TAZ and d&d for all to enjoy, lmk if I can do anything better. I’m also always open to hear headcannons and theories, they fuel me. he/she/they/we (icon by ME)
His name; how to tie his shoes with twelve different knots; how the Madame Director likes her coffee.
The rules of playing Fantasy Chess, and how to cheat at Fantasy Chess too.
How to tell when someone is afraid
How to make his bed, so tight and neat he can drop a coin on it and it jumps, newly polished and gleaming, right back into his hand
How to bandage up to twenty different kinds of injuries
How to make the best sea chowder on the Moon Base, and also on the planet
How to press a uniform so it lasts a week and several explosions with no crinkled corners
How to organise reports with proper colour-coding techniques
Not a great many words, when it comes to that - slippery as fishtails, words, hard to grasp in the mind and impossible to put into his mouth
How to laugh, and how to cry
How to be helpful, if not always in the most efficient way
Some very complicated geometry and arithmetic, though not the word for geometry, nor how to write down an equation to explain how he got his results.His name, the names of his colleagues, where he is, what time of the day it is, what happened yesterday.
His name, his name, even when he doesn't know anything else, his name is Davenport -
Most days, anyway
He cries, sometimes, over bowls of spicy soup and at cute dogs, when someone leaves a book half-open on the table - when he sees groups of people laughing, and when he's alone for a long time. He is rarely alone. The Madame Director finds him, every time. Brings him biscuits and jam, shares puzzles, gives him folders to file.
She tries to teach him new words from brightly coloured books, sometimes. Not often; Davenport hates to make her unhappy, and she looks very sad, whenever he fails. He hates failing - this he knows for certain. But regardless of what he does, the Director is sad a lot of the time. Busy, busy; but she goes very still, late at night, and writes lists in strange languages with shifting characters, and then burns them, with a look on her face like stone, like a closed fist. He sweeps the ashes, afterwards; there's nothing in them he can understand.
No one sees her in those hours. Only Davenport is there, with no one else around. Davenport does not count as company, really. Or at least the Madame Director trusts him enough to let him see her when it's very late and she is very tired, and there is too much work for a night's rest.
It's nice, being trusted. Davenport likes it, likes his little tasks, his schedule and his friends. He knows every corner of the Moon Base, except the ones he is not supposed to enter; he has a little map sewn into his coat pocket, for when he forgets he knows every corner of the Moon Base.
He loves slow music, and sea chowder, and to drink his tea (the Director makes it, sometimes; she knows just how he likes it) while standing behind the transparent windows and watch the planet down below, all green and blue and changeful, like a face with many moods.
He knows he likes these things.
It is only that, sometimes, Davenport is very full of a painful feeling, a feeling like being full of smoldering fire, a feeling like --
Anger has no face, no colour. Davenport does not know a lot of things; sometimes he grasps at the softened edges of his mind, looking for something sharp enough to cut himself with. Davenport is angry, sometimes, though he has no words for it. Sometimes, anger is the only real thing in Davenport's world, the first thing he ever knew.
And then he forgets about it.
There are few things Davenport knows. He can feel the shape of something very important, prodding at him, filling him up with a warm, unpleasant energy. It is there when he wakes, for a handful of moments - every day, in the dreaming place between wakefulness and sleep. Like a dream, it fades before he is done dressing for the day. He has no words for it. The truth is, most days Davenport only knows his name is Davenport, and the worst of it is Davenport forgets there might be anything missing.
Devo La Main get behind me bb, the haters dont get it. They dont understand you. But I do, I get it and I love you. I was raised homeschool conservative christian, I get it. Get behind me baby
amandla
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turnnoffyourmind
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