RAIN & MEMORY SHARE

[spoofer]

Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: Rain has come to the world, and with it, comes whacky memory share phenomena— certainly not all of which is wanted. Characters are driven to find shelter and solutions.
Date(s): September 30-October 7
Warnings/Notes: None specific, please warn in your subject headers

Awash In Memory

The landscape after cruelty which is, of course, a garden

The Rain

At first, it's just rain, expected to last a week. A swirl of silver cotton-candy clouds in the sky that rolls into a mist, and then a drizzle that freckles the gutters and chases people to their cars or into the shopfronts. It's nourishing and not too cold— a good excuse to share an umbrella or maybe just fitting of a shitty, blue mood if you would like to walk around in a billowy coat like the King of Pain.

Gimme Shelter

It can be a cute or enormously embarrassing way to meet people, pretty much up to you. Fall in step with someone under an offered umbrella, or dart around like a panic with a pizza box or plastic bag over your head. Maybe you'll just find an overhanging tree branch or store awning to tuck yourself under. Hopefully you're stuck with someone you like.

Quite a few restaurants seem to be offering rainy day specials, including Pop's Chock'lit Shoppe, comprised of hot cocoa and half-off a second cup if you're buying for a friend. You probably won't be the only one there.

However, for those of you who are taking the weather more seriously, the citadel has opened for shelter. Here, there are beds aplenty scattered throughout, and the bar and lounge is open with its terrible soundtrack as well as plentiful if repetitive food and drink. Residents are also exchanging resources of their own, including harvested foodstuffs and clothes. You can also check out the control room to see the meteorological analysis and forecast... which is behaving a little unpredictably, but-- it'll probably be fine.

Like My Mood

Alternatively, #mood.


Maybe everything sucks because you got stood up for a date or otherwise rejected recently-- it's a good time to storm around tragically in the street. Alternatively, if you're the happy type, there is an entire musical dedicated to the fine practice of dancing in the rain. Who needs musical accompaniment when you have the rhythmic drubbing of water on the earth and the sweet smell of petrichor?

Or maybe you're in the mood to talk. Certainly, there's an increasing sense of nostalgia going around that's stronger and more widespread than the average effect of poetic weather...

Oh Shit

However, the downpour steadily intensifies over the next few days, and soon after F.A.T.E.S. issues a warning— D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. has hijacked the climate. At first, there are only a few concerns— herds of animals coming into the city seeking shelter. Be careful if you find a herd of bison gathered under the highway overpass, or your kitchen is suddenly full of fairies. Hell, maybe you're a Good Samaritan, trying to rescue some hapless native cat or other.

But then it begins.

The Memory Share

As the rain grows heavy, the nostalgia turns into something unexpected. Characters who touch one another find themselves sharing brief sensory memory. These can vary from the sudden and terrible pain of old battle wounds, to the overwhelming, heart-pounding joy of welcoming a new child to the family. The scary thing is, these memory share are uncontrolled, and might come from even the shortest, most accidental touch.

The Telexistence Temple

News from your fellow residents: Era Ra and Ezekiel won visions during the fair. And now Era has information to share, that uploading memories at the Temple can lock and protect them from the involuntary release, as well as fortify the defenses of the city. She's also talking about some kind of a key hole there, which you can check out yourself. Weird!

You can teleport East from the Citadel to the Temple, or you can walk there on your own two legs. Weather allowing.

Within the Temple the chamber lays behind a large round door covered in inscrutable carvings. It's surprisingly bright in here now, in contrast to what Era's message held. It contains numerous strange beds, all of which are now online, having awakened in answer to the rainfall. The characters must lay down on while the daemons connect to a holographic interface.

From there, the memory share becomes intuitive even for the most technologically impaired of Xistentia residents.

The Temple Chamber

If you should choose to share, you may control who sees it; filter it to someone of your choice, or leave it open for everyone. You may post anonymously, but visual cues of identity cannot be erased. Pain is muted and impressionistic, but pleasure tends to be evocative enough. It's the way the mind works. Daemons will flag graphic or commonly disturbing material. With every new memory shared, the rain seems to be lessening.

You can also choose to lock it away, preventing anyone from seeing it for at least another month. Unfortunately your memory will not help to shield the city, but at least it will stop embarrassing you. Let's hope it doesn't provoke any intrusive questions in the meantime.

After 48 hours, enough memories have been shared. The sky over the city and the sphere of forest surround the urban bounds develops a barrier that looks almost liquid, translucent. Though residents can pass through it, it cuts the rain down to half. A few hours later, the storm wanes out and stops entirely. The shield also fades away, and the animals begin to ebb as well, back into the wild. It's only been a week, but it might feel much longer.


The memories will dissipate from storage in a month, regardless of whether or not they're viewed again.

Comments

john murphy | the 100

[rekt]

RAIN/ACCIDENTAL MEMORY SHARES;

[ when rain first happened on the ground, it was incredible. real rain, and everything about it had been magnificent. later, when he'd been left on his own in the wild, he learned it was deadly. but here, he wouldn't have to run to a cave, strip out of his soaked clothes and bundle up in furs to try to keep himself warm before he got sick. there's a warm apartment he can head back to, with a heater, hot showers, warm blankets, a few new sets of clothes.

so, he takes his time to leisurely stroll through it all, maybe even humming a song, splashing in a few puddles. it's a pleasant little trip.

but, by the time memories start to bleed on contact, these strolls of his get dangerous. without the machines in the temple to filter out the bad bits, anyone who brushes against him has a high chance of getting one of the morbid, horrific, terrifying or torturous memories he carries along with him. See the prompts below to take your pick of any (save for the Ontari one). He's seen his father executed, found his mother's dead body in a pool of vomit, spent most of his teenage years in a space station prison they called 'sky box', was damned down to Earth's surface to attempt to survive among vicious, war-like natives, ones he was tortured by 3 times. Seen friends and other children die in gross and horrible ways. Been nearly killed several times. And, oh, got a girlfriend for a little bit. One of the few bright moments in his life.

Enjoy. ]

MEMORY SHARE - PRIVATE TO KAVISNKY;

You're not gonna wanna see a lot of this. [ it finally became too much, when he'd been with kavinsky in his bed, bodies moving around each other, pleasure mounting and shooting blissful fire over his skin, up to the point that k's hand landed on his throat and squeezed. it's happened in an instant - all it took was the brief reminder of the collar on his neck, and suddenly k was in that room with him. standing before the false grounder commander and trying to say no. the one thing he'd never wanted to have to think on again, and it was out in the open. suffice to say, he's awkward now, skin feeling like it's itching, hating the idea that kavinsky must see him as something weak and conquered now. some trembling victim. he wants this rain gone, fast. ] At least, this way, the painful crap's muted.

[ Better off that the people who'd accidentally brushed up to him in the city and had the full experience of torture and horror, suddenly falling over in the streets, screaming in agony, clutching their fingers over the phantom feeling of nails ripped off, or their shoulder, as boiling hot oil was poured over it. knives slashed and stabbed along skin, ropes biting trenches into their arms, a spiked whip lashed across their face. these are the things he's here to drop off, not only from keeping others from witnessing him at his weakest moments, but for having to endure them with him. it was cruel enough to live through it, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone else.

and murphy would really rather not live through it again, but hopefully the machine doesn't make him - just whisks them away like the brief images of the past they are. he knows, viewing them later, you'll be able to tone down the volume on it all, but this, laying back under the technological screen, the bright lights and beeps that come from it, feels like willingly walking himself into a nightmare. with kavinsky's fingers on the edge of the bed, murphy's reach out an inch or two, to lock one or two together, swallowing against his fear. time to get started. here's the fun selection kavinsky's given, for safe keeping -

» A Girl Dies, Murphy's Banished [CW: CHILD DEATH]; There's something close to horror in his mind, as Charlotte turns towards the cliff. Surprise, in the least. He wanted to drag her back to camp, yes, he wanted her to take punishment for something he'd been the whipping boy for. Had he wanted her to die? He couldn't say, and Bellamy's on him before he has the time to have a crisis over it.
» Murphy Gets Tortured/Escapes [CW: GORE]; It starts before the clip here, Murphy captured, and goes through the three days and nights he'd spent in the Grounder prison camp. The torture he'd gone through, the fear screaming through him. Blades and barbed wire and pliers pulling at his skin, marring him, his own voice sounding alien and brittle as he screamed. The times he'd passed out, the times he'd thrown up, the hunger that gnawed at him and constant, throbbing, searing pain.
» Murphy Gets Revenge/Some People Die; Two boys die, and Murphy only feels a cold satisfaction. Feels powerful, here. A bandage to the helplessness he'd felt at the hands of the Grounders, at Bellamy and Clarke's feet, and the end of the rope these people had put around him. He feels drunk on it.
» Murphy Hangs Bellamy; Maybe he would've killed more, before Jasper showed up, but this was the ultimate goal. The one he truly held responsible. The worst betrayal of this all. Murphy'd had his back, stood at his side, fought for him, harassed for him, considered him a friend. And he'll never forget the moment Bellamy kicked the box out from under him.
» 3 Months of Isolation + Almost Suicide [CW: SUICIDE ATTEMPT]; Hopefully Kavinsky gets the option to fast-forward through a lot of this, and it's more of the blur the clip gives, but the feelings of insanity soaking in and despair choking him are all there.
» More Torture; With the army leader outside the drop ship camp, tied to a tree, as a knife stabs into his thigh and twists. slashes across his face, metal covered fists of warriors slamming into his cheeks, boots against his ribs. He tells them enough to make them happy, but keeps one part in - the mines. An explosion rips through the night air, and a part of him is proud, before another blade meets his flesh again.
» Watching Alex Murphy Get Floated; He's a boy, still coughing and feverish, as they drag his father towards the airlock, his mother holding him tight as he asked her why, and the sight of his dad begging underneath a guard reading out his sentencing - the punishment for stealing medical supplies, like all crimes on the ark, was death. He sobbed and weeped and groveled at Jaha's feet. Murphy would feel his mother's scream through the chest she held him to, as the airlock opened, and Alex Murphy was sucked out into space.
» That Ontari Scene [CW: RAPE]; And finally, this. The one Kavinsky'd seen before, but in more detail now. The bite of the metal collar around his neck, the complete belief that this brutal, savage woman would pick up the closest sword and run him through if he refused her, and the sick dread, shame, and violation that he had to choke down to even get hard enough to manage this with her. Thank god for teenage hormones.

MEMORY SHARE - UPLOADED TO THE PUBLIC/OPEN TO ALL;

[ murphy leaves a few open to everyone, the ones less dangerous, less exposing. a couple instances of horror, because there really isn't enough of joy in murphy's life to share, but he figures it's enough to do a good part in getting the damn rain to stop.

» Watching Space; If you've never seen space before, here you go - looking at the Earth turn from the wide window of an observation deck aboard a space station called The Ark. He'd been small, and it filled him with awe at the time. This was before it started to get routine, boring, just the wallpaper of the tin can they were all trapped in.
» Dad Brings Medicine; When he'd been young, maybe 10 or 11, he'd gotten the flu. There was only so much medicine allotted to the people, and his family wasn't of the kind of important personnel status that meant they'd get priority on it. But his fever was high, too high, and his mother and father fretted. He'd heard them arguing one night, through fever warm delirium, and the next morning, his father was looming over him, helping him sit up in bed as he fed him medicine with a spoon. His hands were warm, and when he hugged him against his chest and kissed his head, Murphy thought there'd never be anything wrong in the world again.
» Seeing Earth From the Ground, For the First Time; He's behind Clarke and Octavia, and like the others, he's apprehensive, terrified, of what radiation will eat their skin away when that door opens. The light filters in first, and he flinches away, instinctively, but it's only warm, not searing. The air smells musky with a dewy morning forest (something he won't recognize for much later), and clean. No machine hum, no artificial lights, no cold steal. Just Earth, and it's so beautiful he could cry. Instead, they all shout out, run into the bushes, tousle around and throw grass at each other. For the first time in so long, he feels like a kid again.
» Mob Justice; It's probably best you don't turn on the pain for this one, but the fear is definitely there. The sadness, the loneliness, and when Bellamy, the one he'd considered a friend, kicks the box out from under him, the betrayal.
» Murphy Meets A Girl; And has cute little crushy feelings. She's pretty, and she likes talking to him, and there's something of a bond there, and she doesn't hate him, and she's cool as hell. Somewhere behind the memory, there's a warm, kindling kind of love gently blooming. He misses her.
» A Whiny Guy Gets Eaten [CW: GORE, MONSTER EATING A DUDE]; Abject horror. Basically just that. Also, Chancellor Jaha, ladies and gentlemen.
» Murphy Does The Right Thing; And it's a little bit cool. Also look at him, saving those bitches who lynched him that once.

That's all he's got, folks. ]

tw rape, torture, cannibalism, etc. per memories shared above

[pillz]

[so this is episode ten out of fifty two, where kavinsky thinks he's hit an all-time hardcore phase of life, you know, surviving a multiversal apocalypse after childhood drama and attempted suicide, becoming a fucking vampire hybrid, fucking like twelve people at the same time, like. he's pretty impressive, definitely the protagonist of his own storyline.

then murphy rolls in with his whole, i've been raped, tortured, half-starved, almost blown up by radiation kind of shit.

eudio taught him a lot of things, and most of it was good. however, the most double-edged of kavinsky's experiences there has been the sudden development of empathy. he suddenly has to feel bad about shit! like, when he's doing some erotic asphyxiation, a guy goes full on ptsd flashback, white as a sheet, boner gone, and even hours later, when the announcement comes out and the two boys head into the temple, it's clear that murphy's still not well, a greenish tinge to his complexion and a sweating tremor to his hands.

his life is hard, and the worst part is, it's not as hard as john murphy's. it'd be funny, if it were actually funny.]

You look like shit, sweetheart, [he says afterward, watching murphy's daemon dial the memory share interface closed. it's very fucking weird to watch a giant stag operate a computer inside of an ancient temple, but kavinsky's barely paying attention, looking at the animal without seeing him. he doesn't want to stare at murphy, who he realizes— incredibly-- has probably been through enough. he squeezes the other boy's fingers.]

[rekt]

[ murphy isn't even the protagonist of his own storyline, son, welcome to the side character life. never has he felt more like it, too, with all this exposed - no survival badass, just some stupid kid flailing around pathetically, too obnoxious to be accepted into the hero club. murphy's always seemed more like a punchline in the grand scheme of things, to him, at least.

when it's over, when the worst of the memories have all been drained out and hidden away in the magic computer storage thing, safe from fucking up anyone else's life, aside from kavinsky, who wouldn't even have to watch them if he didn't want to, murphy feels like puking. he doesn't look back at his friend either, keeps watching the dumb ass monster deer somehow poke at hologram keys with his nose, and the fingers hooked with kavinsky's twitch a little now and then. ]

You look like a 13 year old's doodle page, pumpkin. [ ignore the part where murphy is absurdly fond of kavinsky's tattoo's, even the stupid ones. he's feeling shitty right now, and being a bitch calms him.

he really doesn't want to get up. doesn't want to have to walk back to his loft, doesn't want to know about anyone seeing what's in his head, or knowing about it, doesn't want to guess about looks he gets for the next few months, wondering if anyone saw him get lynched, or murder a couple kids. so, he takes his time stretching, sitting up, acting like he's more out of it, physically, than he is. does about everything but look at the boy next to him. ]

tw suicide

[pillz]

Rather be that than the garbage disposal of a whole sci-fi Lord of the Flies post-radiation adventure, [kavinsky says, because he's the best friend a boy could have. and that's the best thing a boy could say under the circumstances, just in case, you know, murphy wasn't aware that his life was a non-stop party complete with murderous-looking tribal balloons.

but then again, kavinsky has always had a gift for pretending not to shy from the truth. it actually makes it easier to actually fuck the truth with a rusty chainsaw and run for the opposite direction so fast he fell flat on his face and died on said chainsaw, actually. for example: the melodrama of suicide was always preferable to the reality, that life is full of mundane disappointments and ordinary pain, and making it better only comes with agency, and agency requires responsibility. he hates responsibility. he just likes talking shit.

and-- murphy. he likes murphy too. enough to get his penis away and shut his fangs down when murphy changes his mind. enough to bring him to the temple. enough to spin through all those horrible fucking memories, because they're important to murphy. because it's important to murphy that he understand. even if he doesn't want to.]

If you're gonna throw up, can you lean the other way?

[rekt]

Hm. [ murphy grunts, a snorted laugh with a mild smirk at the corner of his lips. ] Don't blame you.

[ it's self-pity hour. while john murphy normally has a healthy slice of self-loathing going on, he know has taken the entire cake, attempting to metaphorically shove it all down his throat in one bite. he's drained, he's awkward, he's embarrassed and he's scared. he's always fucking scared. for once, less of what goes bump in the night and more of the boy sat next to him, making morbid cracks that murphy would normally find a lot more amusing.

it's sad, and murphy hardly wants to ever share it, but kavinsky is the only person he really has here. the others were lost in eudio, or held back home, and even then, it was difficult to really call them his people. emori had been the only one that was, without a shadow of a doubt, and who even knows where she is right now.

it's kavinsky's princessly fear of vomitting that finally pulls a real laugh from murphy, eyes closing a moment as he laughs, legs swinging over the side of the bed device to slide off. ] So you're willing to stick your tongue up every hole on me but not risk some incidental projectile sickness?

[pillz]

Your holes are sexy, [kavinsky says, the kindest boy you've ever met, with his hollow eyes and lopsided grin, his razor-tipped fangs and insouciant, hangdog slouch. his lack of hovering, white-knuckled, sweating concern.] Your vomit, on the other hand, I ain't into. [his jokes at the expense of trauma survivors.

but then he also reaches over, appropos of nothing, and closes his coarse fingers on murphy's earlobe. it's not exactly a pinch. he holds it between the second knuckle, like wire salad tongs hanging onto a slice of mushroom or something, but there's still enough traction that he can tug murphy's head a little. closer to him. sit an elbow on the human's shoulder, and sniff his hair, loudly, as if there's some kind of joke about personal hygiene and body odor pending, except. except that kavinsky doesn't make one.

instead, he just kind of leans onto murphy, coarsely, one arm looped around him. half a hug, half using him as furniture.] Makes sense to be weird about getting back into memories and shit like that, [he says, his tone casual, but his voice— quiet, in the gentle hubbub of the memory share chamber.] They say the shit we're most afraid of is what's already happened to us. Guess you seen it all. What people get like, when being cute and nice and civilized ain't convenient anymore.

[rekt]

You don't know, you've never seen me puke. Might be better than porn. [ it is not, and no, he is not into vomit kink either, but it's something gross to joke about at the moment, when he feels to soft and squishy and delicate. this is why he sticks to k like a barnacle - it isn't gentle cooing and tenderness he needs at times like these. it's gross jokes at the expense of trauma and acting like he's too much of a hardass to be bothered by it.

murphy sputters a laugh at the boy vampire sniffing all up in his hair and tugging in around, letting his body fall against him, hands shoving playfully at his chest, but not enough to actually push him away. his sharp cheekbone touches to k's shoulder, and his skinny arm hooks around the other boy's waist, lounging on him as much as he's getting. ]

You know, people say that and you get convinced of it, and then something even more fucked up comes around to give you nightmares. [ it's true. there's definitely something worse than seeing a guy eaten by a horrific sea worm monster - being that guy. he shrugs, turns his face to bump his nose against k's neck. ] Good thing you're never nice or civilized.

[ people wonder how murphy can like someone as harsh and gritty as kavinsky. people don't know murphy very well. what others call disturbing and offensive about his friend, murphy calls honest. ]

[pillz]

[the reality probably falls somewhere in between. kavinsky is a chronic liar, but certainly not about how much he hates most of the world, most of life, most of himself. some of it is definitely just shock value bullshit, though. he likes to get reactions out of people. and it's not something he tends to admit, but he likes this reaction— mushed together, the weight of the other boy's body against him, better than he'll likely ever admit to anyone.]

Nope, [he agrees, chugging the hem of murphy's shirt with his thumb, little circular rubbing motions over the other boy's hipbone.] Never.

[just ignore the way he is like, right fucking now. and the handful of other times he's allowed him to be small with murphy, instead of poking his fingers into his pee hole or marking up his thighs with his teeth. kavinsky's concept of gentleness basically amounts to omission of cruelty.] You're a hard man to kill, Murphy. And living doesn't seem all that fucking fun for you a lot of the time. I mean you ain't depressed or anything— [between the two of them, that'd be kavinsky.] Past weighs into the future, I guess.

[rekt]

[ it'd been a good idea to bring kavinsky with, he thinks, now, because this feels soft and easy and an open invite to escape what just happened, murphy's body slouched to k's, and the gentle touch of his fingertips along his hip bone. if it were possible to burrow against a person while walking, murphy would be accomplishing it. ]

Living's still better than dying.

[ no, he'd never been one for depression, not the way others are. he carries plenty around with him, guilt for this and that, but there's a stubborn streak in him that just can't accept his life petering out in some dark, dank hell world, quiet and whimpering. he shifts some, something uncomfortable in his head as the memories sift around, but it has him tucking against kavinsky's shoulder, teeth biting playfully at his shoulder. ]

Just don't wanna be another sad little tragedy. [ didn't want to die alone, unnoticed, some foot note, maybe a name on a memorial wall. just another casualty in someone else's war. hell no. ] Spite's a helluva motivator.

[pillz]

That what it is?

[kavinsky's tone is light, befitting the conversation as it's gone so far. he doesn't look like he's doing what he's actually doing, which is: gazing upon murphy in wonderment. wondering how he turned out like this— how he isn't afraid enough of pain to pull forward. how it is he can dismiss it as spite, and mean it, and still fit himself into the sharp-edged hollow of kavinsky's side and nip him and rest there in the dubious warmth of a vampire's body like a butterfly drinking off a terrapin's shell.]

Spite? [a rough-skinned forefinger, bony, drifts across murphy's chin. comes up to his bottom lip, the pout of it. there isn't quite enough irony in kavinsky's expression or the touch of his hand to sell it as casual. a little too much sincerity peeking through, with the unblinking curiosity of kavinsky's stare, and everything. but it's been one of those days. one of those rainy-ass days.]

If that was true, wouldn't it be the only shit you got left in you.

[rekt]

[ he feels the chill of that godforsaken island that birthed alie and ended the world, remembers jaha trying to sell him the chip and how much he just wanted to bash his skull in with the closest rock. what had he told him then? 'pain, hate, envy. those are the abcs of me.' it isn't the exact thing now, but kavinsky's telling him there's something more, and right now, murphy doesn't feel it. just that empty ache in his chest, same one that's been there for years. same one that kept him alive long enough to have all these fucked up memories. ]

Who says it's not? [ murphy smiles like it's a joke, because it feels like it is to him, that sharp thing that's pretending it's having fun, but it's just old bones keeping themselves going because what else is there to do? because who gets to say 'i told you he was just trash' if he keels over and lets this fucked up husk of a world win? ] Spite, and teenage libido. Everyone's got room for being horny.

[ and still, he closes his eyes against the touch along his chin and his lip, exhales out tension as his eyes close, and lets the reality of kavinsky's company here sink in. that he's here, that he can feel and hear the rumble of his voice, the diminished warmth of his body. that he didn't have to be here, and murphy knows him as someone well aware of extending himself for something with no benefit to his person. maybe he's more than spite and anger, but what's there is still selfish and ugly. at least there's someone around not as bothered by that as most normal people should be. ] Besides, misery loves company, right? Sayings aren't sayings for nothing.

[pillz]

[the coarse tip of a forefinger ends up on murphy's face, just below his eye. most people use a thumb, cuz it's-- tender and less obtrusive or something, probably. shorter. saver. but it's kavinsky's forefinger that navigates around the slope of murphy's eye, sliding past the fringe of his eyelashes, as much like he's reading the braille of his lover's face as making a gesture of affection.

murphy does, after all, have such a unique face. some unknown architect raised the bridge of his nose and beveled his cheeks just so. some mystery of the universe must be hidden in the mathematics of its angles. joseph kavinsky knows nothing, but he does know this.]

That what it was, with Emori? [he asks.] Spite and a big red dick?

[he lifts his finger afterward and his eyes slide off a little, because-- because they aren't like that. they aren't the kind of boys who hold themselves in the half-dark of an alien world, doing nothing but breathe in the warm pockets of air from each other's clothes. they aren't those boys at all. not exactly.]

[rekt]

[ the name alone has murphy's whole body stutter, a skipped beat in his movements, a hitch in his breathing, a distance that widens his eyes for half a second. no, that's far from all emori was, and in truth, it's far from all joseph kavinsky is to him either, but here's the thing - ]

Emori's dead. [ because everyone's dead, everyone's gone, and that's what should've been expected the whole time, since that godforsaken rust bucket dropped him down onto hell. even with the eudio intermission -
nothing good lasts. and now, all that's left for her is spite. that's emori's legacy in him.

but kavinsky is here now, and even if that may not even last until tomorrow, it does mean something to him. murphy's wound tight like a trip wire, close to snapping, and it takes a considerable amount of effort for him to sigh out, shaky but slow, while he eases into the touch against his face, blinking his eyes open to watch kavinsky's cast to the side. watching the curve in his neck, murphy thinks for a moment or so, before easing forward to tuck his face against his throat, his body into the frame of k's shoulders, arms slipping around his hips. ]

Thanks. [ murphy mumbles out, quiet, against the collar of his shirt, slightly clinging in how he holds to him, slightly curling into his warmth. ]