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[faithfall]

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text . voicemail . 🎨 .

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176 - 0273; call

[longtooth]

[ The encounter with Alucard had turned out decently, all things considered, to the point that Fern's feeling slightly stunned in the aftermath of it. He'd dismissed himself to go find some food (actual food, not the veins of some unsuspecting victim) and she had returned to her darkened room, left to sprawl on the motel bed in utter darkness thanks to the blackout.

It isn't long before she realizes she should warn Adrian. While it's unlikely that he would react that same way she did on seeing a pale-faced man with fangs, it still seems a good idea to inform him.

She tries to write out a message for a good fifteen seconds before she gives up and simply hits the "call" button, as instructed by the merchant who sold her this device.

Ring ring— hopefully the sudden jingle from Adrian's phone isn't too much of a shock. ]

[faithfall]

[ He absolutely drops his phone on the pavement trying to fumble it out of his pocket as it plays some sort of dreadful melody. It bounces into the street and very nearly gets run over by a car, but Adrian manages to snatch it up, holding it a bit away from his face to avoid the grime. If the other person says anything first, he doesn't hear it. His own response is cut off as he finally steps under the awning of a closed storefront to take the call. ]

— forget something about my extended warranty? I'm glad you called again, actually, I was wondering —

[longtooth]

[ When sound comes from Fern's phone, it's a confusing cacophony — she can't quite make out what's happening, but she hears enough bangs and whooshes and other unidentifiable noises for it to be a cause for concern. ]

Adrian? Adrian, are you there?

[ When he does eventually speak up, he sounds slightly harried. He also isn't making any sense. ]

— What are you saying? [ With a frustrated grunt, she pushes up into a sit on her creaky motel bed. ] It's Fern. Can you hear me?

text; emerges from my slumber

[frostfist]

This is Wriothesley, from the supermarket.
I wanted to check in and see how you've been doing, especially given the strange happenings of late.

he gets a response at 3am

[faithfall]

hello again mr wriothesleyy
it is kind of you to check on me i am doing perfectlyy well
so rry for the late hour
i work at the pavilion clinic now
are you safe
did you find other work
adrian
[ He's still learning how T9 works sorry Wrio. ]

and you finally get a reply 6 days later....crying

[frostfist]

[ help me ]

It's alright.
Medicine is an all hours job.
I hope you're still getting enough rest in between shifts.
I'm still looking but I'm sure something will turn up.
Nothing strange has happened to you lately?

213 - 7826, early october.

[vestments]

( when marc's marc again, he's aware he ought to reach out to people — friends — but he doesn't. the expectation of questions, the thought of having to pull together an explanation — honesty? maybe, it'd be simplest but that doesn't mean it's easiest, despite the fact that it's never backfired on him to date (well, not recently—), despite his expectations — is unwelcome and unpleasant.

it's that combined with lingering frustration (embarrassment by any other name) that means the delay is longer than strictly necessary. he'd wondered, briefly, if he could get away with ignoring the entire situation, the meteors and the feelings and the jake and the steven of it all, before reaching the conclusion that no, probably not—.

(or more specifically, he'd been reached out to, which amounts to the same thing when your name is marc spector.)

when he messages adrian, it's early enough in the morning that there's a chance that marc, if he were a reasonable human being, might have only recently woken up. as he's not, the likelier explanation is simply that he hasn't slept yet but, you know, moon knight. )

We should talk.

( that's it, that's the message. no elaboration. hope you have his number saved, adrian, and don't expect marc this side of taking a nap. )

[faithfall]

[ Adrian is already at work, yawning his way through his second or third cup of coffee. The whole blood situation at the clinic has, at this point, become a matter of hurry up and wait so he's attempting to get back onto relatively normal person hours.

He was planning to sleep early tonight, all told.

He juggles the phone into his free hand and ducks into an empty exam room to text back. ] Marc? You're back?

[ He must be. Adrian doesn't expect that Steven particularly wants to talk to him, though he appreciates that the message was delivered. ]

Yes, we should. Do you want to meet somewhere?

[vestments]

( he wants to say that he didn't go anywhere, but that's not true and he's not a liar by habit. (or: marc doesn't consider omitting the truth to be lying, so.)

subsequently, he skips past the question entirely. )

No. I've got a few things to attend to. ( sleep. ) I'll find you after.

( very normal of him. )

What time do you finish work?

318 - 1888 ; around midnight

[haemosexual]

Mr. Silverleaf,

I write to you this evening in the spirit of scientific research: your companion, Miss Fern, suggested I contact you with inquires regarding the recent Contamination of Blood at Solar Clinic.

I am curious to know if, in your esteemed opinion, there will be lasting side effects for the human patients who were prescribed this Tainted Blood; the introduction of Cosmic Residue into an unacclimatised vascular system is most intriguing, and moreover has import in regards to the safety of those who make continued efforts to venture into the Unknown beyond Panorama.

I beg your most generous pardon for the bold nature of this message and hope you will consent to indulge my curiosity even in the face of my most ill of manners.

Faithfully and respectfully yours,
L. Cravensworth

[faithfall]

Ser Cravensworth,

I must thank you for reaching out to me in this regard. I was intrigued when you mentioned your areas of expertise on the forum, but I hesitated to press you for further details as we were not yet well acquainted. However, I believe we are in full agreement on this matter with regards to the questionable safety of those who venture into the Diffusion Zones.

I will gladly share what I know. Those who have returned to the clinic were treated promptly of course and, with the addition of magical intervention for some, seem to have made a full recovery with no lingering effects.

There remains still a handful of people we have regrettably been unable to contact. One, we reached too late, and found that he had succumbed. From my examination of the body, I believe his untimely death was caused by a rejection of the contaminated blood, and the critical nature of his need for a proper transfusion.

I cannot speak on those who we have been unable to find, but I suspect they will have suffered a similar fate.

If you are interested in the effects of the contamination in humans who have been corrupted by the Diffusion Zones more directly, I can speak on that as well.

I would be most interested in hearing of any insights your research has yielded, or might yield in the future.

Respectfully yours,
A. Silverleaf

from 737 – 9012; sometime at the beginning of dec

[diametrically]

[ Since their first and only encounter, Cassian had not made a point to contact Adrian. His feelings about the non-con magic used to heal him aside, he knew that there was a likelihood that whatever had passed silently between them might only serve to make things uncomfortable.

So as much as he pretends that it hasn't happened the gold in his chest is a daily reminder of it. And it's the gold in his chest that makes his mind settle on Adrian as he gazes down at the ruined surface of his thigh. It's only with begrudging willingness that he texts the number that had been handed to him on a scrawled piece of paper when Adrian had dropped him off in the city several months ago. ]

What do you do if skin doesn't look like it's healing?

[ And then a beat later – ]

Normally. With medicine.

[ And then again another beat later – ]

It's Cassian

[faithfall]

[ Considering how freely Adrian gives his number out, it's not unusual to receive this kind of message out of the blue. He is starting to think that he should have been a bit more discerning, however. It's extraordinarily difficult to assess a patient through message alone.

Half asleep, regardless of what time of day it is, he responds: ] I go and see the healer who gave me his number.

[ A pause, then: ] It's easier to know what's wrong if I can examine it.

I can come to you, if you prefer.

[diametrically]

[ Cassian isn't so inconsiderate that he'd make a doctor's call (or in this case a text) at an unreasonable hour - even if he had been woken up in the middle of the night himself due to the pain and had been unable to go back to sleep as a result.

It also hadn't helped that the heating is still wonky in the motel room so he wakes up freezing every other hour. But the cold feels like the least of his concerns as he stares at his thigh. ]

I didn't want to assume you were in town.

[ There's another pause. ]

Sure
I'll owe you one.

[ Which is then followed by the motel's address and his room number. ]

908 – 1741, a couple days after that speak w dead.

[tirejacked]

[He doesn’t even technically have to weasel Adrian’s number out of Lucina—he’d announced himself on the forums some weeks back for those who happen to pay attention.

He does, however, seem to decide to force Adrian to use context clues to figure out who the fuck is texting him. You can do it, champ.

So, one after another, in the wee hours of the morning—]

She had a daughter.
HM
Thought you’d like to know.

[faithfall]

[ Adrian's answer comes after a few hours. His nights aren't quite as late as Jason's, which means that he sleeps right through the notifications.

When he sees the message, he does the most logical thing he can think of: he just asks Fern if she recognizes the number. It's probably one of their mutual friends, he reasons, though he doesn't immediately understand what they're trying to tell him.

He really should have guessed. ]

Is that who she wanted you to save?

[tirejacked]

[They keep similar company, but they're not friends, not really. They don’t exactly chat like this. So it’s a hindsight kind of thing if it occurs at all—that Jason’s a quick enough texter that he clearly takes a moment of thinking (or typing and erasing, re-drafting his answer) before following up. Since Adrian is clearly following, though—]

Wow. Give her a little credit, huh.

[It’s kind of deliberately mean. Doesn’t quite take into account the vagueness of the dying (dead) woman’s request, the kinds of complications in play. But it plays out. (Had a daughter via one of the Johns, who didn’t want her spreading it around town when he found out. Went to the proprietress to make sure it stayed quiet in a permanent sort of way. Typical, really.) But, well. Wouldn’t you think a mother would want to protect her child?

Hah.

Anyway.]

I took care of it.

786 — 3290, post return from acreage

[catharses]

[ The train ride had been... eventful. That's probably the right word for it without getting too far into said events though it seems things have compounded further in the first few days after the return back to Panorama.

Which is to say: more time goes by than Sunday would've liked in the name of etiquette and everything else which applies before he picks up his phone one day to send a message checking in he feels is overdue. ]

Hello, Mr. Adrian. I'd meant to send this message much sooner what with everything that'd happened, but I trust you made it back to Panorama alright? From any and all traveling with the train deciding to send us to more than our intended destination, though I hope you enjoyed your time in Acreage as well.

[faithfall]

Mr. Sunday, my sincerest apologies for not reaching out to you sooner in turn! I'm quite safe and well, in no small part thanks to your help in that awful situation. I hope that the same can be said for you? It was quite nice to breathe in the fresh air at Acreage, after all of that.

If the situation had not been what it was, I would have asked this sooner as well but — how is Mr. Emet-Selch? Has his wound healed without complications?

[catharses]

Yes, the same can be said for me as well. Acreage was indeed a relief after everything that transpired as I cannot say I've experienced a train ride quite like that before. More importantly, I'm glad to hear you're doing well.

And I believe it has, or at least I've heard no complaints since which is possibly telling enough. Something still deserving of gratitude for your quick assistance, and the outcome is entirely thanks to you.

shortly after his visit with lucina.

[carcajous]

We need to talk.

[faithfall]

[ Never has Adrian felt more dread than reading this text message. He can, at least, guess what it's about.

He takes a slow breath before replying. ]

Of course. I'm at the Solar Clinic. My shift is finished in an hour, if you want to meet me here.

[carcajous]

[ The clinic it is. Logan doesn't answer, not 'cause he's making a point but because that's just how he is. He's got a place, time.

That's where he shows up.

He's there before the hour, waiting across the street, bike parked against the curb. His arms are across his chest. If it makes Adrian feel better, he doesn't actually look pissed. Currently.

And he's not, exactly. Just wants to talk. But it might be hard to tell when Logan's forehead is in a perpetual frown even when he's in a good mood. ]

213 - 7826, after lucina's bday ig

[vestments]

( abruptly, apropos nothing at all (other than marc's own thoughts)— )

Has anyone taught you to punch yet?

[faithfall]

Did Lucina tell you about that too? Fern has already given me an earful, I assure you.

[ Guess who got attacked in a parking lot and rescued by Lucina during the blackouts, then neglected to tell anyone about it. He assumes this message is related because they were immune to magic... but he's really just outing himself. ]