Olivia
Online
ᝰdelano.
@dspndncy
open the book.
cws. ac:
Joined December 2022
102 Following
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ᅠ⠀⠀ ⠀ ᅠ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀• 📖 •
;; eric delano
;; in-canon cws
;; book-bound
;; ic tweets / lit on the tl
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"Yes."
He confirms; ( as if he had another son - no, Gerard was the only. At least, thus far. ) And lets out a semi-soft exhale. His fingers pull lightly at the fray of his coat.
"He's different. But I suppose it's always a new thing meeting someone than just hearing of them."
The being’s head turned at the mention of Eric’s son, almost giving a knowing nod at that. there was something about the interaction that should’ve felt familiar, should’ve been nostalgic and yet, everything was so far away.
“ gerard . ” it mused, voice unplaceable.
hopes that none of the other people who live here come back in time; before Michael leaves.
That could be awkward.
"I have been. Busier than ever." There's a beat. "It's nice to get to know my son."
It's.. almost reminiscent, to Eric, anyway, a day of the past. Almost, but not quite. They're almost too different now.
"That makes sense," Comes out rather curtly, one leg moving to sit over the other as he sits. It is an unnatural, tense conversation. Eric
+
Small talk. The Distortion was not used to such a concept—talk without meaning, words held without weight in the meaningless noise of conversation. Still, there was a part of it, buried beneath spirals of lies and confusion, that did not want to leave; A part of him (+)
There is a small sigh. One of minor discontent; and while Eric wasn't particularly fond of Michael being here, the most he could do was keep whatever human portion inside company.
"What have you been doing, as of late? With the hands not fully digested?"
&& he gives it a moment to consider. A thoughtful him, a tense frown. Eric felt no guilt for aiding Gertrude in Michaels descent. End. Line.
And he reaches out, taking these bits of people that lived here. That aided and abetted and should not mingle - yet they did.
+
Michael did everything but scoff at that, though it didn’t sound particularly… Angry, just. That. Like the whole idea of what Eric had said, while true, was entirely irrelevant.
“ i am very much aware of that . it is built within every agonizing fiber of my being , (+)
And worse, they thrived together, in such an unnatural fashion.
"He trusted us all. Even though he knew something wasn't right." A small laugh; though it's unsure if regret is there. "Whispers and all. What young adult doesn't get concerned by whispers?"
+
going back to the near angry mutter, ( dare he say, ) it had spat.
"You should know that any multitude of anything, no matter how small, will do anything if it means elongating their lives. No matter how short."
His eyebrow raises in his silence as the two ( ? ) forms moved. He goes to sit on the couch, putting his coat onto the coffee table.
There are traces of the family who lived there, ( as absurd as it is snaped, ) -- a piece of cloth from a shawl, a strand of long
+
The Distortion paused, head tilted a bit as it pondered the others’ question. The smile faded from its lips again, fingertips idly tapping onto its jaw bone before moving again, following Eric along.
And perhaps one of the truer things it has said in quite some time (+)
It's an almost amused position. An almost familiar type. And he knows that is isn't Michael; not entirely. Take a name, mannerisms, behaviors. That doesn't make you a person. It makes you a husk.
And it knows that too.
"So," He starts again,
+
"as it does," he admits, a thoughtful noise. "it's like a cup that's got a crack. when it leaks out, it's all gone."
He pauses, here. "Do you want to walk to the living room, or do you have business?"
It stings; in more ways than one. The dull pain ever present in his head; ( not to mention the ache in his chest - though he can't discern if that's coming from where he was murdered, or the loss of time with his son. )
+
“ yes … i am sure that he did . michael shelly . it is a shame he was fooled so easily by the people he thought he trusted . ”
Its voice is sandpaper, scraping against reality against everything it was, everything it will be, and tearing through the air of static building (+)
And its voice is even worse; it feels .. Processed.
Its palms flip back over; facing the ground as his shoulders adjust. He goes to grab a jacket hanging on the wall; moving to a door; ( notably not the Distortions, )
+
Eric laughs; to a room that should be empty. His hands extend; palms facing upwards.
"I'm sure Michael Shelley knew of how long some of those books sit. If I can recall, she made him do monthly counts. And he did them without question."
His voice is.. softer.
He knows. He knows that it knows that he knows (again) - even without the Eye to watch + eyes to see, Eric was not a stupid man by any means.
He allows the silence to span; ( it feels like baited breath, even though he feels very little fear. )
+
Fingers like warped spindles brushed back a lock of curling blond hair as the being moved in just a bit closer, peering at Eric. A frown slowly pulled down at its lips. It was not used to “feeling”, as close as The Distortion could get to such a thing anyway, and did not (+)
And his head tilts lightly as it seems to make up its mind, moving to stand.
; ( And nowhere does he reach the body longivity of the distortion - )
"I was very lucky." And then he does something he didn't necessarily expect himself to do;
+
i'mmmmm one.
His eyebrows are knit; cooly reactionary. A hand extends; fingers twitching lightly;
"Thank you. If you happen to see Mary, spin her a tale as you see fit. I'm not necessarily going to invite her." A shift of his position. "I was gathering dust for a long while."
Michael stood just to the side of the other now, peering down at him with an amused smile pulling at the edges of its mouth.
“ yes … we have , havent we ? i was curious as to where you ended up after all this time … congratulations on the engagement , by the way . ”
"Michael." He seems to harbor an almost distaste for the name; as his own is given in the same tongue.
"We've had time to change, have we not." His own hands fold neatly down on his lap; ( the room feels wrong, and a sense of nausea flips in Erics stomach. )
And Maybe it'd be smart for Eric to move. Call Audrey. Shift. But he doesn't; because while he knows monsters; it is always different than what he knows.
It is always different than many people know; ( his facial expression happens to sit as it does, soft, but thoughtful, )
+
“ oh, yes. it has been ( quite ) a long time , hasn’t it ? ”
His voice lifted and churned in odd ways that made the room spin. He did, of course, still sound like Michael—but something was clearly amiss. Approaching slowly, The Distortion dragged its fingertips thoughtfully (+)
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