#*richard.

[widwer]

PITT VERSE:

i could do this officially but i'd rather make it a simple rundown. perhaps to be expanded upon later!

beverly meets his husband-to-be, in london, in the 90s. beverly is a few years out of university and his husband-to-be is studying abroad, taking his own education a bit slower

they marry before they're 30. they have two or three kids

after a stretch in the uk, it's the husband's "turn": they move to pittsburgh, where beverly remains following his death

beverly is a nurse at the pittsburgh trauma medical center

and on the man himself:

richard litwin

trains and specializes in teaching english to speakers of other languages (TESOL) while overseas, then becomes professor of linguistics at the university of pittsburgh (also "pitt"!) upon his return

much more affable than beverly yet still somehow makes him look good. also loves him absolutely dearly and hates that he has to go

slightly younger and a few inches taller

it's a short and cruel illness. he takes it like a champ. bev is angry with him for this

they manage to keep his illness a secret until he has an accident and is admitted to the medical center in front of beverly and his friends

[hitline-a]

://// hey richard, do you love me?

          no.

[hitline-a]

she has her nose buried in the feathers - he's so cold, hands so frigid where they rest against her waist, but the lifelike mask offers some ghostly warmth she craves. or perhaps she's imagining it. either way, he's soft there, and she's content to rest despite the occasional tickle. a sigh that ruffles those same feathers, and a brief nuzzle before she's pulling away just enough to meet deadened eyes. " roo roo. take me t'bed, won't 'ya? " / val @ a dickard :3

          if there has ever been anything akin to sleep for him , it was something more of a dormant lying of spirit within an empty shell , like a reflection that lingers a bit too long in the mirror before fading away.  but just before he can do just that , his attention is awakening a sleeping corpse to the sound of her voice.  head tilts downwards a bit , it’s easy to see by the shifting of mask against the soft surface of pillow brushing against the feathers donning the back.  cold hands bend stiff fingers along her skin , pressing in as he shifts and takes her with him.

          there’s no trouble in standing , he does that well enough , all the while managing to keep her close.  “ did you get any sleep last night ?  you’ve been quiet. ”

[hitline-a]

gives richard a BIG smooch. : )

          the comedic craning of neck in uncertainty of what she’s trying to do at first , but he quickly understands the minute red lips set landing on beak.  it’s strange to be somewhat human beneath with all the emotional feelings of a person , but lacking the pain ; and then someone like her comes along to remind that physical feelings besides hurt can be felt.  and even then , felt through a pelt of faux feathers.  “ what are you-- ”  says the rooster , blackened eyes squinting with the knitting of sewed brow , “ hm . . . ”

[hitline-a]

she's all wrapped up in her blanket, cradling a mug just outside of the little nest she's constructed for herself. the curtains closed, lights off, the dimmest little candle illuminating the room is all her head seems to be able to handle, even after a couple painkillers. ' can yall both come an' take care of meeeee ? ' eyes snap shut, a pitched groan caught in her throat. the migraine was bad enough that her own voice was too much. ' an' no fightin'. i'm dyin'. i won't make it t'tomorrow. '

          previously , jacket was downstairs in the bedroom organizing a bag needed for the trip to be soon taken.  he’d put another outfit in there , surprisingly , just in case it called for a night’s stay at a hotel or just a rest in the van - and headed back up to the living room.  though , as he ascended the first set of stairs - then the next - then the next - the darkness at the top of the last flight is what seems to unnerve him.  he makes his steps slow , progressing forward.

          she isn’t talking to just him.  from the tone of her voice combined with the words said , jacket sends his vision along the room and around the corner as he finally steps into the living area.  a squint , brows furrowed into the darkness that gaze isn’t well-adjusted to yet.  where is he ?  no time to worry about that right now.

          jacket reaches the couch.  he moves one of the pillows over , gently sits down beside her with a hand steadily placed on her thigh.  it’s strange to him that she’s covered up - the touch of fabric against the palm of his hand catching him a bit off-guard.  “ you okay . . . ? ” body twists , left hand reaching to brush a bit of her hair behind her ear.  and that’s when he hears it.

          but now HE’S there , too , hands stuffed into letterman pockets as he stands towering in the corner.  jacket has to force back the frown inevitably forming on his face , slowly withdrawing his hand from val’s hair and pulling it back to tuck beside him on the couch.  eyes steady.  a stare-off.  RICHARD speaks - for jacket refuses , “ you’ll make it ,” empty vision turns towards the girl instead , “ i have faith.  but if you aren’t interested or sure about traveling . . . i’m sure i can stay and keep you company. ”

[hitline-a]

nudges jacket over a bit, guiding him into the perfect position for her to nestle up to his side comfortably. a light kiss on his jaw, before she tucks her head against his chest and pulls one of his arms around her like a blanket. she's yawning, then, eyes half - lidded as she sleepily reaches out for the other figure in the room, a silent request for him to join in keeping her well - cuddled.

          he doesn’t notice at first , not until he’s complying with the request to pull her closer , fingers gently tugging at the shoulder opposite to him.  eyes flicker up , a sudden wave washing over his face like a cold sweat and making the redness under his eyes and the pressure behind them begin to burn like it all must be the only warm aspect of his body.  his fingertips and palm press into her shoulder rougher now - like he’s trying to pull her away and let nothing else have her.  jacket’s heartbeat hitches for a moment. 

          but jacket knows how she feels about him - the inner workings of his mind brought to life to not only plague him , but everyone he’s ever loved - everyone he’s ever hated.  richard has never been a clean spot in his brain , but instead the darkest part that sometimes envelopes it entirely . . . and tries to block out everything good.  jacket readies himself for the worst.

          richard usually has things to say.  a lecture to give jacket about his actions that day - that week - that month - year - so on & so forth.  but this time , there is nothing but the silence , hands stuffed into the pockets of letterman and eyes settled on something besides jacket for once ; at least for a moment.  an approach , slow , hesitant , as if not to startle the man with his arm wrapped so tightly around girl.  he can nearly feel the burn of that white-fingertip grip he has on her shoulder.

          PATHETIC.

          nonetheless , richard does what he wants.  he gently settles down on the couch on the other side of val , head turning slowly - threateningly - to glare at jacket over the top of her head.  silent contemplation.  both of them have a similar feeling.  “ careful , ” rooster-headed man begins , a slight twitch of a grin tugging at the jagged corner of beak , “ we both know what you can do when you’re jealous. ”

[hitline-a]

she's lurking behind the armchair, leaning forward until her elbows rest on the back, gently tracing her fingers atop his feathers. ' chicky's on his way back with movies. if you promise t'be good, you should come sit with us an' watch an' let me pet you again, roo roo. i like when you do the purr thing. '

          richard always has a way to do things.  he’s sitting in the chair with his arms on both armrests , as should be , but he’s slumped - one leg crossed over the other out in front of him.  the back of his - jacket’s - HIS letterman is bunched from where he’d shifted & slid to get more comfortable prior.  he’s waiting for something - something that hasn’t arrived yet.

          an interruption.

          whatever lies in those darkened eyes ( is it a mask ? ) tilts upwards , stares at the ceiling long enough to catch a glimpse of which set of fingers is so easily caressing the softness of feathered head.  a scoff deep in his throat.  he isn’t bothered.  “ you know why i’m here , ” it’s jacket’s voice ( HIS voice ) , but distorted - hushed - irregular , “ and it isn’t for you or any of your plans. ”