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metaphors, mitochondria, starfish

@captainshakespear / captainshakespear.tumblr.com

call me captain. canada. scientist. optimist. here you will find sci-fi, superheroes, video games, and various other hyperfixations.
Strategic value
For immortals, chess games can take a long time. 

When she first approaches the magnolia tree, Joe is propped up against it’s trunk, surrounded by fallen blossoms with his sketchbook in his lap. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling steadily. She’s about a foot away, about to reach out and shake his shoulder when - “Hey Nile”

“Jesus! Joe!” she swats at him instead as his eyes open, and Joe’s smiling broadly, eyes crinkling, “One day, even if it’s a thousand years from now, one day I will sneak up on you” she vows, glaring at him.

“And I look forward to it” Joe chuckles, pleased at the way their newest member is beginning to mention her immortality more casually, flex a little. He reaches out a hand, hoping she’ll pull him upright but Nile’s hands merely fall to her hips instead, glare intensifying.

He leans forward, gazing imploringly up at her, pouting. “Nile! I’m the oldest man on the planet. Please, have a little compassion for my poor knees”

“This house has thin walls, judging by last night there is nothing wrong with your knees” Nile scowls, narrowing her eyes at him. He holds out. One, two, thre-

“Alright, my God” she complains, trying not to smile as she helps pull him to his feet. Joe dusts the stray petals from his hair and clothes, tucking his sketchbook in the crook of his arm, a cluster of blossoms in one hand. They knock shoulders as they wander back towards the house, the early evening sun warm on their retreating backs.

Ducking through the tiny doorway reveals Andy slicing the fresh bread on a chopping block, Nicky’s broad back rootling about in the depths of one of the cupboards. Nile starts pouring out wine and water for the dinner while Andy quietly starts doling out their meal but Nicky continues scrabbling about, occasionally turning to dump various knickknacks on the side; corroded brass candlesticks, crumbling books –

“Haya-“

“Aha!”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No – better! Look, Joe! I knew I was winning, last time we were here!”

“Babe, I was the silver, you were the brass”

Nicky is the one to frown this time, the scar between his eyebrows deepening as he processes this information, before his expression smooths out. “No-o” its adorable to watch, his utter faith and trust in his husband, warring with his own recollection, “No because I took the last piece off the board before we had to go to Croatia.”

“Because you lost your last piece”