#bluedprints: trevor.

[choicescreen]

@bluedprints

redmon tries a smile for trevor, though it comes out sheepish, more of a cringe, like when he thinks too many pictures have already been taken but is too polite to say it.

"so, uh. you've met—dutch."

the character in question, flesh and blood as the two of them, lights up a cigarette in that loud match strike way noir detectives always do. he waves by way of single upward nod.

"i suppose the others will follow soon enough. i—know it's a lot to take in." understatement.

[guttersniper]

@bluedprints

"look at you," mutt grunts, low, from the passenger's seat. he is a little more irritated than usual, being cooped up in a vehicle for so long.

"reading signs like a grown-ass man."

[bloodykneestm]

"statement of trevor quinn, taken twenty-first of may 2018, regarding..." jon hesitates, makes eye contact with the other man, feeling in his mind the euphoric insertion of the subject before he can even ask for it. "a stalking creature... jonathon sims, head archivist of the magnus institute, london, recording."

he sits back, allowing him to take the lead, to begin his story in any way he chooses, something preternatural in his dark, nearly reflective irises compelling him to share, to spill his guts as the archivist takes the first sip of his coffee and then sets it down, hanging on his every word.

@bluedprints liked this for a starter!

[dxsole]

i'm leaving after i get my coat. (trevor fate)

🐖 SURPRISE PIG OBSTACLE | Not Accepting.

"Are you? Are you really?" Honestly, Fate doesn't mean to be so condescending, it's just very funny to her that people think they just...do things! That even the most mundane of actions can't be stopped by her.

"Well, go ahead. Get your coat." She looks positively tickled as he does indeed go to grab it and go to the door and jiggle the handle and push—

She nearly cackles as Trevor's nose collides with the stuck door, clapping gleefully. "You're not actually going! Oh, I got you!" Now, Fate can cause any number of things to happen to send humans down whatever path she decides, and usually those are lowkey obstacles; sudden rainstorm, a too late letter, bad phone service.

Sometimes, however, she does like to show off.

There is a rather large herd of farm pigs that have escaped their [en. The farmer in question is currently racing down the street, out of breath, unsure how his pigs got loose in the first place, and even more unsure how those usually lazy oafs have managed to run all the way downtown unscathed. Even more strange was the fact that they all seemed to stop at this place, plopping themselves in front of the pub entrance.

"Just come sit by me." Hand pats at the stool beside her. "I never get to chat with you guys anymore— I'm always so busy."

[choicescreen]

@bluedprints

"hiya, mr. quinn." harry smiles, genial and boyish, without teeth. "hope i didn't throw the book at you too hard, friend. siddown."

[dxsole]

honestly, i want to get inside before i start to turn blue. trevor freida

🥶 ICE, ICE BABY! | Not Accepting.

"Oh, are you, like, super cold?" Of course he is, this cold front is kicking everyone's ass, including her but she's doing her best to not complain too much.

"Hold on," She's been lugging around her work case— it's a bit much, Fredia rolling around that wheeled backpack, but she had at least five binders for each event she's currently planning plus one that's just for her own life plan...the case is saving her back and her life.

Of course, instead of one of the binders, she's instead pulling out her thermos. "It's peppermint hot chocolate." She explains as she hands it over. "I haven't had any yet if you're worried about germs. It's totally clean and suuuper yummy." It would be nicer if they could go inside, but there were still a few blocks before they were at her office. "I wish it was a nicer day, but don't worry, I'll bump up the heat when we get to my office and we can go over the details comfortably."

[choicescreen]

redmon hurries off to the kitchen like he is pressed for time. he finds lesur in there, preparing dinner, naturally, and wonders how long it will be before the cooking noises break through and trevor can hear them, too.

dutch nods first, taps ash into the chipped ashtray second, speaks last. "we can't go past a certain point if he ain't with us. about the door of the bar downstairs is where we stop." a beat. "red doesn't go out often."

the unspoken not like he used to is heavy. "so we don't, either."

out of here, a barely audible thought, get me out of here.

"water's—fine. water's great."

unintentionally mirroring redmon, trevor is rubbing his hands together—pulling at the stitched-up sleeves of his oversized chunk knit like he's trying to crawl into the arms of it. to calm his head from spinning, he watches smoke rise single-file from dutch's cigarette.

"do you have to be where he is?" a nod in his direction, then redmon's.

[choicescreen]

harry grins, easy and light, all teeth. it is easy to see how comfortable his face is with that expression.

"that's why you dunk 'em in milk, pal."

and trevor regrets it already, red in the face. he takes a cookie just to stuff it in his mouth, avoid any follow-ups where he might try to rectify.

they are dry. crumbles all over the front of his sweather.

"fank you."

[choicescreen]

"they're—" redmon starts, but his first work takes the floor in a way he cannot deny makes him feel relieved.

"we're carted off soon as the boss here sends the final draft off to be published." the air around dutch is hazy with smoke. the green lamp on the table beside him adds a touch of chiaroscuro. "'til then, we're rubbing elbows with each other."

the author swallows, nods, giggles nervously. the last person who ever saw his characters was slyvia, and she has been dead for coming up on a decade. that's why there hasn't been any new hunter novels in the drugstores and airports.

"yes, dutch, thank you for that... enlightning—explanation for our friend. couldn't have said it better myself." he wrings his dry, aged hands. "since i have a couple drafts going for each series i write... it gets. crowded here, to say the least. would you like some—tea, coffee? water? i bet you'd like some water. let me get you some water."

trevor feels like someone's stuck him under a heat lamp. someone's got him pinned to the setting board. there's a flash going off on the inside of his eyelids every time he blinks, his own mind attempting to photograph the moment, hitting its shins on every corner in a dark room looking for a remote to pause. think.

what's worse than being seen?

what's a lighter feeling than being recognized?

he gives a short wave to the man in the corner. wants to say something to break the ice, like, love your work, but unsure where to point the praise.

"it's—so they're here, permanently?"

[guttersniper]

—mutt looks out the windshield, then his window, as if looking for fog he must have somehow missed.

sidelong now, like trevor grew an extra head.

"maybe i don't want you driving anymore."

"as opposed to—flooring it into the fog."

it's a beautiful day. sunshine and nerves for no reason. seems it's always following him, even going forty-five in a sixty.

[choicescreen]

"ah! first name basis, i'm flattered." he is off the bench. part of his charm—he isn't like those g.i. or silent generation judges. he's youthful!

he nudges a plate of cafeteria cookies closer to trevor. "for your troubles."

trevor takes a seat like he's expecting to spontaneously combust.

"good to see you again." a loaded pause, gnashing teeth. "harry."