[PRP] We Have A Problem (Shiloh & Thorne)

[Melancholies]

Coming home to an empty house was bizarre and unsettling. Staying with Jamie had been better—much better—but it still raised a question: where had all his stuff gone? Sure, he had found sketchbooks in his room and other little nic-nacks, but where had the bulk gone? His clothes? His life?

The answer was some "in beaten down warehouse outside of town". It hardly looked habitable from the exterior. The inside was much nicer, all things considered. It was a home away from home away from home and Shiloh had been welcomed to it whenever he needed the space, and for as much good as Jamie meant... Shiloh needed his space sometimes. Jamie was good about it, but... sometimes a room wasn't enough.

Leaving Jamie's place was the hardest thing he had to do these days, because it meant facing the outside world. Trekking to the warehouse was even worse, because it was so far from Jamie's suburbs that it warranted a bus ride if anyone wanted to get there in any reasonable sort of time, but there was no way Shiloh was ready with social interactions on that level. Walking it was. He had time. Hood up, head down, hand gripping phone in a vice grip. He had gods-know however many numbers programmed into speed dial on this thing, courtesy of one Jamie Delacroix. He would be safe if something happened.

Lavender peeked out of his pocket. He was quick to rip them out by the stalk and throw them to the ground. They wilted. As he walked away, they seemed to dissolve.

By the time he gets there it's noon but his legs aren't the least bit sore. No, Melany had a routine for their physical fitness, and Shiloh was evenly toned for it. Despite it, he couldn't bring himself to knock or ring the doorbell or heaven forbid walk in on his own.

Instead, he sat on the porch for a little while, playing with his phone between his hands. He sent a text five minutes later.


Quote:
text to: Thorne

hey so
im outside your house rn

He paused, vines growing hungrily around his shoes.


Quote:
text to: Thorne

im hving an issue

elkbones

srry if its janky i took my sleep meds b4 writing this LMAO

 

[moonjavas]

Thorne had a problem too. Thorne had a lot of problems. It wasn't just the congregation of them, however, that was unsettling. It was the fact that none of them had a solution viable to his condition. It had probably started three months ago. But now, the abuse was almost a second-hand whiplash, a bullet in the dark that had lodged itself inside of him and never left. The wound had scabbed over. He could search himself for days and still feel it turning inside of him, full of night terrors and screaming and sleepless nights.

But the more immediate concern presented itself as this: he was not mortal. Had never been - mortal.

And now, now he didn't know what that meant. What the loss of his time in the cycle meant. What anything - anything at all meant.

Chris had left Coalsmoke to visit Alg, or the gardening shop, or Jer. Thorne wasn't sure which, only that it left the warehouse yawning and open, ready to swallow him whole in his thoughts. The solitude had at least allowed him to shift, the power and control steadying him as he rippled between mundane and immortal. His wings fanned out along the length of the warehouse's floor. Starlight glimmered in his hair.

Whoever had crafted him had not made him with the day in mind.

Minutes passed. Hours, maybe.

Thorne was only aware of himself when his phone buzzed.

It was Shiloh.

With a stiff sigh, Thorne prowled off of the couch and through the warehouse. He was tired. He hadn't slept in days. But maybe Shiloh had a problem he could help with, even if his own were unsolvable. Or maybe it would be something related to their new status as - nobles - and he would be no help at all.

He jimmied the door open and stepped outside.

"Shiloh," he said, finding the other, "What's up? Want to compare issues?"

He fanned out one of his wings, the inner membrane glittering like a galaxy blown up in a telescope, glimmering lights and shifting stars.

"I think mine might be bigger, on a purely physical scale."

He paused and lowered his eyes to the blond.

"And more than that..." he added, his voice clouded and hazy, because it was strange to talk to Shiloh again in tongues and not gestures, with no Melany there to strike him for it or spite him for being out of place.

"How are you?"

Melancholies

i hope this is ok i literally wrote it half assleep cries

 

[Melancholies]

Shiloh didn't look up, even when he heard the door open. No, he waited for Thorne to speak before he turned his head, mind buzzing from the sound. Hearing Thorne speak wasn't necessarily strange, it was only when he heard Thorne speak directly to him that he felt a sense of unease. Melany wasn't here anymore, and it was a mantra he was trying desperately to repeat to himself. It didn't really matter for his anxiety; his nerves bubbled beneath his skin like hot oil.

But there were more pressing things, like the fact that Thorne had antlers and massive wings and pointed ears.

"You... might be right." his voice when he speaks to Jamie or anyone is either broken or refined, but to Thorne it's a whisper of tongues spoken in so low of a hush that even the breeze could swallow it. It's a hidden sound that masks behind the noises of the every day; the creeks of a door or the ginger taps of footsteps. His eyes gleam over the constellations in Thorne's wings, finding shapes and pictures and comforts there. What had their new status as nobility done to the other tithes, he wondered?

"I'm..." okay? Shiloh shrugged. It was hard to say, because realistically he was not okay, but he was still better than he had been—or was he? He still craved that routine and felt utterly helpless without it. Life without Melany made him feel worthless rather than empowered him. "...as okay as I can be." he settled, arms folding up in his lap.

He paused for a moment, considering his words carefully. "I see her everywhere." he says, knowing Thorne will understand exactly what he means. The exhaustion in both of their eyes is entirely too palpable.

elkbones

 

[moonjavas]

Thorne let out a soft scoff, but it was amused rather than derisive, warm rather than cold. He gave his wings a testing flap, rustling them and letting a few pebbles whirl away in the contained, miniature gale. To Shiloh, he said, "When Pax told us we would change, I hadn't thought he'd meant in such a physical sense."

His voice was soft and low. Shiloh was not the only one who is effected still. Thorne looked at him and he had to blink away the halls of Melany's residence. The Court and all of its twists and curves and consequences. He wanted to make it better, but he knew he couldn't. It was a guilt and a piece of blame and horror that had pushed inside of his chest the night he'd watched Shiloh suffer for his mistakes the first time.

It still lived in him now.

Thorne hummed, a gentle syllable of sound. Better than dead, a wry part of himself wants to say, but how many times had he thought that death would be easier? How many times had Shiloh? He couldn't say that, because there was a weight to it. He knew it in the corner of Shiloh's eyes. The corner of his own.

He breathed out, a sharp noise like a slow drag of a cigarette.

"I do too," he said, slowly, "I couldn't go outside of the warehouse the first few nights back. I had to sleep at Aleksy's, and even then - I - "

He shook his head.

"Sometimes I look in the mirror and there she is behind me. Sometimes I wonder how they could have let her live." He slid down and sat next to Shiloh, adjusting his wings so the talons curved over his shoulders, the night-dark membrane swallowing the light.

He looked out at the gravel and the normalcy of this world, all of it mundane. Calm. Disquieting.

"And sometimes I miss it," he said, "the routine. I don't know what to do with myself here. Everything is so quiet, and - free." He paused and struggled, and glanced over at Shiloh. "But anyways, I seem to have grown wings and you've become a walking garden. When did that happen?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

Shiloh found himself agreeing with every thought Thorne let loose from his lips. He missed the routine too. He saw Melany everywhere. He found it almost impossible to leave Jamie's house, and that was on a good day. Everything outside was a danger. Everything unpredictable was a danger. The locust outside was a hound with teeth ready to bite, its alarm signal crying out his presence to the world. The cracks on the ground would snap his back as the old nursery rhymes said. He could cut himself on grass.

He longed for the mundane routine of school. The homework, the skipping, the bullshitting with friends. He missed rolling his eyes at his teachers. He missed the satisfaction of drinking an icee at four o'clock in the morning. He missed the things he could never find comfort in again.

Now he couldn't do anything without a purpose.

"Not too long ago." he answered, watching the sprouts bud around his shoes, "It wasn't the only change. I guess my physical one is just a little more hidden." he sat up straighter, looking at Thorne when he felt his wing graze his back. That felt like protection, at least.

"Flowers like my blood, I think." now he was looking at his hand, fixated on the veins, "It's really thick now. Stuff grows out of it when I get hurt. Hell, stuff grows out of me when I'm not." as if to prove his point, Shiloh balled up his fist. When he opened it, a lofty little dandelion sat in the center of his palm. He blew the seeds away, but they merely dissolved on the wind like cotton candy to water.

"I can control it, though." he looked back up Thorne, "You only got wings 'n horns then?"

elkbones

 

[moonjavas]

Thorne exhaled into the cold air, glancing back at Shiloh as flowers bloomed at his feet. His eyes flicked down and up, and then closed, and he ran a hand against the side of his neck as he stretched one wing around Shiloh, not quite touching but there all the same.

He missed him, all things considered. They had gone through hell together, and Thorne had wondered if Shiloh would hate him for it now that they had been spat back out onto the dirt and grime and freedom of actual Ashdown.

That he'd come here relieved something heavy in his chest. Made him breath a bit easier once again.

"That's - interesting," Thorne responded, curious, and looked over at the younger boy, "they don't harm or anything, do they?" He couldn't help asking it. Most of the powers in Ashdown had strange after effects, strange repercussions on the side.

He paused at the question, wings fluttering, eyes glowing with galaxies burning within them, and said, "I can - " he paused, wondered how to say it out loud. "My voice doesn't crack anymore, or break. And, if I focus, I can command others to do simple things for me." He smiled, wry. "Usually to have them leave me be. I haven't tried it on - anyone affected by Other Ashdown yet, though. I don't know the extent of its effect."

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"No, no... they don't... hurt or nothin'." some of his old drawl was slowing creeping back in, the sound tasting familiar on his tongue. Melany had beaten it out of him once, but a life of normalcy did well to aid in his 'regression'. It didn't mean he didn't fall back into place, back into the routine, back into her methods because he did; all it took was a simple command, a threatening urge, that sweet passive aggression...

"They just... feel weird. I dunno how to describe it, like," he was grasping for the words, "It's in my blood. I just... feel it." he looked up at Thorne, "And my blood, it's... all weird now. Like... it looks like normal blood, but the flowers..." he trailed off.

"Commanding others seems a lot more useful..." he mumbled, accepting the wing around him. Truth was, Shiloh missed him too. Then again, he also missed the cold dinners and feeling like a lot less than a human. He missed a lot of things that were inherently bad for him.

That's typically what drugs did to people. Left them with addictions and sores and sullied rags to clean up with.

"But I guess I don't mind any of this. I can hide it for the most part anyway..."

elkbones

 

[moonjavas]

"That's good at least," Thorne responded, watching the other with softened curiosity. The sky above them was darkening slowly, making its way past dusk and into the dead of night. He wanted to go back inside with Shiloh, but didn't know how to ask if that was alright. He wanted to do something, but - well. Who knew what that was.

"As long as it's not harmful," Thorne retorted, and smiled. "At least you now have your own garden of sorts to tend to. I just look like something fell out of the sky." He leaned over, gently resting their shoulders together for a moment, the wings eclipsing them both with their own small galaxy.

"It's not so bad," Thorne agreed and looked down at his hands. "She's still alive but she can't touch us. I'm not even sure how to swallow that." His sigh echoed through the night, deep and unsure. Usually he would put on a brave front, but for the moment he could only sit there, frozen in time.

"Everything now just feels like a terrible dream," he said, wryly, and looked at Shiloh. "Do you want to come in?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"Ah, yeah... Pax said Nobles couldn't war." well, it said they could, but that it'd be a really bad idea. The parts about Moonwalkers enforcing the law and all the other trouble that came with conflict seemed too much to be worth it... at least, if you lacked the cunning fortitude to play the system and bend the rules. Shiloh didn't posses that. Thorne might. Melany seemed like she did most assuredly, and that scared him.

Then again, she could have killed them before, smothered them in the crib before making them Nobility. For some reason or another, she wanted them around, saw something specific in them, some sort of purpose...

"I still don't like this whole nobility thing." he chewed on his lip, the skin reddening and raw from the constant gnawing. "It kinda stopped feeling like a dream too. Dreams aren't real like this."

His eyes scanned the pavement in front of them, and a second later he rose to his feet, shoulder bumping against the wind that one encircled him. A strange aloofness grappled with him then, something that came from months of abuse, months of torture, months of feeling like it was still wrong to be speaking so casually to Thorne. He was still waiting for the hand across his face. He was still waiting for the fist in his stomach. He was still waiting for Noeh's kind hands tending his wounds. He shuddered a sigh.

"Can I? That's okay right?" He looked to Thorne with genuine hesitation.

elkbones