[ Sure, sure. Go ahead and win, buddy. Take that nice little win-trophy, polish it up on your mantle and bask in its worthless connotation. What a great game you've beat, outfoxing Treavor Pendleton! Wow good job.
(But the guy had been playing, at least. The guy talked about it like a game, and people don't really do that, or they don't do that with Treavor, and that means something, so okay, maybe the guy actually does win something, wins the Treavor-isn't-gonna-bite prize, and—)
And?
And?? Where did that blanket come from??
(Nobody brings blankets. That isn't how fetch-Treavor goes, or how anything goes.)
Where did that. Hand? Come from?
He's suddenly pretty cozy. He suddenly doesn't feel any kind of chill and feels maybe a little less like he should jump in the water try to be a fish. Because right now? Where he is feels kind of okay. ((Is this a trick? A trap? He doesn't think so. He doesn't want to think about it, anyway.)) And his hand is sinking, bottle resting on the floor, the ground, the whatever for now, and Treavor's gone quiet, just letting himself feel the soft of the blanket.
(It is a soft blanket. Good of this blanket to be soft!) ]
Got me.
[ It's a drifting observation, something to say as he cants his head, realizes Golden Boy maybe said something, gripping tight to the rye and then relaxing a little, barking a laugh because hey, hey! The guy's got a point? ]
Hmm, want it for you, don't you?
[ Did Treavor say he'd show this guy the stars? Is this guy worthy of seeing any stars? Not like it matters. Stars are for everyone. If this guy wants to see, who's Treavor to deny him? ]
Gotta know how to look for stars. City makes em hide.
[ There's a hand on his shoulder and it isn't a guiding hand, redirecting hand, harming hand. (Maybe.) (Yet.) It's kind of nice. Suddenly, he's at the docks but not alone. ]
no subject
(But the guy had been playing, at least. The guy talked about it like a game, and people don't really do that, or they don't do that with Treavor, and that means something, so okay, maybe the guy actually does win something, wins the Treavor-isn't-gonna-bite prize, and—)
And?
And?? Where did that blanket come from??
(Nobody brings blankets. That isn't how fetch-Treavor goes, or how anything goes.)
Where did that. Hand? Come from?
He's suddenly pretty cozy. He suddenly doesn't feel any kind of chill and feels maybe a little less like he should jump in the water try to be a fish. Because right now? Where he is feels kind of okay. ((Is this a trick? A trap? He doesn't think so. He doesn't want to think about it, anyway.)) And his hand is sinking, bottle resting on the floor, the ground, the whatever for now, and Treavor's gone quiet, just letting himself feel the soft of the blanket.
(It is a soft blanket. Good of this blanket to be soft!) ]
Got me.
[ It's a drifting observation, something to say as he cants his head, realizes Golden Boy maybe said something, gripping tight to the rye and then relaxing a little, barking a laugh because hey, hey! The guy's got a point? ]
Hmm, want it for you, don't you?
[ Did Treavor say he'd show this guy the stars? Is this guy worthy of seeing any stars? Not like it matters. Stars are for everyone. If this guy wants to see, who's Treavor to deny him? ]
Gotta know how to look for stars. City makes em hide.
[ There's a hand on his shoulder and it isn't a guiding hand, redirecting hand, harming hand. (Maybe.) (Yet.) It's kind of nice. Suddenly, he's at the docks but not alone. ]