[ That's unusual. Gansey turns his frown to the road, thinking that Blue has quite enough frowns of her own. What could they be talking about that they don't want her to hear?
Perhaps her father is the problem. It's not very surprising that he's avoiding Gwenllian. Aside from the fact that almost everyone does, she holds particular ire for Artemus. Gansey is not sure he can blame her for that, either.
His words have to be more measured than that. He turns them over in his head while tapping his thumb against the wheel. ]
What do they say when you ask them about it? I take it that you've tried, with some of them at least.
[ Blue has a sinking suspicion about what they are talking about. And a part of her doesn't want to know, doesn't want to hear it. Maybe that's why she hasn't resorted to eavesdropping. ]
What do you think? They either avoid or change the subject or mumble something before wandering off. Or say something that sounds like a proverb.
[ Gansey lifts his eyebrows and hums thoughtfully. This sounds entirely like Maura. ]
Did you try Orla? I can't imagine her uttering proverbs.
Or Calla, for that matter. But I can't imagine Calla telling anyone anything she doesn't think they should know, either.
[ Which makes him think harder about this. Is it a secret that's innocent, or a secret they want to protect her from? Knowing Blue's family, Gansey suspects it's the latter. ]
[ Gansey pauses and looks closer. He's about as good with fast food chains as he is with social networking, clearly. He always orders the same thing either way. ]
So it is. I sort of feel sorry for the staff. Perhaps we should avoid showing this to Blue.
[ That does not stop Gansey from clicking to the next one. ]
[Once upon a time, Czerny was exceptionally familiar with all fast food that Henrietta had to offer and what hours you could get what at. This was especially important to hungover Czerny and Whelk, as well as 3am ley line hunting fuel.
He rests his chin on his knees, cold and seven years dead.]
Mmhmm? I'm glad. Oh, I think the dinosaur costume one is this one. Your polo shirt might give them pause but it isn't a dinosaur costume.
[Personally Noah is a little curious as to how that color is not making his hangover worse.]
[ Frowning, Gansey glances down at it. It is in fact lurid, but so are most things that he owns. Given that the color is so clearly inoffensive, he assumes Noah is talking about the day-old dishevelment. ]
I wore it all night. I didn’t think it was that bad, should I change? I have a lemon one somewhere –
[ He breaks off at sudden laughter from Noah’s phone and looks back down. There it is: dinosaur. Gansey laughs too, in spite of himself. When it ends, he slopes off the bed to seek a better shirt. ]
[ Gansey presses the bandage over the wound as gently as he can. Even with the ball of padding between them, Ronan's arm still feels wrong to him. He adjusts his grip, and scans his friend's face. God, the last thing he wants to do is make it worse.
His voice stays steady, despite everything ]
All right. Now, come on, lean on me. Once you're in the car everything will be fine.
[ After they spend the day in the Emergency Room, that is. This is one of the few times Gansey won't mind pulling rank to get them seen faster. ]
[it's a wonder Ronan can even talk through how tightly-gritted his teeth are right now, but he manages. It sounds something like a mutt snarling to fight for its dinner.]
[The Pig's engine is ticking under them as the engine slowly cools, tick tick tick tick in a regular pattern, the only unnatural noise around them. After a moment, crickets join in, along with the treeline a few yards from them, the wind whistling through the leaves. To Ronan, it could be the murder squash song, and he smiles, running his tongue under his canines. Cabeswater is always attuned to him, even when he's just at its edge.
He flattens himself against the roof of the Pig, feeling the heat of Gansey's skin against his. It feels like water and oil, the two of them, layer on layer, never quite mixing, only when there's a storm clashing their feelings against each other, biting. Tonight, they are calm, as they can be, the summer heat sticking the back of Ronan's shirt to his spine as he looks up at the stars with Gansey by his side. Like there's no war inside their respective heads. Like Ronan's fingers aren't twitching where they rest over his stomach, to reach out, to dip into the infinite pool of Gansey's thoughts.
[ This is the best way to spend a night. Under the stars, with the sounds of nature around him, with a breeze wafting across and carrying the scent of the road mixed with wheatgrass. It's a scent that's inherently Henrietta. It makes Gansey feel like he's home. So does the boy beside him. The press of Ronan's arm against his is as familiar as breathing. How many nights have there been when they did this exact thing, when they drove out somewhere open and watched the stars unfold? The sky is infinity. It's a canvas on which a universe is painted, and Gansey can close his eyes and feel time slipping beneath him. He feels as though he has been here a hundred years, or perhaps will be here in a hundred years from now. It is a feeling of eternity. He is one tiny part of a much wider whole and he belongs, he is grounded and he is flying all at once.
And then Ronan starts singing, and Gansey's eyes flash open. He groans, pulling himself up on one elbow. Infinity is interrupted.
By Murder Squash, of all things. ]
Christ, Lynch. Must it be that song?
[ Of course it must, because it always must, no matter how loudly Gansey complains. Predictable complaining. ]
You can tell me if you're bored. You don't have to assault my eardrums in protest.
For outofthe
I don't see how. Surely, that much, I can be allowed to say.
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I cannot pretend to think you're less than lovely. That is a bridge too far.
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For leyed
[ That's unusual. Gansey turns his frown to the road, thinking that Blue has quite enough frowns of her own. What could they be talking about that they don't want her to hear?
Perhaps her father is the problem. It's not very surprising that he's avoiding Gwenllian. Aside from the fact that almost everyone does, she holds particular ire for Artemus. Gansey is not sure he can blame her for that, either.
His words have to be more measured than that. He turns them over in his head while tapping his thumb against the wheel. ]
What do they say when you ask them about it? I take it that you've tried, with some of them at least.
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What do you think? They either avoid or change the subject or mumble something before wandering off. Or say something that sounds like a proverb.
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Did you try Orla? I can't imagine her uttering proverbs.
Or Calla, for that matter. But I can't imagine Calla telling anyone anything she doesn't think they should know, either.
[ Which makes him think harder about this. Is it a secret that's innocent, or a secret they want to protect her from? Knowing Blue's family, Gansey suspects it's the latter. ]
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For perrish
Thank you, I'm glad someone appreciates them.
Have you considered the possibility that it was an invitation?
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An invitation to what?
[ Ah, lord help us. ]
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For casperdisaster
It's -
[ Gansey pauses and looks closer. He's about as good with fast food chains as he is with social networking, clearly. He always orders the same thing either way. ]
So it is. I sort of feel sorry for the staff. Perhaps we should avoid showing this to Blue.
[ That does not stop Gansey from clicking to the next one. ]
But you were right. It is cheering me up.
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He rests his chin on his knees, cold and seven years dead.]
Mmhmm? I'm glad. Oh, I think the dinosaur costume one is this one. Your polo shirt might give them pause but it isn't a dinosaur costume.
[Personally Noah is a little curious as to how that color is not making his hangover worse.]
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I wore it all night. I didn’t think it was that bad, should I change? I have a lemon one somewhere –
[ He breaks off at sudden laughter from Noah’s phone and looks back down. There it is: dinosaur. Gansey laughs too, in spite of himself. When it ends, he slopes off the bed to seek a better shirt. ]
Keep playing them, this won’t take long.
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For composmentis
[ Gansey presses the bandage over the wound as gently as he can. Even with the ball of padding between them, Ronan's arm still feels wrong to him. He adjusts his grip, and scans his friend's face. God, the last thing he wants to do is make it worse.
His voice stays steady, despite everything ]
All right. Now, come on, lean on me. Once you're in the car everything will be fine.
[ After they spend the day in the Emergency Room, that is. This is one of the few times Gansey won't mind pulling rank to get them seen faster. ]
<3 <3
[it's a wonder Ronan can even talk through how tightly-gritted his teeth are right now, but he manages. It sounds something like a mutt snarling to fight for its dinner.]
You--fucking hear me, Gansey? No. Hospital.
:)
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For aglonby
In a decent Italian restaurant, yes.
My apartment is not a decent Italian restaurant. Also, I don't have any wine.
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For unknowable
Well, considering that you are awake at this unfortunate hour, you could always share. I'll wait for you.
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For squash
[ Jesus Christ, Lynch. ]
Oh, no, of course, forgive me. That's much better.
You'd get kicked out. You promised me this year, Ronan.
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[This next text comes a few minutes later.]
You know I don't need a fucking shrink.
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For saevio
Charming.
One of us needs to be the responsible one.
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For suntouched
Amaterasu
The goddess?
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He flattens himself against the roof of the Pig, feeling the heat of Gansey's skin against his. It feels like water and oil, the two of them, layer on layer, never quite mixing, only when there's a storm clashing their feelings against each other, biting. Tonight, they are calm, as they can be, the summer heat sticking the back of Ronan's shirt to his spine as he looks up at the stars with Gansey by his side. Like there's no war inside their respective heads. Like Ronan's fingers aren't twitching where they rest over his stomach, to reach out, to dip into the infinite pool of Gansey's thoughts.
He takes a breath, and then...] Squash one -
i'm so sorry this took so long
And then Ronan starts singing, and Gansey's eyes flash open. He groans, pulling himself up on one elbow. Infinity is interrupted.
By Murder Squash, of all things. ]
Christ, Lynch. Must it be that song?
[ Of course it must, because it always must, no matter how loudly Gansey complains. Predictable complaining. ]
You can tell me if you're bored. You don't have to assault my eardrums in protest.
pffft don't even
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