling. "It shouldn't matter so much to you," he'd said to himself. "As long as they're happy together, as long as he's happy, that's what matters." ]

[Heartbreak. Heartbreak.

He wouldn't have noticed it before, if they had come together in any other way. But after the cellar, after being on the receiving end, he recognizes that pain far, far too well. And it hits him like a sack of bricks.]

Don't.

[It's not Ekkehardt's fault. Not in the slightest.]

I'm an adult and I can make my own choices. It just so happens that I made several terrible ones.

[And there he was blaming himself again, and he can easily see this going in circles.]

How about we make a deal? I can't exactly write anything up, but we should be able to make do.

[ He's surprised at how vehemently Avery denies it, that much is clearly felt, but he doesn't argue about whose fault it is, for once. It's well-trodden ground, at least in his head.

He just looks away. He feels embarrassed that his feelings are laid out so obviously, after he'd spent so long hiding them. ]

I--Okay. [ He hates how childish he sounds, but everything is too vulnerable to deliberate over his words the way he's used to. ] What kind of deal would you suggest?

You want to make sure I'm not saying it's my fault, right? You cut yourself off when you start thinking that it's your fault it happened and I'll do the same. Deal?

[He lets go of Ekkehardt's hand in order to extend his own for a handshake

[ He can't help but smile at that. He looks back at his friend to seal the deal with a handshake. ]

Very well. Deal.

[ It's pleasant contact. He doesn't want to relinquish that touch but just holding on after a handshake would be strange, he knows, so he lets go of Avery's hand after a moment.

.... ]

Now what are we supposed to do...?

[good question.]

I guess starting a combination law firm and medical business is out of the question.

[He laughs weakly. It's a dumb joke, even for him, and he grows serious after.]

Do you still want to stay here? Even with everything... you know.

It's still my - our - home. Even like this...

[ Maybe they could go elsewhere, but for what purpose? Without somewhere to come back to, the wandering would seem worthless - for him, anyway. Maybe Avery feels differently about it.

He misses the warmth of having his hand to hold, small though it is. He puts his hand on his friend's, leans against his shoulder.

Not the same as it was, but it's enough. ]

Anyway, I'm not sure if they'd let a fox run a clinic without a license. [ The law firm might be easier, though. ]

You know, technically I make the rules around here, especially if we're sticking around. I could just make it a law that foxes can do whatever they please. Or foxes that are people, anyway.

[He's seen fire spirits try to make their homes in the forest sometimes and he doesn't want them getting any ideas.]

It's not like it's hard.

[ He wouldn't mind, but Avery's always been protective of his forest. (Their forest?) Besides, it's nice to see him be firm on things again, in a small way. ]

I suppose that's fair enough.

Do you still want to stay here? I know there's...places you don't want to go any more.

[He stares down at the dark expanse beneath them: their transformed, twisted, mangled home. A mangled corpse somehow still breathing.]

"The king and the land are one."

[He presses his lips in a thin line and sighs.]

And you're right. This is our home. She can have the manor. Everything else is ours.

[It's hard not to sound bitter. He doesn't even bother fighting it, not when the pain is still fresh, a throbbing pain in his chest.]

[ He can feel the pain as if it's his own (and to some extent, it is; though his love wasn't the same, he'd still cared deeply for Vanessa, and he still does despite everything.)

He leans his head against Avery's shoulder. ]

I'm-- sorry.

[ He doesn't know what he's apologising for; he wouldn't know where to start. There's so much to choose from.

But since there's nobody else to say it, he feels like he should. His heart aches. ]

[Avery squeezes Ekkehardt's hand and takes a deep breath, shutting their eyes. He wants to say it's fine, but obviously it isn't. They both can feel that much.

No secrets. Not like this.]

She won't hurt either of us ever again. I'll make sure of it.

[ Everything is so different now; their home, and all of this. But he's glad, in a way, that he has no excuse to close himself off any more; he'd found himself coming up with more and more of them, over the years, trying to be close and to be distant at the same time.

He/they curl up on top of the tree, tucking tails under their chin, eyes still closed. It's comfortable, at least.

What can he say to that? He's never been good at words, not like Avery was -- not like Avery is, because he has to remind himself he's right there, like it's hard to believe. ]

Good. It shouldn't have happened to you in the first place.

[ A pause, and then: ]

I missed you.

[ If they were separate, he would have shrouded his meaning, closed himself off; "I missed this" or, more likely, saying nothing at all. But there's nothing he can do to obscure himself here; the feelings go deeper than he could ever express. ]

[Days spent out with Vanessa, the stray thought or two wondering if Ekkehardt would like this or that.

The faintest smirk as he slips in a pun or two--a real groaner--just to imagine how Ekkehardt would react.

Doing everything in his power not to let Ekkehardt worry, because after this long he can tell something bothers him, even if he can't quite tell what it is. Everything's fine, even if things are a little different now, see?]

You know what? I missed you too.

[ Oh.

He hadn't really thought that he'd been on Avery's mind that much, to be honest. The surprise is clear, and it's something he's ashamed of, because it's not something that should have been a surprise in the first place.

But everything is -- fine. As fine as it can be, anyway, given everything that's happened.

It could have gone wrong, or worse. It could have resulted in only one of them being here, alone. ]

...I suppose it's lucky that we didn't turn into anything worse.

[ It's not like he hasn't heard the stories, after all. It happened over and over again in the tales he'd heard and read, dark warnings; don't give up your soul, don't consume another's, or you'll be transformed into something unrecognisable - and so on, and so forth. ]

[It's brief, but sharp, a needle of hurt that pricks their chest and fades away. Of course Avery wouldn't forget him. Just because Vanessa was, well... Vanessa, that didn't mean he'd drop Ekkehardt altogether.]

No kidding. Maybe we'll get lucky and find some way to look somewhat human or something. I have a feeling we're both going to miss thumbs.

[ He feels guilty about that pain that pricks (both of) them. It's not something he should have ever thought in the first place, but it's there regardless. All those ugly things he'd kept hidden and never spoken of, because there was nobody to say them to.

It's not like you can tell your best friend you're afraid of what his wife is turning him into, and turning into herself, not when you just want him to be happy. ]

There's no harm in trying, I suppose...?

[ He peeks over the edge of the mushroom and goes for a leap; falling doesn't hurt either. They land lightly on the grass as he seeks out the body of water they'd been looking into previously, just to have something to reference.

Once there, he experiments, trying to shift one of their paws into a hand,or at least something with thumbs. Little steps. It's not particularly successful. ]

[The leap is sudden and startling--for the first half-second. But them he's whooping and hollering all the way to the water, only half paying attention to Ekke's first attempt, too busy laughing and coming down from the adrenaline.

He'd like to be human sometimes, but if that's what they can look forward to, maybe the whole fox business isn't THAT bad.]

Think I see a little less fur. Let's give it a shot together.

[ He quietly tucks that away for later (not that he can hide anything from him); a small, soft feeling of satisfaction. I want to do that again. ]

All right. When you're ready.

[ He waits for Avery to give him confirmation before he makes another effort, bigger than before. Trying to push in the right direction, whatever that might be. ]

if we're fused together who's driving the car

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