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Luxu reads the letter that evening.
It’s strange to have someone make correspondence with him that wasn’t a part of his vessel’s former life. He’s gotten a lot more social over the years – but he’s also learned to keep folks more or less at arm’s length, ‘specially after the flood. Easier when they go, that way. Nothing but mindless distractions to keep the waiting from getting too totally boring.
That was when he’d learned to make the hard sacrifices, the flood. That time around, the whole schmaltzy ballroom had gone under. Everything after that had been a snap choice – jump to safety, take an offered hand, throw one more casualty on top of all the capsized, lifeless bodies no doubt accumulating alongside the water. Take a hand, take a vessel. Simple as.
Dear Theodore, the letter begins.
I would say dearest Theodore, as my colleagues might, but that wouldn’t be to your airs, would it? How have you been? I have yet to return from my trip but when I do you will be the first to know. I have, after all – and do not make a single comment on this, Theodore, as I know you’d very much like to – few others I could tell.
The letter had arrived a couple weeks back. He’s probably close to the city by now, Luxu figures – maybe even in the city. It’s an up n’ comer, the city is, more modern than a lot of the worlds he’s bummed in. His house is this time around, too – he’s lucky to have nabbed a fancy one without too much hassle. The old Theo was one hell of a recluse.
That said, then – this trip is woefully boring. I have begun my manuscript in earnest now, no thanks to the eons upon eons of identical forests and nowhere towns that make up our excursion’s backdrop. You’d be bored to tears by it. I haven’t even seen a sign of that blade you’re so set on, either, nor any sort of similar oddity you’d no doubt be keen on. If it is as sought after as you say it is, I can only imagine it wouldn’t be left out in the middle of nowhere for any eccentric writer passing through to give a go.
Luxu’s interest in magical oddities goes about as far as he can stick ‘em up his own ass, but having a second pair of eyes around to watch out for No Name’s helpful. Edward’s the kinda guy to take Luxu’s quirks and run with ‘em – it’s a writer thing, he figures, not that he’s known many – and it’s convenient to have a guy around to fill in the gaps. If the guy says ‘Theodore’’s particular interest in No Name’s deal is a sign of some kinda broader rich-guy eccentricity, Luxu’ll play along. So’s how it goes when you’re in the bodysnatching biz.
But to set aside my sour airs – you, my lucky friend, have been the match that’s struck upon my inspiration. I was supposed to find my spark out here, but instead I have found it in my ruminations on what is waiting for me back home. More specifically – on the matter of your situation.
I suppose you’ll get a big head over that. I can’t blame you. I would. Getting to make your mark upon history without so much as lifting a finger. Leaving me to do all the dirty work – just like you, isn’t it? But so it goes. You have your house and money and I have my work. And I do not mind that, particularly, because unlike you, I happen to enjoy work.
But think of it, Theodore! The tale of a recluse come out of hiding, reborn. What might make such a thing come to be? A desire for reinvention? Some miracle of magic? A newfound bout of confidence? To finally live before life slips away? Surely you won’t tell me.
The fact is that Luxu’s still working out a lotta the kinks. It’s been a good – what, three, four hundred years now? – but there’ll always be those, and he’s still got a good chunk more centuries left to figure ‘em out. Picking recluses is still the best bet he’s got, and if Edward’s got reasons enough to write off the miraculous transformation, he’s sure most other people can too. Ed’s come up with a world’s worth of ways to throw a veil further over the truth, and he doesn’t even know it.
Ed’s right – he’s never gonna learn it.
So I’ll tell the story myself. A version of it, in any case.
The thunder rolls outside. It’s loud enough that Luxu nearly misses the knock that accompanies it.
Yours sincerely, Edward.
Standing at the door, drenched in rain up to his round lil’ spectacles, is Edward. Edward is – even without the rain – a drenched cat of a man. But right now, the description’s more fitting than ever, the points of his dark hair dripping rainwater onto the ground beside him. His prim clothes are soaked through, too, and he’s wringing the end of his coat out with his hands, a box tucked underneath one arm. His brow is knitted in annoyance – “Theodore,” he nods, a sharp little gesture that matches the sharp little rest of him.
All in all, he hasn’t gotten any less haughty since the last time Luxu’d seen him – which ain’t a surprise, really.
“He–hey, Ed, long time no see,” Luxu drawls, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. Theodore’s bod isn’t much taller than Edward’s, doesn’t loom over the fella, but Luxu doesn’t mind and hasn’t minded since he’d snagged him. Back at the start, he used to go for the macho guys, but nowadays he finds he likes being small and wiry, able to hang around in the shadows; stalking the night like a kind of cat himself. He knows how to wear a body good enough now to have a presence in any one of ‘em. Knows how to work a room. “Think you got the wrong digs, though. These are mine.”
“Your ‘digs’ are nicer than I could ever hope for,” Edward says, all matter-of-fact. “Nice to weather a storm in. And good for inspiration. I am also, thank you very much, not going to walk home in this.”
“Can’t argue with that.” Luxu shrugs, spinning on his heel with the gesture. Edward pushes past him in a huff, prancing briskly across the foyer and leaving a trail of rainwater in his wake.
The digs in question are real nice indeed. Fancy house, like he’d said – the foyer’s tall and grand and even has a chandelier up top. Its warm light reflects off of every shiny little detail of the architecture, making the place look every bit a respite from the unforgiving storm. The living room’s decked out with a bunch of soft chairs, a couch – even a ‘cheese lounge’, the height of snazziness, with little golden patterns woven up and down the side. There used to be a big portrait of the old Theo over the mantle, too, but Luxu’s long since gotten rid of it. In its place, there’s just a conspicuously empty square of wall, whereupon a drunken party guest had once suggested Luxu hang a taxidermied mountain goat’s head.
How ironic – what with No Name’s fancy hilt and all. (You’d be a goat, if we dressed you up like ‘em , someone had said to him a long time ago. Too bad you’re not gonna. Nope – your role comes with a different lil’ number!) At least it’d been a pretty good way to make Theo’s comeback. The party, that is. (Was?)
He’d met Edward there, at any rate. Edward’s decided to flop right down onto the couch, taking a stack of papers out of the box to hold them aloft like a fisherman with their prized catch. “The manuscript!” he declares.
Luxu claps, long n’ slow, as he saunters over to the couch himself and leans against the back of it. “Congratulations,” he says, stretching out the word like taffy over Theo’s raspy voice.
“Are you flattered, Theodore?”
“Oh, sure,” Luxu drawls. “Not every day someone writes a book about me.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself now.” Edward cranes his head back and bops Luxu over the head with the manuscript. Luxu snorts.
“Says who?”
Edward’s brow sinks into a sardonic furrow. “You are spoiled, aren’t you?”
“Can’t help it.”
“Of course,” Edward rolls his eyes – though the sour look on his face rolls right off with ‘em. “Fortunate for me, isn’t it?”
Luxu just hums in response. He closes his eyes and listens, for a sec, to the rain against the high windows. Water hitting glass sounds different, he thinks idly, than water pressing against it. What it doesn’t sound all that different from is the sound of Edward flipping through the pages of his manuscript, no doubt making sure it’s still all in one piece.
It’s been a while since he’s gotten a good moment to breathe. After the flood, he’d been in what the Master might call perpetual motion. He’d hopped from body to body to body in quick succession; from life to life to life; no time to form one identity before slipping into the next one. No Name’d managed to slip outta his watch in the shuffle, too, and that meant he’d been working overtime to try and catch back up with it.
But this is nice, this relative lull in the cycle – and he’s been really needing it. Not gonna last, of course, but he’ll take what he can get. Even the old Theo seemed to be giving him a little break; he hadn’t gotten the luxury of being choosy with James before him, who had been one hell of a fighter, but Theo’d practically welcomed Luxu into his body with open arms. Even gave him a hug on his way out.
It was the first time Luxu hadn’t felt noble for taking a vessel like him. Hadn’t felt a swell of pride at being able to swoop in and fix some poor sad sack’s miserable life. Hadn’t sat up the night after it all, wondering if the theoretical Theo in his mind would forgive him for it. If he’d be thankful.
Nah. It just happened, and then it was over. No point in mourning. Sayonara, Theo.
“Something on your mind?”
“Nah,” Luxu doesn’t miss a beat. He turns over his shoulder to see Edward looking at him with slight concern in his eyes, and reaches over the back of the couch to bop him on the head. Eye for an eye, he jokes to himself smugly. Edward scrunches his brow and smiles wryly as he does, shoulders rising involuntarily. It’s a little gesture, but it gets to Luxu’s subconscious. How’d his body language look if it were changed out for my own? “Glad you’re back,” he carries on, a total nonsequitur. “Been getting boring around here without you.”
Edward straightens himself out, preening over the words. “And your boredom shall only further wane, my friend!” he proclaims, all dramatics. “When I finish this you won’t hear the end of it. The first draft itself, even!”
“Knowing you, you’ll crank that out in a couple days,” Luxu teases, letting his hand flatten out atop Edward’s head. The guy’s hair’s still all soggy, he notes.
“Knowing me, I’ll finish it overnight.” Edward says it like it’s a challenge. His splayed-out body snaps inward, determination in every muscle, before letting it relax again, leaving one hand curled out halfway. “And you’ll read it when it’s done?” he asks, genuine.
“Only ‘cuz you wrote it. I’ve never been much of a reader.”
(In an old clock tower, a young boy sat crouched over a pile of books, eating them up like the candy from the shops of the towns beyond. “We got a lotta rare ones in here, you know,” a man had remarked, amusement in his voice as he’d approached the boy, his shadow long and dark. “You good at keeping all that in your noggin, by any chance?”)
“Why, Theodore,” Edward mock-gasps, holding his half-curled hand to his forehead. “I’m thrilled to be your exception.”
There’s something genuine in those words, too, underneath all the showboating. Luxu knows better than anyone how to sniff that kinda stuff out. In his first couple’a lives, that might’ve gotten to him. But nowadays, he knows it doesn’t much matter. He’s better at using his distractions than they could ever be at using him. Genuine, fake – either way, they’re not gonna last.
It’s a reassuring thought. He’ll be sure to hold on to it.