crescentview | | that's the price you pay

[ There's a rushing wave of emotions roiling through him right now, a complicated mess of things he shouldn't remember and now he does, all in the course of a single night. It does not help the last thing he remembers hovers at the forefront, a cold sense of helplessness and regret muddling everything else.

He doesn't even hear the other approach in his stupor, staring blankly at his own face as he attempts to pull his thoughts together amidst the downpour of newfound knowledge. And to make matters worse, there's a furious buzzing, like static growing louder and louder in the depths of his skull- ]

...What?

[ Adelis turns only slightly, since he had left the door open, but with no glasses and the agonizing throbbing of his head, it's difficult for him to parse the other man completely. ]

It's- no. I.... [ He doesn't even notice that the stream of blood from his nose gets somewhat heavier, running down his chin and staining the sink red and pink. He feels he should be angrier, but all he feels in the exact moment is a cold, numbing emptiness. Disconnected, in shock, as his fingers tighten on the porcelain edge. ] I-I don't know.

[Oh. Shock. Blood. Syrlya doesn't even stall in the doorway, moving quickly to enter the bathroom and reaching with gentle hands to try and pry Adelis off the sink.]

Here, you should sit down. [The toilet will make a suitable chair, and Syrlya will aim to guide him towards it.] And we'll get you cleaned up.

[First things first is to stem the bleeding (he's so much more pale than before). The hand towel will do, for now, and when Adelis seems unlikely to teeter over or run off he grabs it and twists the sink on to soak it with cool water. Wring it out, and then slowly offer it towards Adelis' face.]

[ He finds himself flinching, in the slightest, when he's touched- a reaction that confuses him just as much as it makes sense. Of course he wasn't fond of it, when he just...just...a face flashing through his mind sends a surge of ~~hatefearrage~~ and he bites down on his tongue to suppress it.

Regardless, Adelis lets himself be sat down, it helping to ebb the disorienting pounding in his skull. The mat and tile under his feet is a stark contrast to the image of grass and dirt that's most recent in his memory, and he squeezes his eyes shut and gives his head a shake.

It's only when he opens them does he see the cloth being offered up, and there's a few seconds as he stares at it in an attempt to compute the purpose, eerily bright eyes flickering up to Syrlya's features with an unreadable expression before the irony taste hits again. Ah. Right.

It's taken with cold, black-stained fingers and lifts it to his face, slowly scrubbing the blood off his skin with an obvious unsteadiness. ]

[That flinch causes Syrlya's grip to ease, briefly, but ultimately he keeps firm enough to ensure he can get Adelis steady.

He watches, waiting for a moment to ensure Adelis has the towel to his face. And his hand thus moves to try and rest on Adelis' shoulder, slightly towards the back in case he faints from the loss of blood.]

Adelis. [He speaks a little quieter.] Do you remember how this happened?

[ The hand on his shoulder is...grounding, at least. It keeps him tethered, pulls him back and forces the cogs to start turning again. He pulls the cloth away from his face and stares at the red stains on white, mulling the question over.

Does he remember? Hells sake, he remembers too much. More than he'd like to. Part of him wishes he could go back to not remembering, living in some form of blissful ignorance. Then Adelis wouldn't have to deal with the memories, the furious swirl of feelings, the empty feeling in his stomach he doesn't want to acknowledge- ]

...Yes.

[ It's...raspy. His throat feels dry. Is it from last night, or the vestiges of his time in the dark? He lifts up his arm, drags his dark fingertips over the marks- the scratches, the light imprint of teeth, the faint lines from shackles. Healed, somewhat, but not fully.

He pulls them away as his head throbs again, and resists the urge to groan. ]

Where are my- [ Ugh. A surge of nausea hits, but he swallows it down. ] Where did I leave my fucking glasses.

[ He needs to...focus on something else. Just a little, in an attempt to keep himself together. ]

[Syrlya's gaze settles on those wounds for far too long, marks that he knows were not there just last night, when he'd gripped Adelis' hand across the table. But no one could have possible done this simply overnight while they were asleep...

He snaps his gaze up, back to Adelis' face.] They are likely in your room. I'll get them for you.

[His hand slowly slides away as he takes a step back, and turns to hurry out the bathroom and down the hall to Adelis' room. He assumes he'll find them on an end table, or in a drawer. He won't linger any longer than it takes to locate them.]

[ Are they? Probably- he unfortunately remembers far more of the things shoved into his head in the past hour than he does of last night, but the migraine pitching in pain is probably the cause of that. The feedback is one thing, the whiskey is another. And if Syrlya looks enough, he'll find them on the floor- it seems he knocked them off the bedside table in his mad scramble prior.

...It's cold. More than the normal cold, the lack of heat thrumming through his veins. He knows the source, and yet he dares to have a brief moment of hope that he's wrong as he lifts a hand, uncertainly, and presses it to his chest and waits. And waits, and waits-

Nothing.

The flesh is cool and still. His chest doesn't rise, and there's no soft, steady thrum against his fingertips. He feels very much how he did the first time, waking up to holes in his neck and an unbeating heart, only with less despair-fueled hysteria.

Rather a disconnected, disgusted form of acceptance, now, as everything begins to unravel itself. Regardless, he's going to up and get to his feet, grimacing lightly at how his head protests at the movement. If he stares at the tiles anymore, he's going to go insane. ]

[Thankfully Syrlya spots them before he steps on them, and gingerly plucks them up before returning to the bathroom. He's a bit surprised to see Adelis back to his feet, walking towards his front and unfolding the arms of his glasses to offer them in the right direction to slip on.] Here. Your glasses.

[His gaze drops down just a little to stare at Adelis' nose, gauging how much the blood is still flowing.]

[ A fortunate thing- his eyesight is terrible, especially up close, and anything easier is more than welcomed. He reaches up to grip the golden arms before finally slipping them on, wincing lightly at the sudden clarity and more pronounced brightness of the glaring bathroom light.

Normally, he'd be worried about displaying this much...weakness, especially in front of somebody else. But all things considered, he has worse things to worry about right now, and he can't really bring himself to care. ]

...Thank you.

[ It might be the first time Syrlya has actually heard him say that phrase. A few drops of blood escape, but it's at least slowed to a light trickle- the buzzing in his head is no longer a godawful, deafening ringing anymore. It leaves him more time to pay attention to everything else that's wrong, and it's...not much better, really, as he moves to steady himself on the bathroom sink. ]

I think- [ Or so he says, but by the blank, uncertain tone in his voice, he's not all there still. The color has not returned to his features at all. ] I...liked it better when the hangover was the worst of my concerns.

[Were the circumstances less dire, he might have had some quip about Adelis' actually saying his gratitude--but it's already flat in his head at the sight of Adelis so... unsteady. Worn. He can only imagine what must have happened to drive him to this point so quickly.]

Was this the goddess? [His brow knots, lips pursed into a thin frown as he reaches to wipe some of that blood away with his thumb. The bleeding has slowed, and that's a small mercy.] Or your curse?

[ He doesn't even have any quip to offer at the thumb brushing the blood off his face, even if one rises on the tip of his tongue. There's an exhaustion that sinks into every inch of his marrow, both mentally and physically, and for a moment he has to mull over the question in search of a way to answer. ]

...She didn't do this to me. [ Not her, not with the memories still untangling themselves becoming clearer. ] Maybe...part of it. Not wholly.

[ How do you even explain whatever the hell this is, in a way that makes sense? He'd have a hard enough time believing it himself if someone tried. But regardless, he attempts to straighten himself up rather than stumbling out, finally attempting to focus on the other man's face. ]

...I've remembered. A lot of things I did not before.

[ Things he wished he hadn't. Things he would have preferred not to. For all the strength they seem to offer, they offer misery in equal turn, and the scars on his flesh are not the only ones left in their wake. ]

[More than remembered, if the unhealthy pallor and impressed marks are anything to go by.]

Something has caught up to you. [Some strange anomaly in time? It doesn't really matter. A quiet murmur, mostly to himself:] You've changed.

[Phsyically. He's far too still, too cold, more like a corpse than Syrlya has ever seen. There's flashes of sharp teeth under the blood that were not so pointed before. Is Adelis even still...?]

Tell me--what do you need, right now?

Edited 2023-02-01 22:24 (UTC)

[ ...Something, huh. That's an apt enough description, for however vague it is. He does, however, hear that murmur, and he can't find it in himself to deny it.

Waking up different, something cold and dead and gone in the night, is unfortunately not a new experience for him. It's just not one he had wanted to relive. There is something on the tip of his tongue as he pulls the unraveled threads back into place, but it dies quickly at the question that has him freezing.

What does he need? That's fairly obvious. He needs to...sit, and gather himself, he needs to put everything together, he needs-

He needs to ignore it. He's put up with it for so long ~~longagorightnow~~, and he's not weak enough to give in to it like he wanted him to. Adelis didn't down there in the dark, with his teeth and his nails and muttering, and he won't here, either. He's not weak. He didn't submit. He came out stronger than he was, regardless of the ache.

His fingers twitch, brushing the scratch marks already on his arms, and he abruptly strides past out the door. The bathroom is too small and he needs to just- ]

Nothing. [ He doesn't sound so sure of that, even if he's doing his best to be. ] I just- a fucking second. That's all I need.

[Syrlya does let Adelis pass, although he's watching him closely to ensure he is staying upright. If he falls, Syrlya is ready to catch him.

But he seems... okay, for now, as least as they pass into the hallway.] Okay.

[Just a minute, then, that Syrlya leaves Adelis to head to the kitchen. Grabs a glass out of one of the cabinets and fills it up with cold water.

He grabs another towel as well, because Adelis' face is still a bit of a mess. And then he goes to find him once more, glass ready in offering first.]

[ Steady enough, he thinks. He's not ready to keel over, not walking with a skull full of fuzz and static that seems primed to blow. Disconnected, yes- with an emptiness he didn't have the night before, that rivals the hollow sensation his curse leaves him with whenever his skin leaves the brush of another.

But still, there's a mental fortitude in the way he forces himself upright and straight, resisting the urge to suck in a stabilizing breath he knows he no longer needs.

Syrlya will not have to go far, as it's the kitchen he decides to stumble into- the light of the morning sun streaming through the windows is grounding enough to his discombobulated senses, despite the hangover.

His gaze flickers down to the towel and the cup, before looking up, wearily and distant. ]

...Do I still look that bloody terrible.

Afraid so. [He lets out a breath with a faint, sympathetic smile.] But I suspect whatever you went through was terrible enough that... it isn't really a surprise.

You are here, however, in your house where you can recover without other people asking too many questions. You only have to tell me what you're ready to speak on.

[ Yes. Of course it was. He can recall Legba's comments on him once they were far enough from the looming shadow of the Cathedral, put together enough, for her to throw in some of her usual uncensored commentary. Utter shite, as she had called it- and for once, he couldn't argue with her.

Adelis has no doubt that he doesn't look much better now. Perhaps worse, since he wasn't gushing blood from his face then, but the marks on his skin were also fresher at the time, so who knows.

He takes the cloth, and the cup- the latter of which he holds for just a moment before promptly throwing it back. It's good for both the hangover and the rasp in his throat, and the cool liquid helps ground him to an extent. After all those memories shoved into his brain, it almost feels like a new experience again.

He taps the glass on the table. ]

It won't be pleasant. [ He's blunt, about that. ] None of it is, but then again, I suppose I've not a single bloody pleasant thing to offer about that place to begin with.

You would have shocked me if it wasn't something horrifying. [Ostoya already has the bar low, so he can only imagine the devastating circumstances that could bring Adelis to this point.

He reaches to tug his gloves off, reaching for Adelis' hand--and stops, hover just an inch above it.] Does this still help?

[Holding hands. But he doesn't specify if he means for the curse or for Adelis' heart.]

[ That earns a laugh- small, dry and not particularly full of humor, but the barest of laughs regardless. Indeed, he supposed he has painted the bleakest of images- Mishka is capable of referring to it with some fondness, but Adelis is not so kind.

He watches, silently, as Syr pulls the glove from his hand- before idly lifting his own to stare blankly at it and the shadow-stained length of his fingers. Then he sighs, dragging himself to the table to drop down in it before offering up said hand. Take a seat, we're going to be here a while. ]

Regrettably, despite my newfound state, the curse hasn't left me.

[ State is one hell of a way to put it. Undeath? Curse? Even if it isn't one, it still feels like it. Degrading, tainting his being in a way he would even call his worst nightmare. The icy, bottomless sensation of despair when he had awoken the first time had likely been the most vulnerable the others had ever seen him. That feeling had never quite left him, no matter how long ago it was.

And now he's shown that to someone else, if only somewhat muted. The faint out of body experience, likely, is helping in only that regard.

He idly uses the towel and wipes his face with his free hand, watching the faint red streak across the fabric. At least it's decreased in time with the static in his skull- psychic feedback is a bitch. ]

[Syrlya takes the nearest chair, dragging it a little closer as he fits his hand with Adelis' and holds it firmly. And once he's seated he rests the other one over the back, cradling his blackened hand as if it were precious.] I'm sorry.

[For all of it, really, the trials Adelis has been rapidly put through. But he offers no other words after that. Not yet, anyway. He'll let Adelis anchor himself in the silence, and the grip of Syrlya's hands, and determine when he's ready to speak--and of what.

There is much to explain. But it doesn't all have to be today.]

[ ...Adelis resists the urge to sigh, just from that alone. All these people and their love for apologizing for things far beyond their control. This time, however, he won't comment, merely idly flexing his fingers as the other's hand clasps over it. The touch of another, as usual, manages to somewhat fill the hollow sensation he's gotten used to.

Part of him...despises the idea of having to drag everything up to the surface. The first time needed no explanation- after all, he wasn't the first of their party to end up on the wrong end of someone's attention, and they knew from nature of travelling together alone. Where to start, after all, is the biggest obstacle.

Adelis lets the slow trickle of warmth under his cold skin harden his resolve, finally pulling his hand away from his face. ]

I suppose I'd better get this out of the way first, if I must- [ Perhaps it will get easier to parse, the more he speaks. ] Before I came here, I died. Not whatever I am now- [ The stillness of his skin and the lack of a pulse. ] but before that.

[Syrlya sinks into his own thoughts (and headache), but when he hears Adelis' voice he pushes through the fog to give him his full attention.

Ah.

Syrlya is... not as surprised as he thinks he should be. Ostoya is a harsh place. But something about the wording catches him.]

You... don't mean that your soul was dragged here from the afterlife, do you. [Before this. If it wasn't obvious enough he is the walking undead.]

No. Although, the hells might have been a bit more merciful.

[ Were he explaining this to some others, it would likely be harder to deal with- but Syrlya is from a place with dangers just like him, and magic besides. That is a small mercy, in his eyes.

He pinches his brows at the throb of his own headache, but at least the buzzing isn't so distracting. ]

We ended up...somewhere, a town of sorts, where the dead go. Our souls were tethered to what was left of our bodies, or something along those lines- it let us keep our minds intact, unlike many of the others there, who lived in blissful ignorance as to their fates.

[ A light grimace. ]

The dreameater in charge made a deal to return us to our original forms, in exchange for one thing- we would delve into the dreams of three people on the verge of waking and ensure they didn't die as they did in the past, to prevent them from realizing their untimely ends. He didn't inform us as to his nature, but it was easy enough to garner in time.

So you... went back in time, in a sense, to change the future? [Syrlya tilts his head. Screwing up the timeline is one of few things he hasn't done, and for good reason--but he doesn't expect the average person to have seen reality unravel enough that they realize certain things should not be touched.

That besides, of course Adelis would want to save his own life.] You succeeded, I take it.

[But not without a price.]

...No, not exactly. It was just dreams of theirs- nothing could be changed, when they were already long dead. Some of them were associates of other people I was travelling with.

[ A familiar face always makes it harder- none of them had been close to him, but he doesn't feel the need to mention the one of his he had saw. After all, said face is already here, and the details of throwing his dream-self from a dozen floors of a tower is better left unsaid. ]

And no. [ His gaze flickers elsewhere. ] We decided not to trust him, and helped them awaken instead. However I may be, I've little interest in condemning others to an ignorant end. We dealt with him, and managed to have our bodies...re-made.

[ Not fully whole, if the magical scars left on his body are any indication, but it's better than the other option. This is not the point, though- and he continues. ]

...We were not, however, the only ones wading through people's dreams. [ His tone drops. ] We came across someone else whilst traversing one.

Edited 2023-02-03 08:47 (UTC)

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