( open and closed starters )

[wrists]

WHO: laurent & friends (questionable).
WHERE: here and there in stygia.
WHEN: december.
WHAT: catch-all for monthly tidings. plotting comment is here.
WARNINGS: mentions of csa and the ongoing trauma surrounding it, bloody violence, angst and general unpleasant fuckery.

Comments

[wrists]

[ here's the part you're missing, you sweet summer child. love is a scam. laurent said it so it must be true. ]

do you know anyone who has forged the bond?

[ it's a scientific question. ]

thank you. i'll see you and your mediocre work in 30 minutes.

[coherer]

(huh. does he?)

Actually, I don't think I do. ig anyone could be and I wouldn't be able to tell, but I'm gonna go with "no."

(jonas makes good on his promise to laurent. there aren't many noteworthy features about him that would make him easy to spot by the harbour, but being a tall dumb-ass smoking a cigarette and holding a sloppy bag of fish may be considered a decent start. he looks lost despite having stood around in the area more times now than he can count.

his phone is addressed briefly to issue laurent a:)

In the area. I'm the guy in a beanie.

That's a hat.

(EAT YOUR HEART OUT)

[wrists]

[ laurent spies jonas immediately, because he looks like a sweet lost child holding a bag of foul-smelling goods. the whole harbor is foul-smelling, or perhaps it's just laurent's foul mood at having been roused from his hibernation to traipse around in the cold waiting on his foul-smelling goods. all for the cat he's taken in, and her freshly born kittens.

he's glad for the clarification that he is not looking for a man with beans on his head. ]

Are they clean? [ by way of greeting. laurent is dressed as he always is — severely, collar to boot covered in dark fabric with lace peeking from his cuffs and throat. it took him the entire thirty minutes to attempt to manage the complicated laces that close the sleeves and spine of his clothing, and now they're half undone, the laces trailing as he stands there with his arms crossed, assessing jonas like a criminal. his long blond hair glitters in the light, pulled hastily over one shoulder. not having anyone to attend to him has been... trying. as an afterthought — ] Hello.

[ and despite the spiny way he arranges himself, he stands gingerly, his face too pale, bandages wrapped tightly around one wrist, shadows etched beneath his crystalline blue eyes. at least the cold air is clearing his mind. ]