Alright, immortal Sir Nine-Planet. The look he sends back is a pointed do you want me to embarrass myself for your benefit or not? Then John hits the nail near enough to the head that he blinks the expression clean off his face. When the dust settles, there's a lopsided grin tugging lazy at one corner of his mouth.
"Close. Official word is she couldn't love me because, and I quote, I always had to be the one holding the knife. Which I learned at her wedding about a month before absconding on my winter retreat."
Also known as his multiversal abduction to the world they now find themselves in. He won't be lingering there, because John landing close enough to the bullseye makes it easy to move swiftly on to the rest of his point. Echoing John's forward lean, a finger ticks up to mark off each item on his list.
"Meanwhile, here, I have two pseudo-spouses, one man who lives periodically in my room, a seemingly ever-growing collection of people with whom I am intimately familiar, and a family of fellow cult survivors. I've been here less than six months. In the hypothetical world where I take this," he taps at the Niez symbol on the back of his hand, "home with me, the only reason it would be easier is because I can't go a month without a near death experience."
"When everyone's living on top of each other and under a ton of pressure, you form relationships that feel more important than any others you've ever had," John says. "And then you finish your placement or your PHD and they simply don't stand up in the real world." It's something he's seen again and again and again. In college, during the Apocalypse, in the Empire, even here.
He's aware that's terribly pessemistic, to imply that the connections Stephen's formed — that they've both formed — probably wouldn't hold up in more functional, ordinary circumstances.
"You could find it again back home, just gather a few people into a high-pressure situation. Maybe a militant uprising, a border dispute, or whatever the multiversal equivalent is."
A breathed laugh as John lays down a psychology lesson that only helps to confirm his point - the connections he's tumbled into in this place aren't anything he could or would try to replicate in his own life. Circumstances have made of him two distinct and separate people. The mark, if he has any say in it, will not be coming home with him.
But they're talking in maybes. He doesn't need to flog the point.
John splays out his hand, looking at the mark on his hand. "No," he says. He's taking his people with him; he won't need the telepathy. "But I've cut my hand off enough to know that doesn't work to remove them. Necromancy doesn't effect them. And I don't think the Duchess knows much more than us."
It's wry, flippant, punctuated with a sip. They have enough to contend with in the short term that the mark seems like a far off problem, something he's accepted will only be worked out along the way or after the fact, when the mysteries surrounding their being here are laid bare enough to show the inner workings of the rest.
"If it's inherent to the world, or to the Void, the absence of either might do the trick. We're missing some pieces. We'll just have to wait until we find them."
Maybe it's because he's had enough wine to be warmly tipsy, but John finds that both comforting and satisfactory, is willing to let it cap off the discussion and set his mind at ease for now. They need more pieces, that's all. Those will come in time. He has time - he has so much fucking time.
John shifts his crossed legs, changes the hand his wine glass is in. "I should go," he sighs, glancing reluctantly to the swirling portal. Before he says or does something stupid and ruins what has turned into quite a nice little time together. "But you're not allowed to fucking, ignore me anymore, all right?"
"Yeah. Alright." It earns a little tweak of a smile. Gaze drops to the swill of wine around his glass.
"Thanks for missing me." In spite of - well, everything. If he doesn't look up, it could just be tongue in cheek, a tease. It isn't, quite. "And for coming over."
He's missed him, too. Missed the strangely easy habit of reaching out that had been growing even before it became his daily lived reality. Stephen pushes himself to his feet then, reaching a hand out to accept John's glass when he's ready to surrender it, helping to smooth the transition of his exit.
John stands, returns the glass, and that should be that. Back to the lakeshore and then home, unless Stephen's portal drops him off directly. Except—
"It's not a bad thing, to always be the one holding the knife," he says, paused in the liminal space of leaving. Stephen surely knows by now that he's a control freak desperately looking for an excuse to give up control. But it's just a parting comment, and then it's his turn to be a bit of a coward and go.
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"Close. Official word is she couldn't love me because, and I quote, I always had to be the one holding the knife. Which I learned at her wedding about a month before absconding on my winter retreat."
Also known as his multiversal abduction to the world they now find themselves in. He won't be lingering there, because John landing close enough to the bullseye makes it easy to move swiftly on to the rest of his point. Echoing John's forward lean, a finger ticks up to mark off each item on his list.
"Meanwhile, here, I have two pseudo-spouses, one man who lives periodically in my room, a seemingly ever-growing collection of people with whom I am intimately familiar, and a family of fellow cult survivors. I've been here less than six months. In the hypothetical world where I take this," he taps at the Niez symbol on the back of his hand, "home with me, the only reason it would be easier is because I can't go a month without a near death experience."
no subject
He's aware that's terribly pessemistic, to imply that the connections Stephen's formed — that they've both formed — probably wouldn't hold up in more functional, ordinary circumstances.
"You could find it again back home, just gather a few people into a high-pressure situation. Maybe a militant uprising, a border dispute, or whatever the multiversal equivalent is."
no subject
But they're talking in maybes. He doesn't need to flog the point.
"I take it you're hoping to keep yours."
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no subject
It's wry, flippant, punctuated with a sip. They have enough to contend with in the short term that the mark seems like a far off problem, something he's accepted will only be worked out along the way or after the fact, when the mysteries surrounding their being here are laid bare enough to show the inner workings of the rest.
"If it's inherent to the world, or to the Void, the absence of either might do the trick. We're missing some pieces. We'll just have to wait until we find them."
no subject
John shifts his crossed legs, changes the hand his wine glass is in. "I should go," he sighs, glancing reluctantly to the swirling portal. Before he says or does something stupid and ruins what has turned into quite a nice little time together. "But you're not allowed to fucking, ignore me anymore, all right?"
no subject
"Thanks for missing me." In spite of - well, everything. If he doesn't look up, it could just be tongue in cheek, a tease. It isn't, quite. "And for coming over."
He's missed him, too. Missed the strangely easy habit of reaching out that had been growing even before it became his daily lived reality. Stephen pushes himself to his feet then, reaching a hand out to accept John's glass when he's ready to surrender it, helping to smooth the transition of his exit.
no subject
"It's not a bad thing, to always be the one holding the knife," he says, paused in the liminal space of leaving. Stephen surely knows by now that he's a control freak desperately looking for an excuse to give up control. But it's just a parting comment, and then it's his turn to be a bit of a coward and go.