almost_knightly | Photo album spread out on my bedroom floor...

There was nothing remarkable about the day when Break got up this morning. There was nothing remarkable lying in wait in his bathroom, and nothing remarkable between himself and the kitchen, and nothing remarkable between the kitchen and the library.

The library, however, held something new today. It was lurking on the bottom shelf, easily missed but for Break's habit of crawling around on the floor -- a large binder, sedate red leather and several inches wide.

Break knows that binder.

Fingers shaking, he snatches it up out of the shelf. He fumbles it, and it falls open, and the first thing he sees is Faneuil Hall at Christmas, covered in snow. Below that is a photograph of Shelly, his own Shelly, dressed in winter clothes and laughing with Sharon when she was still small, and there's his ponytail in the photograph next to it because no one could ever get him to look at the camera that first year and he's seen these pictures a thousand times --

He slams the book shut, suddenly unable to look. A cruel gift, in a way; there are days that he wonders if he'll ever see this place and these people again. But on the other hand, now -- now he can show people, he can let them see things he's only described. It's as precious as it is mean.

Gathering the photo album up close to his chest and clutching it as though he's afraid it'll vanish, Break leaves the library, in search of some of the people he trusts most.

[ooc: Locked to

hadengineered,

retraced,

of_murder,

standstilltime,

smallkindnesses,

info_barma]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Because it matters, stupid. Mordie, get out of there, you little beast --

[Making a valiant (and ultimately successful) effort to detach the wriggling ball of fluff from his counterpart's person, brb.]

The mansion made me feel what I felt, but I still felt it, I can't just -- ohmigod, you are a devil-cat. No, you can't chew on my fumb eiver, get -- no, Mordred! And anyway you were still carryin' it around!

*indignant* I wasn't trying to carry it around, do you know how many windows I threw that damned thing out of!?--

*he cuts himself off there, subsiding into a rather sullen silence as he reaches a hand over toward his other-self again. He's probably going to get himself good and scratched, but he may as well try to help distract the kitten a little.*

.....and anyway, your actual husband is here now. What in the world do you need me for? *lips pressing together and brow furrowing in something that almost wants to be a look of distaste, but isn't quite.*

I never needed you! If you must know, I've got several cuddle buddies in this place who are all far more cooperative about it than you ever were.

[The kitten takes a gleeful swat at the offered hand, and Break lets her go. If the other Break wants to stick his fingers into her pointy little grasp, that's his choice.]

...but I was happy that week. [Because of you, he doesn't say.] I don't just...forget that sort of fing.

[Oblivious to the tension between the two, Mordred attempts to crawl into younger-Break's sleeve again.]

*the inevitable gnawing and pinprick claws on his finger are a bit less vicious this time, so Break just lets the kitten disappear into his sleeve for a little while, leaning his other elbow on the armrest with chin plopped in his hand. Eyebrow twitching a litle bit:*

That is really much more than I wanted to know about your personal life--

*his voice quiets, then, as he stares off into the blank expanse of the room*

...But if this place hadn't been playing dirty tricks on us that week--

Nothing remotely like that ever would have happened. It's not... real. It nearly might as well have been a dream.

*though, of course, it isn't. He still vividly remembers what it was like to go to bed with this man, and--

Well. He was happy too.

Which is almost more itchy and uncomfortable than the thought of the sex.*

Bofe me ovver...serious relationships here have started because of dirty tricks, too. But they're not -- they're not any less valid to me just because I would never have chosen to start them on me own.

[The cat crawls her way happily up Break's sleeve until she reaches his elbow. Then, apparently satisfied, she settles down against his arm and begins to purr.]

Really, I'm just glad the place has been frowing me in wiv good people, if it must. If it ever tries to put me wiv a Vincent, someone's getting murdered.

*glancing down bemusedly toward that purring for a moment, then just... keeping his arm still. If the kitten is going to calm down for a bit then he should probably encourage it.

He sighs a little, grumbling under his breath.*

....well, as long as no one else knows you're wearing my wedding band about your neck, I could care less what you do with it. Perhaps you will keep the thing from coming back to me.

I don't tend to go raving about it all over the place, no. I told Gil because you made me worry and it pissed me off.

[Idly, Break flips a little ways back in the photo album that's still on their laps. It's -- well, it's a shame, really. He'd wanted so much to show his counterpart his home.]

*siiigh. Ah, well. Gilbert already knows about all that now, so it's too late to put the cat -- so to speak -- back into the bag.

Younger-Break hears the pages flapping then, and turns his useless gaze back downward in the direction of the album, staring just a little wistfully. Other-Break had wanted to show him, and he'd -- honestly wanted to see.

Despite every snide thing he's ever said about his counterpart in the past, he really thinks it... it sounds like a wonderful life, that the other man leads.

When he speaks up again, he sounds a little bit hesitant, almost shy.*

Do you suppose-- you could tell me some more about it...? ...Milady's album.

...yeah. Of course. I would -- fear for your arm if we tried to detach Mordred at the moment, anyway.

[He chuckles a bit over that, but it's really to hide his awkward pleasure at the unexpected question. So many of their conversations seem to end with weeks of no contact that Break honestly half expects it every time they sit down together.]

Is there anyfing in particular you'd like to hear about, or...?

*he pauses for another half a second before reaching up to scratch his head a bit, with a faintly embarrassed little laugh.*

...Whatever might happen to cross your mind. Pick your favorites, I suppose...?

*in the meantime, his other arm is falling asleep a bit, but -- well, he'll deal with the marauding kitten when the time comes.*

Well.

[Break ponders a moment, then flips a few more pages.]

By her late teens Sharon was pretty sure she wanted to go into fashion design. So between high school and university, she spent a year abroad in Paris -- country of France, continent of Europe. I was born in Europe; it's all full of stone streets and cathedrals and little shops and just -- old fings. I love that about it.

Anyway the Rainsworths sent me along just so she wouldn't be all on her own for a year, and since she was in class all day, I pretty much had nuffin'-a do the entire time but walk around the city and find all the best bakeries...

*the younger Break listens quite intently as the older one continues to narrate; after a little while, in between interjections and questions, he reaches over for his lukewarm tea again to pour himself another cup; he takes a good long sip and offers some to his other self in turn. He reaches inside his sleeve to give the half-asleep kitten a careful scritch. He runs his finger across another page, feels at the glossy edges of his other self's futuristic photographs.

Older-Break goes on about adventures in Europe, Sharon's fashion experiments, holidays, family gatherings. Vacations. Work and friends and marriages and breakups. There are any number of photographs inside Shelly's carefully-prepared album, and all of them, it seems, have a colorful story behind them.

He finds himself drawn in as he listens, teacup clutched in his hands again. They are, really and truly, a wonderful set of stories. His older self speaks so warmly and proudly of his family. Break could very nearly listen forever.

They might be the most beautiful fairy tales he's ever heard.*

Photo album spread out on my bedroom floor...

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