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gemkun · 9 days

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@defiedlife said : The drinksmith watches from behind the bar counter, her eyes falling on one of the few humans to have passed by the Dreamjolt Hostelry in the last day or so—time blurring as it can in the dreamscape. From her pocket, she withdraws a folded letter, sealed with a bit of scrap wax borrowed from a recently opened bottle; remelted and stamped by a certain gambler’s ring. “Hey Doc,” she calls out, then lowers her voice upon drawing closer. “Your friend left this here for you. Said to give it to you after… Well, he said I’d know, and dreamscape gossip always finds its way to a drinksmith. If you want anything, it’s on the house.” With a faint sympathetic smile, she places the letter before Veritas and returns to her usual post, giving him ample space and privacy. Should the good doctor choose to read the letter, it is penned in a familiar curling, sloping, and artfully messy yet legible scrawl:

First of all, if you're reading this, thank Siobhan for me. I had a feeling she'd come through. As I write this, you're probably talking to that Family head on my behalf right about now. If you've really gone through with what we discussed…know that I forgive you, no matter what happens as a result. Don't worry; I'm used to it! In fact, I owe you my thanks for taking this gamble right along with me. I couldn't have trusted anyone else to do the same. I won't bore you with with some long-winded emotional spiel, but…it's been fun, Veritas. It's an honor and a pleasure to work alongside the great Veritas Ratio. If things go badly for me in the end and I lose this gamble, try not to miss me too much, okay? Ha… I bet you're rolling your eyes right about now after reading that. No matter what the final outcome is, I'm ready for it. I knew how things might end the moment I accepted this mission. It's a risk I have to take. I've always lived that way, y'know? This is no different than any other gamble I've ever made. Win or lose, I'm probably still not back in reality yet. If "Death" hasn't taken my body from the real world… Keep an eye on it for me, would you? Maybe I'll surprise you soon. If not, if I lose and don't come back at all... Say that prayer I taught you over what's left of me, if you wouldn't mind, and send me back home to Sigonia-IV if you can keep The Family and the IPC from disposing of me elsewhere. I'd appreciate it. Of course, you could also choose to burn this letter and forget about me entirely. I wouldn't blame you. Whatever you decide to do from here on... Thanks for everything you've already done, Veritas. I'll always love you. — Kakavasha

⸻ system hours ago it seems , they were just here. present in the vicinity , where he had observed a slumbering individual , tuckered out from slamming down a few too many servings of soulglad. though , despite his practice , it wasn’t necessarily uncalled for — considering the cascade of events about to unfold , catalysed upon their departure.

gaze drifts , casting along the crevices of wooden panels , constructing the bench of the rather deserted establishment. an element that is beneficial in his case. for he desires to be by his lonesome , in preparation for countless ruminations already beset in an unsettled mind.

attention spears suddenly , exhibiting from the outset — an emergence of hostility , purposed to dissuade company. until it softens , dissipating from the premise of her mission. for the sake of appearances , he brushes his disposition aside , luring siobhan to account it to his weary state.

evident , by the mere nod he elects for , in acknowledgement of her relayed message. ❝ thank you , but that won’t be necessary. ❞ it is a simple platitude , but one he utters nevertheless , despite bearing lacklustre vocals. fortunately , the role of a bartender prepares the envoy for a myriad of characters — one , being the detached and worn scholar.

time , a variable that had been in limited supply , is on his side now , as he regards the slovenly missive. there are plenty of details veritas notes that the stoneheart had proceeded to accomplish with haste — from the misaligned press to the creases in stationery , and the stark composition of choice , alongside the tucked paper in its interior.

it is all so . . . him.

the doctor sighs , with an air of displeasure , and perhaps a glimpse of relief.

before his artful portrait reverts to its former expression , in its neutral structure.

reined in , his thumb traces the envelope and its length , dipping slightly to tear at fragile material. whether or not he carves a perfect line , is not his concern presently , for there is only one fate after his eyes gauge the contents of terrible scrawls. his index then , unfolds the written piece , unveiling recognisable script.

he begins to read.

. . .

tch.

were he present , a storm was awaiting , circling the lectures he had in store for such impetuous exchange of information. what if someone had managed to intercept this ? ❝ even when you are absent , you manage to be as careless as ever. damned gambler , when will you learn ? ❞ he mutters under his breath , with a lick of frustration. luckily , audibility is caught before it can disperse , by the page in his firm grasp.

tightened , his throat becomes suddenly. for the validity of his question requires a factor he possesses no control over.

a fact veritas doesn’t want to dwell on , nor consider currently.

so , he does not.

what he does linger on , is the request. a noble and respectable ask. one , the mundanite will perform without question. but this is not his struggle — for a delegate is familiar with conducting duties expected of him , and carrying out associated tasks. he is not , however , acquainted with the subject , attached to its conclusion.

❛ veritas. i'll always love you.

— kakavasha ❜

it is enough to elicit a sour response , indeed. with a derisive laugh — and one , not alien to him. perhaps it is the comical aspect of this farce , or perhaps it is the cruelty leashed to the occurrences that led up to this unprecedented confession , or perhaps it is the fact he had known.

deep down , beyond those carefully , cultivated barricades , past his security measures.

he had always known.

paper crumples , breaching the persisting silence for an instance before he alights from his stool and meanders to the exit of the dreamjolt hostelry. still , crinkling the letter as he braves penacony , with an inkling of animosity.

it is out of safety , that he sources a fire in the land of dreams. an easy feat he accomplishes , inciting flames to eat the tarnished profession , whereupon the dawn feeds it , igniting sparks to consume. until there is only embers. until there is only ash.

until there is nothing.

but in the wake of particulates , whisked by the wind , there is only one thought , prevalent in his mind as he examines the inferno.

come back to me , gambler.

don’t you know ?

. . .

ah , there is work to be done.