Entry tags:
- we the lost: !ic,
- we the lost: eliza owens,
- we the lost: emily kaldwin,
- we the lost: kd6-3.7,
- we the lost: meulin leijon,
- we the lost: montague "monty" navarro,
- we the lost: phillip gray,
- we the lost: renart,
- we the lost: royce melborn,
- we the lost: the psiionic,
- we the lost: toriel,
- we the lost: zangetsu
IC contact for
wethelost

Solomons & Melborn
1108 Sweet Cream Street
[Feel free to use this space for letter/package deliveries as well as visits/knocks on the front door!]
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I suppose it wouldn't help if I went first, then.
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You mean you let me feel what you're feeling first?
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[But it'd still be the same level of closeness, even if the focus would be different.]
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If I feel what you're feeling first, you won't be able to feel - this. [ He puts a hand on his chest, rubbing at his sternum a little. ] It'll throw everything off. I just have to do it.
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[Alfie squeezes his shoulder.]
You can, and I will gladly accept it, mate, but you do not have to. Eh?
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I want to. It just makes me nervous to - to offer so much up. It's intense. And I doubt you'll think differently of me. I know that logically. It's just very... big.
I don't want you to think I'm forcing myself.
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[He sets his sketchbook aside, leaning his shoulder into Royce's.]
You wanna talk about it more first?
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Do you?
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[He curls his fingers around Royce's.]
I wouldn't know where to start.
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[A beat.]
Yeah, all right. Go on, then.
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There's a lot, at once. He's relaxed, because he's sitting with Alfie, because it's a relief to be here, but he's nervous, too. The nerves curl around and cover most of his emotion, sparking here and there. But most of all, it's... heaviness. It's a sad, weighty feeling, like a rock at the bottom of his stomach. He's not on the verge of crying, but the sensation, the dread and fright and anxiety all balled up into a tiny, tight ball that feels ready to explode at any second - it's stuck, between his lungs and up into his throat. It burns and it makes him feel sick, if he focuses on it. It's longing and wanting, a need for a solution he can't find. Loss.
It's intense. In fact, it might be startling to Alfie, considering how calm Royce is on the outside. It'd make a man less accustomed to horror and trauma scream. ]
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Okay.
[He whispers, trying to keep his breathing steady.]
Okay.
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Yeah. [ He's silent, just letting Alfie feel it. The longer the silence goes, the more his nerves build, the more frightened he feels. ]
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I feel your fear, mate, but I don't know what you're scared of. And the sadness, the dread--
[He can make some guesses, even educated ones, but he'd rather hear it - or feel it - from Royce.]
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It's been building since before Renart and I got drunk. It keeps getting worse as time goes.
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[Alfie says gently, prodding.]
Of being alone?
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I know. [ Royce says, low and voice breaking a little. ] I know you don't want me to be alone, either.
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Alfie doesn't mention any of that, though; he might not even know that it's leaking through. He just pulls Royce closer to him, curling a little onto his side.]
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