Radar knows there's a shrine to Fever's dad somewhere in the temple. He remembers her telling him that if things ever got too loud or too much inside his head, he should think about talking to him.
Well, things definitely got too loud at the gala, and even if he sorted some of it out here and there -- especially when Fever was around to help -- he's still pretty shaken up about it. So, yeah. Maybe he oughta go talk to him. Not like I still sorta feel like I got a blown-out transmitter in my head and I dunno what I'm gonna do if it happens again is something Hawkeye or Father Mulcahy can help with too much.
So he goes to the temple. Makes what he's starting to think of as his usual rounds whenever he steps inside. A stop at the Catholic altar just in case, same as he jumps to his feet and salutes when a general walks in the room; a whispered hello to Serranai, complete with leaving a neat-looking rock on her altar that he found the other day. Then, hesitantly, he walks over to the altar for Sheogorath.
"Hello, sir. Um." He takes off his hat. "I'm Radar O'Reilly. I dunno if this is the best way to talk to you but Fever said it might be a good idea, so, if you can hear me I'd really like to talk if you got a minute. Sir."
Radar jumps a little, almost losing his grip on his hat. Okay. Okay, he's had people talk straight into his mind before, it's fine, especially if Fever's dad is a god. Unsure if he can answer back the same way, he keeps speaking out loud, hushed.
"Hi sir. Um, thanks for talking with me. I'm a friend of Fever's and I'm, I'm real good at hearing things. Not just with my ears I mean. I'm psychic. I didn't really know that's what it was until I got here, and when I told Fever she said if it ever got too loud in my head you might be able to help." He swallows. "It did, at Dahlia's party. It was real bad. And it's better now but maybe you can still help?"
"I know you're her dad. And a god. I mean obviously you're a god if you got a space here in the temple."
And he knows there's something... unsettling about Sheogorath. Even if they never met -- like Radar said, he's got good ears. He doesn't know the details, but he knows there's a sharp edge glinting under that transmission.
"Allow me to clarify. I am the Daedric Prince of Madness, the Lord of the Never-There. I am lord of the creative and lord of the deranged. The Dunmer call me Fourth Corner of the House of Troubles. I am the Father of Music, for I ripped a mortal asunder and turned her into the first instruments. Among the Princes of Oblivion, I am called the most capricious, and the least predictable. I have brought my peers low by doing nothing at all. I drove an invading Prince from my realm, when he had been said to have been the most powerful. And you come to me seeking help, mortal, when you know not even what you're talking to?" There's a rumble of thunder in his voice as it trails off.
Radar muffles a tiny squeak in the back of his throat, half scared and half indignant. The kindness of the Mothers might've spoiled him a little; he wasn't expecting a god to be this mad, in both meanings of the word.
(Honestly, he thinks faintly, he probably should've expected it. Of course. Fever's dad would be kinda terrifying and talk about turning people's guts into instruments and stuff.)
"Well I know now," he says, more miffed than he intends, but it slips out before he can slam a mortified lid on it. Catching himself, "Sir. Uh, sorry sir, I didn't mean that."
Huh. Radar blinks, taken aback, like he just aced an exam without even studying for it.
"It's worth a try." He doesn't sound wholly sure, but he doesn't sound as tentative as he did a minute ago, either. "Right? I don't know a lot about... how this works, or how I work either, with hearing things I mean. What would you be able to do?"
"Well, a good first start might be having you by for tea. It's usually the better thing, to get to know someone before you go prodding around in their gray matter. And I'm always happy to keep the company of my dear Fever's friends... except when I'm not."
"Oh, I got days like that too, sir, don't worry," says Radar. "Sometimes it's nice to see people and sometimes you just wanna be alone with nobody to bother you, even if you like 'em. But -- yeah, okay, I can come over for tea, sure."
“Well, you could stop by my parlor. You know, the building that looks as if it can’t make up its mind. Or if it’s later in the evening, you could stop by the little townhome with the fungus-covered logs and lavender in the window boxes.”
Though what had befallen the town derailed most of the plans she'd held for the day, there's no way she'd forget what day it is, nor what it meant. He holds her to nothing, and it's why she appears in the temple in the morning, in company and with a gift in hand. A knitted scarf, teal, placed on the shrine with as much care as a summoning day present deserves.
This time of year, it's harder to find flowers, so she's drawn some on a piece of paper, leaving them atop the physical gift. Closing her eyes, she thinks of the other, woven out of the depths of herself. Bowed head, one hand on the wood of the shrine, and murmured words.
"Hail the Madgod Sheogorath, on this and all other days. Hail the lord of the Never-There, lord of the imperfect, of those who have changed, who will change, who live mutably. What once was Worm has now taken wings to surpass all walls, and yields not for how things are determined to be. To he who has unwoven my fate, that it might defy reason in the remaking. Hail, on the day when the Prince stands as the guest of honor amidst the spheres, and mark that we celebrate what exists in all mortal hearts, that we might draw from it as we still draw breath."
Ebb and flow. The illusions of being left, the joys of being drawn in. Irrational anger and righteous frustration, the untethered sensations of freedom, the gentleness of holding something fragile. Magic's embrace, and full scale destruction. Howling grief, and a soft place to land. There is more within her, and more room to grow, and grow further. Roots that will grow, and a great sprawling network birthed from rot, that it might still give life. All of it offered up in a great tapestry, to see and to know.
And then, very, very softly, as if it will hurt something to admit it, she whispers four dangerous words before she opens her eyes and must away. She cannot linger, but when she returns home, she lights a candle for her altar, and keeps it lit throughout the day.
Ordinarily, one's father might reply with a similar four words, a reciprocation of that sentiment.
But for all that Sheogorath rails against the idea that there is a correct way, those words do not feel right.
Instead, there are a different four words waiting for Fever on a bit of parchment, written in a familiar hand, when she arrives home at the end of the day.
And she who has seen and lived his darkest days, is met with the words:
When Fever told Max the news about Sheogorath's anniversary, he knew he just had to make a cake to commemorate it. It's a little short notice so it's not as extravagant as some, he thinks to himself while holding this absolute masterpiece of a cake covered in a purple swirl of painstakingly cut out butterflies that conceal beneath them a chocolate and vanilla marbled cake. He steps up to Sheo's boutique at midday and knocks on the door with his elbow.
"Max, my friend! What a pleasant surprise! Please, come in, come in! Here, let me help you with that."
There's an intrusive thought of immediately destroying the cake for the sheer shock and chaos of that, but he could never do that to Max. Never to Max. He doesn't believe in a right way to do things, but that would almost certainly be wrong. Instead, that energy goes into a slow breakdown of his inhibition as, once the cake is safely set down on a tea table, he's wiggling his whole body in excitement.
"You guessed right!" Max claps in delight. He knew Sheo would like it. "Chocolate and vanilla swirled. I'm sorry it's so plain on the outside, though. Usually, I do more frosting."
"Actually, I quite like how plain it is! Simple on the outside, swirling and wiggly on the inside. Appearances can be deceiving! It's a cake of wisdom!"
"Oh, you'll find wisdom in the strangest places. Haven't you ever put food in your mouth and the taste mingled with an idea you were already keeping in your thought-maw, making your brain get a lick of something new? I have."
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chiming
october
Date: 2024-10-22 07:31 pm (UTC)From:Well, things definitely got too loud at the gala, and even if he sorted some of it out here and there -- especially when Fever was around to help -- he's still pretty shaken up about it. So, yeah. Maybe he oughta go talk to him. Not like I still sorta feel like I got a blown-out transmitter in my head and I dunno what I'm gonna do if it happens again is something Hawkeye or Father Mulcahy can help with too much.
So he goes to the temple. Makes what he's starting to think of as his usual rounds whenever he steps inside. A stop at the Catholic altar just in case, same as he jumps to his feet and salutes when a general walks in the room; a whispered hello to Serranai, complete with leaving a neat-looking rock on her altar that he found the other day. Then, hesitantly, he walks over to the altar for Sheogorath.
"Hello, sir. Um." He takes off his hat. "I'm Radar O'Reilly. I dunno if this is the best way to talk to you but Fever said it might be a good idea, so, if you can hear me I'd really like to talk if you got a minute. Sir."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-22 11:25 pm (UTC)From:"10-2. This is Lord Sheogorath."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-23 02:26 am (UTC)From:"Hi sir. Um, thanks for talking with me. I'm a friend of Fever's and I'm, I'm real good at hearing things. Not just with my ears I mean. I'm psychic. I didn't really know that's what it was until I got here, and when I told Fever she said if it ever got too loud in my head you might be able to help." He swallows. "It did, at Dahlia's party. It was real bad. And it's better now but maybe you can still help?"
no subject
Date: 2024-10-23 03:18 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-10-23 01:49 pm (UTC)From:"I know you're her dad. And a god. I mean obviously you're a god if you got a space here in the temple."
And he knows there's something... unsettling about Sheogorath. Even if they never met -- like Radar said, he's got good ears. He doesn't know the details, but he knows there's a sharp edge glinting under that transmission.
cw: dismemberment mention
Date: 2024-10-23 11:03 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-10-25 10:38 pm (UTC)From:(Honestly, he thinks faintly, he probably should've expected it. Of course. Fever's dad would be kinda terrifying and talk about turning people's guts into instruments and stuff.)
"Well I know now," he says, more miffed than he intends, but it slips out before he can slam a mortified lid on it. Catching himself, "Sir. Uh, sorry sir, I didn't mean that."
no subject
Date: 2024-10-26 02:07 am (UTC)From:“Ha! You’re tougher than you look. You’re spirited, too. Alright, mortal, I’m willing to help you, so long as you want a mad god’s help.”
no subject
Date: 2024-10-26 02:43 am (UTC)From:"It's worth a try." He doesn't sound wholly sure, but he doesn't sound as tentative as he did a minute ago, either. "Right? I don't know a lot about... how this works, or how I work either, with hearing things I mean. What would you be able to do?"
no subject
Date: 2024-10-27 01:04 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2024-10-28 12:18 am (UTC)From:A pause.
"...Where do I go?"
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Date: 2024-11-05 04:42 am (UTC)From:(no subject)
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From:cw: mindheckery, link contains brief mention of suicidal ideation
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From:2/2.
Date: 2025-02-03 12:49 am (UTC)From:This time of year, it's harder to find flowers, so she's drawn some on a piece of paper, leaving them atop the physical gift. Closing her eyes, she thinks of the other, woven out of the depths of herself. Bowed head, one hand on the wood of the shrine, and murmured words.
"Hail the Madgod Sheogorath, on this and all other days. Hail the lord of the Never-There, lord of the imperfect, of those who have changed, who will change, who live mutably. What once was Worm has now taken wings to surpass all walls, and yields not for how things are determined to be. To he who has unwoven my fate, that it might defy reason in the remaking. Hail, on the day when the Prince stands as the guest of honor amidst the spheres, and mark that we celebrate what exists in all mortal hearts, that we might draw from it as we still draw breath."
Ebb and flow. The illusions of being left, the joys of being drawn in. Irrational anger and righteous frustration, the untethered sensations of freedom, the gentleness of holding something fragile. Magic's embrace, and full scale destruction. Howling grief, and a soft place to land. There is more within her, and more room to grow, and grow further. Roots that will grow, and a great sprawling network birthed from rot, that it might still give life. All of it offered up in a great tapestry, to see and to know.
And then, very, very softly, as if it will hurt something to admit it, she whispers four dangerous words before she opens her eyes and must away. She cannot linger, but when she returns home, she lights a candle for her altar, and keeps it lit throughout the day.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 01:24 am (UTC)From:But for all that Sheogorath rails against the idea that there is a correct way, those words do not feel right.
Instead, there are a different four words waiting for Fever on a bit of parchment, written in a familiar hand, when she arrives home at the end of the day.
And she who has seen and lived his darkest days, is met with the words:
"I have no doubt."
It's a good day for cake
Date: 2025-02-03 01:52 am (UTC)From:"Special delivery!"
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 01:57 am (UTC)From:There's an intrusive thought of immediately destroying the cake for the sheer shock and chaos of that, but he could never do that to Max. Never to Max. He doesn't believe in a right way to do things, but that would almost certainly be wrong. Instead, that energy goes into a slow breakdown of his inhibition as, once the cake is safely set down on a tea table, he's wiggling his whole body in excitement.
"I didn't realize you knew my Summoning Day!"
no subject
Date: 2025-02-03 02:30 am (UTC)From:"Fever told me!" He's trying not to wiggle in place alongside Sheo. It's contagious.
"I didn't know for sure which flavor you'd like so I went with two. You'll see when you cut into it. Happy summoning day."
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Date: 2025-02-03 02:35 am (UTC)From:no subject
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Date: 2025-03-20 01:41 am (UTC)From:Cake of wisdom? He likes that. It's silly, but somehow it also feels right.
"Too bad the cake of wisdom can't actually make anyone more wise by eating it. My food isn't that kind of magic."
no subject
Date: 2025-03-30 01:13 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2025-04-10 02:14 am (UTC)From:"I always thought of it as inspiration. Sometimes a flavor combination just sparks something in me and I can't concentrate until I work it out."
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Date: 2025-05-28 04:17 pm (UTC)From:"Do tell, do tell, does the taste of chocolate have a shape to you?"
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Date: 2025-06-03 02:41 am (UTC)From:(no subject)
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