[Salvio's recoil has put him a few steps back from the bed, and has drawn his blanket half off the bed to be clutched, modestly, to his chest. It makes for a poor shield. It is still better than nothing.]
[A protest, though he does clutch the thin blanket closer to his chest just then. What power do those eyeless eyes have? It is unknown.]
I was not even thinking of, anything, of the sort--it is just, this, is my private, my-- not private, precisely, but my bed, Inqu-- Riftwatch issue, bed, and I did not expect to find such a-- you.
[He lets out a great breath, a sharp and stressed exhale that does little to calm him. And he does not drop the blanket.]
[An entirely involuntary noise. Salvio stumbles back another step. His legs are long enough that this stumble closes the distance between his bed and the empty bed to the right of his. The back of his knees hits the edge of the mattress, and he falls back onto it, clumsy and ungainly, sweeping his blanket the rest of the way off the bed and leaving the Skull entirely bare.
Is his fearful surprise because of the eyes, or the admirer? Well, he had started first when there were suddenly two eyes, so the first part is for the eyes. Now he trembles, staring with great apprehension at the figment in his bed.]
[A nemesis is somehow less terrifying a prospect, and more to be expected. Salvio leaves the blanket where it is all the same, and does not attempt to rise from the peculiar half-curl that he's adapted on the mattress of the other bed.
He considers the unnamed nemesis. And then the Skull.]
I-- well, I-- I would not call you a knick-knack. Myself. [Mostly because that is not a word that Salvio knows. Or is it two words? But anyways, he is telling the truth, there.] I... um, well--I wouldn't.
[By the Maker, the slowness of the turn is worse somehow than any alternative. Like a third horrible moon, showing its face. Salvio's fingers constrict on the blanket.]
The second! The, the latter, of the-- I would not call you a knick-knack!
An... object of some sort, [Salvio hazards, boldly, but deflates immediately after. I do not know. Not precisely. But-- all the more reason that I would not call you anything of the-- anything close, to-- that.
[Shit. Salvio releases some measure of his grip on the blanket again, coaxed to lean forward by the timbre of despair he can hear in this voice.
Is he hearing this voice? Truly, it is hard to say. It seems to enter by way of his ears--so the Skull must be speaking, and he must be hearing what it is speaking, and anything else or more need not be considered. He swallows, hard.]
I suppose I might have the-- the merest-- Well. If you told me.
[None of this is settling the question of how the Skull came to be within his bed in the first place--by whose hand--but that can come in a bit.]
[ Who knows, perhaps the voice is being projected directly into your brain, Sal. Or worse yet, perhaps you're imagining it talking. Have you seen anyone else talking to this blasted thing? Troubling... ]
A USELESS OBJECT, THE SORT OF THING YOU PUT ON A SHELF BECAUSE IT'S NEAT AND THEN YOU FORGET ABOUT IT AND IT SITS THERE FOR YEARS, GATHERING DUST, UNTIL SOMEONE DECIDES IT SERVES NO PURPOSE AND YOU REGIFT IT OR THROW IT IN THE REFUSE PILE!
[ No, it is definitely talking, there are others in the group quarters who glance over when the thing speaks, some proceeding to mutter about cursed objects and some giving Salvio significant looks that hint at them misunderstanding why the skull is in the Seneschal's bed. ]
[All too aware of the eyes of judgement behind him, the murmurs that question his motives, this arrangement, Salvio dives back for his bed. He is being watched, and this has made up his mind, committed him to bridge the gap between him and the Skull.
Only now that he's here, his skin crawls. He is entirely too close.
But... at least he's not imagining the talking. Small comfort. In a low and urgent tone:]
I would not say that of you! Any of it, any of it at all. [He tries to position himself between the Skull and the others in the room, shielding this strange object from their sight. Object? Is he part of the problem?] A, ah, thing, you are not-- Or no more than-- than any other thing. Person. Yes. I am sure-- all things, people, have-- purpose. Of some sort.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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[Salvio's recoil has put him a few steps back from the bed, and has drawn his blanket half off the bed to be clutched, modestly, to his chest. It makes for a poor shield. It is still better than nothing.]
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[ The skull doesn't wave its arms or legs, for it has neither. ]
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[No, wait, the real question--]
You were--placed?
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[ A pause, then: ]
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[A protest, though he does clutch the thin blanket closer to his chest just then. What power do those eyeless eyes have? It is unknown.]
I was not even thinking of, anything, of the sort--it is just, this, is my private, my-- not private, precisely, but my bed, Inqu-- Riftwatch issue, bed, and I did not expect to find such a-- you.
[He lets out a great breath, a sharp and stressed exhale that does little to calm him. And he does not drop the blanket.]
Who-- who placed? Why?
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[ Two cartoonish eyes pop into existence within Skull's sockets at the moment he says eyes, roll exaggeratedly, and then disappear. ]
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[An entirely involuntary noise. Salvio stumbles back another step. His legs are long enough that this stumble closes the distance between his bed and the empty bed to the right of his. The back of his knees hits the edge of the mattress, and he falls back onto it, clumsy and ungainly, sweeping his blanket the rest of the way off the bed and leaving the Skull entirely bare.
Is his fearful surprise because of the eyes, or the admirer? Well, he had started first when there were suddenly two eyes, so the first part is for the eyes. Now he trembles, staring with great apprehension at the figment in his bed.]
I, I-- I do not!
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[ He bobs gently, turning his once again empty sockets to "look" at Salvio. Almost hastily, this addendum: ]
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He considers the unnamed nemesis. And then the Skull.]
I-- well, I-- I would not call you a knick-knack. Myself. [Mostly because that is not a word that Salvio knows. Or is it two words? But anyways, he is telling the truth, there.] I... um, well--I wouldn't.
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I am not.
[Um. He... unclenches the blanket. Somewhat.]
Who-- who is it, that-- that placed you, in such a way?
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Well-- no. I do not-- would not-- Um, that is-- [How about just a simple--] No.
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[ It continues to slowly turn. ]
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[By the Maker, the slowness of the turn is worse somehow than any alternative. Like a third horrible moon, showing its face. Salvio's fingers constrict on the blanket.]
The second! The, the latter, of the-- I would not call you a knick-knack!
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WELL THE JOKE'S ON YOU, SALLY, I DON'T HAVE FEELINGS.
[ A theatrical sniffle would not be out of place with the Skull's tone, but he doesn't want to oversell it. ]
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[Shit. Salvio releases some measure of his grip on the blanket again, coaxed to lean forward by the timbre of despair he can hear in this voice.
Is he hearing this voice? Truly, it is hard to say. It seems to enter by way of his ears--so the Skull must be speaking, and he must be hearing what it is speaking, and anything else or more need not be considered. He swallows, hard.]
I suppose I might have the-- the merest-- Well. If you told me.
[None of this is settling the question of how the Skull came to be within his bed in the first place--by whose hand--but that can come in a bit.]
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[ No, it is definitely talking, there are others in the group quarters who glance over when the thing speaks, some proceeding to mutter about cursed objects and some giving Salvio significant looks that hint at them misunderstanding why the skull is in the Seneschal's bed. ]
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[All too aware of the eyes of judgement behind him, the murmurs that question his motives, this arrangement, Salvio dives back for his bed. He is being watched, and this has made up his mind, committed him to bridge the gap between him and the Skull.
Only now that he's here, his skin crawls. He is entirely too close.
But... at least he's not imagining the talking. Small comfort. In a low and urgent tone:]
I would not say that of you! Any of it, any of it at all. [He tries to position himself between the Skull and the others in the room, shielding this strange object from their sight. Object? Is he part of the problem?] A, ah, thing, you are not-- Or no more than-- than any other thing. Person. Yes. I am sure-- all things, people, have-- purpose. Of some sort.
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[--is his automatic response. He winces slightly at himself.]
I mean-- well, I did mean it. Do, mean it. It is what I believe.
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[ He looks left, looks right, tips in his jar as if leaning conspiratorially. ]
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somewhere, a headless corpse's pants are on fire
at least we know which body belongs to skull now
and someone none the wiser is very confused
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