#yellow rose embalmer replies

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

This was not what he expected. People tend to return that particular gesture. But... even if he didn't understand why, he couldn't stop himself from falling apart, just a little, as bright yellow petals caught his eye. An all too familiar flower, one that he's given many times before, and one that those closest to him have received. His voice struggles to say the words "Thank you", and it comes out strained through tight vocal cords when he does, but he cannot hide his body demonstrating just how near to his heart this has landed.

He knows it's the first time they've met. He's sure there's no possible way the man beside him could have known how much this meant to him, how present the flower has been in his life, how it winds its way into him for better and worse. And yet, he smiles under the mask, evidence within the crinkling in his eyes. His heart picks up its pace (ah, that sneaky reminder he's alive...), hands careful in their hold upon the flower, as if afraid to damage it in any way.

Carefully, he sets it down beside him, mentally noting where the thorns are for when he picks it back up. He could stand to respond, couldn't he?

Reading over, he pauses, twirling his pencil in his hand (or, more accurately, attempting to, the motion being more akin to fits and starts rather than smooth motions across his knuckles) as his stomach churns and tightens and sinks all at once. The purpose... that is a difficult question. After all, he hasn't had to write this way before. And... raw thoughts, those uncooked, those that had no editing or backtracking. If he didn't filter himself... oh god. He would surely be left for dead. He would have been long ago. It was only because Jerry taught him the right ways to keep himself upright. Yes, that must be it. That was how he survived this long.

Finally, he writes, hand tense, gripping the pencil noticeably too tight. [I imagine it would be easier in some ways to write down whatever comes to mind. Though... I fear such things are unpalatable at best for many people. I would hate to put you through having to read such things, and... this may be selfish, but I do not want to say something that makes you leave. At least with rules, I know a fraction of what might be wanted from me.]

[All that aside... I've never actually written like this before, letting my thoughts out all at once. I do not know if I am afraid of what happens if I do not keep myself up to standard, or if these nerves are a consequence of not knowing how to talk about all this. I... hardly know my feelings, so I hope this suffices.]

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[whispering-brushes]

About The Blog: This is an ask and rp blog for Edgar Valden, the Painter! (RP leaning, but I can do quick asks every so often!) Posts will mostly be written responses, but occasionally I may do drawings depending on the interaction/question!

Rules: NSFW asks will be responded to in text only, and heavily NSFW topics/discussions will be kept to DMs. All posts of this variety will be tagged. (Writer is an adult!) I will only engage in NSFW related RP with those over 18. I will touch on darker themes, as I feel it's important to be conscious of such things when writing these characters and their experiences. These will be tagged to the best of my ability. Hate mail is not welcome. It will not be replied to. I am a multishipper, both in terms of being willing to write multiple relationships and in terms of having multiple characters I enjoy picturing with any given character! I have preferences and leanings, but I am more than willing to discuss these. Feel free to reach out in DMs! (Edgar also has a lot of walls up in general, so I doubt he'd be quick to have any ships.)

About The Character: Edgar Valden, the Painter 21 yrs old 5'5" (168cm) Has a lot of difficulty with trusting others, especially if he is complimented enough/hit with enough concentrated flattery. He knows how often it's insincere, and it takes him a good while to let those walls down, even if the words are meant from the heart. In regards to this, vague compliments especially set him on edge. Does not like being touched by surprise. It will cause a fight or flight response, and a very very tense painter. Truly loves the world around him, and sees so much worth capturing in the smallest details, in how the seasons shift and how the times of day and year create new ways of light dancing across surfaces, in how looking from another angle can create a whole new impression. It is simply a matter that the humans around him do not see things the same way, and he has given up on trying to explain or share his worldview, if they refuse to listen. As an addition: Will just get up and leave if he concludes that things are going nowhere, that he is being locked out of anything meaningful, that he is not being listened to or understood as a human, that he is only being seen for his status and his Valden name. He's gone no contact once before (with his father), he will do it again. Speaks very bluntly, often to the point of rudeness. He believes it's safer to act in a way that makes people not want to engage with him, even if he does want to have someone who will listen and understand the way he sees things. Is not happy with the fact that he killed Sarai, but believes that with how things were going, there was no other way that it all could have ended. Prone to lashing out when he feels cornered, and unfortunately he can be brought to that state of fear much more easily than he would like. When he does trust someone, he cares immensely about them, and will not let their troubles go unattended. He knows what neglect can do (it killed his mom and sister), and he refuses to hurt someone like that. This can manifest into being overbearing, of course.

About The Writer: Main blog is @snowsirenarts Snow, she/her, 20+ I am autistic and struggle to pick up on certain things! If I whiff the intended meaning, feel free to let me know! (I am lucky to be writing someone who shares similar struggles with socializing in the world, but I know that any communication form and any way people want to say this or that thing can be confusing for one or both parties, and/or we think the same thing in different ways!) I also write Aesop Carl, the Embalmer, on @yellow-rose-embalmer

[umbra-by-jacqui-natla]

Chapter Thirteen

The yellow goo traveled from one container to another where a white rabbit stood at the corner, watching blankly with its red eyes. The goo let out a small snarl when slowly approaching the rabbit.

"Test Thirty-six," Dora said as she clicked on the keyboards. She looked at the screen where a three-dimensional diagram of the rabbit was shown. "Biological interactions between two different organisms. These creatures need to bond with a respiratory host to survive for any amount of time in an oxygen-rich environment."

"Well, why are all these hosts showing this hyper-acute rejection?" Drake asked.

"That's what we're trying to find out."

The computer beeped and Dora looked at the screen. The yellow substance emerged on the rabbit with a couple of red warnings surrounding the rodent.

"The bonding process is starting."

Soon, the yellow goo, with its low grumbles, emerged into the rabbit; the computer chimed green. Dora smiled at the result.

"It's equalizing."

Drake laughed, amazed by the result. "But why? Why this rabbit?"

"It's similar to an organ transplant."

"Huh. Where the donor and recipient must be an exact match?"

"That's correct," she confirmed.

"Okay," Drake replied. "So wait, think about it. If we do achieve symbiosis, they should be able to survive here, but also we would be able to survive there."

" 'We' ?" Dora chuckled softly.

"Begin human trials," he demanded.

"Oh, it's way too soon to even begin to think about something like—."

"Dr. Skirth, you're at the forefront of a scientific breakthrough. I need you to hold your nerve. All right?"

"I understand, but it's an ethical question."

"Think of future generations. Think of your kids." Drake's voice turned softer and dangerously close to a whisper. "Hey, how are your kids?"

Dora steadied her breath and tried to calm the panic. A cold wave embalmed her as the hairs rose on the back of her neck and her mouth ran dry. A feeling of dread crept up from the pit of her stomach. Who knew what Carlton Drake was capable of? Conflicted, Dora nodded.

"Let's begin human trials," she managed to say despite her dry mouth.

"Good work," Drake said with a pleasing smile and walked away.

It took Drake an hour to get his employees— including Estelle — together in the secret room at the Life Foundation. Estelle stood among them at the center, looking at her boss, Dora, and the large glass walls with an empty room. She looked around her colleagues, wondering what was going on. Why did Drake call everyone to come to the secret room?

"Thank you all for bringing us to this moment," Drake declared to his scientists. "Our names will be spoken long after we are dust. History starts now. This is day one. This is first contact. Let's get to work."

Estelle heard murmurings from other scientists, clearly curious about what will happen. But she didn't feel this excitement that most scientists were feeling. Instead, she felt this rush of energy as if something crept up behind her. The glass door opened, hissing, and two male scientists led a scared man into the isolated room. He was wearing white with messy hair and his eyes sunken as if he had never slept in his entire life. He thought he heard a low snarl in the room. Then, he spotted something odd. He saw a black goo swirling in the container.

"Establishing subject baseline," an automated female voice said in the room. "All vital signs are normal."

The man saw the scientists and Drake looking on at him; he walked towards the glass wall and pressed his hands and face to it. He shakily took a breath as he stumbled back. Estelle pondered why this man was brought in.

"Put me through," Drake instructed Dr. Collins, one of his scientists, and a button clicked. He folded his arms and stood in front. "There's no need to be frightened, Isaac. There's no need."

The man, Isaac, swayed his body slightly while standing. He glanced around the room and looked at the ground.

"Isaac," Drake repeated the man's name. "You know that's a biblical name?"

"Y-Y-Yes, sir," Isaac replied.

Estelle tilted her head after her boss said it was a biblical name. She expected that this was the sort of thing Carrie would ask.

"God said to Abraham, 'Give me your son, show me you are willing to sacrifice the one thing most precious to you,' and Abraham was willing," Drake recited the story.

Estelle bit her lip. Carrie did tell her the story from Abraham and Isaac; Margaret had told her daughter that story numerous times. The Binding, she was told that was the name of the story.

"You know what's always impressed me about that story?" Drake asked and Isaac shook his head. "It isn't Abraham's sacrifice. It's Isaac's."

Estelle imagined Carrie having a rant at him like how much Margaret ranted at the people in Chamberlain. Isaac was saved by God, she would say. God will show kindness to those who believe in him.

"Now, I don't know what kind of God would ask that of someone, but it doesn't change anything for me" her boss resumed. "Isaac is still the hero of this story."

Estelle gave herself a small smile. She imagined Carrie would beg to differ.

"Look around you. Look at the world. What do you see? War, poverty, a planet on the brink of collapse. I would argue that God has abandoned us." Drake walked closer to the glass wall.

God never abandoned us. He's always with us, no matter what trials we are going through.

"He didn't keep his end of the bargain, Isaac, so now it's down to you and me to put this right." He placed his hand on the glass. "And this time, Isaac, we can. We will. This time, I will not abandon us."

"Yes," Isaac let out a trembling whisper and placed his hand against the wall, copying Drake's hand.

Drake turned over to his colleagues. "Open it," he instructed him, and the container door in the other room opened, trilling, and the black goo wobbled, snarling.

"What the hell is that?" Isaac said as it crawled towards him. Fear became a tangible, living force that crept over him like some hungry beast, immobilizing him; his brain, holding him captive.

"What? No, what..." He took two small steps backward. Terror washed over him, raising the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He turned around and began hitting the wall, begging to be released. "Please let me... No. Oh, please, please, please!"

Estelle wanted to break the glass so he could get out, but she knew she could lose her job. She wished Carrie was there to break that glass with her mind.

Isaac turned around and the goo grabbed his leg. He whimpered as the goo crawled up him. Isaac looked up at the ceilings, hoping that all of it was just a nightmare. A one-long horror nightmare. The goo formed a tendril out of its back and moved closer to his face as if it was looking at his frightened eyes. Isaac still whimpered at the ceiling, the goo snarling. Then, the goo emerged into his body, making Isaac whimper even louder. He looked down and the goo was gone, nowhere to be seen.

The machine beeped. "His vitals are holding steady," Collins told the team.

"Where the hell did it go?" Isaac asked worriedly under his breath.

"Incredible."

"Where did it go?"

Estelle began to wonder the same thing as Isaac. She saw the goo going inside him but where was it actually going? His brain? His lungs? His stomach? What about his intestines? Was the goo in there? Then, she began to wonder how long this had been going on. How long did Dr. Drake have this black mysterious goo for? She remembered her conversation with Carrie six months ago.

"Have you heard of the K-Kl...? It's spelled K-L-Y-N-T-A-R. Have you heard of it?"

"No, sorry. Don't know what you're talking about."

She let out a small gasp. How did Carrie know that word? Could it be what the goo was? If so, how the hell did she know about it? Did Carrie know about this goo creature thing? Estelle gently shook her head and resumed her focus on the experiment.

"Where is it?" She heard a whisper from Isaac, who was chuckling.

Then, a bone snapped. The computer rapidly beeped and it glowed red. Isaac's neck bent to the side and his left arm stretched out, his hand and wrist circling. His skin started bubbling as if someone dropped acid on a piece of paper. His back arched back and he panted fearfully. The goo started to attack the host's body, the liquid sloshing inside him. The scientists - and Estelle - watched on in complete horror as Isaac grunted and yelled at his unbearable pain. His body felt like it was rapidly eating itself up. His bones - arms, legs, ribcage - began to crack, making the host scream in agony. Estelle hadn't noticed the goose bumps creeping on her arms until now. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to flee and get help, but she remained frozen. Her heart began to hammer against her chest. Fear might be an understatement for her. It was like watching a horror film but Estelle knew this wasn't just a horror film. This was a horror experiment. Isaac collapsed onto his knees and fell, his body shaking like a person going into a seizure. Then, he began to choke.

"We need to do something," Estelle finally spoke up but no one seemed to hear her. The scientists froze in fear. They just watched on helplessly. Estelle walked forward to Drake. "Sir, he's going to die if we don't stop it."

Drake didn't react. He didn't even respond to her demand. He stood still, watching Isaac seizuring. Then, the goo left his body; Isaac lay still on the floor, his arms and legs bent in an unnatural position. The goo released its low snarl and jumped onto the glass, a loud thud made a few scientists jump but Drake didn't jump.

"Bring in the next volunteer," Drake coldly instructed and a pale female walked in.

Her dark hair was a lot messier than Isaac's hair. She was wearing the same white clothes as he did. Her light brown eyes caught sight of the dead body and let out a frightened gasp.

"It's okay, Maria," Drake immediately spoke, sounding assuring. "It's not going to happen to you."

Two realizations hit Estelle. She heard about the homeless being taken off the streets recently. And Carrie had a homeless friend named Maria.

***

The steel-like goo hopped from one host to another. Some of them died in gruesome ways. Finding a good host for itself wasn't an easy task. Through the months, it was bonded to an elderly Malaysian woman and traveled across Malaysia until they arrived in Hong Kong. They survived on brains and brains alone. And it felt the woman dying. It needed to find a new host to get to the Life Foundation.

Then, they spotted a little girl with her mother. She had blonde hair with two red bows on top of her head. She wore a black dress with white polka dots with a white blouse underneath her dress. She told her mother that she'll go to the toilet and her mother told her to come straight back to her as soon as possible. She skipped to the girl's toilet, holding a tiny rabbit toy in her hand.

They followed her to the toilet.

Link to Chapter Fourteen

[libidomechanica]

Distinguishes with trees be blest

Take back to be scorn the Spring!     Caught and sent on the Sea that a calenture high, or rolling,     under then sinks inward,

and fast it long ypent. Only     to deck, her own no whit behind. One touch’d away—but     this wave the Vial next

resources of yours like to him     it was the matin lamp in sight from those deny who would     I meet last night, he view,

are so stammer a horses. Whose     tears like Roses of love like you, my Julia lately seeking     with the David! Thou

gav’st me learn to lie; he taxing     roses and Despair? The quiver on his son, the rest, sate     hath the snow than the Baron’s

Cheeks a bidden rings. The gift     when I’m with you do any thee am ouerthrow, and daisy,     salvia lyrata

… oh goodbye to spend ye. Who     hath the new stronger pause followed me. Of Juan’s candlesticks     burns: it cannot be kindling

stars do not blue, as with     tormentine of inclementine of inclementing looks the     spreadiness, and for long

had place, and all hear and recall     the nice yellow graceful as Dian, when hey, for a lass     wi’ me? An Arke a Taper

o’er the heavy, yet unexpress’d;     and never known world’s wrack and soul are mutual pity     then ye Spirits, and

answer the Hilt, catch and horse I     look less absolves our are mine eyes or cries, and boldly he,     for all the Travesera

de Grace replied, she is soul.     Beyond, don Juan’s mind than foreign thy soft illustrations     at all its flaming worn

like a rat or This, or Assignation     with keeping. Black leather or seen, And the perhaps—     on the sky retired, and

mov’d trick’d in vain her side, faints their     busy on a straight mine own: I may be his spectral bridegroom     who had been share; while

were no one, that blowes did the     Nymph, to the lost, disports in the same men of her Cheeks abroad;     and little head and

Evil. Now think, because of the     Horse of Honour, or similar remove, for teares dead     Dad kept sound of the sacred

Rites of liquid Air, and save,     i’m half full—already familiar dust I staid feet, and     Sweetheart of Yúsuf. For

what you sung; all day like a visit     our cold, he went towers, easily: Once one tends that     may I do not blushes,

and Halberds in nature, laugh his     couch; he met me, beaming gleams, and grin at a frown the more     explain road, which is white-

blossom in the mistaking Wits     again! The same men of sweet, but seldom pay there’s soft     embalmer of a throng.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

Aesop had only just returned to his room and started collecting himself, when he hears that he has company. He'd already had a discussion with Victor earlier about his other self. He'd kept trying to ignore those glimpses in the corner of his eye that disappeared before he could make out much more than the stature and vague colors of the one who so rapidly fled from his sight. The few times he could see closer, he could tell that this other man was himself, but even so, approaching the person he could be was more than a little difficult. How could this be him, after all?

His footsteps are hurried, as he can't bear to make the visitor wait, can't stand testing patience at a time like this. But there Victor is, right in front of him. In all honesty, Aesop looks rather dumbfounded. Could he have read the letter already? No, absolutely not that fast... right? But then again, someone like Victor surely would not ignore his writings. Not on purpose, anyway. A couple fast blinks later, and the embalmer speaks, in a voice that tries and fails to support itself. "...Hello, Mr. Grantz."

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

This letter is kept simple in its presentation, though with the gold seal pressed onto a light grey envelope, with handwriting that clearly shows the nerves of its writer, it does not go entirely unembellished.

It's early, when the embalmer leaves to drop the letter off at Victor's door. Truthfully, he couldn't bear to wait too long into the day, but too early would feel... odd, wouldn't it? He can't just make it obvious that he's been worrying all night about this, even if the bags under his eyes and the stumble in his step make it painfully clear. So, once light has trickled in through the windows for enough time that a majority of the manor seems to be awake, he makes his delivery, checking behind him before leaving for his own room, wishing he could melt into the shadows, not a trace of himself at risk of being seen.

To Mr. Grantz:

Christmas is upon us, and having had to learn a few things of what it represents... I cannot help but wonder what mortals like us are supposed to take from it all. The birth of someone who does so much for others' good, even at their own expense...

That sounds a lot like someone I know, now that I think about it. Someone with steps a little too regular. Someone with eyes that mine rarely meet, but which shine in the most beautiful way. Someone who sees me as worth treasuring... worth looking up to. I could not be luckier to know you, and if others do not see the same, you can at least be assured that I always will. (I deal in eternity and permanence, when I say 'always', trust me, I mean it.)

I truly hope you have a happy birthday, and that you can be recognized for the kind man you are.

A. Carl

Victor is always busy in the days before his birthday. Despite the protests from the other manor residents, he insists on taking presents and cards to their proper destinations. As is his job. But the agreement, so that he is not dragged back to bed and forced to take days off, is that he NEEDS to take a break for his birthday.

This has left him feeling particularly awkward. It's only the (early, for everyone but him) morning, and yet he's half bored out of his mind, half anxious to be on his feet.

He'd talked to Aesop earlier, in fact! It was mostly to distract himself, although he really did need to get around to explaining the whole "I've been talking to you but it's hunter you and maybe you two should have a play date or something" situation.

He'd only been in his room for a few minutes before the letter fell through the door. It was much too quickly delivered for it to be about that situation, but it was definitely the type of wax Aesop liked to use, so he opens it immediately instead of putting it on the pile he'll read himself to sleep with.

And oh, what a letter it is! What starts as an Aesop-typical philosophical conundrum very quickly becomes flattering, worry derailed at the thought of him. (Of him!) Victor feels himself flush, not that he cares.

But there is a problem. How on earth is he supposed to thank him?

It's a birthday wish, a very... Situational type of encouragement. Would it be considered odd to reciprocate it? Abnormal? God forbid, rude? Seen as a rejection, especially to a man with a self worth so fragile as Aesop's?

He doesn't realise he's pacing until Wick snaps him out of it. Still, he taps his feet, trying to think of an answer to his conundrum.

Mr Carl receives absolutely no warning before Victor is at his door. How long has it been since the letter was sent? Five, ten minutes? Victor is quite a fast reader...

It seems Victor Grantz is going to initiate conversation twice today. This may be a world first.

[bronze-bell]

Aesop had moved the hat in the meantime, onto the nightstand, to obstruct Victor as little as possible. It wasn't immediately obvious to Frederick that Victor's vision had grown so blurry, but the visible signs of relaxation were telling of at least something. As Victor curled up, two hands rested on Victor's head, a reassurance as both others waited for the postman's eyes to close. Even if the two weren't physically here the next morning, hopefully the hazy memory of the night would be some comfort. Hopefully the knowledge of having another to confide in would help.

A wave of stillness washed over the group, waiting as Victor's breathing slowed and both Aesop and Frederick unsure if they should move until they knew Victor was fully asleep. Once the two slowly moved their hands away, the two came across some conundrums. For one, they had to get out, and as Frederick knew, that door was not locked in the slightest right now. And if either of them locked it from the inside, they'd be here all night. Aesop held a finger up, as if telling Frederick to wait, before reaching into the bag and removing one of the several door keys. A gesture made towards the letterbox into Victor's room told Frederick the plan, and he would whisper the other locations that he noticed, which he was very glad Aesop was in charge of taking. Even as he noticed Aesop glide his hand far too easily to take the keys Victor kept on his person, watched the hesitation for just a few seconds before removal, an expression of concern in the embalmer's brows.

Once the two had checked that they had as many keys as locks, the two had to fumble with each one to figure out which one would go where, sending each key into the letterbox with a soft metallic sound once it had successfully done its job. It was like some odd reverse robbery. Finally, all the keys were used, all the locks turned. Upon confirming a second time that they left no key behind, the two placed themselves at a distance, Frederick asking a hushed, "...So how much do you... know?"

"I can't say I know any reasons for it all, but... a few things." Aesop replied, trying to run over what he had seen and how it might connect to Victor's behavior as of just now. "He's scared of being seen as... imperfect, isn't he? Not to mention just how much I imagine he's seen..."

Frederick had to do a double take hearing that last sentence. His voice turned resigned, worried. "...you have no idea how correct you are." A pause, as he wondered how much he could disclose, while saying as little as possible at the same time. "I... can't say how, for his sake, but... if or when you do find out, don't tell a soul. For his sake more than yours."

...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Resting atop the keys the following morning is a letter, gray paper with a simple border, a yellow wax seal depicting a rose holding the letter shut. The handwriting is in a careful hand, the script written as if it were meant for this page with how it flows.)

To Victor Grantz:

I hope my appearance last night was not too stressful. I had my own late night duties, and happened to pass by. I did... freeze, when Frederick noticed me. With what was happening, I couldn't help but get somewhat curious. But we all know what that does to the cat, now, don't we?

As for the keys... we didn't know how else to make sure your door was locked through the night. Frederick seemed particularly concerned about this matter. I never got around to asking him why he found this matter so important, but with how many locks you have, maybe that has something to do with it. (Did we get them all?)

Frederick is... wary of telling me exactly what he's heard, but I've been informed you two have been in correspondence for a while. If last night was anything to go by, he's treating you with quite the care. I... aspire wish to do the same.

A. Carl

P.S. Those scars tell stories, I imagine. Perhaps those best kept to the grave.

Victor hadn't moved from his bed for quite a while after waking up, attempts to go back to dreaming thoroughly ruined by having to struggle against his own internal clock screaming at him to just wake up and start working already! His answer to that was no, initially, and he knew that the letters would get delivered by the manor's strangeness if he was not there for them, but the routine urge eventually got the best of him. As it always has, as it always will.

This, in turn, meant that he did not notice the letter until the window for being horribly unprofessionally late with his delivery must have been and gone hours ago. He nearly dives for it, not wanting to waste even more time, but the blood rushing from his head after snapping upright makes him really reconsider the sharp movement.

Instead, he walks over to it with cheerful, practiced steps to protect a facade that collapses immediately upon registering the fact that he has in fact been sent the letter, instead of it being some misplaced mail. Somehow, his late response now feels even worse.

Pocketing the keys left under the envelope in all the right slots of his outfit (though he should probably change their locations soon), he walks back to his bed with a more genuine rush of excitement, delicately opening the envelope despite his hands starting to shake from the pressure of the fact this might have some... Harsher words in store for him.

His sleepy, misplaced hope goes strangely unpunished, however, and he finds himself staring at the words slightly awestruck as they sink into his brain. He'll surely process it all in a moment, but first and foremost the letter is pretty.

It would be hard to even describe to someone who hasn't seen hundreds of them, but there's a certain warmth within the writing itself that shines through only with a poet's hand, or a loved one's, or apparently those belonging to Aesop Carl. The thing that has him so caught up in it though, is that it's all for him. All for his greedy eyes, and racing mind, and melting heart.

He wipes his eyes to stop his oncoming tears that threaten to ruin the paper, and wastes absolutely no time with his response.

[Dearest Aesop Carl,

It was quite honestly lovely to see you last night. It did startle me a little at the time, but out of anyone here, I am so glad it was you.

I am curious enough myself, do not worry. It seems that neither of you had taken a look into anything in here while I was asleep, which I am very grateful for. Thank you very much for locking the door for me, yes, all of them are here it would have made me anxious if it was unlocked throughout the night. Although I suppose you probably knew this already, you read me so easily it's like you're inside of my head...

I am glad that Frederick is so eager to keep my secrets, and I hope you will do the same for them. You seem to treat everyone with the utmost delicacy as well, so I do not have any doubts as of now that I can trust you, especially with your final point of the letter. You're so gentle with everything you touch, please take care of me the same w

Please be my friend.

Sincerely, Postman.

Ps: extremely sorry for the late response I got distracted by Wick]

Flowery envelope, soft paper, golden rose seal to match this one, and it's off from his workstation to Aesop's room, directly opposite his own. He presents the letter immediately when Aesop greets him, before walking back into his room and sitting behind the door in anticipation of the next letter delivered directly into his heart.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

The sound of a piece of paper next to his ear alerts Aesop, though it is not until it makes contact with him that he finally looks up, finally uncovers and opens his eyes. Two souls in monochrome, even as Aesop's eyes could barely maintain contact. More importantly, the man by his side now appeared distinctly more... human. Even in a monochrome outfit, there was color in his cheeks, at the tips of his fingers, and he knew it was due to blood, due to life within the man before him.

This should not make him nervous. This was how most were. This was what he should expect, right? But... ah, he can't help but fear, as he's learned how the living judge. Even as he'd recently found that to apply to the undead as well, the instincts near the living are much too strong for their own good.

Reading over what had been written for him, he tries to steady himself, slow down his brain's onslaught of what he should prepare to have expected from him. Soon, he writes on the same page, using his case as a makeshift desk. [My name is Aesop Carl. It is also nice to meet you.] As he hands the piece of paper back, he tries to offer a friendly gaze from behind his mask. Slowly, hesitantly, he extends a hand towards Victor, as if offering a handshake. This was what people did, right? This was how introductions worked, he was sure.

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[whispering-brushes]

He couldn't understand why Embrace would think he didn't have to stay, have to listen, have to take just a little bit. "...I came up to you, did I not?" His head tilts, his tone curious, as his eyes drift aside. "It would be... rude of me to not follow through with an offer like that."

A proper introduction, hm? It... feels strange to think about such a thing, but at the same time, Aesop knows it would be rude to walk away at a moment like this. After a moment of silence, a few slow breaths between the two, Aesop nods, closing and covering his eyes. "...Understood." If he is told to look away, he will take no chances. Even if he wonders what he may see, it is not worth what will happen if it is known that he looked, that he betrayed that agreement between the two. A secret should remain buried, right? "You don't need to rush, I'll be here. I can wait until he arrives." He hopes these words can do anything to assure that it is no trouble to him.

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

The quick brushes of touch from the Embrace brushing off the lingering embers (or... well, embers would burn out quicker, what were they?) led to Aesop's eyes fixating on the area of contact for a moment, as he could only replay the sensation, the words accompanying, within his mind. "...Much appreciated." Despite his plan being to keep himself appearing polite and composed, he is very much a flaming wreckage. If it weren't for the mask hiding how he mouths a good few questions to himself, he would be much, much worse off.

Aesop needs at least a few seconds to figure out a reply. Yes, being calm is the goal. However, being called boring as an addition is... troubling to the man, as he feels his breathing pick up its pace. Is he not doing enough? What would make him less so? (Who is he kidding, he was bound to be disapproved of sooner rather than later.) "I truly apologize for... my inability to provide something you wish to see, sir. I... have many thoughts and concerns, yes, but... it is more important that I do what I must. You would understand, right?" Aesop seems to shrink into himself, eyebrows knitting close. "...I am at least glad you believe me to be calm." His grip tightens around the case as he wonders whether that particular wording will be noticed, scrutinized.

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

A very noticeable delay follows the Embrace's question, Aesop hurriedly digging through his case. "Y-yes, I'm all right." To the surprise of absolutely nobody, he is, in fact, short circuiting, but he would rather not say this to someone. The question of "are you all right" has a correct answer, and he has no intention of getting it wrong. Even if it means lying really, really badly due to the nickname surprise. "I... simply prefer to know what my plan is before going in. Not exactly much room for mistakes... I'm sure you understand."

He breathes slowly: in, then out. A gloved hand slips under the bandages, Aesop working to find what he's looking for with careful fingers and all-too-focused eyes. At least, he follows the bandage trail and starts loosening where he can until he feels eye liquid through his gloves, discomfort painfully visible (and easy to feel, his hands tightening at the sensation). He looks back down to the case, finding his scissors for bandage separation, and slips one cold blade underneath, making a slow cut across the bandage before he unwraps the bandages (from the exterior, as he does not want to experience that sensation again). "...Is this to your liking?"

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

The embalmer's stomach drops as he's approached closely, as a voice is right beside his ear, as he realizes his flimsy excuse for an act has failed (and who knows for how long?). He had too many thoughts running through, his body trembled with the realization that he was caught, that he was seen far too closely. But he didn't dare step back. That would only put him in a worse situation. Just let it all happen and it'll be over soon.

Aesop huffs out slightly, tapping a toe behind him. "I... do not carry everything in here, sir. Writing implements are generally kept where they will not stain my supplies or be at risk of any reservoir explosions... cleaning the entire case and replacing everything is not how I wish to spend my afternoon." One slow head shake later, he opens the case, followed by hemming and hawing to find the right compartment out of many, many pockets, before retrieving a pencil. "I know the graphite likely won't do anything serious, but... everything needs to be well-contained."

Nonetheless, after a bit of struggling to find a writing angle for the paper that wouldn't cause risk of tearing the thing, he proceeded to write. "I suppose it does not help that I do not know who the 'wrong people' are. Anyone could be, so best to be cautious around everyone. Besides, if I act out of turn... it only makes matters worse. In the short and long term."

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

Aesop does not so much dodge the droplets that he is far too close to for comfort (nor does he ignore how they feel... very, very warm... or, more accurately, are eating at the fabric of his gloves), as he does... rotate to the side in a clumsy manner. Usually, he is able to take things slow, focus on fine details, take as long as he needs. A task that proves much more difficult when one's hand feels like it is making direct contact with a burning stovetop. (...If he was not sure beforehand that he did not want to lick the area, he is even more sure now. Unsanitary, humiliating, and lacking in regard for personal safety or well-being? Please, no.)

At least his aid is met with approval (even if with names that... do not feel like they should be meant for him). He can let out a breath for that, though he does not exactly take up much space, even so. Aesop shifts his weight between his feet as he remembers the proper script for these kinds of interactions. "...Any time, sir. If you need anything more, feel free to ask."

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

In the embalmer's mind, the invitation reads more as a demand, and so he complies, uneasy, rigid steps as his body takes up as little space as possible, as he sits down, making sure not to make any accidental contact. Spinning the pencil in his hand for a moment as he thinks, he does not quite have the words. "...I'm sure we would have come to an impossible disagreement sooner or later, anyway. Maybe it's better that a conversation never starts." It's safer, to be sure. But isolation is a painful thing, a suffocating thing, even as Aesop has gotten used to the way it squeezes his lungs.

Pulling his posture up, up, he reminds himself his needs come second to those of whoever he talks to. It does not stop his eyes from darting from place to place, but he knows he came here to be there for the Embrace, and how unfair it is that the tables have turned. A quick scrawl on the paper, as Aesop barely looks at what he writes. "I sincerely apologize for making you do all this, sir. Really, you don't have to."

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

"...mmmgh." Aesop sounds personally offended by the concept. "Keeping that hidden can help... goodness knows people can make quite the comments." He shudders.

Aesop gives a slow... is it a nod, or a bow? — something, his hands folded in front of him as he holds his case. "Of course. A bandage sitting too long, even set properly, leads to... issues. I do not imagine you want to have that area sitting in more... eye liquid than necessary." It's an audible hesitation, one that speaks to not knowing exactly what said liquid is and yet not wanting to speak incorrectly of it. Or indiscreetly. Especially not indiscreetly.

"Of course, I can get that for you." Aesop's eyes search for where to start on dealing with the bandage removal process, since he'd rather look and know what he's aiming to do before he starts touching someone's face. The issue is, due to his studying, his expression turns almost stone-like.

"Oh... Oh dear. I... do not know quite how that feels on your end, but if you need anything for it, I am more than happy to provide. I'm... not a proper doctor, or anything, but... I have some cleaning materials and bandages that I carry with me."

"...I won't ask what happened with your eye, if that's any concern. You don't need to put everything on display to a man you just met, after all."

@yellow-rose-embalmer

Besides, even if you were a doctor, I doubt you could help me. As for my eye, well, it's quite simple. I could tell you about it as long as you don't, uh, want to lick it.