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[ she sounds like martha. she sounds like his cows. she sounds a little like his foxes, if he's to take them stealing his things as their own request of let me have a few. luke hadn't realised he had been surrounded by friends until he had lost almost all of them. it hadn't been anyone else but martha and george who had helped him make his shitty posters to hang up around the citadel and caer glaem, with the foxes collecting any supplies they needed as george made him misspell cinnamon for a reason luke doesn't even know. ]

[ sometimes luke forgets. it's easy for him to, being alone for so long, but sometimes he simply forgets he has people in the drabwurld. isolation is more of a comfort to him than anything, but he thinks he avoids his diary to write to hal for the very reason he sidesteps his friends and leaps over fences and runs along the back ways to certain places. ]

[ when he loses people, he'll feel it less if he's not so attached to them. clarisse had burrowed beneath his skin in the exact same way hermione has, and luke — he doesn't like it one bit. ]

My cards don't need your pity, Hermione. [ his voice is a laugh, but he tries to keep it down. ] Don't you think that's a little much? A bunch of shitty cards cluttering up your drawers?

[ but he doesn't leave her a breath to answer. ]

Hey! Think the Unseelie might appreciate a few? I'm thinking I could customise them. Print a big σκατά! on about several hundred.

[ The thing is, Hermione just cares; she cares so much that she feels a little bit like she might end up suffocating from it. It hurts, to think that her friends are going to suffer, that they're going to be hurt, or sad, or that she won't be there to help them or support them or... Do anything. She wants to do everything she can for them, everything that she can to make sure they're safe and... That's impossible, isn't it?

It is in the Drabwurld. She can't fight back against the knowledge of what the war is, of what it means for herself and all teh people she cares about. It bubbles inside of her and she tilts her head up to gaze at the ceiling, silent for a long moment.

Hermione wishes she was there, with Luke, at his side, right now. But she's not. She's in the Citadel and he's in the North and she feels it batter at her chest. ]

It's not pity if I'm offering to hand them out or put them places, is it? [ She huffs out a little laugh. ] They're not - uh, language - they're not bad if they're from you.

[ She does manage to sneak it in once he's done talking, though. ]

And what does that mean in English, Mr. Castellan?

Uh …

[ it's a nice distraction from what he's about to do that he feels as though she's scolding him good-naturedly. it reminds him of the moments where he had let a curse slip before he realised he may need to look into other languages to express himself or simply not swear at all. ]

[ he laughs, slightly awkward, as though he's been court with his hand in the cookie jar, and in amusement, liking that this feels normal when he doesn't feel like the person he had been two months ago. ]

Have a really bad hair day?

[ he doesn't sound convincing at all, not with how his voice pitches up at the end. ]

Oh, I'm sure.

[ She's trying not to sound too stern, really, she is, but there are some things she can't quite manage. Either way, she fights back her laughter, shaking her head and fighting to not tell him off - because it's obvious he's sneaking around with his many languages to tease her with it.

This is better. This is her and Luke, the set of them together, and Hermione closes her eyes. ]

Let them all know they have bad hair days, then. Drop them from the skies if you have to.

[ A pause, then - ]

With decent language.

[ but luke wishes to inform them in explicit description of just how horrible their hair is. he needs his chosen adjectives, the nouns he thinks to be the most succinct, and those specifically selected words to rile them into anger. luke knows he's talented enough to not resort to cursing, but hermione doesn't need to know that. ]

[ he sounds amused, if taken aback a little. ] Are you going to insist on proofing everything I write before I send it? [ he truthfully wouldn't be surprised if she chose to take on such a monumental task. he could've used her a few days ago with his posters. george had been a poor editor, in luke's humble opinion. ]

[ he doesn't think to tell her that, though. all those posters are gone. the snakes, foxes, and dogs had taken care of it, and when they had failed, his cows had politely asked some natives to recycle, and even taught them how if they found themselves clueless on what that process entailed. ]

[ there isn't much of a pause when he pulls a face, tone twisting as he teases and drags out the very first word, ] Because that's going to get a little awkward.

For spelling and grammar? Maybe. But if there's bad language I reserve the right to deny my part in checking it over.

[ Isn't this the way things should be? The easiness that comes between two people that care about one another, the friendship that they share - and she feels lighter for it, the kind of lightness that Luke has always brought her. She can remember the moon, Samhain, the losses they've shared, sitting with him and his snakes, and it makes her feel so much better that it's hard to find the words for it.

She does laugh, though, a little, light sound, and she huffs out a little noise. At least she can still be scolding, even if she's teasing him and pushing him a little too far. ]

I promise I don't need to proofread everything. Just posters you might put up in Caer Glaem or the Citadel. Marchioness' duty.

[ then he supposes most of his letters will consist of bad language. luke may be the son of the god of literature, but unlike his father, he's the demigod who makes it a point to never take another person's shit. if it means he needs to get a little crass and curt in his letters, then he thinks himself to be a good marquis. or something. this gig isn't him; he doesn't even think he's doing it right by being out in la llorona, biding his time to blow the outpost to smithereens. ]

Oh, good. There's these love letters I write and … [ he pulls a face, one he knows she can't see. there's a pause. his voice is teasing, if a little on the know-it-all side. ] Well. I don't think they're something a Marchioness like yourself should ever see.

Love letters to the Unseelie? You could get in trouble, you know. [ A part of her wonders if that is a joke, if he really is writing love letters to someone on the Unseelie side or if this is just another game of his, maybe love letters that are more along the lines of teasing than anything else. She hesitates, staring down at her locket before she tilts her head up and swallows.

It's none of her business anyway. If Luke wants to be romantic with someone on the Unseelie side he just has to be careful.

Either way, she shakes her head. ] I'll let you keep your dirty letters to yourself, I think. I'm not going within ten feet of them.

[ she's as easy to rile as thalia, but luke's never really had the chance to do so after she'd been turned into a tree. it's easy to fall back into the shoes of stirring someone up, just as long as they're not cursing him with some spell or to the river styx. it's all in good fun, him making things up, being a general pain in the ass. ]

[ it makes him feel better, less anxious, less like he's doing something wrong by not acting right now when his impulse is telling him to simply wreck the forest when his mind's telling him to be patient and wait. ]

[ the smile's evident in his voice. ] What if they're for you?

For me? [ For a moment, she's quiet, the silence rolling over her as she hesitates, trying to let her mind wrap around the idea. It's obvious that it's a joke - why would Luke write her a love letter? What would be the point, other than to tease her? - but the idea of it makes her pause and she blinks, trying to let it settle in her mind before she musters some kind of response.

Finally, she finds her voice again and she swallows, sitting up a little straighter. What a strange game they're playing, the two of them, and Hermione shifts before she speaks, trying not to let her embarrassment and her nerves flick into her voice whatsoever. ]

Then I definitely shouldn't proof read them, should I?

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