#yellow rose embalmer replies

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

It's all too sudden, as Aesop watches Glenn freeze, as the embalmer's own posture goes rigid as he doesn't know what to do, but he can't even do so much as reach for the scientist. Then, he watches that little wavering in Glenn's balance, the excuse to leave, and he understands.

Aesop jolts upright, before looking down, his hands held behind his back to keep himself from making any rash moves. "...It certainly would be. For both of us. Rest well, okay?" He doesn't want to take up too much time, but even as he steps aside and away, he still cannot help but stand at attention, waiting, watching to make sure that Glenn has safely made it to his destination before he considers leaving.

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

"Good evening, Mr. Collins. I have heard about your study of memory. I... find it quite fascinating, truly." Aesop pauses, fixing his posture and fussing with one of his gloves. "I am curious what made you choose that to research. Forgive my asking, but... would you say that you had something that you did not want to lose, even if it was no longer 'here'? Or even something you couldn't physically keep in general."

That was… How-? No, no. No need to panic. While his guess was good, it wasn’t spot on. Maybe the two of them simply had some curious overlap in their motivations, that’s all. But it’s better to make sure. After all, what if he did know something? It could be valuable information on his own situation.

The professor extended a hand, politely but intrigued: “Glenn Collins. I do indeed research the human brain with a focus on memory and memory loss. Have we met before? And may I ask what is behind that curiously specific questioning of yours? Any way I can help?”

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

"Hey doll! D'you happen to have a spare glove in that handy box of yours? Just one is fine!"

@the-bloodline-embrace

Aesop may have been caught organizing his box anyway as his eyes narrowed, lips that could not be seen pressed together in focus (he tended to make it a habit so he would not have to do it all at once or wind up with an untenable workload). Even so, he freezes, eyes widening upon hearing the voice behind him, as he slowly looks to confirm that which had quickly grown familiar.

"Ah... hello again. Y-you came at a good time, I was just making sure everything I had stored in here was properly stocked. Let me see..." As the embalmer opens up his kit fully to make sure he can see everything, running a finger down the collection to make sure he was looking in the right place, he reminds himself that he would practice getting used to these names, too. No matter how wrong it felt.

Finally, he fishes out a glove from one of the compartments, handing it over. "Here you go. I... hope this fits you well, Victor." The name slips out before he can stop himself. By the time he notices, he wants almost to fade away, to ask the man before him to forget what just happened. But all that comes out is a weak "...sorry."

[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: Please keep asks and RPs SFW. 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. Is quite aware of the social cues around him and what might be desired, due to his noble status and having to learn all those subtle signs one way or the other. However, if he thinks said social cue is stupid, there is a high chance he will ignore it. He has no attachment to that life anymore, and frankly, he would prefer to say what he means anyway.

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

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

"If I said I tend to as well..." Aesop peeked up, eyes flicking this way and that as he observed where the two were, his hands moving slowly to weave and interlock around Embrace's shoulders, a looser hold, yet still one to ensure he wasn't only supported by the legs. He is not quite ready to flail about like that. "Yes, we are almost there."

He knows he lives a bit out of the way. It's been that way for a long while, and he never actually left Jerry's old house. It works for what a house needs to be, anyway. The functioning parts are all there, his practice gives him just enough of a comfortable living, he does not need more. He certainly does not need more people around, especially not when he knows ever so vaguely the kinds of ways people talk about him as if he is not there, as if he does not hear nor understand them.

Perhaps some spring cleaning may be in order soon. But not yet.

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

Aesop arrives, holding himself upright as ever, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before properly approaching. "...I think enough time has passed." He decides not to mention that it has only been a few days since the last meeting. He also chooses to ignore that he did not fully understand the instructions he was given, to wait until he'd cleared his head somewhat. What he did do, was hand over a letter, carefully folded and sealed, handwriting clearly measured, as if the words were considered before writing them down. "I believe something with as much weight as what you had given me previously warrants a proper response... take as long as you need." Once the paper is taken, Aesop folds his hands in front of him and waits.

[Eternity is a long time to wait, I more than know that. Even if I have not existed within it, it is what I have learned to deal with. I will not pretend to know your situation, I will not pretend I do not wish for you to finally rest, but... not looking for allies, yet not wanting to be alone. It is hard for me to separate friends and allies, but... I suppose someone outside of everything you have would be pleasant.

I have learned of many belief systems, but... I personally struggle to see luck as much of a factor. We have much in common, yes, but... who is to say that is entirely good? I had to pause when you described me as 'disillusioned', but... it makes sense. Regrettably. Perhaps I thought that with how little I had known you and how I had been expected to act around those of your status, everything could be taken away easily. I was also too eager to receive the title of 'friend', with how little I had heard it, even if I knew nothing of what lay within.

I do not know if my head is as clear as you would like, but... I do not wish to make you wait forever. You said eternity is too long to spend alone, after all.]

[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]

[@bronze-bell ✉︎]

They are quiet together, as always. Silent friends. Nobody who could witness it would understand the conversation between them, the muted gestures of fear and trust and hope.

He slips past Aesop as his request for access is given, and he is, once again, greeted by the safe haven (Hopefully.) that he's starting to become used to. The thought makes his heart skip a beat in worry. What if somebody realises he frequents here, and it becomes a target? (And after all the trust he's put in...?)

He can't show this though. It's his "birthday", he needs to be picture perfect. He waves his hand over his face, the practiced motion helping reset himself to default emptiness and smiles.

Victor turns almost a little too sharply when he realises his back is facing the doorway, but it has been closed and latched since he entered.

He can't seem to get his head out of the clouds today...

(continued from here!)

The quiet they share is comforting, in all these ways they don't need words or voices to understand each other. Conversations held within the way they stand, their expressions, it is a language that the two have taken time to learn. Taken time to understand the other and how their motions and gestures show their meanings, and when something is a concern. If Aesop had known he would find a silent friend that he could speak to, and that would return such words to him, he wonders if he would have less of an assumption that he would need all these words and bowed heads.

The postman moves past him, and once he knows the other has entered, Aesop locks the door with a practiced motion. When he turns back towards Victor, the other's expression is back where it usually is, and as he turns in a stilted manner, Aesop tries to hide the smile that creeps up onto his face and becomes visible in his eyes, though a slight hum does escape him. Victor must be worried... but at the same time, these little idiosyncrasies of the postman's movements are one of the many reasons he finds the man so special, so memorable.

As he feels the lump in his throat from the doubt, from the worries his thoughts would be misinterpreted, he looked away anxiously, holding a hand out for Victor, both to gauge the other's feeling through the way the touch did or didn't reach him, and as if to say that he was here, and he had no intention of leaving the postman.

After all, Aesop needed no words to make a promise.

[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]

Victor knocks on the familiar door before going to peek in through the window. He waves enthusiastically, hoping he could catch the attention of its occupant. @the-bloodline-embrace

Aesop definitely feels more able to move, but once he hears the knock (the house is small enough he can catch it from nearly anywhere), he almost freezes. Who would even visit? He had barely started with getting the place into a new order! He couldn't even begin to figure out what he wanted this time, only knowing a few things he didn't! Oh dear...

Luckily, the window gives him a clear view of the visitor, and it is someone he recognizes. Right. Of course he would, now that he knew. This was someone he really hoped he could clean up for, but someone he also hoped would forgive the persistent smell of chemicals that he himself never quite got over, despite living here for so long. Soon enough, he opens the door, waving back, visibly nervous, but no less excited.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

Can I eat the box you always carry around? Pretty pleaseeeee

Aesop pauses, looks down at his box, then back up, holding it protectively to his chest. "...no. There are sharp implements and doses of embalming fluid in here... You will get sick, if you do not die from the many things you cannot digest."

[ask-victor-grantzcampbell]

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

"Merry Christmas and happy birthday, Mr. Grantz. I hope the time you have is filled with joy and peace."

Merry Christmas and thank you! I hope your day is filled with joy and peace as well. Please enjoy some cake.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

Aesop was distinctly not expecting for the cake to be shared with him, as he nearly stumbles back when presented with it. It's not his proudest moment. Still, once he processes what is happening, he slowly moves his hands to take the plate, trying to keep them from shaking. He works in precise movements, why is he struggling with even simple ones? Looking away, the embalmer gives what appears to be somewhere between a nod and a bow, unable to look towards the postman and potentially see the consequences of his own fumbling. "...Thank you as well." It is all he can manage to say, throat constricting before he can think of, let alone speak, any other sentiment he wishes to convey.

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

"Merry Christmas and happy birthday, Mr. Grantz. I hope the time you have is filled with joy and peace."

Merry Christmas and thank you! I hope your day is filled with joy and peace as well. Please enjoy some cake.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

"...Oh. I thought you were talking about someone within the manor. My mistake." The words are rigid in their pacing, but they waver as Aesop continues. He is experiencing several emotions that he does not want to put names to right now. He cannot hide them, even as he buries his face in his hands, even more hidden than it usually is, even as he tightens his arms around himself.

It was blindingly obvious, wasn't it? Of course it was the one person they'd know from the past. Of course it was the person he'd been taking after so desperately. "I— I'm not that dull! I..." His stressed voice gives way to resignation quickly, as he lifts his head up, turning away. "...maybe it is for the best that we discuss something else, yes. I... will refrain from bringing these things up in the future, if that will help."

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

"Ah... Mr. Carl. It's a pleasure to meet another like myself." The incoming Aesop straightens his posture, checking and adjusting his uniform as if he were interviewing for some sort of job. "How has... our mission been going?" There is a notable hesitance, and the shaky eye contact is now entirely averted.

You must be new. Anyone who has bled out in enough matches will know that our mission is meaningless here.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

"Hm. So that is how you see it... the dead as nothing more, nothing less. If I am correct, anyway. Perhaps our goals are more similar than we imagine, both seeking to give the soul a destination through working with the body?" Aesop tilts his head in thought as he drums his fingers upon his thigh. "And yes. We only have so much time before neither of us can do our work. Once the blowflies settle in... it is likely too late."

Aesop needs to pause as he mulls over the question. "...I am not aware of coming from a past life myself, and... if there are other versions of 'me' that exist at the same time, who knows if the soul is alike or different. Though, I only just met the first of these alternate selves, and I imagine a doppelgänger would have known longer." The embalmer looks away, uncertain. "If I can help... I would be honored. I cannot speak for every other version of myself, but... if you would benefit from combining our studies..."

( @yellow-rose-embalmer )

"You... also know how death is essential in this world, a part of life's circle, I see. That said, I personally favor letting the dead rest, and... I know my work doesn't last, that decay comes for everyone in the end. This... must be an issue you have faced at least somewhat, right? I would truly hate to overburden those bodies, and... those trapped souls, as well."

"Not recognizing how important death is will only bring folly and pain to those ignorant. Though, there is something that has grabbed my interest. You are not the same person as the other embalmer who called out to me, telling me that my actions are disgraceful, yet you share the same face and profession. Strange. With that other man, I have mentioned that I recycle and give trapped souls new meaning and purpose. The dead simply are dead, so I might as well free the true essence of a being and give it a new purpose and body through reanimation. Decay naturally comes for everyone and can hinder necromancy, which is why I purposely go for the freshly deceased. However, I would like to ask. Has your soul been recycled as well? Or are you a doppelganger? Either-or, it seems that I attract embalmers of all sorts. Maybe it will prove useful to me."

[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.

[yellow-rose-embalmer]

In the back of his mind, something was gnawing upon Aesop's brain. Even a 'never mind' could affect him so heavily. Going back on a previous statement. But... what would that be for? The embalmer rubbed a thumb upon the pulse point of his wrist, trying desperately to ignore the growing fear that he'd said something wrong, that he'd made everything worse. [Forgive me for asking, but... that correction on names. Did I say something wrong, for you to change your mind, or did you simply realize something just now? I know this sounds... a certain way. But I would prefer an honest answer. If I knew my own mistakes, I could avoid them in the future, and if it's something in your mind, I can do my best to remember.]

Is Victor... disappointed? Or is he looking away for some other reason, as if not able to commit to the words he wrote? Why? He needs to fix this, whatever it is. He could not adequately speak that name, but... [Call me whatever you wish. I... am not used to speaking informally. If you want me to call you Victor, I will, even if it's difficult. If Mr. Grantz is what you prefer, I will refer to you that way.]

"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.