CHAPTER 1: TYING THE STRING OF FATE

– POV: ??? (CASPER) –

(ROLEPLAYERS: VEN, TEA)

(ADAPTATION: TEA)

A forest is no place for the dead.

It's quiet. Isolated. Lonely. Though, he supposes it's quite the appropriate place after all— especially for someone like him.

Far from any life or civilization, a ghost lurks between the trees. And, listen— it's not like he intended to be here. At least, not this far from "home." But god forbid a man take a walk, right?

And for a while, he was convinced he was alone. It did appear to be that way. But then he sees it, with the slightest turn of his head— red twin-lights, glowing in the darkness. Slightly obscured by the undergrowth. The lack of any sound makes the appearance of what must be eyes rather alarming— the ghost stiffens, but he doesn't exactly feel threatened, no.

He just knows it's better if he isn't seen. Ever.

He hears a sharp breath, and it practically rings out in the otherwise quiet of the night. By now, he's sure that whoever he's looking at can see him, too.

The ghost takes an unnecessary breath of his own.

“I can see you.” Is what he chooses to say.

Silence. At least, for a good few long moments.

"... I can see you too," Is what the stranger says at first, somewhat clumsily. Then, he seems to panic, and amends with, "I mean! It's— I, uh,— It's nice to meet you? Aw— No,"

The stranger then steps out of the undergrowth, finally, and looks at the ghost.

"... Hi.”

He can feel the tension in his shoulders release immediately.

"... Hello." The ghost says lowly, having to look up to even face the stranger. He doesn't move from where he's 'standing'. "What are you, ah. Doing all the way out here, might I ask?"

He tilts his head. Never mind the fact that this question applies to him also— he's dead.

This guy is, decidedly, not.

"Nothing," He says quickly. His face gives it away immediately, though— that he's lying. The stranger looks away, and then back, and then sighs heavily. "Okay. I live here," He admits. A pause. "Well, not here here, but, around here."

Another pause.

"Please don't tell anyone I said that though. Or that I'm here, or—" Oh, he seems to be struggling, at this. The stranger huffs. "Listen. I'm really trying to— be ... uh ... missing." He crosses his arms. "So."

He looks away, again. And then back, and then his tail-tip twitches. "What are you doing out here? Uh, lost or something?" His brow furrows.

The ghost clicks his tongue.

"... That sounds like sensitive information," He says after a moment of silence. "I think you could've stopped at 'I live here'. But sure, yeah. I won't tell anyone." It's not like there's anyone to tell.

And, besides, he's not like. A cop, or something.

Something else seems to process for him, though—

"I am not lost—" He says immediately, the slightest tinge of offense in his voice. He clears his throat. "Just, you know." He vaguely gestures around. "Walkin'."

His feet don't even touch the damn ground.

The stranger pulls a face that looks like a mix of panic and a grimace. Seems like it was sensitive information. It only lasts a few seconds, though.

"You're walking," He echoes. "In the, uh ... deep woods ... ?" His brow furrows, and then he blinks. "I mean— hey! I'm not gonna judge! Walk wherever you want to!" His hands raise in a placating motion. "It's just, it's a little strange."

His lips press into a tight line. He's not gonna up and admit he's definitely lost to some— guy. So, instead he dances around it by saying, "I didn't. Intend. To be this far into the woods, exactly." Sounds like he's pulling teeth.

The ghost crosses his arms, looking the stranger up and down.

"... Why the woods, of all places, though?" He can't help but wonder. "There's much nicer places to live.”

"It's easy to hide in," The stranger says with a shrug. "Plus there's wood, which is good for building and making stuff, and for firewood. Also I hunt, sometimes. Oh, and there's edible plants, if you look. Berries, mostly."

"I see," He supposes it's practical, but it all sounds very lonely. At least, he assumes so— this guy didn't seem the type to, uh. Have, anyone. With him.

The stranger digs around in his pockets for a moment, and then produces a small, carved wooden animal. It looks like a wolf.

"I carve stuff. Make things out of wood." He smiles, and then pockets the little thing again. "Gives me something to do out here. You, uh— gonna keep walking?”

"Oh," He can barely get a look at it before it's pocketed. "Oh I see!"

Ah, he supposes that's his cue. The ghost looks away, then back, and decides to swallow his own pride. Just this once.

"Do you, er. Happen to know what direction— No Man's Land?" That's what they've been calling it, right? "— Is? Perchance.”

"Oh—" The stranger looks and sounds completely taken aback. "... Yeah, I do. Why do you ask?"

I live there, isn't really the correct answer. It's something more like— "I... died. There."

Which is the barebones truth. The ghost isn't about to explain his strange fixation on the city— because there's certainly more to it than that.

The stranger breaks the now-tangible silence as quickly as possible.

"I ... see," He says, frowning slightly. "And you want to go back. Am I— right in assuming that?" His tail-tip twitches again. Back and forth, back and forth, like a metronome.

"... Yeah, sorta." The ghost says. "It's— ah. Familiar, you know?" He hasn't... provided him with a direction. Hm. "So— so you know. Where it is...?”

"Yeah," The stranger says, shuffling his feet. "But directions aren't gonna cut it this deep in the woods if you haven't learned them. You start walking around the trees and then you get turned around and you're right back where you started. Uh— no offense!"

He rubs at the back of his neck with a hand sheepishly. "If you want, I can ... walk ... you to the border?" He sounds hesitant, but weirdly, somewhat determined. "It'd be good for me to go ... somewhere that isn't ... here. For a bit."

"Ah— are you. Okay, with that?" He's gathered that the man is, well. A recluse. A hermit, perhaps. And one that has a reason to hide— why would he do that? For a stranger, no less. "I— I mean I appreciate it. But..."

His lips press into a tight line. Best not make any further assumptions.

"It'll be fine," The stranger says dismissively, in a tone that the ghost thinks doesn't match him very well. The anxiety creeps back moments later, though. "Probably," he amends quickly. "It'll probably be fine."

He looks left, and then right, and then re-settles his gaze back on the ghost.

"Look— if you wanna get back, I just— it wouldn't sit right with me to, just, uh, send you away knowing you could end up just about anywhere in these woods. I'd rather know you got back okay, yeah?"

Why? He almost asks. Why wouldn't it sit right with you? Where's your self preservation?

Instead he just... stares. Confused. Perplexed.

"Ah— okay, well..." He looks away, and then back. "Al... alright, then? Let's... go?" He can't hide the confusion in his voice.

The stranger turns and gestures for the ghost to follow.

"This way— we have to go through some thick foliage and stuff. Make our way around a ravine or two, go up some steep hills— that's why I didn't just send you off."

The ghost floats after him. Following, quietly. It's almost impressive, the lack of sound he makes, as he moves through the undergrowth. Though he imagines that it's rather necessary for his own survival.

. . .

"What's your name?" He asks randomly, turning to the man with ever increasing curiosity.

The stranger blinks, looking to the ghost with wide eyes. Then he pulls himself together, and forces himself to ease— looking away so that his expression can't be seen.

"Lyre," He says. A beat of silence. "Like the instrument."

As promised, they swerve around a ravine.

"Lyre," The ghost echoes instinctively. "I see. Do you happen to be a musician? Or is that just a coincidence?" He tilts his head.

"No," Lyre says with a bit of a laugh. "I never learned music at all. There wasn't ever really ..." He pauses. "Any, time, in my life— for that." He bites his lip. "I used to be a busy guy, is all."

"Awe, shame." He vaguely, vaguely remembers being able to play an instrument himself— was it bass, or was it guitar? Was it both?

It doesn't matter now.

Another stretch of silence as they keep walking. Then—

"What about you? What's your name?" Lyre looks back to the ghost, blinking that pair of glowing eyes.

The ghost blinks, when Lyre asks his name. And, he's quiet. For a long, long time. Because, well.

He doesn't have one.

… Technically he does. Technically, but. It never felt right to use. And, he never bothered filling the void.

Ah. Until now, at least.

Silence. Silence…

"Casper," He says, suddenly. "My name is Casper."

“Oh, that's a nice name,” Lyre says with a smile.

That's a nice name.

His eyes widen. Just a touch. He wasn't— expecting that. He wasn't expecting that at all. He wants to look away, as if to save him any embarrassment.

Instead, he mutters a quick "Thank you,"

Lyre's gaze moves forward again, as they start heading up a rather steep hill. He digs his feet into the earth with each step to get a better foothold as they make their way up. A natural motion for him, looks like. He looks entirely unbothered.

"We should be getting close now,"

At that, he raises an eyebrow. "Really? Weren't we just deep into the forest?" Maybe he just moves quickly?

"If you take the right route you can get through the woods pretty quick," Lyre says, smiling. "And I took us the fast way." They rise to the top of the hill and— sure enough— there are lights in the distance. Still some good ways away, but still.

"Come on," Lyre gestures for him to follow as he heads towards them.

"Oh, I see," And that's when he sees it— the lights. Huh... guess the guy really knew his stuff, then.

As they walk, Lyre seems to speed up a touch. The terrain is flatter, here, as they approach No Man's Land. And as the distant buildings come into view, and when they reach the edge of the woods he—

Stops.

Lyre— stops in his tracks, freezes at the very edge of the forest, and then takes a hesitant step back. He lowers his voice as he looks back to Casper, any of his prior confidence— gone.

"... We're here. You— if you want, you can go," He says quietly, to the ghost.

Casper stares at the settlement, and— he doesn't move. He doesn't know why, but, returning suddenly seemed so... deeply unappealing.

Does he often feel like he needs to be there? Yeah. Is it a compulsion? Probably. Does it fulfill him at all?

Casper bites on his lip. If he doesn't leave now, he would've completely wasted Lyre's time. What's he gonna do? Go back into the forest? And then what?

"I... I," He doesn't even realize he's talking. He feels paralyzed; the look on his face, distant.

Lyre's words, unfortunately, fall on deaf ears.

"... Casper?"

Lyre looks at the ghost with what must be concern. Casper doesn't notice this, but he reaches out to settle a hand on his shoulder— and finds it passing through, as though he were pawing at fog.

"Sorry! Sorry— I, uh— are you okay? You can go now. If you want—" Lyre's voice sort of raises in pitch from stress. “— Or! Or if you don't, we can just, uh, stay here for a little while! I'm okay with that," Are you?

"I—" Casper blinks, once. Twice. Pull yourself together. "I'm sorry, I wasted your time,” He says downright automatically, looking at Lyre apologetically, then, away. "I don't know—" What's wrong with me,"— What's, happened. I, uh…"

He's quiet.

"I'll just— I'll just go."

At this, Lyre's brow furrows in further concern. He tilts his head at Casper, like he's taking in the ghost's expression. He must be.

A long silence.

"... Are you sure?"

The question hangs in the air for a long few moments. Lyre is looking Casper in the eyes. Tail-tip twitching, like he's uncomfortable, with this.

Casper's never looked someone in the eyes before. He's only ever looked from afar. It's... odd. And yet he maintains the eye contact with ease— if not a little too well.

"... No," He says quietly, looking away to stare at the city with wide, unblinking eyes.

He's quiet, again. For a long moment.

"I don't know where this came from." Muttered.

Lyre frowns, plants a hand on his hip, and says—

"Well, if you don't want to— uh, go back there—" He gestures to No Man's Land, "— Then I guess we go back into the woods. Yeah?" We? When did this become a we? "Or— or— if you want! Only if you want. I'm just ... making sure that! You don't! Get lost, again, and, uh, that you have somewhere to go." Lyre grins nervously.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

He doesn't respond for a moment or two. Then, abruptly, he looks at Lyre again. Looking him up and down. Like he's sizing him up. Like he thinks, for just a moment, that he's tricking him.

"I— I mean, I guess," He says, finally. "I appreciate it, though, it's just..." Where do I go? he doesn't wanna say. It's a vulnerable question. "... What am I gonna." Vague hand gestures. "Do."

He's gonna have to figure that one out himself, if he's gonna start acting like a dramatic bitch. "... In the forest.”

"I have a cabin," Lyre says quietly. "In the woods. I have a place to like, actually live, you know? If you want, you could come there and ... hang around until ... you figure out where you want to go?"

He smiles nervously.

"It doesn't have to be forever— and, and it's only if you want!" Lyre says, stumbling over his words a little. "But— but I figure, you— you need somewhere to stay, right? And— and I ..." Aaaannnddd? "I dunno, it gets ... quiet?”

Casper fucking stares at Lyre and what he's— well he's not insinuating anything he's being rather straight up about it, isn't he.

A million thoughts start to rush through his head and it ranges from your lack of self preservation is almost admirable and you barely even know me and that's a bit forward but what he lands on is—

"That's— that's an awful lot like haunting you, isn't it?"

"... I mean, I guess," Lyre says thoughtfully. "But ..." He hums quietly. "Does it really matter? So long as we aren't killing each other or— or I dunno, making each other completely crazy I don't really see a problem with it."

He smiles.

"... I don't have a reason to kill you," Casper says quietly. Kind of hard to want to when the man has done nothing but aid him for some god forsaken reason. "I guess— it doesn't? I'm just surprised you're so... willing."

Is that something he just said? Casper almost looks shocked.

"I— I, I appreciate the thought, though?" He smiles. It looks weirdly unnatural on him. "You're, ah. Very considerate.”

"Oh," Lyre says, as if the thought of Casper trying to kill him hadn't even crossed his mind "Well, thank you." He grins sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand, tail slowly twitching back and forth behind him in a metronome.

"Well— if you ... if you want I can lead us back there? If that's a yes? Tell me if I'm wrong I'm, uh, not too good at ..." Talking to people? He clears his throat. "Uhm. This kind of thing."

Lyre looks away, back towards the woods.

"Just— yes or no? Quickly? Because I should be, uh, getting back there, anyway," He says, wringing his hands together. "Being, uh, at the— the border is. Not safe. For me. For long stretches of time, at least!”

"It's not safe?" Casper echoes immediately, concern seeping into his expression. "Good lord, why are you even out here!? You, you— you can't—"

He takes in a sharp breath, resisting the urge to pinch his nose bridge in exasperation.

"Yes— yes! You need to get out of here, man!”

Lyre startles a bit at the urgency. Tail fluffing up like a cat's fur.

"Yes— ? It's ... Oh. Oh, okay, yeah, definitely, yep, mhm, doing that!" Lyre turns and starts power-walking back into the woods, glancing over his shoulder like he's making sure Casper is following.

Once he's sure Casper has caught up, he picks up the pace into a jog, somehow not making that much noise, still.

There's this moment of silence where Casper just kind of stews in his own bewilderment.

He takes in a breath.

"I don't mean to be rude, but how have you lasted this long? I'm sure you're real handy and such but—" Vague hand gesturing. "You really need to work on your self preservation. Like, badly.”

"I don't talk to anyone," Lyre says as he walks, focus still forward as he makes for the cabin. "Ever. This was like, a first in, I dunno, months? A year, now, I think?" His tail waves, and his head turns, those glowing eyes look back at Casper.

"That changed tonight, obviously. Maybe I just got sick of it, the quiet and the dark and the alone ... ness." Loneliness, Lyre. The word is loneliness. But nonetheless, he shrugs. "Who's to say?"

The forest blurs past as they move through it quickly, only as quickly as a hybrid with plenty of foresting experience and a literal ghost can.

And Casper's silent, again. For a long, long moment. And there's just this— pity? Or is it sympathy, on his face?

"Are you lonely?" Slips out. It's an abrupt question, and rather inappropriate to ask. But. Well, he can't exactly take it back.

And Lyre doesn't quite stumble, per se, but his steady pace stutters.

"... Yeah," He admits, fidgeting. His pace slows, but only a little. "There's no one out here."

Every time Lyre looks at him Casper maintains unflinching eye contact. He wonders if it's unnerving. He wonders if he's unnerving.

"... I'm sorry," Casper says, quietly.

"Thanks." Lyre says, softly.

And keeps moving through the undergrowth.

. . .

"We should be getting there— uh, soon," Lyre says, changing the subject at a moment's notice, looks like.

Casper nods, slightly. Best leave it there.

"I see," He says. "You, uh. Said you had a cabin, right?" He tilts his head. "Did you build it?”

Looking back to Casper yet again, Lyre smiles.

"Yes, I did, actually!" His tail waves. "I like to make things," Lyre tacks on, ducking his head. "I'm good at it.”

"Do you really?" He asks, genuinely curious. "Must be nice. Haven't been able to do anything with my hands since... well," His entire existence, basically. Pause. "But, ah. Never mind that," He waves a hand. "You make any other stuff?”

"Oh, it's mostly woodworking," Lyre says. "Because I'm ... in the woods."

Lyre huffs out a small laugh, and somewhere in the distance is the faint shape of a building illuminated by faint torchlight. If you squint.

"I already showed you my carving, but I also make my own tools, and stuff. I know some basic stuff with stone, so I can make axes. To. Get more wood." He shrugs. "It's kind of a wood-cycle of wood all the time. Wish I could get my hands on some clay again, but I don't exactly have a kiln, anyway."

"Oh so you really are handy, then," Casper says. "That's interesting! Did you teach yourself all this?" For a brief moment a part of him wonders how he ended up here— small talk, with a man he just met.

... Going. To his house. Hm.

Casper wonders if this would be a drastically different situation if he were actually alive.

"Some of it!" Lyre says. He doesn't elaborate. "Hey, look, we're coming up on my cabin," He says, pointing at the rapidly approaching, dim lights in the distance.

"It's ... a little basic, but it works. Just a warning." Lyre grins sheepishly.

"So?" It's a bit blunt, but he means well. "You built— an entire cabin, yourself. So who cares if it's not up to code, or— or whatever." He waves a hand around for emphasis. " 'S a lot of work."

Maybe he's overstepped...? Casper corrects himself immediately— "A— ah, that is to say. I'm sure it's fine.”

"Oh," Lyre says, blinking. He ducks his head in what seems to be embarrassment. "Th— thank you. It, was definitely a lot of work." He laughs quietly.

Now the cabin is really in view. It is, as Lyre said, a little sloppy, but it's definitely serviceable. The torches that light it— God forbid they be fully fledged— are dim, most likely enchanted with the regular magic that most use to keep them from lighting things on fire.

"Aaaalmost there," Lyre comments helpfully.

Casper squints as the cabin comes into view. " 'S quite cute, actually." Is definitely not something that was meant to be said out loud, what with the way he mutters it.

If Lyre noticed Casper's mutter, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he makes his way over to the cabin's door, and creaks it open. He pokes his head inside, glances around, and then turns back to Casper, smiling.

"Welcome to, uh, ... well it doesn't have a name! My home?" He laughs a little.

The cabin is much brighter on the inside than the outside. There are a couple windows, but without glass— just frameworks of holes built into the sides of the walls, as though Lyre would have liked to fill them with something.

Additionally, there are shelves with so, so, so many little wooden animals. Like, an impossible amount. Or— well, entirely possible, given that Lyre mentioned he was out here for a year all by himself.

Lyre slips inside, and then holds the door open for Casper. There's a smile on his face, still, albeit a little nervous.

Casper "steps" into the cabin (read: he doesn't fucking walk), and just. Takes a gander for a moment.

"... 'S very homey," He muses, looking around at what the cabin is offering. He glances at the framework, though, and feels a tinge of pity, somewhere in his heart, again. But he quickly shakes it off.

"So this is it, then?" He looks at Lyre, wringing his hands together subconsciously. He doesn't know what "it" is, exactly.

"Yeah," Lyre says, fidgeting with his hands. His tail-tip twitches. "This is it."

Casper wonders how long he's gonna let that last.

Where there should probably be a couch for it to be a proper living room is a pile of what looks like definitely stolen pillows arranged into a seating-like shape. Lyre scoots over to them and sits himself down in the pile.

... There's a sort of makeshift fireplace, also. At least, clumsily lined with stone to keep anything from burning. It's far from proper work with bricks, but again— it'll have to do, it seems. God knows the man needed some source of warmth in the winter.

… This is when Casper's other comment seems to register.

"I guess it is kind of homey," Lyre murmurs, glancing around. He even takes a moment to smile about it, and settles into the pillows a bit further.

Casper floats over to where the shelving is, peering at the cluster of wooden animals. They all look meticulously made— something only a man with an absurd amount of time to kill can achieve.

... He swipes at one of them, like he's testing something. Of course, his hand phases right through it. Still, the ghost can't help but feel a tinge of disappointment.

"I like this one," He points at one of the little things. "It looks silly.”

Looking over, Lyre blinks, and then smiles.

"That's a deer, and probably one of my earliest ones," He says, standing up and walking over. "See how the legs are a little ... off? That's because I still hadn't quite gotten good at making it look symmetrical yet." Lyre reaches out, picks it up gently, and holds it up.

"Maybe I should remake it." Lyre laughs quietly. "Though I've definitely made other deer since then. Pretty much any animal you can think of." He shrugs. "You should see my attempts at turtles. They're, uh ..." He grins nervously.

"I think it's rather charming, actually," Casper says, eyeing the wonky little deer in Lyre's hands. "You know? Not everythin' hasta' be," Vague gesturing. "Symmetrical. Life's not like that."

He... blinks. No need to start waxing poetry about a little wood carving— he's not that pretentious.

He coughs.

"But, ah. I applaud you for your improvements," He turns, gesturing at the shelving and the certain increase of quality. "I don't imagine that's easy."

Then, Casper turns to look at Lyre, again. "You got any recent projects?" He tilts his head.

"Thank you," Lyre says with a smile, and then blinks. Without a word of warning Lyre turns and slips into another room— presumably some kind of workshop. Though, he's only gone for a moment as he carries out a decently-sized chunk of wood.

The way he sets it down with a THUNK on a nearby shelf suggests it's rather weighty. Casper raises both eyebrows— the man hauled the chunk of wood around like it was nothing. It doesn't make sense— he looked like a gust of wind could blow him over at a moments notice.

… No matter. Casper drops his gaze down to the piece of wood to keep himself from staring.

Upon closer inspection, it's partially carved. It looks vaguely like a person— two people, actually— embracing each other.

"I wanted to practice people," Lyre says with a wistful smile. "And it became kind of ... personal, but I'm proud of it, so I don't mind showing you it." The people in question are rather featureless, with rounded, smooth heads devoid of faces and arms that wrap around each other formlessly.

It's pleasant to look at, but very clearly incomplete.

"Ohh," Casper says, leaning just the slightest bit forward to get a better look.

It's... somewhat entrancing to look at, and he doesn't really know why. It's just a hug— an embrace, even. There's a certain quality to it, though.

"They look... close." He mutters to himself.

"Yeah," Lyre says with a bit of an awkward laugh. "It doesn't really have a story, though. I guess it's, uh, more of ... a feeling." He reaches out and gently runs a hand over the smoother parts of the carving. Some of the edges still need to be sanded down, they're still rough in some spots.

There's this long stretch of time where Lyre just kind of stares at the carving. Then, he seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in and picks it up again.

"Well, I'd better put it back on the workbench, or I'll forget and never finish it," He says with a bit of a laugh. "I have some memory issues up here." He taps the side of his head with a finger.

Casper is pulled out of his own trance as Lyre speaks again. God, alright. How embarrassing. What's up with him, lately?

"A— ah, alright, then." He blinks, looking at Lyre and wow Casper was really big on eye contact, huh?

He lets that information sit in the air, for a moment, before back tracking—

"Oh, you have memory issues?"

Blinking at Casper, Lyre nods.

"Yep," He says as he carries the carving away back to its previous resting place. As he returns, he says, "I've had them for as long as ... well, ironically as long as I can remember," Lyre says with a bit of a laugh.

"Just ... sometimes things slip my mind. Even important things, which can be pretty frustrating.”

Casper hums.

This guy... well. He doesn't wanna say he's spilled his guts to him. (He's bordered on it, though.) And— and! As it stands, he's giving him a place to stay. So, he figures the least he can do is sacrifice bits and pieces of his own information.

"I... find that I often have gaps in my memory," Casper starts off cautiously. "Very. Big gaps. Which isn't, uh. Favorable,”

He crosses his arms, glancing away to look at the framework.

"... It's hard to fill them.”

Lyre hums.

"Yeah, that sounds pretty bad." His head tilts sympathetically. "Any memory problem is rough though, not being able to, uh, remember stuff? That's scary to a lot of people, I've found. Though to me it's more annoying than anything these days." He frowns slightly.

Lyre seems to have a thought, but quickly discards it. Instead, he makes his way back over to the pillows and sits back down.

"Well it can be annoying, yeah," Casper says with a bit of a laugh. Like it's all amusing, to him. "I think it'd be a lot scarier if I were ... you know." Alive.

He doesn't need the reminder, does he? His presence is quite enough.

"But, I cope. So." He shrugs.

"I guess," Lyre says with a frown. He settles into the pillows a little more and yawns— good God that jaw can stretch— and then shrugs. "I cope, too." Now he smiles lightly.

"I guess that's the least any of us can do, though." Lyre rolls over to lie on top of the pillows, not seeming to care much that Casper is literally right there still. "I know it's the least I can do."

His tail swishes across the floor and the pillows, a long, sweeping motion, to come curl up around him again.

"Yeah..."

… This is when he starts to feel a little awkward. It's not like he can just make himself at home— and even if he could, he'd feel weird about it, anyways.

So Casper, just. Stares at Lyre, for a minute. Eyes wide and unblinking, like he's figuring out what to do next.

Then he just ... sloooowly lowers himself onto the nearby table and takes a "seat"— if you can even call it that, with the way he just barely hovers above it. He thought it'd be a little less weird than just. Staying suspended mid-air.

He clicks his tongue.

"... So how 'bout that weather, huh.”

"The—" Lyre blinks. "It's ..." He trails off. "Well, there are lots of berries around this time of year and flowers and whatnot." He sits up again, shrugging.

"Ah," Finger snap. "Spring.”

Lyre seems to notice something, and then hesitates.

"And, oh, can I— do? Anything? For you. I don't want to be a bad host." Lyre fidgets nervously.

Fuck.

"I— well, I appreciate the thought. But," He gestures at himself. "I doubt there's much you can do for me, other than uh— …" He winces, because the thing he's about to say sounds fucking pathetic— "Speak to me. I guess."

He's about to let that hang in the air before saying— "I, I'd hate to keep you up, though.”

"Oh, I don't mind," Lyre says immediately. "Voidfolk are meant to be nocturnal anyway. I'm only a little tired— my sleep schedule is super wacky 'cause of that hybrid thing, I just kind of go out like a light whenever I, uh, feel like it. Sometimes that's night, sometimes that's day." He shrugs.

"Oh, is that why you're so tall?" He blurts out, and the look on his face that follows after is shining embarrassment. "Ah— sorry," He clears his throat.

There's a few beats of silence where Lyre just kind of stares at Casper. And then— he laughs? Genuinely and whole-heartedly. Not a small, awkward sound, mind you— a genuine laugh.

Casper feels embarrassed, but not, particularly, in a bad way.

"Yes! Yes— that would be, why I'm so tall." He shakes off the last of the giggles with a huff of breath, smiling. "No need to apologize."

He lets that settle in the air, for a moment.

"... Is there anything you wanna talk about?" Lyre asks, drawing his knees to his chest, tail curling neatly around himself. He rests his chin atop said knees.

No one's asked Casper that before. Therefore, he's never thought about it, before.

"Uhhhhhhh," He thinks, fingers drumming on his knees. "Got any other hobbies besides wood carving? Anything you'd like to try, maybe?"

He says this, because there are things he often wants to do himself. Directing this at Lyre, makes him think of that less.

Lyre hums thoughtfully.

"Well— I used to love working with clay. Anything that could be molded, really," Lyre says, head tilting. "I was never a good painter, though ... I mean, I could paint figures just fine, but, uh, on a canvas? Not so much. Oh, and— I liked working with stained glass, too." He's listing off so many things …

"Ahhh," Casper says, leaning backwards and crossing his legs one over the other. "So you're like an— arts and crafts guy, then?"

He tilts his head.

"That's cool. I don't remember doing anything visually art oriented myself, it was more like." He pauses, like he's struggling to recall. Squinting. "I think it was music?”

"Yeah, guess so!" Lyre nods, smiling. Then he blinks. "Oh, music? That's pretty cool! Do you think—" Lyre deflates visibly. "— Nevermind. Did you— or do you have a favorite song?" His head tilts.

"Favorite song,” Casper echoes. “I... I'm not sure. I just vaguely remember what I used to play." He leans even further back, somehow, in thought. "Bass? Or was it guitar... think it was both, at one point, actually." He mutters, staring up at the ceiling.

Then, he looks at Lyre.

"Think I used to pick up different instruments rather frequently. And, ah..." He remembers now— "Drop them. Because I wasn't good enough, or whatever." He shrugs.

Pause.

"Ah!" Abruptly, he snaps his fingers.

"Clair de Lune," He says. "I was always fond of Clair de Lune… did you know, that —”

And before he knew it, they were talking the entire night.