|Repose Fall (reposefall) wrote in repose,|
@ 2019-11-23 17:20:00
|Entry tags:||*log, chris fairchild, heath fairchild, jack penhaligon, plot: all aboard|
Reveal Log: The Digger & The Aristocrat
Who: The Digger and the Aristocrat
What: General confusion, but no tea
When: Immediately after the Plot
Heath was gifted by God in a number of ways. He was a tall man, and naturally thin regardless of how many sweet buns and cakes he ate. He had flat shoulders and a smiling face that made him like perpetually sixteen even though he was already on his way to thirty. His hair was that sort of flaxen that went soft and yellow like straw in the summer, and he had warmth and brains in abundance. He’d been collected out of the foster system by someone with a lot of money and nobody raised a hand to him in payment.
But he was not gifted the way the Digger had been gifted. That man had been the kind of beautiful crafted once a generation, the collected paint brushes of the East not enough to match the gold of his skin or the darkness of his eyes. Heath’s voice was middling and touched with acquired Southern wealth, but the Digger had been accented with green tea and silk.
Fortunately, being the Digger had not been the same as seeing him, and when Heath was himself again, he was freaked out but not traumatized. He felt itchy in his own skin in a way he hadn’t since he was a teenager, because he was so much taller than the Digger that he felt like he was walking on stilts. The Digger had been nearly frozen to his bones, and Heath kept flexing his fingers to get the feeling back into them, and you could see the whites of his eyes the same as you could see his knuckles. He repossessed his arm if necessary, took two decided steps backward, and scrambled through his pockets looking for his phone the way a hiker would scratch at a cliff edge after a slip.