>> @SPIRITFINGERS | @ALL

[inconstantly]

while on bed rest i learned how to make pipes out of spider legs that i am now selling

60 ccs each or will trade for the spider tobacco equivalent

while i am exceedingly grateful for present and any company who has come to visit it gets very boring in recovery. place an order and give me something to do

or just send the tobacco my way

i'm not choosy

Comments

[inconstantly]

Only that it seems to solidify what I said before.

[When John looks up he meets William's gaze. The lack of hesitancy is welcome, different, a far cry from someone content to wait and observe before action. The touch of fingertip flattens to the length of John's hand and he tilts his head, examining the tattoo as if committing it to memory — from every curve to every trick of the light.]

You're a traveler, meant to see worlds beyond existence. And now you have bathed in the sea where life and death meet, leaving you with the mark of a story you won't soon forget.

[John inhales deeply and presses his hand into William's skin. In direct contrast to the cool metal his hard is warm. Comfortably so, but at too high a temperature for what the human body produces naturally. Tendrils of invisible heat trace every line of the tattoo, methodically snaking down along the design without John having to lift his hand. Through this extension of himself he can more fully see the roots, a full depiction from end to end.]

Remarkable really.

[omniavincit]

You have no idea, do you. [ There's a lightness to his voice, in his eyes. The words wash over him, pleasant and insubstantial. It's John's touch that holds him rapt, the warmth radiating from his hand transforming William's attention the way stained glass transfigures mere light into streams of color.

It feels like—well, it feels like feeling, heat and nerves blurring into some nameless emotion. Streaking through him.

He releases a tremulous breath. ] You didn't have to say anything. [ Not this time: no incantation, no Latin hurled across the room. A laugh catches in his throat, and he fights then succumbs to the urge to smile. ] Spiritfingers.

[inconstantly]

[John gives no indication that he's been caught in anything, giving a languid shrug of a single shoulder.] You asked what it meant to me. That's a good way to open yourself up to a bit of artistic license.

[But that's not the important thing. John happily lives up to his codename of Spiritfingers by drumming lightly on William's back, no more than one finger on each hand touching his skin at a time. Each one radiates a warmth, only to be pulled away and replaced again. Sometimes he deliberately taps against one of the lines of the tattoo, causing the heat to flare for a singular moment at a time.]

Not all spells require an incantation. Or maybe you just light the fire in me.

[They both know that second part is bullshit which is why John follows his comment with one of his customary winks that William loves so much. With the now warmed fingers John continues tracing the lines, contemplating the direction of the branches.]

Tell me what you're thinking, Louis.