i could almost reach a hand out and touch it, this nameless thing i wanted so badly.

[altaschith]

[Not many people know that it's possible for Director Wilhelm to be this relaxed. He's loose and limber, and practically melting into gelatin, with his eyes closed and his mouth halfway open. If his employees could see him as he is now, they wouldn't know what to think of it. They'd wonder after the integrity of his mind--his judgment, even his sanity. They'd wonder how so strict and guarded a man could allow Anima to cradle him here, on his bed, with his head in Anima's lap, with Anima's fingers brushing through his hair again and again. They'd wonder about it, and then they'd likely burn up from the inside out: Anima is humming softly under his breath. Even at a low volume, the consequences of Anima's singing are a well-documented phenomenon. Anima can't explain the destructive properties any better than any of the scientists can. He also can't explain why it has more of a relaxing--or, more of a nurturing--effect on Wilhelm himself. The hair he's lovingly tucking behind Wilhelm's ear is softer and brighter than he remembers it being.]

Would you mind if I asked you for a favor? [he says, then, and still enough of his nameless song lingers in between the two of them. It seems to stain with air with indelible tones.] This time, if we could skip the formality of a reentry interview, I'd very much appreciate it... [They're tedious, for one thing. He doesn't like answering the same questions over and over again. The SCP Foundation would really benefit from a greater focus on hospitality over interrogation...

Anima smiles down at Wilhelm, at once hopeful and imperative. He'd much rather catch up with Wilhelm in ways that don't need to be written down in triplicate.]

Comments

[avodah]

[To burn is to be at peace. Wilhelm never knew that. He never would have thought. In examining the remains of Anima's victims--often through written reports, occasionally through recorded interviews, and inspected firsthand whenever possible--Wilhelm had long presumed that these deaths were utter agony. The consequences are well-documented: men going mad. Men melting. Burning from the inside out. Anima's fingers are the fire irons, stoking the burn, guiding Wilhelm to his melting point. And he does understand how this could kill a man.

Though, as he also understands it, Anima's other victims often screamed. Wilhelm's mouth is halfway open; his eyes are closed; and his breath sounds softer than plumes of pampas grass. If Anima's touch is freshest air, Wilhelm is the plumes, the whisper of them and then the sigh. His bottom lip--yes, just as soft. If he could be so privileged as to swallow Anima's song out of the air... well, Wilhelm's bottom lip would be blessed by its passage. He is burning from the inside out. He is, far and away, the victim with the greatest longevity, but he'll make no mistake in believing that this won't kill him in the end. There is no way it could not. Anima's presence here, and all the consequences of him, are as indelible as any of his songs. When Wilhelm burns from the inside out, it's as natural as a thermal spring. Anima simply draws the fullest heat from the earth, and Wilhelm feels the heart of him being bathed by it, by the spring. Truly cleansed.

Anima speaks to him--no less a psalm. No less the baptism. Wilhelm opens his eyes slowly, and even then only halfway. If he were anyone other than who he is, he would be dazed. But ask any member of the Foundation whether the esteemed Director can be fazed, can be dazed, and the notion just sounds ludicrous...

Wilhelm is the grass. Anima is the gentle wind throughout him.]

It's been a time since I have seen you. [Few people look upon Wilhelm with hope. Fewer still in an imperative.] I can't neglect any changes. Not a one. A single... [His fingers are curved over Anima's thigh. Supple, slender, this is... Anima is the most tender boy. He has always been the most beautiful boy. The very moment in which he manifested on this Earth, however it happened, all other beauties were usurped. Wilhelm, lying here, feels helpless in the face of him. He isn't frightened by it. When he lifts his head from Anima's lap, he will be unsettled by his own helplessness, but right now, to burn is to be at peace.] Nothing can be overlooked. You're in quite the delicate position, and security is hard to come by. [The hope in Anima's face... ah, the smile there.] I offer what I can, in what ways I can. [Remarkably, impossibly, Wilhelm is the most steadfast of Anima's victims. He is determined to be so.

The determination is there when he catches Anima's hand. It's there when he presses Anima's fingertips to his lips. It's there when he looks into Anima's eyes all the while.]

But we could take our time, [he suggests.]

[altaschith]

[Plenty of Anima's victims have believed themselves to be the exception. There have been emissaries, and angry mobs. There have been worshipers, witches, clerics, and prophets. There have been soldiers and biologists and psychologists and authors and salt-bitten sailors. Foundation employees with lesser clearance, and with every level of it. More than one Director, too. Wilhelm just isn't the first Director to take a personal interest in Anima, who has long been the biggest thorn in the Foundation's side or the brightest feather in their cap. Some Directors were harsher and more authoritarian than others. Some of them wanted to conquer Anima. Others, to understand him. But, for the most part, they didn't lose sight of their objectivity in dealing with him. They weren't like the sailors who charted course for distant isles with the intent of bringing back a siren's bloody head. They weren't so motivated by the greed of a bounty, of fame, of being heroic. Director Wilhelm, unfortunately, is quite the greedy man. It seems his ship has long since run aground. In kissing Anima's fingertips, he's admitting that he has taken on water and is no less convinced of his fortunes. Anima himself tried to stay away for a time, to stop Wilhelm from repeating the same mistakes, and yet...

Yet Anima came back to this place because it's as inevitable as any jet stream. Anima had to come back because he could feel--across the vastness of space, and time, and the maze of the immaterial--that Wilhelm needed him to come back. Wilhelm's heart is pleading with him. Constantly. Quietly, but with a constant insistence. It's a dull ache in Anima's inner ear, a sort of pressure, a reminder of great altitude, that he can't seem to ignore or overcome. So he keeps on coming back, no matter how long it's been, and he keeps on setting Wilhelm on fire, even though he doesn't want to hurt Wilhelm like this. Over the years, Directors have made it a priority to see Anima bound and contained, to protect a most fledgling world from him, for the good of the natural order of things. Wilhelm seems more invested in protecting Anima from the world.]

If I tell you nothing has changed, I'm guessing you won't believe me. [Anima's eyes are still a translucent blue. His hair is still the color of whitecaps getting ready to meet the shore. And he's still in the shape of a "precocious, ectomorphic boy," with "smooth skin of indeterminate ethnicity," with such a small, hopeful smile, "as he tends to smile regardless of his mood." (His records are full of warnings about how his appearance is dangerous and misleading.)] You won't be satisfied until you have assessed me personally, and thoroughly, at that. I'm going to guess you won't allow either of us to leave this room until you have confirmed the location of each and every freckle on my skin... [It's a little frustrating. At the same time, it's a little endearing, too. He might be teasing Wilhelm a little bit.]

But I'm more interested in hearing what's changed for you.

[More than one thing has changed for Wilhelm in the time between now and then. Anima can see the truest evidence of that underneath his fingertips, both within and without.]