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[specifications]

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WINDOW CALLING | forward dated to post-snow

[congenitally]

[ Today catches Charles in that developed habit of sitting in his window; the snow has mostly subsided now, and it's easier to people watch this way. (It's a habit of unwinding when every day seems so full of things he's not certain he's ever going to get proper handle on.

He glances across the courtyard, and finds a familiar figure in one of the windows across from his. (He can't recall, but is serendipity a god?)

Charles waves to catch Arthur's attention. ]

[specifications]

[ Arthur has started to do much the same thing when he isn't on the roof or down in the courtyard himself. He wasn't really the kind of person to people watch much in his world. But he, sadly, has hours to fill when he's not training and too tired to do much else.

He catches the movement and looks up to see--huh. So their houses are literally across from each other. He doesn't wave back but he straightens himself up some and jerks his chin towards the other man. Yeah, he sees you. ]

[congenitally]

[ Charles rolls his eyes, thankful at least that as much isn't clearly visible at this distance. He doesn't know what he expected, which this has been much of their interaction thus far.

The waving turns into a different motion upon recognition. One that beckons. ]

[specifications]

[ Charles expects too much, apparently.

Arthur shakes his head and motions for Charles to come to him. ]

[congenitally]

[ There's a loud sigh that Arthur can't hear and a gesture that still looks an awful lot like flipping someone the bird before he clambers out of the window and disappears for a moment.

(It's not actually much of an imposition, but he still has a measure of pride, damn it. Which means he waits an extra moment or two before he comes out of the insula and across the courtyard. ]

[specifications]

[ Arthur sees that and turns away to laugh to himself. Arthur stays up in the window, however, waiting until he sees Charles walking out into the courtyard.

It's only then he goes down to meet him in the outside hallway of the bottom floor. ]

You waved?

[ Since it wasn't really a "call". ]

[congenitally]

I did.

[ He looks a bit more somber and serious than he has in any previous conversation, glancing behind Arthur into the hallway leading to the storerooms and, if it's anything like his own building, a small (and more than a little terrible) bath. ]

Is it alright to talk here?

[ He's usually one to trust first and ask later. But he has no telepathy here anymore, and his emotional gut instincts are all over the place, especially with the particular man in this building who's given him the information he intends to ask about in the first place.

Arthur's always seemed like someone to take everything seriously; he hopes that feeling isn't wrong now. ]

[specifications]

[ Arthur frowns somewhat at the change in demeanor from Charles. He's never seen him like this before but the question seemed to give him an idea why. He looks behind him and then up.

Back to Charles, ]

Better down there than up there. The walls are pretty thin. Could go into the bathroom if you wanted more privacy.

[ At least he's guessing that's what Charles wants. ]

[congenitally]

[ He nods quietly and will follow just as much so. Outside of his informant, the information is still sensitive enough that Charles recognizes without issue that it's something to keep quiet.

As much as he wants to help, as amiable as he can be, he knows well the value of privacy. And once upon a time, he'd scarcely had to worry about it. Until now.

Once in the dilapidated bath: ]

I'm very sorry for the runaround. I need some help, but it's best left...discreet.

[specifications]

[ He crosses his arms, shaking his head, ]

It's fine.

[ He understands the need for being discreet very well. Granted, it was usually for his profession. ]

What do you need help with?

[congenitally]

I was told--

[ He starts shifting from one foot to the other, clearly not practiced on the art of actually being clandestine. ]

--That you were someone to talk to if I need someone I can trust. The irony, of course, being I wouldn't trust this source with discretion of any kind that doesn't involve payment or some kind of upper hand.

Please tell me I didn't actually hand him money for nothing.

ITEMS | backdate to early ig april

[congenitally]

[ It takes some time to gather, between the time to do so, the resources to do so, and finding the right places for what he needs. But Charles pushes through it anyway, playing a slow game, even if that "slow" is...well, a crawling speed.

In early April, there will be a package outside of Arthur's door, a bundle wrapped neatly in linen, that upon unwrapping is:

1. a hefty amount of thin, quality papyrus,
2. a vial of ink, and
3. a sculpted metal pen.

With this is a short note with a seemingly innocuous message:

Time to thank you yet? ]

cries

[specifications]

[ Arthur honestly wasn't expecting the gifts and while there wasn't any name on the note, it wasn't hard to guess who wrote it. He almost smiles at it. Almost.

Charles will find a note stuck in his own door later in the day:

You already did. ]

welp.txt

[congenitally]

[ Eventually a makeshift "paper" airplane follows in through Arthur's window. It looks a little blunted on a wing (or two) like it's taken more effort than initially visible to get it in.

When unfolded: I had a promise to keep. ]

omg

[specifications]

[ That gets a laugh out of him before he's actually making one to go back over. It took some effort but it glides pretty good across the courtyard.

Once it is unfolded,

Consider it kept.

Written on the very papyrus given to him and the pen. ]

/routinely abuses your inbox; IG 05/29, end of day

[congenitally]

[ Beyond an occasional quiet comment through the proceeding of the first day of what seems as if it's going to be a days long debate, Charles saves the bulk of his concern for Arthur's condition. He can see the obvious: the red eyes, the heavy bruising. But he worries, even silently, that the state of those injuries is worse than they look--he'd witnessed them, saw the worst of the blood mingling with the heavy, relentless rain. (And with a tight feeling in his chest, he knows the cold and the wet hadn't helped anyone).

He saves it for a particular moment: when the conversation starts to flag and the lack of sleep after heavy fighting and various injury starts to push past the wall of adrenaline collectively holding the exhaustion off. He doesn't notice at first, as incensed and concerned and wrapped up in this frustrating argument as he is, but eventually, he notices that Arthur has broken off from the dwindling group.

Charles spares a glance back at the fauns, concerned with the turn in conversation and how much of that becomes moot if one (or all) disappear in the night when there's no one around to notice or decline. But his own exhaustion begs, and he has to trust--for the first time--that the gods really are watching. One man can only do so much, and they're all battered and bruised in various states. The fauns included, who seem to be nodding off in kind.

He too breaks off from the remainder of the small group, but instead of heading for his own insula, he turns and crosses into the building that faces his own. Semi-familiar stairs creak under slow steps as he drags himself up to the third floor. He's never been so regretful for the loss of elevators in his recent memory. But he finally crosses that final stair, and without further hesitation, knocks on Arthur's door. ]

Anyone home?

doki doki

[specifications]

[ There's a grunt on the other side of the door. It's the only answer he will get -- to Arthur's half-awake mind, he thought he had said "go away".

His exhaustion finally caught up with him and, lacking any appetite or any determination to go to the clinic, he used what was left of his energy to head to his room. As far as he was concerned, the rain had mostly washed his cuts out and he had made sure not to land or press them against any surface since. Though he does regret not at least getting some of the remaining snow they still had in the Bacchus insula. ]

[congenitally]

[ It's acknowledgement enough, though to be fair if he'd heard "go away," he still would have pushed forward as he's doing now. He finds the door unlocked, and knowing that this does directly against decorum, he enters anyway. The door closes behind him with a quiet click. ]

How are you feeling?

[ The question too is quiet, tempered by a month of tense silence, but even more by what he sees before him: Arthur half-passed out, still looking as ragged as he had an hour prior. ]

[specifications]

[ There's that voice again. His brow creases some but his eyes remain closed (one of them has little choice in the matter). The word is slurred, ]

What?

[congenitally]

[ Part of him wonders if he shouldn't just leave now, but the reaction and the look of Arthur's face alone, is not something he can simply leave. That feels worse, paining him more than leaving the rest of his worries in the courtyard below. It's here or it's out there with the fauns until he's bodily dragged away.

He crosses the room, settling as gently as he can at the foot of Arthur's bed. (It looks worse up close). And then asks again: ]

I asked how you were feeling.

[ Which obviously isn't well, but he can't exactly do anything about a nebulous "bad." ]

[specifications]

[ He hears the voice again but not the words. Not really. For a brief moment, he sees a flash of his mother by his bed -- a memory from a long time ago. The same brown eyes he has staring down at him and his heart gives a sudden lurch. His eye open and he looks around.

He's genuinely surprised and puzzled to see Charles there. He looks over at the door and then the room again. ]

... I don't remember coming up here.

[congenitally]

I do hate to harp on a point, but-- [ look at you-- ] I suspect that's the work of a heavy concussion at the least.

[ His face screws up a little; this has done little to allay his concern. It answers his question, at least, but it's an answer he'd been hoping--perhaps futilely--against. ]

[specifications]

[ He frowns more at Charles, ]

I'm not a fan of taking opium and I'd rather not start now.

[ Which is the closest thing they have for a painkiller in the clinic. ]

[congenitally]

That's not what I came up to suggest.

[ And he worries how that would actually come into play with a concussion--he's not a doctor by any means, but it doesn't sound like the most positive mix. That's an awfully strong "solution" for something that ought to simply be monitored.

And, well-- ]

Honestly, after today, I have my doubts about the clinic as a whole.

[ Arthur will get little argument from him on that front. He shrugs, and finally shakes his head. ]

I just wanted to make sure you were...well, as alright as circumstances allow, I suppose. I didn't mean to wake you in doing so.

[specifications]

After what's happened down there?

[ Because that's the only thing that comes to mind. People's true colors are flashing pretty brightly right now and he doesn't know how to feel about it. It all feels messier than it should be but then that's people. ]

And I've had worse before.

[ Gunshot wounds and all that. ]