And moments later, once Koby reaches their meeting place, he finds Zephir already there, looking over his shoulder as he turns to face him, clicking a button to end the call and let the phone go in his pocket. The changes to Koby's presentation are as obvious as Zephir's, and yet they're both very much still themselves, aren't they. Two people finding each other through someone else's familiarity — be it mutual friends, family members they share, or alternate selves that did most of the job for them. How many people get a second chance to meet for the first time?
A segway from voice to in-person, as if that's how this conversation started, ]
[koby lifts a hand in a sort of shy little wave, cheeks flushed from the warm day, the same hue as his hair. he finds he wants to -- apologize again, maybe, for not being the confident, daring, cocky boy he'd been when they met in their other lives, but he swallows it back instead, tilting his head up (and up and up) as he gets closer.]
Ah, they weren't done by a very skilled doctor, back home. [tracing a finger along each pectoral, first in a straight line, like his surgery scars had been as jakob -- neat and smooth and professional -- then in a much more jagged, up-and-down line.] They didn't heal smoothly either. Hard to rest and recover on a ship.
[there's a world of meaning behind the casual comment -- koby hadn't been permitted to rest, had resumed his hard labor almost immediately with fresh sutures in, and that was a recipe for disaster.] That's -- that's mostly what I mean.
[ Or regenerate the skin entirely, make it as though they were never there. Zephir's glance follows Koby's fingers until he finishes the gesture, wondering. Given the number of healers and walking miracles that come and go, he imagined someone would've given the young man the opportunity.
Unless this is further insight into Koby himself. ]
-- no. [koby says it with a bit of surprise, eyebrows arching, because -- well, he generally keeps the scars covered, unless he's being intimate with someone, and somehow in all his myriad experiences, he hasn't done that with anyone who'd be able to remove the scars. he looks down, hands splaying out over his chest for a moment, before he offers zephir a little smile.]
But I don't think I would let them. Scars mean I survived. [he gestures at the other dramatic scar, this one x-shaped, fairly fresh, just off-center on his forehead.] And they make me look a bit more impressive, I think.
[ Just then, something seems a little brighter in Zephir's expression. Approval. Even pride. Without permission, his thumb reaches to brush the scar on Koby's forehead gently, as if the gesture serves to commit it to memory. It's really just an excuse to touch him. ]
I can. [ Still looking at the mark on Koby's forehead, returning the eye contact shortly after, hand dropped at his side. ] But you're absolutely right, love. I gave you all scars for a reason.
[ Scars as a whole. As an ability. As a gift. ]
It's so easy to forget our history when it isn't written. You carry it with you, outside the frail threads of memory. Scars are the pain that loved you enough to want to stay. A wound felt so deeply it became a part of who you are.
[ It makes sense that Alaric was full of them. Most of those marks had been carved by his sister. ]
It'd be a shame to destroy that, wouldn't it? Something so unique.
[the fresh, shiny pink skin has long since ceased to be tender, so koby doesn’t stiffen or shy away when zephir touches him – if anything he tips his head into the touch, big, earnest eyes softening a bit. going looser, in the shoulders, in the way he stands, something warming at him at having passed an unwritten, unannounced test.]
You did? Is this similar to, ah – the dinosaur thing? [he reads the network religiously, and the whole extinction topic seemed very troubling to zephir.] You’re not – human, are you?
[said sedately, calmly – it’s become a semi-common thing, and koby’s more curious than uneasy at the concept of speaking to or being close to…well. a concept. he’s cautious, though, the extra sense he’d regained when june ended reaching out to gently feel around the shape of zephir’s mind, his aura, his energy.]
I don’t think I could ever forget – all this. [one hand reaches up, presses to where the two long, jagged scars run parallel on either side of his chest. impossible to forget the battle for it, the endurance needed to survive the healing, the conviction even still that it had been necessary, essential. it was those or continue to die slowly, and koby had chosen the inevitable scars.
and he was still there, standing, hand to his chest. half-smiling at the word unique, koby shakes off the swell of emotion, clearing his throat. his cheeks flush a little deeper pink as he prompts:] I, ah, think we were going to discuss, um. Undergarments?
[ Something nostalgic brushes his smile, a topic that's left its mark on so many worlds resurfaced like a scar with an origin many still don't understand. How many would tolerate the insanity of a claim that that one took place due to love, too? Because he needed Death to stay more than any creature unable to survive what came next? (upcoming book title: I killed every dinosaur for my boo and I bet you would too)
Agreeably, eyes shut for a moment, he gestures with his head. No, he's not human. Anything there is to read remains as it was outside of February and outside of June. ]
They will make you forget. Eventually. You may even be convinced that it was your choice to forget.
[ A prophecy, or an inevitability. They are in Saltburnt, after all. The place that has made Life mortal twice. Got it killed once. Anything is, for better or for worse, possible.
Reaching into his pocket, Zephir takes out neatly folded underwear. Washed, as good as new. Self-promoting Calvin Kleins on the waistband. ]
[koby’s expression shifts, slightly – forgetting zephir himself or forgetting it all, he wants to ask, wants to make certain what he’s being told, finding patterns and signs where perhaps none are, but. time and place.
still, softly:] Is that what always happens? To you? People forget?
[it’s a grim question to ask, especially with zephir’s next action – a perfectly polite one which nevertheless makes koby’s face flush crimson, reaching out to quickly grab the clothing.]
Sometimes. And then sometimes they simply convince themselves that I was never real. It's easier to believe in other things that way.
[ Be it other gods, or because they'd rather blame all the pleasurable atrocities Zephir's done to their bodies on their imagination rather than their memories. ]
[koby pauses for a moment, tilting his head to one side, feeling out the strange, too-real, too-bright edge of zephir’s mind, the shape of his bright aura.]
I’ll write you down. As someone who was kind to me, when I wasn’t a very kind person.
[both meanings of it – how will he make it stick, and who will zephir be, in koby’s memory?]
[ He reaches for Koby's hair, stroking a strand of his bangs between thumb and index, as if checking for something. Simply admiring a part of this wonderful creature before him. He already got Theo to worship him, and as much as Zephir would insist that he has no need to be recognized as a deity, it certainly has some attractive qualities. What would it take with this one? ]
Let me know when you've written about me, love. If I like it, I'll share a secret with you.
[koby’s odd in his beliefs – not quite at a place where he would or could give devoted dedication to a deity, too pragmatic and disillusioned and emotional all at once. but to a person, an idea, a concept?
easily. freely. and he knows zephir as alaric, knows him as a strange, bright, perplexing warmth in his mind’s eye, and so he looks up and up and smiles eagerly, because secrets and knowledge and insight are as tantalizing to him as the hand toying with his hair.]
Um. Okay. I’ll – send you what I have, when I have it.
[ Brushing the young man's hair one more time, Zephir looks like he's contemplating their options. He's done what he came here for — a little more than that — and he's curious about how differently sex would play out in their current state. It'd be too much for the majority of the guests, sure. That's hardly stopped him before.
Zephir drops his hand back to his side. ]
Thank you for meeting me here. [ Even though it was, supposedly, just to return what belonged to the other Koby. ] I'll think of you. And your scars.
[ A genuinely fond goodbye. Zephir walks past Koby and towards the manor, greeted by a black cat when he makes it to the main doors. ]
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no subject
The lake, then. It's nice this time of year.
no subject
I'll make the delivery as discreet as possible for you, love. Just let me know when you're ready.
no subject
[the huffy little sounds of someone preparing to go out to the lake.]
But don't, um. You don't have to be sneaky or...or anything.
no subject
[ Imagine bossing the 6'7" entity around, Koby. ]
You mentioned what's changed. I want to know what stayed the same.
no subject
Uhm. Well, physically, I'm...mostly the same? Same height and everything. No more piercings. Ah...I don't know. What did you mean specifically?
no subject
[ What better way to know Koby's priorities? ]
Are you going to miss his piercings? My skin had tattoos all over. Scars, too. I haven't decided if I should bring them back.
no subject
finally:] He was unhappy. That part's changed, at least. He felt -- trapped and unsafe and desperate.
[a little huff, then:] I remember the scars. And the tattoos. My scars are worse now, I'm afraid.
no subject
[ Zephir says the darndest things.
And moments later, once Koby reaches their meeting place, he finds Zephir already there, looking over his shoulder as he turns to face him, clicking a button to end the call and let the phone go in his pocket. The changes to Koby's presentation are as obvious as Zephir's, and yet they're both very much still themselves, aren't they. Two people finding each other through someone else's familiarity — be it mutual friends, family members they share, or alternate selves that did most of the job for them. How many people get a second chance to meet for the first time?
A segway from voice to in-person, as if that's how this conversation started, ]
Why are they worse?
no subject
Ah, they weren't done by a very skilled doctor, back home. [tracing a finger along each pectoral, first in a straight line, like his surgery scars had been as jakob -- neat and smooth and professional -- then in a much more jagged, up-and-down line.] They didn't heal smoothly either. Hard to rest and recover on a ship.
[there's a world of meaning behind the casual comment -- koby hadn't been permitted to rest, had resumed his hard labor almost immediately with fresh sutures in, and that was a recipe for disaster.] That's -- that's mostly what I mean.
no subject
[ Or regenerate the skin entirely, make it as though they were never there. Zephir's glance follows Koby's fingers until he finishes the gesture, wondering. Given the number of healers and walking miracles that come and go, he imagined someone would've given the young man the opportunity.
Unless this is further insight into Koby himself. ]
Or did you not let them?
no subject
But I don't think I would let them. Scars mean I survived. [he gestures at the other dramatic scar, this one x-shaped, fairly fresh, just off-center on his forehead.] And they make me look a bit more impressive, I think.
[a pause, then:] Could you do that? Remove scars?
no subject
I can. [ Still looking at the mark on Koby's forehead, returning the eye contact shortly after, hand dropped at his side. ] But you're absolutely right, love. I gave you all scars for a reason.
[ Scars as a whole. As an ability. As a gift. ]
It's so easy to forget our history when it isn't written. You carry it with you, outside the frail threads of memory. Scars are the pain that loved you enough to want to stay. A wound felt so deeply it became a part of who you are.
[ It makes sense that Alaric was full of them. Most of those marks had been carved by his sister. ]
It'd be a shame to destroy that, wouldn't it? Something so unique.
no subject
You did? Is this similar to, ah – the dinosaur thing? [he reads the network religiously, and the whole extinction topic seemed very troubling to zephir.] You’re not – human, are you?
[said sedately, calmly – it’s become a semi-common thing, and koby’s more curious than uneasy at the concept of speaking to or being close to…well. a concept. he’s cautious, though, the extra sense he’d regained when june ended reaching out to gently feel around the shape of zephir’s mind, his aura, his energy.]
I don’t think I could ever forget – all this. [one hand reaches up, presses to where the two long, jagged scars run parallel on either side of his chest. impossible to forget the battle for it, the endurance needed to survive the healing, the conviction even still that it had been necessary, essential. it was those or continue to die slowly, and koby had chosen the inevitable scars.
and he was still there, standing, hand to his chest. half-smiling at the word unique, koby shakes off the swell of emotion, clearing his throat. his cheeks flush a little deeper pink as he prompts:] I, ah, think we were going to discuss, um. Undergarments?
no subject
Agreeably, eyes shut for a moment, he gestures with his head. No, he's not human. Anything there is to read remains as it was outside of February and outside of June. ]
They will make you forget. Eventually. You may even be convinced that it was your choice to forget.
[ A prophecy, or an inevitability. They are in Saltburnt, after all. The place that has made Life mortal twice. Got it killed once. Anything is, for better or for worse, possible.
Reaching into his pocket, Zephir takes out neatly folded underwear. Washed, as good as new. Self-promoting Calvin Kleins on the waistband. ]
In acceptable condition, I hope.
no subject
still, softly:] Is that what always happens? To you? People forget?
[it’s a grim question to ask, especially with zephir’s next action – a perfectly polite one which nevertheless makes koby’s face flush crimson, reaching out to quickly grab the clothing.]
I-I’m sure it is, y-yes. Thank you. Very much.
no subject
[ Be it other gods, or because they'd rather blame all the pleasurable atrocities Zephir's done to their bodies on their imagination rather than their memories. ]
How will you remember me?
no subject
I’ll write you down. As someone who was kind to me, when I wasn’t a very kind person.
[both meanings of it – how will he make it stick, and who will zephir be, in koby’s memory?]
no subject
Let me know when you've written about me, love. If I like it, I'll share a secret with you.
[ He doesn't hide that it's about the house. ]
no subject
[koby’s odd in his beliefs – not quite at a place where he would or could give devoted dedication to a deity, too pragmatic and disillusioned and emotional all at once. but to a person, an idea, a concept?
easily. freely. and he knows zephir as alaric, knows him as a strange, bright, perplexing warmth in his mind’s eye, and so he looks up and up and smiles eagerly, because secrets and knowledge and insight are as tantalizing to him as the hand toying with his hair.]
Um. Okay. I’ll – send you what I have, when I have it.
🎀!
[ Brushing the young man's hair one more time, Zephir looks like he's contemplating their options. He's done what he came here for — a little more than that — and he's curious about how differently sex would play out in their current state. It'd be too much for the majority of the guests, sure. That's hardly stopped him before.
Zephir drops his hand back to his side. ]
Thank you for meeting me here. [ Even though it was, supposedly, just to return what belonged to the other Koby. ] I'll think of you. And your scars.
[ A genuinely fond goodbye. Zephir walks past Koby and towards the manor, greeted by a black cat when he makes it to the main doors. ]