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[livrer]

@sebastien.booker | ■ ▲ ◌ ▼

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( action ➤ it's them who knows what they'll do )

[scythias]

( it's early when she gets him up. she knows he'd gone to bed late last night and he was probably going to be nursing a hangover but she she'd grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him out of the rundown, battered place they'd managed to find to stay for the time being.

she doesn't have a plan in mind or a destination that she intends to take them both to but she wants him up and she wants him to come with her. she hasn't been sleeping much, spending most of her nights staring up at the ceiling or out a window or walking the streets, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

but the answer continues to elude her and it makes her angry. it's a low, simmering kind of anger but it's there, easily hidden.

she doesn't say much to booker once they're out in the heat but she does take pity on him and takes him to a coffee shop, even paying for his very black, very strong coffee before finding a table and sitting down. )

So.

( she takes a slow sip of the coffee and wincing at just show strong she ordered it. )

Been a good vacation for you so far? ( she smirks at him. ) I was thinking of getting something else implanted in my ass.

[livrer]

[ Booker grunts into his coffee, feeling the after-effects of a night of ... not-so-light drinking hitting him much harder than it ever used to. This is what he wanted, isn't it? To no longer be immortal? To feel what everyone else feels, to have some end in all of this suffering? (Well, he's not sure he believes in the latter anymore, not when their circumstances have drastically changed, but it's too late for that now.) He'd forgotten all of the other little things that came with it, the physical aches and pains, the consequence of a lack sleep without the handy 'reset' button, the lasting effects of a hangover ... oof.

He takes a sip of his coffee now, languishing in its bitterness and praying that it works to perk him up a little bit. Mon dieu, this is good shit. ]

This is hardly a vacation, the way we've been living here.

[ At least the whole family is present, though. He's trying his best not to take that for granted anymore. He'd spent only a few months, give or take, in exile on his own, and knowing he wouldn't see any of them for another 99 years — it was a truly lonely existence.

In addition, no one's made any further moves to break his nose, so that's always a fun bonus.

When he meets Andy's eyes over the rim of his cup, he raises an eyebrow, amusement settling into the rest of his features. ] Ah, were you? I know the mod market is always willing to sell something new. Ass implants though — that's an interesting choice.

[scythias]

Well, I've already got something in my head so why not go for the top and the bottom.

( she holds his gaze for a few seconds before she rolls her eyes and reaches for her mug, keeping her eyes on booker as she drinks.

truth be told, she's still pretty pissed about the thing in her head and what sort of things it might lead to. she can't feel it and if she didn't know any better, she wouldn't even think it was there.

but still. )

Think I have the ass for it?

( there's only one right answer here, booker. )

action —

[malta]

[ the nieuwe teylers museum is, in joe's opinion, something of a monstrosity, but that is also why he set foot in it the first time so it does a good job of capturing attention amongst the towering skyscrapers of the city and the other galleries within the arts district. while the second floor is dedicated to physical copies of art that has survived the hedge fund buyouts that found most museum quality masterpieces in private hands, the first floor is filled entirely with vr renditions of those same squirreled away pieces.

and also filled with the sound of joe's voice. ] — historical context is essential to understanding how these pieces came to life on the canvas and in turn how art can alter history.

[ he's gesticulating, arms spreading wide as if to encompass all of art and all of history at once, and his audience is rapt. maybe they hadn't expected a history lesson while perusing vr replicas of lost art or maybe they weren't expecting a man who talks about the masters like he was there, like they were friends, like he personally knew la scapigliata. ]

Art is not good because someone says it is, art is good because it touches you, it is subjective. Some fine art is revered as a masterpiece but really it is shrouded in mystery which makes it famous and the fame makes it a masterpiece, not the art itself.

[ the mona lisa is shit and more hot takes with joe jones. ]

[livrer]

[ When Booker wanders into the museum that afternoon, he forgets, for a moment, that Joe works here now. He'd done his best to keep to himself or keep out of the way, but it's not always an easy thing to do when you live in the same space and you're making efforts to be a better ... everything, which includes not shutting yourself out.

Between spending his time exploring the city — sometimes on his own, sometimes with Andy or Nile — or otherwise exploring the bottom of a glass at Red Wings, it's been a long few weeks. And he still doesn't have a job, so he has truly been encompassing the life of a flâneur.

He can hear Joe's voice in the next room, the expressive, passionate way he describes the art; and Booker tries to imagine it for himself, missing the way he'd used that voice with him the few times he tried (and failed) to teach Booker a little something about painting. He had a natural affinity for colour and style, could duplicate anything down to its finest line and its deepest shade to produce the perfect counterfeit — but whatever Joe is describing in art, the soul of it, Booker could never quite grasp.

He keeps his distance, trailing the periphery of Joe's group and taking in the paintings in all their virtual glory as he wanders. Only when Joe pauses, letting the others look off on their own does Booker approach slowly, like one might approach a sleeping lion. ]

I have a question.

[malta]

[ joe likes this job. he would be doing this every time he visited a gallery anyway so he might as well get paid for it, keep his family fed while doing something he enjoys.

and now no one can question his solo budgeting.

his eyes move to booker immediately, easily recognizing the familiar voice after so long. it is seared into him, familiar in a way few are – sometimes he would think about how booker's voice was primed to become more familiar than quỳnh's as more time slipped away with her lost to them. had they lived out these last few hundred years instead of skipping them, it may well have turned out that way. ]

What is your question, Sébastien?

[ ah.

the first name. the way a teacher would address an exasperating child. better than anger perhaps. ]

action —

[realists]

[ despite the comfort of her apartment and the security of her job, less than a year with that safety net is not enough to take the insecurity out of the girl. her pantry is stocked, overstocked really, with shelf stable fruit and veg and grains that will keep for ages, and still jyn is more used to scarcity than abundance.

which is what finds her at one of the street markets, staring at a stall with heaping bowls of brightly colored spices and herbs, baffled. she's gotten the hang of fruit and veg! she can pick a citron out all by herself, she knows how to peel a carrot, she knows that pears do not come in pairs despite the name.

but softly, ] What the fuck is a turmeric?

[ she glances between the brightly colored spices, the consternation wrinkling her forehead making her naturally downcast expression look all the more sulky, before glancing around at the people around her. the stall's unmanned at the moment so she needs to depend on someone else. ]

Oi, you, surly. [ she points, in case booker didn't think she was talking to him, she definitely is, her seemingly british accent lilting up on the end of her sentences, almost but not quite melodic. she looks mildly like a homeless street urchin: grey joggers smudged with grass on the knees and dirt on her thighs like she has a habit of using her jeans as a towel, thin long sleeve shirt so worn out her tank top and the crystal necklace she wears is clearly visible underneath. ] Which one of these is a turmeric?

[livrer]

[ There is a fair amount of surprise when the girl speaks to him, and as though it weren't clear enough that she was, well — she's pointing at him too. He has half a mind to ignore her still, not because he's particularly rude on his best days, but he actually isn't a hundred percent sure of the answer himself.

He's here buying spices too, mostly to quietly restock the ones Nicky has (almost) used up at home which is easy enough to do when Joe is working and Nicky is studying, and Andy and Nile are doing whatever Andy and Nile do when they aren't at the house. And if she looks mildly homeless, well — unfortunately, he does too. In his faded, worn-out t-shirt (complete with colourful graphic of some band he's never heard of) and slightly-too-short sweatpants, he's still in the process of saving up for a better pair of pants. Spices first, though. That's a priority.

In any case, he's watched enough food television and has enough experience and travel and length of life to make an educated guess, picking out the bright yellow powder with its very distinct scent. ]

It should be that one. Do you speak with everyone this way?

aerie au - warbler DM, @svstrange.

[rehandle]

I'll see you in my study in twenty minutes.

[ Here's hoping he checks his messages regularly, because it doesn't sound like a flexible window. ]

@don.quixote + action ;

[livrer]

[ Like all good Rooks with their eyes on the prize, Sébastien le Livre regularly checks his messages — usually for some networking event, some bit of gossip, some news that might be useful in his ascension into the elite. It has been this way for years, but no message that pops up has ever made him nearly leap out of his seat like this one.

To say he hadn't been expecting a summons from Stephen Strange would be an understatement.

But he is no fool about its contents either. He can hope for the best, but he expects ... well, something else, something that threatens to turn his heart to ice.

A quick: ] Of course. [ is sent back to confirm his presence, and then he's making his way towards the upper echelon of the Volary where the Cardinals spend most of their time, chest feeling a bit tight the entire journey there. ]

aerie au —

[malta]

[ a package is brought to sébastien's quarters, wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied with twine. once opened, sébastien will find a book, hardcover and obviously old — the aerie still has a publishing industry but it is not as large as it once was and joe takes special care in making sure the books his shop does have are well looked after and restored to the best of his ability. as with the previous books, after a handful of chapters, small notes begin appearing at the bottom of the pages in joe's neat handwriting. taken together, each line at the bottom of a page, sometimes separated by entire chapters, they form a poem: ]

There are moments that cry out to be fulfilled.
Like, telling someone you love them.
Or giving your money away, all of it.

Your heart is beating, isn't it?
You're not in chains, are you?

There is nothing more pathetic than caution
when headlong might save a life,
even, possibly, your own.

[ the last page has a small drawing of a bird trembling with a desire to take flight from his branch, movement visible even in the still drawing. it's signed, as always, ]

— Joe

[livrer]

[ This isn't the first book that's been sent to him. And like the others, once he has finished reading every word of it from cover to cover, carefully pulling its secrets from the pages, Sébastien will place it on his shelf where it remains a treasured object but also a haunting one; a library of lessons and he is its student.

For some time, a quiet but very true friendship had been born between him and Joe, and for some time it has been shaking the foundations that had taken his whole life to get here. He would be a willfully ignorant fool if he'd said that this life, this world out of reach of the Congregation is a fair one, because even in the upper echelon of the Volary, there is bias and judgment and rank and he is no stranger to any of those things. The deeds he'd done to pull himself out from the dirty pits of hell keep his hands unclean, and his blood — born of sadness and suffering — remains impure no matter how many glittering jackets he puts on.

But he is still here, still surrounded by riches, and comfort, and a new family (he thinks of Jyn and Margo) — the latter of whom he would do anything for. And Joe had asked him through beautiful words and delicate drawings, but what of everyone else?

He can't get that out of his head, no matter how he might try. That Kai and Nile especially have been thrown into the upcoming Quarry feels like the rose-tinted glasses he'd been desperately trying to keep on are being yanked from his eyes.

Later, Sébastien sends a message: ]

I received your package

@popthebubbly - AU

[gossipkinesis]

What are you doing?
I'm very bored.

@don.quixote

[livrer]

Mon trésor hello

Reading as it were

And why are you bored?

@popthebubbly - AU

[gossipkinesis]

[ after the conversations, she's reaching out, hat-in-hand, having a bottle of his favor liquor delivered to his rooms. and then texting after she gets confirmation it's been delivered.]

I'm sorry

[livrer]

[ Well, he can't say the conversation he'd had with Stephen wasn't ... productive in some way. But Sébastien would be lying if he'd claimed to be completely all right.

The liquor, of course, is unnecessary but he'd never turn it down either. Really, all it does is reaffirm his feelings for Margo. He'd face off a hundred of her father if he had to. ]

You got my favourite

[ It's not explicitly 'there's no need for sorries' but it's there in the way he doesn't directly respond to that very thing. ]

@jyn.erso

[realists]

So

[ that's literally it ]

[livrer]

So

[ An echo of her text while he ........ tries to figure out something else to say.

It takes a moment. ]

My memories of you feel too real

@mitch.buchannon | day or so later

[hiyakai]

so that was like the most anticlimactic way to get back, am i right?

sure, it was pretty trippy and we took a collective ride through sea world, but it could have been a LITTLE more exciting

lmao god

[livrer]

It was more than enough excitement for me, I'll admit

[ He's entertaining this because he has no idea who this is.

He doesn't know any 'Mitch'. ]

@nile.freeman

[riskless]

you awake yet?

[livrer]

Nile

[ Is he ever relieved to see her name pop up on his screen. ]

I don't suppose we can excuse that entire experience for a dream, can we?

notif. —

[malta]

@joe.jones has mentioned you.

@kyna.medina

[evocation]

hey
can i ask you a weird question?

[livrer]

Sure

[ 👀 ]