[ he's given thought to the afterlife but refuses to think further, he has a destiny and it is entwined tightly with another's, if death came for him he would simply refuse. rip to your grandma but he's different.

that doesn't mean he doesn't feel some very real spine-chilling sensations when the door closes. this isn't a victorian seance, some charlatan isn't kicking the table to pretend to be the spirit of the late prince albert.

and then she appears, ghostly pale, water puddling at her feet as it drips off her dark hair and sodden dress. she tries to speak but water gurgles out of her mouth instead, spilling the scent of death and brine on the stone floor. ]

Quỳnh.

[ yusuf al-kaysani is a terrible creature when it comes to books. he loves them, to be sure, enamoured by possibly the only thing that will outlive him when he has seen entire empires and kingdoms rise and fall in his lifetime. stories are so utterly and gloriously human, whether it be oral tradition or the written word or stories turned to art, joe loves them all.

joe also plucks a book off the shelf and flips to the end because he is that sort of monster.

this book, however, is written a story he already knows the ending to and while some part of his mind considers that invasion of privacy in having his exploits written down, copley's wall of news clippings was more than enough, he's mostly caught up in flipping back to the beginning to read all about zanzibar. besides, this is a library. he will borrow his own book.

nose buried in the book, he nearly barrels into someone in his attempt to find a chair. for the best, really, he was heading toward the fireplace. he murmurs something that translates to: ]

Pardon, I was distracted by the face of god.

[ the book is illustrated. it's a picture of nicky. ]

( go where your heart takes you, i'm game for it, or catch me on plurk @ baleinette if you want to hash something out )