crescentview | | that's the price you pay

[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)

Oh. [Said softly as he parses the situation as it actually was. So, trickery?

He nods, slowly, not asking the details but he can viscerally sympathize with being remade. But this is about Adelis.]

Who--[Well, the who won't explain much to Syrlya, not yet.] What were they like?

Edited 2023-02-03 08:52 (UTC)

[ What were they like. That brings an...uncomfortable sensation in his chest, and for a moment he seems to falter, raising a hand to his face as his gaze flickers. For a moment he says nothing.

Nothing good, because he hates, but it brings with it a sickening, feeling of attachment- it's disgust, and yet it feels heavy on his tongue, to speak what he desires. He knows fully well how he feels, but it's wrong, at the same time- ]

Repulsive. [ He finally gets out, idly pressing his nails to the skin in an effort to distract himself. ] To wear the face and robes of a priest whilst your soul is long gone is nothing short of laughable. But Kindred are capable of many things, and dream-walking just happens to be one of his.

[ His fingers still itch from that encounter, the sound of his confessions slipping from his tongue without having a say whilst the shadows tore at his skin, knees pressed to the dirt like a stone was on his back. ]

... I see. [The hand im Adelis' grips tighter, an instinctive motion to ground him in the present as he navigates these memories.

He doesn't ask the follow up, expecting Adelis intends to continue anyway. But he lets him have the moment to collect himself, Syrlya only offering a kind and attentive expression.]

[ These, at least, are the easier ones- the calm, if you could call it that, before the storm. It's less of a need to catch himself, and more of a need to push past the compulsion in his blood, one that fills him with as much hatred as it does fill his thoughts unabashedly. ]

...He took an interest in me. [ He recalls the calm smile on his face, the cold brush of his fingers, and the sensation of dread that has crawled through his veins like a parasite. He can still taste iron on his tongue, not his own. ] I had always been intimately connected to the dead, apparently, and that was fascinating enough. They always like what's fascinating.

[ A few more drops of blood fall to the dark brown of the table, but he ignores it. ]

...He started visiting me after that. I don't remember much of those dreams, only that he was always trying to make himself seem warm. Welcoming. It is hard to escape one who you cannot hide from even in your sleep.

Ah. [Syrlya's expression curls in distaste. It's based on presumption but he only needs Adelis' clear discomfort to decide his feelings on the matter. This was an unwanted, persistent presence. An infection of company.

His gaze flickers to the dripping blood. He resists the urge to wipe Adelis' face.] How rotten. Was he looking for you in the waking world?

He didn't need to. Not yet, any way.

[ He can't remember which of them decided on their next course of action, as it feels like so long ago- even if they had met them a month ago, maybe two maximum. ]

After we got back to the surface, we eventually heard of a festival being held in Koshevek territory- namely, to celebrate the Duke son. Most Kindred have turned many, but nobody had ever heard of another member of the Koshevek clan until then, so it had been...strange.

[ His lips purse to a thin line. ]

One of our members was a hunter, albeit he had a fate similar to mine. It was decided we would investigate, as we didn't have any set course at the time. So we went. In hindsight, we likely should have put more bloody thought into it then we did.

[Fate similar... he supposes that means twisted to being undead as well.

Absently, Syrlya considers he doesn't know much about the people Adelis knew in Ostoya. He never thought to ask because Adelis made it clear how much he wanted to get away from that place. But he wonders, for a moment... if they were friends.]

Because it is dangerous to get close to Kindred, or... it was a trap?

[ He hasn't gotten much time to think on the others, despite it all- but he won't say some of him doesn't, perhaps, wonder if they're alright. They're strong, certainly, but at the point he'd left...

Well. He'd get nowhere dwelling on it. ]

Both.

[ There's a bitter bite to it, as everything continues to settle. He was right, at least, about how talking about help sort them easier. ]

We aimed to stay as far away as possible, but he was looking for me in particular. And they are capable of many things, including charming others into doing their bidding willingly.

[ That makes his fingers tighten, because if there's any sensation more disgusting in the world, it's your mind slipping from you into another's fingers. ]

We got separated in the crowd. He came for me. And I came back to my senses, with a cup in my hands and blood in my mouth. Not my own.

Oh, Adelis... [Syrlya's expression falls in mournful sympathy. They had talked about this just last night. What cruel irony that his own will would be wrenched from him immediately after.

He runs his thumb over the back of his hand, a soothing gesture the only thing he has to offer.]

[ He can't stop the reflexive surge of irritation- he hates being pitied, like that will do anything for his misfortune. But Adelis stamps it down, swallows it, because despite how he acts, he knows the intentions are...better than that.

The fact he doesn't pull his hand away says enough. ]

We decided to leave the next day. To drink a Kindred's blood is to be bound to them, depending on the amount, and I would sooner run then be left to follow his will. It hadn't been much, so I was still myself.

[ Then he goes quiet for a moment, and his free, blackened hand raises to the side of his neck. ]

But like I said. You can't escape someone who can enter your dreams, and even harder still to resist someone who your mind compels you to listen to, who is far, far stronger than you. [ His eyes flicker, visceral hatred in their depths. This is one weakness he would not forgive himself for. ] I woke up...this. I did not take it well.

I know. [He breathes the words out. He knows that struggle to keep your own mind against someone--something stronger. The sickening feeling deep inside when you realize you started to fade into the fog of someone else's words.

He barely made it out as himself. Adelis was not so lucky.]

... I don't imagine you would have taken it well, no. But I doubt I would have either in your position.

[ Not taking it well had been an understatement. The muted horror of the blood in his mouth had paled to the feeling of waking up with an unnatural stillness in your chest. It had been the worst sensation of dread and fear he'd felt in years, and it had never really left.

Benjamin, after all, did not take his well either- for a man dedicated to hunting the very thing he had become, it was the one thing they began to have solidarity over in some form. ]

...The feeling was one thing. [ Once all was said and done, he was able to adjust to the changes, well enough- if only due to sheer spite and resolution alone. However- ] The hunger was worse.

[ Was, like it still isn't there, a gaping void in his chest made worse by the freshness of his escape. Even now, it is hard to push back like he always does, the yawning emptiness scraping at his ribs with a visceral vengeance. ]

... The hunger? [His tone is imploring, waiting for Adelis to give words to what he's keeping down below. He would like to understand, something that only Adelis has experiences between the two.

He's not completely ignorant to guess, though, but no apprehension crosses his features.]

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