Annexed: IC Inbox

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

Hi, this is Marc. Leave a message. If you want to get in touch with Steven, leave a message, too.

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Action, post sensor sabotage

[scarabwings]

Come by tonight? she'd asked as they made their way back to the Witch's Camp, sweat still stinging their eyes, hair and clothing smelling of smoke and chemical residue. And again as they parted to debrief and return equipment and all the other little administrative tasks they'd never had to deal with them when it was just the two of them, running their own missions, tapping allies with whom they'd had a personal connection - not always friendship, but often enough.

Stay the night? she'd asked as they both panted beneath the tepid spray of her barracks-spare shower, having not been quite as spent as they'd both thought when they'd opted to leave the tangled nest of her bed.

Now, Layla lies curled against her husband's side for the first time in far too long, and though she'd fought sleep valiantly in order to drink in the warm solidity of his body and the scent of his skin and the low murmur of his voice in sporadic conversation - the sense that, even on this alien world, she's finally returning to something resembling home - sleep has ultimately claimed victory.

Sleep, and with it, dreams.

She stirs in the dark, fitful, tensing, and utters a low, wordless sound of distress.

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

Neither of them are strangers to nightmares. But it's been months since they've shared a bed, and while there's a sense of peace to it, it's still unfamiliar enough that the first stirrings of her nightmare wake him. And then it takes him a long moment to realize what woke him is the tense body on his arm beside him, and not some sound of potential threat.

Long enough for her to make that sound, and his heart just about breaks. "Layla," he says, muzzy but quietly determined.

[scarabwings]

She doesn't wake immediately, deep enough in dreaming that her sleeping mind just folds his voice into the nightmare, a memory of something lost, an echo she can't reach. Her eyes flicker beneath the closed lids, and she shudders, breathing shallowing.

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"Layla," he tries again, this time sliding his arm out from under her to prop himself up a little, half-turning towards her. It lets him reach over to brush her hair back from her face, if his first movement didn't wake her.

[scarabwings]

She startles at his touch, not quite bolting upright, but waking with a jerk and a short, sharp gasp, eyes wide and momentarily uncomprehending, until the details of the waking world filter in through sleep-jumbled senses enough to overwrite the lingering scraps of nightmare.

"Marc?" It comes out a little uncertain, and she reaches up to trap his hand against her cheek, as though half afraid he'll vanish along with the dream.

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"Yeah, baby, it's me. I got you." He strokes her cheekbone with his thumb, the only way to reassure without pulling his hand away. He'll shift over onto his side to gather her up in a minute, if it seems like that's what she wants. "It was just a dream."

[scarabwings]

She doesn't completely relax, but some of the tension goes out of her frame, and she draws a shuddering breath, blinking away the dampness clinging to her lashes.

"Shit," she says. "I bet you're regretting spending the night now." It's a weak attempt at humour, at playing down just how shaken she is.

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"Never," Marc assures her, and makes good on his thought to pull her into his arms now that she's awake, so long as she doesn't resist. "I'd rather be here even if you had nightmares every night and kicked me through all of 'em."

And it's true. He'd take kicking nightmares over his own quiet apartment any day. God, he's missed her. It's been months, both here and back home, since he's been able to sleep next to her. Or not sleep, as the case may be.

[scarabwings]

She doesn't resist. She burrows against him, head tipping forward to nestle in the crook of his shoulder, one arm threading around him in turn, clinging tight like some small, animal part of her is afraid of being torn away.

Her shoulders shift in something halfway between a laugh and a sob, and she manages, slightly muffled, "That doesn't sound very restful for either of us."

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"Maybe not. But worth it," he promises, and kisses the top of her head, rubbing at her back gently. Then he braces himself just a little, and offers, "Wanna talk about it?"

[scarabwings]

She's quiet for a long moment. The nightmare is still vivid in her mind, not yet shredded by waking, and in the superstitious void of the witching hour, speaking of it feels perilously close to speaking it into being.

Staying silent hasn't exactly exorcised it.

"We were in the tomb," she says finally. "More or less. It wasn't an exact replay."

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

He sighs a little. Yeah, that's one he's had before, himself. Dying wasn't fun. Knowing he'd failed wasn't fun, either. Knowing he'd failed right after telling Layla the truth, and leaving her alone with it, was probably the worst.

"Close enough to be pretty horrible, though, I bet," he says quietly, petting her back slowly and soothingly.

[scarabwings]

"Yeah," she says. "I knew what was coming, and I couldn't-- I thought I'd lost you." Her voice catches on the last word; she swallows the 'again' that wants to follow.

She hadn't. She can feel his heart beating, his skin living-warm, and the tension begins to seep away, drop by drop. If she were alone, she'd be up for much of the remainder of the night, distracting herself with a map or a book she'd borrowed, or wandering down to the Xin Market in search of a distraction. It's almost become a habit, if a less frequent one than it would have been in the weeks immediately following the final confrontation with Ammit's cult.

Text; backdated to the morning of the Winter Festival

[scarabwings]

What do you think?

[Attached is a series of images of an apartment, high-ceilinged and sunny, with what looks like three rooms - two full sized bedrooms and what looks like it could be a den or small office - in addition to the main living space.]

Re: Text; backdated to the morning of the Winter Festival

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

[Steven and Marc have worked out a system to show which of them is which. Not that it's not stupidly easy to tell if you know either one of them, but still. Steven's text is blue.]

oh wow that looks amazing. is that for us? what's the monthly rent on a place like that, can we afford it??

pretend that said morning *after*

[scarabwings]

Yeah. Seems like just what we need, doesn't it?

The place belonged to the owner's aunt before she passed, he's looking for someone to inventory the contents and get them packed away. We do that, he's willing to give us a deal on the rent.

[The number she includes is definitely a good bargain for the space, even considering the amount of clutter that needs to be cleared out.]

you know what I didn't even notice haha

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

oh that sounds amazing. we can definitely afford that and unless the place is wall to wall packed I don't think sorting some stuff would be hard! where is it? are you there now?

[scarabwings]

Not quite wall to wall, but there is a lot of stuff.

I'm there now. Want to see if you can find me before I give you the address?

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

sounds great! I'll be there when I get there I guess

[And he sends several smiling and thumbs up emojis.]

[scarabwings]

See you soon.

[The neighbourhood, once he finds it, is quiet - in the Magitech sector, but a ways out from Central Command. There's a silver tabby sitting on the post by the gate, and she pauses in cleaning one paw to mrrp at him inquisitively.]

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

It doesn't actually take him long to find, in the end. He's gotten pretty good at their tracking across the tether.

"Oh, hello, puss." Steven pauses to give the cat a hand to sniff, then a scritch behind the hears if she's amenable. "I'm looking for a really amazing lady. Think she's in this one? I think she's in this one."

[scarabwings]

The cat sniffs delicately at his fingers, then bunts her head into the palm of his hand, striking up a rumbling purr that seems far too loud for so tiny a creature.

"Oh," says a man's voice behind him. "You must be Layla's husband. Let me show you up."

The speaker is tall, and cadaverously thin, but oddly nondescript despite that, as though his features have been crafted to slide away from the mind between one blink and the next.

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

Steven is thoroughly distracted by petting the cat and the voice makes him jump, quite likely scaring said cat off her perch. "Oh. Um. Yes, probably. I mean, yes, that's me."

What a weird looking gentleman. Steven is already kind of passively looking for magic, now that he's actually noticed.

"Though I hope she won't consider that cheating," he adds. "We're working on the tether thing, you know, I followed it here."

[scarabwings]

The cat puffs up, tail standing up like a bottlebrush, and launches herself into a nearby bush, where she peers back with enormous blue eyes at the interloper.

There's no magic at all surrounding the man, neither active nor passive - Heba, perhaps, with a power related to camouflage. Or shapeshifting. He gives Steven a kindly smile. "I'm sure she'll understand. It's good luck running into you out here. You're Tian?"

[fightingevilbymoonknight]

"Yep, that's me, very very Tian, or so I've been told." Steven gives the poor kitty an apologetic look, but lets her hide. And he sets the puzzle of faceless-man aside to chew on later, too. He's got Layla to get to.

Introductions first, though. "Off-worlder, too, one of the first batch to get rescued, just like her. I'm Steven." He offers faceless-man his hand an an amiable smile.