gather up your missing

[thedreamthief]

The streets honestly don't look any less populated than usual, everyone still wandering and carrying about their business without a goddamn worry in the world. There's a faction, of course, one that includes Ronan and Gansey and a few scattering of others who can recognize that something's wrong.

Something is very, very wrong.

The list of people about whom Ronan actually gives a damn and are not from Henrietta is incredibly short, but there are a few. Luke's shop is the first stop and it doesn't take long to find that he and his boyfriend are missing. (And the fact that Luke is gay -- or at least partially gay -- comes as a little bit of a surprise.) He tries hunting down Dorian next to find that he's also missing, as confirmed by his boyfriend. (This, of course, is less surprising than Luke.)

Grantaire is next.

He lives in the same building as both Dorian and Noah and Ronan is very, very deliberately not thinking about how a fucking ghost can go missing when he bangs on Grantaire's door.

"Hey! Hey, it's Ronan," he says, leaning into the wood before pounding again. "Grantaire, you in there?"

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[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire had, at first, shrugged off not seeing a few of his friends in a couple of days. Though he's grown accustomed to his phone lighting up with ridiculous messages and photos from at one Ami or another, or a quick reply if he sends them, he's also from a time where it takes months to send news, and so it doesn't immediately bother him.

But he's had multiple friends disappear on him, back on Tabula Rasa and from here, and it lingers in his mind.

At least a week without seeing Porthos drop by Tintern, or coming and going from the building – and, he thinks, nearly long without any sign of either of his closest companions, would put Grantaire ready to start looking around in earnest. But it’s not just one person. He hasn't seen quite a few people in a while. When he starts to slowly take account, nothing improves. The city seems entirely bereft of Dorian’s flamboyant personality. Flavia is out when he drops by, and Julie doesn’t answer her phone, and he doesn't have the faintest idea where to look for Ronan, except to throw himself at some alley with a bottle of whiskey.

(The fear that they've all been taken, erased from his life in one go, sinks cold and heavy into his veins, and he ends up with a drink in hand anyway.)

The loud knock and ensuing call makes him jump to his feet, the cat crying at the door.

“Erebus,” he says, opening the door, “come all the way to the Bramford to see me?” and he tries to keep his tone light, but his eyes are relieved and he can’t keep himself from reaching to put a hand on his shoulder.

[thedreamthief]

Aside from Gansey, Grantaire's face is the first friendly one Ronan's seen in days, and the wave of relief that crashes over him is almost staggering.

Grantaire reaches for him, a warm hand on Ronan's shoulder and Ronan can easily make out the haunted look in Grantaire's eyes, relief in the color of his cheeks. Breath whooshes free of Ronan's lungs and he steps in, ducking down just enough to wrap his arms around Grantaire's waist and hold tight. It's less of a hug and more of an added reassurance that he's here. Whole, alive, and present.

"You're the first I've found," he says, pulling back. His stomach is still churning, panic running through his veins. Still too many gone. "Everyone else..."

He trails off, afraid to put the words out there, to make it concrete. Everyone is gone.

"You've been here awhile, haven't you? What the fuck is going on?"

[pylades_drunk]

The sudden embrace startles Grantaire slightly, but it's not unwelcome, and he finds himself glad of the reassuring solidity of Ronan under his hands. Warm, breathing. Here.

"The first?" he says, pulling back with a disturbed expression. "How many others?" He gestures inside with his head. He's not sure exactly where Ronan's circles run -- mostly outside his own, he thinks, which means that in sum, that could be quite a lot of people suddenly taken from the city. His stomach twists.

"Six months, a little longer," he says, because that is a while, but it's probably not as long as Ronan thinks. "I don't know." He moves into the kitchen to get another glass out. "People disappear from here, sometimes. From the last place I was -- before my home." Has he told Ronan about Tabula Rasa? He's forgotten. "The island. They appear and disappear, sometimes --" He thinks of Tunny, rubs his thumb across the scar on his hand where he smashed the glasses in the Winchester, and forges on. "Sometimes suddenly. Sometimes forever. Once in a while, a few come at once, usually when they're related. --Whiskey? --"

"But not all at once like this. This isn't normal."

[thedreamthief]

For whatever reason, Ronan had assumed Grantaire had been in Darrow much longer than Ronan, and he's surprised to hear otherwise. He's further surprised as Grantaire mentions an island, a place he'd presumably been after his home in France. Frowning, Ronan follows him into the kitchen, listening with a growing unease.

"It doesn't feel normal," Ronan agrees, nodding at the offer of whiskey. It won't be able to help him find his friends, probably won't bring them back from wherever it is they've disappeared to, but it might help him cope. At least until he can punch a brick wall.

"You and Gansey are the only ones still here," he says, though he knows that's not entirely accurate. There could be more. But it's only Grantaire and Gansey he gives a shit about. "Parrish went missing over a week ago. I didn't even notice, I was..." Scowling, he shakes his head. It doesn't matter why he didn't notice. Would it have changed anything? Would he have been able to stop it? "Noah's gone, too. Blue. And Dorian and Luke. What the fuck is happening?"

[pylades_drunk]

He pours a glass for Ronan, a little more full than he'd pour at Tintern, and passes it to him, pressing his lips together and taking a long sip from his own. His stomach clenches cold at the phrasing when Ronan says that he and Gansey are the only ones here. Of course Ronan means of his friends, but Grantaire has the sudden horrifying thought of walking outside the apartment to see the streets barren of people.

"I don't know all your friends," he says, wondering if Parrish is the same as Adam, because it doesn't sound like a first name, and because of the way Ronan trails off. "Dorian I haven't found, either. Courfeyrac, Flavia, Porthos and Aramis and Athos." He spreads his hands.

"I told you before, that the places like this aren't kind," he says. "They're not simple, and they don't give chances. When people disappear, they don't come back, not in my experience, and who knows where they go." He takes a long breath, trying not to think of Courfeyrac dead. If he's gone, he has nowhere to return to.

"But they don't disappear all at once." He shakes his head. "Your friends, my friends, I don't think they can be just --." He looks up at Ronan, angry and desperate and confused. "I can't believe that they're lost," he admits.

[thedreamthief]

"Jesus," Ronan breathes, overwhelmed. He's never met any of the people Grantaire names, but each one makes the list even longer, making it obvious this is much more than a case of people simply returning home.

He takes a large swig of the whiskey, relishing the burn and wishing it could override the growing unease in his belly.

"People don't just disappear en masse," Ronan argues, shaking his head. "They're not being abducted by fucking aliens." Somehow believing in the power of dead Welsh kings is a lot easier to swallow than the idea of an alien invasion. "So what is it? Where the fuck are they going?"

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire takes a long drink and says, ironically, "somehow I doubt the son of God has much to do with this."

He nods, knowing that Ronan's right, but without any evidence of where they've gone or how to get there. If there's even a way that this damned city will let one person find another. They might as well be in a different universe. The idea of aliens does bring an ironic smile to his lips. "I could tell you a story..." he starts and trails off.

"I don't know," he says, distraught and angry with it. "But I don't mean to stop looking." Fruitless as it might be. R reaches out in an instant of feeling frail against the world to put a hand at the side of Ronan's neck. Proof that he's still there, maybe. He meets his eyes. "We'll get them back, Erebus," he says, with more confidence than he can assure himself. It's easier to be brash in front of other people; Grantaire nearly makes a hobby of it.

Besides, they must get them back: they have no choice.

[thedreamthief]

Ronan is positive he doesn't want to know whatever story Grantaire could tell. He absolutely doesn't like the tone of his voice either, that unease twisting tighter and his jaw clenching.

Grantaire is at least as upset as he is and he settles a hand on Ronan's neck companionably. It feels like it's meant to settle either Ronan or Grantaire, or maybe be both, and Ronan does feel himself let out a slow breath. There's a confidence in Grantaire's voice then, an assurance that Ronan finds himself aching to cling to however useless it might be.

"Do you have any ideas on how?" he asks, nerves itching. "I don't know where else to look. Do we need to do some fucking incantations or some shit?"

[pylades_drunk]

Ronan allows the touch, and after a moment, Grantaire can feel him relaxing under it. He absolutely doesn't know whether his confidence is just for Ronan, or if he's hoping to fool Ronan into thinking he has some, but either way the breath he takes under Grantaire's hand feels better.

Grantaire snorts at that. "If we need incantations, you've come to the wrong apartment," he says, and kills the last of his whisky. "Spiritualist I am not. I don't know, but I'm starting to think about throwing myself at the edges of this place until it gets bored of taking me back."

[thedreamthief]

That's an impulse Ronan understands all to well. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd tried leaving Darrow when he'd first arrived, all the different roads and paths that only led him right back to where he'd started. Trying again now would probably lead to the same results and not actually fix jack shit, but he gets wanting to try anyway.

"I've tried Cabeswater," he says, realizing only after he's said it that Grantaire may not know what that is.

And Ronan has no real idea how to describe it.

"Nothing's talking, man. The police sure as fuck aren't helping. It's like no one here, the natives or what-the-fuck-ever, give a single solitary shit."

[pylades_drunk]

"They don't," Grantaire says, not pretending at optimism. "If they've noticed, you won't have heard it from them. I don't think they know what this place truly is, or if they do, they don't care to talk about it. Every regular I have that's from here original is perfectly cordial until you try to press them about the way this place works."

It's unsettling; moreso than the island, which was spare but, at least populated completely by people like him from other places. The times he's mentioned, without thinking, the oddity of this place only to have a suspicious and somewhat hostile native look at him like he's the crazy one, it's getting to him.

"What's Cabeswater?" he asks after a moment.

[thedreamthief]

"It's fucking creepy," Ronan agrees, lips curled at the thought. He's taken to largely avoiding the native citizens of Darrow as much as possible, half sure they must all be dream things themselves, sure to slip into a coma once their maker passes. Unlike his mother, however, they lack gentleness and compassion, hold a blankness behind the eyes that's wholly unsettling.

His lips purse with Grantaire's question, suddenly unsure how much he should reveal. It'd be shitty to go quiet now when he's the one to mention it, though. And it's not like Cabeswater can be much of a secret here.

"It's a forest," he says finally before taking another drink of whiskey and then shrugging. "But a sentient one. With talking trees and shit. It's, uh. It's kind of linked to me. To Parrish, too. It's hard to explain."

[pylades_drunk]

Grantaire makes a noise of agreement, leaning on the counter and looking at Ronan as he debates with himself how to answer R's question.

R laughs over his whiskey, a harsh exhale. "A sentient forest?" He's seen some of the things from Ronan's mind, and some of the things this place brings all on its own. "I can't argue, I guess. It can tell you about things going on?"

[thedreamthief]

Ronan's lips twist into a deeper frown at that question and he shrugs again. "Not really. It's not like a magic 8 ball. It's more that it... it can recognize things, sense them."

Which really doesn't clarify much at all, but Ronan wasn't kidding when he said it's hard to explain.

"Parrish made a fucking sacrifice of himself awhile back," he finally manages. "A deal. Cabeswater can talk to me, through the trees, but it uses Adam. It can sort of possess him, I guess, make him act as its eyes and hands so when shit gets fucked, Adam knows how to fix it."

[pylades_drunk]

That answers for Grantaire if Adam and Parrish are the same person; he's used enough to calling his comrades by their surnames (and, often enough, twisting their surnames into nicknames) that it isn't odd to him.

"And now he's not here, if that would even help," he says in understanding, with a wince because he's the one, after all, that shoved Ronan at the idea of saying something to the boy before it was too late. He hadn't thought too late would be this early. But he doesn't think any of these people have disappeared, not in the ordinary way. In some ways, that's worse.

He shakes his head, rolling over ideas in his mind, each one worse than the last. "If we..." He trails off and finally slams his palm down on the counter with a curse. "Putain! I'm tired of standing by while this place decides our fates."