"Arthur Inkwell here. I've no earthly idea how this thing is supposed to work, but leave me a message if you're so inclined. I'll retrieve it at some point or another!"
[ their noses touch, and she gasps roughly and shivers.
what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say yes?
what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say no?
feels like there's a vice around her chest, winching tighter with the passing of every century-long second. this is the moment, she's realizing—the offer, the offer she didn't get to give Henry even to save his life, the offer she's been dying to hear pass anyone else's lips.
...and now that it has, she's trapped between the only two answers that exist, paralyzed by the finality of either one. she might never break the Weave and find Arthur, Herlock, Henry, Oriphi, Nessa, Minato, Ace, Ruggie, anyone ever again. but the door might stay closed, locking Arthur on the same side as her. maybe none of it's possible, maybe this kind of thought is all just a daydream. every single thing could go wrong, or everything could go just right; she won't be able to tell which path they're on until they're on it.
are a few years of companionship worth the snare trap Arthur would have to stand in?
what if she does what she often does, and frustrates him beyond the point that her whims and her moods are charming, in their way—? what then? she pulls the rope? says, well, don't blame me. you said you'd do it. ]
[ There is no way for him to know what she's thinking, but he can guess at it. He's just offered her his whole life, if it came down to it. What does one do with that? It is not an offer lightly taken — nor lightly made, and he hopes she knows that.
A small, soft little smile. ]
Well, rabbits are a sign of good fortune, so I think we even out.
I do. It is okay, my love. I understand. And whatever you may choose, I will understand. 'Tis not an offer I make lightly, and neither will I take your answer as anything less. I promise.
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No one can help me. Only I can help me. I have to change things... being Scribe is what I want most from my life!
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[ Said as he reaches over to wipe away another stray tear from her cheek. ]
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Arthur, please. I can't...
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[ she can't ask him to leave it behind for her, someone he's known for months at best. ]
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I am not strong enough that I can promise you this.
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I would do it for you. If you wanted me to.
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what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say yes?
what kind of lover is she, that she doesn't immediately say no?
feels like there's a vice around her chest, winching tighter with the passing of every century-long second. this is the moment, she's realizing—the offer, the offer she didn't get to give Henry even to save his life, the offer she's been dying to hear pass anyone else's lips.
...and now that it has, she's trapped between the only two answers that exist, paralyzed by the finality of either one. she might never break the Weave and find Arthur, Herlock, Henry, Oriphi, Nessa, Minato, Ace, Ruggie, anyone ever again. but the door might stay closed, locking Arthur on the same side as her. maybe none of it's possible, maybe this kind of thought is all just a daydream. every single thing could go wrong, or everything could go just right; she won't be able to tell which path they're on until they're on it.
are a few years of companionship worth the snare trap Arthur would have to stand in?
what if she does what she often does, and frustrates him beyond the point that her whims and her moods are charming, in their way—? what then? she pulls the rope? says, well, don't blame me. you said you'd do it. ]
Tieflings are ill omen, you know.
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A small, soft little smile. ]
Well, rabbits are a sign of good fortune, so I think we even out.
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I n... I need to think about it. You understand why, don't you?
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she leans in and brushes a kiss over his lips ]