nextian: my, my slow descent

Emma (

nextian) wrote,
@ 2011-04-08 11:59 pm UTC

Entry tags:

eyai, tumblr breaks me of my tidy tag habits, what do you mean unduly excited

my, my slow descent

I would apologize for doing this at midnight but actually I think we are now all officially on enough different time zones to justify any posting hour.

EYAI DRABBLES GO

All settings or none! All characters or none! Prompt, fic, discuss, do interpretive dance!!

(And for those who selected "what in the name of God": here's a writeup I did on Tumblr for

pseudo_tsuga of what exactly I'm talking about.)

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Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Explained

schiarire
2011-04-09 12:13 pm UTC (link)

ji: "* untitled fic by Fahye, which is actually one in a very, very long line of attempts to just — take Oliver and Nacio’s stupid, stupid metal faces and smash them against each other going Y U NO KISS (I will spoil this fic for you and tell you that they do not kiss) and here are some other ones: one, two, three, four, five."
ji: Laughing
ji: Laughing
ji: Stomach...in pain
fahye: I think she has put her finger on the MAIN NARRATIVE IMPERATIVE OF THE VERSE, what do you think
ji: cough
ji: We are definitely kind of fixated
fahye: I think because it has been so long and nobody has managed it
ji: It is a horrible challenge.
ji: DO YOU THINK WE CAN DO IT TONIGHT?!
fahye: hey, I mentioned AUs
fahye: I BET IT COULD HAPPEN IN AN AU
ji: I BET I BET
ji: WHAT IS THE CRAZIEST AU ROBOTS CAN HAVE
ji: IS IT AN AU WHERE THEY ARE HUMAN?!
ji: AM I PLANNING A WHOLE FIC NOW
fahye: WELL OBVIOUSLY
ji: IN MY HOT LITTLE BRAIN
ji: about a mild-mannered divinity school boy and, er, Oliver Wolf, prosecutor extraordinaire
fahye: AAAAAAHHHHH
ji: ha ha ha
ji: It's so good
ji: so good
fahye: GO

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Re: Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Part 1

schiarire
2011-04-09 12:15 pm UTC (link)

It was the coldest winter Ignacio Gravenor could remember; when he came to Mass, he had to break ice to slide his slim white hand into the holy water and bless himself. But St. Stephen's was poor and old-fashioned and could not be heated. Only he and a few old parishioners came to hear Father Nolan preach these days; the rest of the flock stayed at home, buried three jumpers deep in their wool.

But today a man he'd never seen before sat in the pews. The man was young and visibly monied, wearing a finely tailored black coat that made him seem taller, thinner, and paler than he was, following the current fashion. When Ignacio looked at him he felt austere, invisible. He found his attention moving from Father Nolan's voice, so that he realised a moment later he could not recollect his Father's words. Shock chilled him. Never, never before had he lost the sense of a sermon. He imagined Hell's fire, so savage and so bright it had no color, waiting to warm him, and turned his eyes with a long shiver back to the pulpit.

After Mass the parishioners shook hands with each other and Father Nolan and left, but the new man did not leave. "You're just the man I've come to see," he told the august priest, and drew him by the arm into an alcove for deep conversation. Ignacio wished to speak to Father Nolan, too; and he wished to know what these two men could be discussing, but he saw their need for privacy and left the church.

He was standing beneath snow-bearing trees in the yard outside, contemplating the lives of those buried together here in the earth, when a rich Pipe voice said at his shoulder, "So you're the protégé, are you?"

Ignacio started. "I beg your pardon?"

"The name's Wolf," said the man who had been so familiar with Father Nolan. "Oliver Wolf." When he grinned, Ignacio saw that his incisors were very slightly longer than those of other men, so that his appearance carried a faint hint of the feral. "Here-- my card."

Placing his left hand politely over his own chest, Ignacio took the card in his right and read: OLIVER WOLF, ESQ., DEFENCE COUNSEL, BARTLEBY & SCRIVENER.

"But you're very young to be an attorney," said Ignacio, looking up. "Aren't you, Oliver?" The name felt foreign on his tongue, as if he had never spoken it before, had never so much as heard it, never seen it written in any book.

"And you're young to be renouncing the material world," Wolf said. "You'll be wondering why I'm here but don't worry, it's nothing serious, just a small lawsuit."

His voice climbing higher than it had done in years, Ignacio asked, "A small lawsuit? Against whom?"

"Oh, no one, no one, just the priest there." Wolf waved his dismissal. "Don't worry, I said."

"Against Father Nolan?"

Ignacio whipped his head back to look at the church, small and snow-covered and at once vulnerable, a thing not of stone but of fancy, a dream you could set up or collapse, take away, and felt himself beginning to tremble. "I'm sorry," he said, "I must--"

"Must nothing," said Wolf. He took Ignacio by the shoulders, looking for his startled gaze. "Jes' trust me to put everything right, Nacio. I'll fix it. I'll fix it all. Then you'll have not a thing to fret you but the state of your soul."

Once more he gave that sharp, vicious grin. "Only come for a drink first. It's colder than an eyai's heart in this graveyard."

"That's terrible," said Ignacio, but somehow the panic that had seized him now released his heart; was carried away with the ebb of his blood. He took a deep breath. "And I don't drink."

"'Course you don't," said Wolf. "But you'll come."

To his own surprise, Ignacio smiled. He felt filled with a light as clear as that of the water covered in the font by ice this winter; clear as the high and cloudless sky. He said, "Yes. Yes, I will, Oliver, I'll come."

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Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Part 2. NOW WITH...KISSING? EVERYONE HOLD ON TO SOMETHING.

fahye
2011-04-09 02:28 pm UTC (link)

Ignacio Gravenor doesn't drink, but from the look of him he'll do almost anything to be polite. Wolf orders wine; red, so the man feels at home. Two glasses, and pours.

"To your boss, yeah? I told you. I'll sort it."

A muscle moves, slow twitch, along Nacio's jaw. (He hadn't blinked when Wolf tried the name on him; a whim, a fast intimacy with which Wolf discarded Father Nolan's dusty voice: my brother in the faith, Ignacio.)

"Thank you, Oliver," he says. "I'm sure you will."

Wolf grins and mirrors his posture -- holds it -- and then picks up his own glass of wine. It works. Nacio's long fingers encircle the glass, gently but without hesitance.

"Father Nolan," he says. And pauses, glass raised to the level of his chest, as though expecting an echo.

The wine isn't bad. Wolf doesn't focus on it. Nacio takes a minute sip and sharpens, his colors denser for a moment, before replacing the glass. He moves as though he's still in that church, with the patience of eternity, afraid of throwing a limb out too quickly in case of striking cold stone. Pale and carved in statue lines himself. But there are glimpses, when he talks, when his eyes linger on the aftermath of Wolf's more deliberate smiles, of a crisp and intelligent light. Fierce in the boring sense of the word, but not boring at all.

Wolf wonders what turns such a man to God. And how long it takes to turn him back again.

"Tell me about -- the law," Nacio says at one point, the word soft in his mouth. Wolf can make language do almost anything but it's been a long time since he knew how to pronounce anything with reverence.

He thinks, nothing I say is going to live up to what this person thinks the fucking law is, and he'll find the holes in my speeches before I'm halfway through them. It shouldn't be a comforting thought but it sends heat through him on a path unconnected to the wine's tingling.

Instead he makes Nacio laugh, coaxes it out of him as one would with a shy animal. When he's not being a statue Nacio does a fair impression of one; a cat, perhaps; a cat that ate the complete works of Thomas Aquinas.

They don't stay long; the pub is filling up, and they don't know each other well enough to settle in. Nacio makes it most of the way down his glass and the light of his intellect burns higher, capturing his hands, making them dance. In an hour the word Oliver coheres from a wonder to a certainty.

Wolf buttons his heavy coat with fingers still warm from indoors and wine, and keeps watching Nacio, pleased with himself for spotting the man in the first place. It's the fabric of him, something so entirely new that it begs to be pulled and tested.

Nacio is looking away, less certain of himself here in the cold air, unsteady and quiet and probably quite difficult to break.

"Good night, then."

"Yes," Nacio says, "good night, Oliver --" and Wolf takes hold of his coat's lapels before the word has died.

His own name on Nacio's lips tastes mostly of the same winter wind and red wine that already fills Wolf's mouth, but just before he pulls away he has the sensation of tasting ink.

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	Re: Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Part 2. NOW WITH...KISSING? EVERYONE HOLD ON TO SOMETHING. seekingferret 2011-04-11 04:28 pm UTC (link)
	I don't really want to think through the implications of the fact that making them human solves all problems ever: Now they can kiss, yes, but also now they have easy, understandable places in society that don't push them to revolution. It's like you broke everything that made the eyaiverse the eyaiverse in less than a thousand words. (Reply to this) (Thread from start) (Parent)

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my, my slow descent

Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Explained

Re: Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Part 1

Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Part 2. NOW WITH...KISSING? EVERYONE HOLD ON TO SOMETHING.

Re: Oliver & Nacio: The AU: Part 2. NOW WITH...KISSING? EVERYONE HOLD ON TO SOMETHING.