If a band of disorganised worshippers can manage to summon their demonic gods to my world, I can't imagine why you shouldn't be able to connect ours.
[It isn't something he's considered. No memories; no future. But Raine's statement warms his chest, and he clutches her a little tighter, exhaling and inhaling. His eyes have slipped shut without him noticing. He forces them open again, his words a little mumbled.]
Da's portrait. It's in the pocket of my coat.
[Across the room.]
You may as well put it on the mantle, with Bakura's knickknacks.
[They'd been arranged there with some degree of ceremony, after the wedding.]
And--my father's cane. Give it to Adrien.
[Raine knows the history behind the cane; inlaid with platinum and palladium, an object for channeling magic entirely by chance. A family heirloom for generations, and the only thing Solomon had left with his mortal family's crest on it--a horse against a backdrop of a cross in a field of wheat, all stylised. The way pressing the crest unlocks the handle to become a hidden blade, once broken on the day Da died, now whole only due to the Dreaming.
[His eyelids have drooped again, his body starting to relax perilously in that manner of someone near to sleep.]
no subject
If a band of disorganised worshippers can manage to summon their demonic gods to my world, I can't imagine why you shouldn't be able to connect ours.
[It isn't something he's considered. No memories; no future. But Raine's statement warms his chest, and he clutches her a little tighter, exhaling and inhaling. His eyes have slipped shut without him noticing. He forces them open again, his words a little mumbled.]
Da's portrait. It's in the pocket of my coat.
[Across the room.]
You may as well put it on the mantle, with Bakura's knickknacks.
[They'd been arranged there with some degree of ceremony, after the wedding.]
And--my father's cane. Give it to Adrien.
[Raine knows the history behind the cane; inlaid with platinum and palladium, an object for channeling magic entirely by chance. A family heirloom for generations, and the only thing Solomon had left with his mortal family's crest on it--a horse against a backdrop of a cross in a field of wheat, all stylised. The way pressing the crest unlocks the handle to become a hidden blade, once broken on the day Da died, now whole only due to the Dreaming.
[His eyelids have drooped again, his body starting to relax perilously in that manner of someone near to sleep.]