synthsized | •daybreak inbox

where are you

[Please respond, please don't dismiss him, please think he's worth the time, please be okay.]

[It could have gone better. It could have gone worse, too, but just because he's glad it didn't doesn't mean he can't be frustrated, too. It could have gone better! It was Thanksgiving, sort of!!! But...

Even if they were inadvertently the cause of a certain headache, Maverick already feels so much better just settling down with Rover in the privacy of his room at the inn with a small bowl of ice cream -- his stomach has its limits, plus they'd already had dessert at the dinner table -- and Ricktoria huddled on the floor at the foot of the bed while she investigates this odd intruder. Now that he doesn't have to keep track of all those people and their shockingly unstable mental well-being, he can lean back, close his eyes, and wonder vaguely over how much more the room span when he couldn't see it anymore. He hadn't wanted to overdo it, and he mostly thinks he was successful! Still, though. Woof. What a day.]

I get so fucking sick of people sometimes... Far as I know, though, that was the paranatural equivalent of a standard fucking Thanksgiving. Little light on politics.

[He doesn't hear the thing behind him anymore, either the familiar voice calling out cruel things or the uneven tread he'd hopefully made far more obvious, but that doesn't mean he stops his determined sprint across the campus. It was good that he hadn't been stabbed higher up and risked his lungs -- running, at least, is still easy, even with his backpack jostling hard and slamming against his back with each new push off the ground. All in all, he's not doing bad at all. It's just that he'll be much better once he ducks inside Lumière's dorms, finds Imelda, and is able to calm back down. That's when things will hurt more, he knows from experience, but he can also not bleed as much while he works on fixing himself.

Maverick feels pretty good about his plan, underneath the annoyance he has about how everything fucking sucks. And the fear he doesn't want to acknowledge. It's even easier to push aside when he crashes into the lobby and sets himself to change course up the staircase, only to stop dead in his tracks instead. Oh, right. They were on this floor, weren't they? And there was more they could do than he can.]

Rover! Hey, please be home!

[Banging his fist clinging tightly to his knife against their door is probably unnecessary, but oh well. Just gotta do what he can to make sure he gets someone's attention, since it seems he's gotten a break from his pursuer.]

[It's almost what's supposed to be the end of the world, but Maverick's felt like he's been in an eternity for a while now. Bed after bed in hotel after hotel in city after city... In their journey around the world, everything had always been changing except for waking up to that familiar, too beautiful face next to him. That's a constant, and he's so fucking grateful to have it.

Sleepy as he is and as dream-like as his life felt, it takes him a moment of just watching Rover before he pushes himself onto an elbow with a steadying inhale and leans over to kiss them. He'd need to shower and brush his teeth soon -- compared to them, he was extra disgusting in the morning -- but for now? For now he doesn't want to leave the comfort of feeling Rover's skin against his own. In this quiet, blissful moment, he's convinced that he could stay like this forever. Food and boredom be damned.]

Morning... [If it is morning, anyway. It was hard to keep track with time zones jumping around as much as they did, and all.] All charged up, babe?

un: weaseling, post-mirror

thanksgiving night, fight me