[it's an odd echo, a double-voice, a neither-voice, that he feels in his teeth. Magnus blinks rapidly, looking over to where he thinks Noah's voice was coming from, if not somewhere in his jaw. he sits on the floor, in front of the sofa, but doesn't look under, just yet. there's a reason Noah is under his sofa, and not coming out, just yet. he can wait]
For what? Are you okay, Noah? [...] Did something happen?
[That was different, Noah wants to say. Magnus' old body was at least normal. But he doesn't have the energy for an argument, or even for a breakdown. Instead, he gives a little murmur of assent.
The thing under the couch is not human. It might have been, once, a long time ago, but now it's little more than a thought. The rotting tendrils of a long-dead soul weave around bare bones, still dusted with the dirt of a shallow grave. Hollows in place of his warm eyes, a crushed face where freckled skin used to stretch with eager smiles - it is a thing of nightmares.]
[Magnus crawls under the couch, with the nightmare-thing that is one of his closest friends, in this universe. pillowing his head on his arms, he looks at him -- because Magnus can't, won't, ever think of any of his friends as an it, even the ones that are enchanted objects or walking bones -- and looks, and after a moment, holds his hand out, slow]
I already knew you were dead, Noah. Do you want to hold hands, for a bit?
[Magnus covers the not-hand with his own, and he's warm to the touch, if Noah can feel anything. it's not fair, the kind of dead Noah is. whether he can or can't feel, Magnus is gentle, when he squeezes bones that clack together]
[he shifts closer, to that shivering-flickering-nightmare, that is his friend Noah]
You're not being killed again. You're not nothing. You're still here, and I'm glad you are. And we'll figure out the next step together. [another squeeze, to that rattling hand. Magnus wishes he could touch Noah's hair, but he doesn't have any] Do you want to come out from under the couch? It's just me and you here, right now.
[Noah frowns, the scant remains of lips bending over broken teeth. He can feel the truth in Magnus’ words, and the comforting warmth of his offer, and after a moment, he lets himself seep from beneath the sofa. Evening light filters through his ragged sweater.]
I hate it. [His skeleton arms wind around himself, unnatural and eerie.] I don’t want to be this.
[he extends his arms out, for a hug. he offers them so rarely, it's a little macabre that there's no hesitation, when Noah's all bones and grim, psychic remains]
You'll be what you wanna be again, Noah. I promise.
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For what? Are you okay, Noah? [...] Did something happen?
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Strange, since he doesn't have tear ducts at the moment.]
My body's gone.
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[oh, indeed. Magnus wraps his arms around his knees, processing that information. the nanites? the nanites. fuck]
...Did you forget it at the arcade? I'll help you retrace your steps, if you want.
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I look like how I look back home.
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...Didn't you give me shit, about that? When I was saying my old body was bad? -- Can I come under?
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The thing under the couch is not human. It might have been, once, a long time ago, but now it's little more than a thought. The rotting tendrils of a long-dead soul weave around bare bones, still dusted with the dirt of a shallow grave. Hollows in place of his warm eyes, a crushed face where freckled skin used to stretch with eager smiles - it is a thing of nightmares.]
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I already knew you were dead, Noah. Do you want to hold hands, for a bit?
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[His hand isn't much of a hand - just cold bones, some crooked and broken with defensive injuries - but he stretches it out anyway.]
The others don't all know. I can usually hide it.
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[Magnus covers the not-hand with his own, and he's warm to the touch, if Noah can feel anything. it's not fair, the kind of dead Noah is. whether he can or can't feel, Magnus is gentle, when he squeezes bones that clack together]
As long as you want.
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[He seems to seep closer to Magnus, solid but not, like a rattling breath.]
What if I never get it back?
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[he strokes fingers over bone, doesn't move, as Noah haunts him, even as the hair on the back of his neck stands up, from the sensation]
Or you can possess me, or something. We'll figure it out, Noah. I promise.
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I f-feel like I died all over again.
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[he can't heal dead; he can't heal ghostly auras. he can try to weave calm, at most]
Do you want me to use my seidr?
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There's nothing to help. This is all there is. [His voice is a nervous whisper.] They gave me a body, but this is all that's inside.
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[he shifts closer, to that shivering-flickering-nightmare, that is his friend Noah]
You're not being killed again. You're not nothing. You're still here, and I'm glad you are. And we'll figure out the next step together. [another squeeze, to that rattling hand. Magnus wishes he could touch Noah's hair, but he doesn't have any] Do you want to come out from under the couch? It's just me and you here, right now.
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I hate it. [His skeleton arms wind around himself, unnatural and eerie.] I don’t want to be this.
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[he extends his arms out, for a hug. he offers them so rarely, it's a little macabre that there's no hesitation, when Noah's all bones and grim, psychic remains]
You'll be what you wanna be again, Noah. I promise.