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crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
hearthwarming) wrote in crescentview2023-02-07 08:20 pm
🏝️ dulces sueños group excursion! 🏝️
🏝️ who: intrepid adventurers (vacationers?) and more!
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
( This is the ill-fated massextinction memshare event. Please refer to the event for details on the resort and the plotting post for any specific details for characters' memshares! There are toplevels for each area of the resort (and for the memshare). Enjoy! )
🏝️ what: ori organized (origanized?) a group trip to the resort! mass memshare ensues.
🏝️ when: fall 9-10
🏝️ where: dulces sueños resort
🏝️ warnings: threads will be marked as needed for memshares.
[ Hopefully everyone had fun on the Arco Lunar! The morning after the boat departs from the docks, a letter arrives to your mailbox: ]
Hello, intrepid adventurer!
I am excited to have you along for a group excursion to the mysterious new island! In two days' time, let us gather in the town square and set off from there! Please be prepared to stay the night. It will be so fulfilling and memorable for everyone to spend a night on an adventure together!
If you have any questions or concerns, please come find me at my flower shop in town or at the forest farm where I live!
Sincerely,
Oriphi
[ If she accidentally delivered it to a few wrong mailboxes, then... Oops!
On the promised day, once everyone (and likely a few surprise tag-alongs) has gathered or been gathered, Ori distributes little paper bags of snacks to everyone. Inside are cookies, oat snacks, and a freshly-picked apple from her and M-21's orchard. Do with them as you please... Just don't let her catch you throwing it into the sea or something. 🥺 ]
Alright. I think we should head out, then! Thanks for coming along, everyone! I hope it'll be a great time. Oh, and please don't forget to drink plenty of water and use this incredible ointment I discovered on this island! It's called "sunscreen!" Tieflings don't really get sunburnt, but you should use it!
[ And with that our intrepid adventurers set off to the mysterious, dangerous, unknowable... resort island! ]
( This is the ill-fated mass
mishka's funeral (closed)
He exhales soundlessly, the ocean air different, but still familiar.
The ocean, at night, reminds him some of Ostoya's black waters, and he feels nostalgic in a way that tastes a little acrid, a little bitter. Gently he feels the rumbling buzz of insects beneath his skin, and he considers that home has never left him. )
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The horizon turns orange, one of the times of day Adelis has come to appreciate, and he'd rather not join the others already already preparing for their...sleep pile, as they call it. A bit of solitude is good, when surrounded by too many people for so long- and the beach is quiet. He does not like it any more than he does on the mainland, but if he keeps his distance from the water, it's almost serene.
Or it was, until he realizes he is not alone- there is a figure in the water, quiet, almost unnoticeable...but familiar. His body tenses, a flash of hot emotion burning his veins, and without a word he opts to turn on his heels in hopes he hasn't been noticed. He is not putting up with this shit right now.]
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He knows the sound of Adelis's gait. It's muffled on sand, beneath the gentle roar of the ocean, but he knows it; or, perhaps, maybe he'd just felt him there. He turns on his heel, the tide rushing past his feet, and for a split second he hesitates.
What follows is the sound of Mishka's footsteps against the tide as he pursues. )
—Adelis.
( He expected this sort of reaction, really, and normally he'd just leave him be, but. he's had some number of conversations lately.
He can try to listen to the advice he's been given, but he can't promise he'll do it right, and he can't promise it'll go well.
He catches up quick enough, but doesn't close to distance too much. )
... I hadn't realized you were coming.
( Mm. That is. not exactly the right angle but. it's a start. He doesn't know how else to start, and he didn't expect to see him here. "We need to talk" is stupid and inaccurate because they really could just part ways, forever. The talking is gratuitous, and he knows Adelis is going to argue that; not unfairly.
Still, Mishka will try to force this indulgence. )
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He doesn't want to do this now. He caved and took one bloody suggestion to try and relax after the past week and a half he's had, and now he has to deal with this. It has bothered him enough in recent days, in the back of his head, despite his attempts to stamp it down-
Feelings have never done him any good, as per usual.
Adelis doesn't turn to face him fully, only lightly craning his head with the narrowing of black-rimmed blue eyes. His circles have gotten darker, albeit that's just from the sleep deprivation. ]
Hadn't you. [ Well, that's fair- it's not like he had signed up. It was a last minute thing, with an offer coming verbally instead. His voice is whittled to a neutral, blank slate, despite the urge to bite. ] I don't go out of my way to announce my presence.
[ His chest is twisting again, and he attempts to shove it down next to the ever-present void. Their standing has been made fairly clear, so he doesn't know why Mishka's chasing after him now. ]
And here I'd expect you'd rather be around one of your many companions. [ The many, who apparently deserve so much more attention and respect then he ever has. ] Don't let me keep you from joining them.
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But it has been argued that this is worse than the pain of grief. Fine. He'll try to believe it, even if it's hard.
He studies him for some moments. He's gotten Adelis's attention, and now this would be the difficult part— swallowing his pride. )
... I wanted to speak to you.
( He reaches up, letting his fingers rest upon the brand at his neck. It's a gesture he doesn't really make.
Right now, he makes it because he's unsure. He is rarely unsure, even when he should be. )
I've spoken to you unfairly out of frustration. It... has been wrong of me.
( Syrlya has told him not to expect failure, but he doesn't think this will be very popular with Adelis. Mishka does not normally do apologies with such gravitas, so this is strange, even for him. )
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Why bother stewing over it, when it is done? At least, that it what he tries to tell himself, despite the itch in the back of his skull.
For a moment, Adelis says nothing, watching with eyes barely narrowing as Mishka leans a hand up to brush his neck. Odd, for him, but he supposes the other has been nothing but bloody odd since his arrival. Content in his faux little displays of affection that make Adelis' head hurt, pretending to be something he is not.
...And yet, he can't stop the bewilderment from flickering over his features at the...apology? Admittance? It sounds so bizarre to his ears, he actually falters. ]
...What?
[ This is...what is this? He was expecting excuses, not this. Whatever this is. It takes a few moments, but he hardens himself again, clucking his tongue in vague irritation. ]
That is a far different story than what you have been telling me, with no shortage in your sincerity, for over a week now. Several times, no fucking less. [ In rapid succession! What the fuck. ] Do you really expect me to believe you've had such an abrupt change of heart, that you suddenly see the apparent error of your ways?
[ Heart, sounds like a funny thing when describing the other. Despite how Adelis attempts to look more aggravated, there is an obviously uneasy look in his eye. He can't be serious, right? After all that goddamn bravado. ]
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Admitting fault is to place yourself in debt; to press a finger on the scales and say, yes, I owe you more. It leaves him buzzing and whirring on the inside, and a sentence in and he feels himself biting back arguments against himself. Still, he must concede that even if he may have been right in some ways, not every tool is suited for every lock; he must concede (he reiterates, to himself) that perhaps he chose his method wrongly.
Still, admitting fault is terrible for one further reason: it invites the truth. Adelis presses him now, and there is no way to reply but with an answer, and now he must choose whether he wants this answer to be honest or not.
He does not want it to be, frankly. But would that not defeat the point, to come all this way and lie again when the previous lie had been working just as well?
If he leaves things be, they very well may not speak again, if Mishka's plans for his curse all fail. That is precisely what he thinks is best. )
... You have always known me to be deceitful. I am flattered you believe that you, so convinced of my falsehoods, believed that I chose a time precisely in the middle of my dishonesty to speak truly with you.
( In the same way he has chosen to wrongly take Adelis's words to heart, so has Adelis, he supposes. Granted, he cannot blame Adelis, given the precise purpose of his phrase was to drive him away in a permanent fashion,
well. And he really had just lashed out, and he did it in a way he knew would hurt Adelis badly. Admitting to himself he had let his composure slip stings, a little.
In any case, honesty. Hm. No; too difficult. He thinks unfiltered truth would sound dishonest, anyway. How to approach this, then, if he's intending not to lie, but laying it all on the table may as well just backfire? And where does he begin?
Right here, with this? It seems topical, he supposes. But the subject at hand, what Adelis means to him, is the thing he wants to speak of least.
He lets his hands fall, because he senses that he's going to start digging his nails into his neck. )
... Do you know how many children I've killed, when they were sent to me for training? ( He knows Adelis knows the answer, so he doesn't continue with particular flourish. ) While that number is great, there is another number that is much smaller.
How many children have I personally raised up, taught, and sheltered? How many have I let into the nest of the Syndicate, and gotten out unbound, untouched?
( If Adelis thinks that number is greater than one then he dies tonight. )
When you cannot trust words, you can always trust numbers. You believe this as well as I.
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Adelis cannot stop the way his scowl twists his face. Dishonesty this, dishonesty that- who is he to tell Mishka otherwise if he wants to fucking insist on how little he matters? To his face, in front of everyone, the cold cut of his words seeming to etch far deeper then any of the times he'd scolded him or punished him in the past. Back then, he would have attempted to regain that favor, out of pride and out of a want to not disappoint the one person in his life to offer him worth. Now? He crosses his arms tighter, digging his fingers into his covered arms.
Would be that he could rake his hands across the skin, as he had done back underground. ]
Who am I to argue, when you seem so bloody sure of yourself and your ability to divest me of my tongue. You seemed fairly certain in attempting to convince everyone, including yourself, of it.
[ Part of him knows.
Deep down, he knows- Mishka did not do that wholly of spite. He still regarded Alexei with this reverence only those of Koshevek can, growing up under the yolk of his eye, desperate of his affirmation. If he did not care, he would have simply left him there- his freedom was not needed, if he truly wished to stick it to the Revered Father. The risk was unneeded.
But the words sting too much, the possibility enough to claw heavily at his mind and leave him feeling...angry. Betrayed. Cold. Just as he had felt back being forced to watch Mishka become something he wasn't, body and mind splitting at the seams and overflowing with rot and grime.
It makes it difficult to listen. But Adelis does, because he isn't a coward, and part of him is morbidly curious-
And he hates how he is right.
It's always been himself. His privilege, the only one to survive and thrive and the one who can speak to him with such casual, vague disrespect. The others would stare at him, whisper in mild horror, bet on the day his death would come for his insubordination.
It never came.
The numbers have never lied, that much he can admit. Adelis' gaze flickers to the side as his teeth grit, frustration peaking. ]
...And despite that, why should I? [ He says, despite himself. Because he's still angry, despite how he wants the cold feeling to go away. ] You have made no small effort to humiliate me, to shove me off to the side like a waste, all for the bloody sake of...what exactly?
[ It snaps back and he takes a step forward, much like he did at the auction, where this all started. His eyes latch onto Mishka's oft-closed own, glare narrowed to slits. ]
Is being offered a reason beyond what I am worth? I am, after all, a spoiled brat with grand delusions.
1/
He knows they seem unfair to Adelis. That is the point. But he does wish he had the foresight to know he would have to untangle it all in the end.
Still, he is pulling together his case as Adelis advances, not at all keen on backing down despite Adelis's stubborn aggravation. If anything, this is familiar. Adelis acting petulant, and Mishka needing to convince him of—
Something about Adelis's gaze gives him visible pause. )
2/
It's just, he feels a little strange, and he feels his insides all in a rush, every insect scrambling, a little hard to contain. )
3/
By chance, one butterfly flits past, Mishka's draped cloak fluttering, though it's night. Its wings are pretty; it's a little cabbage white.
And then there comes another, and another, and another, bubbling out.
And somewhere in that flurry, he remarks: )
4/4
I'd rather keep you to myself. But I can't.
( And maybe the truth is as simple as that. )
1/
Mishka told him all this, twisted the knife, and now turns to say he was wrong? For all he knows, he should take the other's advice- not trusting a damn thing he says. Even if he says he was incorrect in his actions, who's to say that he even means it?
Hearing him apologize in some way still feels strange and unnatural, but it gives him something to latch onto with teeth and claws as he waits and he waits- ]
2/
Mishka is known for violence, for trickery. The insects swarming within him buzz with a rancid hum, with stingers, many legs, venomous bites and many eyes. All manner of things used for killing, spying, stripping the flesh from enemies.
Which is why Adelis is, reasonably, fucking frozen at the sight of butterflies flitting past the older man's lips.
Not the crimson omens that one has to watch for on Ostoyan roads, either. Soft white, the ones that fly past his fields, that settle in the flowers. They flit past, gently brushing his skin, and for a moment, all he can do is stare blankly before he actually registers the fact Mishka is speaking amongst the flutter of wings. ]
3/
But, perhaps he heard wrong, the mass spilling forth from Mishka's mouth garbling his words somehow, because it's hard for him to fully process the sentences themselves.
Put together, they just don't make sense, and he doesn't know how to deal with the way something buzzes harsh in his ears as they sink fully in. Adelis considers himself good at hiding his emotions when needed, covering up to avoid giving anything away vital, but this strips the veneer harsh without mercy.
Happy? To himself-? ]
You-
4/4
Where does he even begin with this? It takes him a moment to grasp onto himself, to pull past the stunned bewilderment and manage to pry his mouth open. ]
Why-
[ Why? Why? Why? It fits every part of this, he thinks, but this will not get him anywhere, and so it continues. ]
Why the fuck would that make me happy? [ His accusatory tone is back, but it's layered with uneasiness, the way he seems to be boring holes in the other man, as if searching for something. A hint that this is fake, or some other tell. ] You push me away and act as if nothing I have done has bloody mattered, and you think that would somehow make me happy? You can't be serious.
[ It is an odd thing to admit, despite all his jabs and hisses and visceral reactions to his actions. He has not liked so much of him, and yet the thought of him being gone forever makes him feel as empty as the hollow hungering his chest. It hard to pick what to address here, when there is so much, and god knows he can hardly focus on one of them. ]
What is this- you can't, when you went away? What is that supposed to mean, Mishka?
[ There is something in the I can't that makes him twitch, albeit with attempts to shove it down and drown it, the small questions roiling in the depths of his unexpected surge of emotions that speaks of a younger version of himself attempting to claw to the surface-
Why can't he? Why? ]
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He really shouldn't be distracted, but it pauses him like a stupid schoolboy, seeing his crush pass him in the hall.
The effect's hold remains on Mishka, but that doesn't mean, still, that he had expected what he says to go over well. He had been honest, but does a liar's truth not sound false? He had expected precisely for Adelis to assume he was lying, or teasing him, or belittling him further in some elaborate way, but Adelis doesn't. Adelis answers him sincerely, in a way he doubted Adelis could.
And he considers that perhaps he really had, for some time, underestimated him, and how much he's grown— really grown, and not grown in imagined ways to feed into his self-harming fantasies of Adelis moving past him.
The questions he asks aren't easy to answer, though. He isn't proud of what answers there are, and his chest feels tight thinking of having to describe what was— losing himself, again.
He doesn't want to tell him, and but, even as the last of the butterflies leaves him, something still feels like it needed to bubble out with them. He has the sense there's something strange gripping him, but it's hard to focus when there's Adelis right there, fretting and fussing and angry, and
he had just missed talking to Adelis, lately. Maybe moreso knowing his plans might fall through, and he might not recognize him soon. )
... Did you really not find it disgusting, when you saw the final face of my curse?
( He his fingers splay across his lips, half-hiding his face, his other arm crossing his chest. He does recall what Adelis had begun to say before Syrlya stepped in, and he had weighed it with uncertainty, like a beast regards an unfamiliar thing.
He may sound as if he's evasive, but his posture doesn't suggest it. He seems— like he's thinking. Like he's figuring things out. He doesn't really want to talk about this. But if they are going to talk about it... he wants to know. )
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The butterflies, really, probably also weren't helping.
Gloved fingers twist in the fabric of his clothed arms, watching with furrowed brows and a perplexity as the final butterfly slips past and flutters off to join it's brethren. Part of Adelis feels he should...leave. Pretend he never heard that, since it still feels like it came from a foreign entity, but something else glues his feet to the sand and makes him wait.
There are so many things in his chest he knows, like the anger, the irritation, the confusion, and then there are the ones he doesn't. Like his insides are bent out of shape and climbing up his throat. A stronger, more intense feeling than he'd get whenever he was smaller and naive, a hand stroking through his hair, complimenting his work.
The question snaps him out of the mental hole he's delved into, mentally cursing himself for allowing himself to get distracted- but it's fine, because the question itself has his lips pursing tighter. ]
I thought I had made that pretty damn clear already, if you had actually bothered to listen instead of ignoring me!
[ He had dismissed him so easily, like he was an afterthought. And yet now he's talking about his happiness, how he-
No. ]
I had a lot more shite on my mind than how you looked- Nevermind the fact I've seen worse! Do you really think that after all I've seen, disgust would be the first thing I thought of? That it was what I was paying attention to?
[ Adelis had far worse things churning in his stomach than disgust- the betrayal, of him giving in. The iciness of realization. And the cold, hollow feeling that buried deep in the still flesh of his heart, like when he'd came back to an empty house and realized his sister's warm hand would never brush his cheeks again.
Loss, he had thought numbly. That was what it had been. ]
no subject
The cool fall air brushes chill against his cheeks, Adelis speaking brusque and impatient. He knows, though, that Adelis does not bundle up for fear of cold, which stays overlong in Ostoya, but out of a revulsion toward himself that mirrors Mishka's own. Is disgust, in itself, not a prayer that asks don't let this happen to me, don't let this be me?
An Ostoyan could grow jaded but disgust begins always anew, and dredges up fear. They could be like him one day, if they are so much as unlucky.
Still. )
... I see.
( He doesn't want to be justified in his misery, and he doesn't need Adelis to know his shame. He just wanted to know if Adelis would recoil if he touched him again.
He exhales, breathing easier. )
... There are few things in my life that I've chosen to do, to the full extent of my freedom.
( Many things he'd been forced to do to survive, like most Ostoyans. Taking on his curse like a parasite; the great many deaths he'd caused in the church; joining the Syndicate...
He steps closer. )
Finding you was one, and... releasing my curse so that you might escape was another.
( Another step, gradually closing the distance. )
And knowing how it all turned out, and may turn out again, I... would do it again, I think, for you.
( Standing before him, finally, he reaches out, and fluffs his hair. )
... I'm glad you made it out safe, Adelis.
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And in the same vein, he is no better. He covers up his blackened hands, the marks on his skin, and does not spare a glance for the mirror whenever he passes it- he hates, viscerally, what he has become, and no acceptance of his circumstances will change the revulsion lodged deep. He can bury it one day, cover it up with dirt and let it grow over, but it will always be there.
Two of them, warped into things they are not. But Adelis is the only one who’s flesh remained his own.
There a buzzing of his own, beneath his skin- like static in his ears and raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Mishka stepping closer with his mouth now free of the soft white of wings only makes it worse, gaze snapping up as he approaches. He feels…sick, almost, and has to resist the urge to step back.
‘I would do it again, for you.’
The whiplash nearly makes his neck hurt, blue eyes widening before the hand even comes down on his head. It’s warm, brushing against his skin and running through his hair, and for a moment he feels poised to choke on whatever threatens to crawl out his throat.
But it becomes quickly overcome by a red-hot fury, not necessarily at him, but at his words, and Adelis furiously wraps his hand around the elder’s hand before pulling it down and closer to him. ]
No. [ It is a snarl, despite the flush of his face. ] You will not!
[ And then it’s Adelis stepping closer, releasing him to grip his fingers in shirt and pull. ]
If you ever dare, I’ll find a way to fucking bring you back to kill you myself! [ He does not say please, he doesn’t beg. ] I have sacrificed countless people, but I will not allow you to pitch yourself away for me again! I will not be forced to witness it happen, and I will not let you bloody run away so easily!
no subject
He felt fear.
He had outrun his curse for so many years, and he had years left in him yet, but it needed only wait. In that moment its cool shadow fell upon him, and he knew, Adelis had become his weakness once again. He could have lived if let Adelis go, but he never does.
He resents Adelis. This small, angry figure that grabs his hand and forces him closer, and doesn't respect the things he'd done, that go against his own nature. Adelis makes him weak. He didn't need the cathedral to teach him that. He makes him weak, but stays his hand.
He resents that despite all this, despite his resentment, his fear, Adelis had made him an honest man when Mishka said he'd step out for Adelis again.
His expression is hard to read, as Adelis tells him off, and admits he would sacrifice anyone but him. There's traces of surprise from the suddenness of the gesture, though he's certainly not surprised by the anger. There's traces of fondness, and affection for how he looks, his face all red, tongue dripping with caustic passion, but there is also, he thinks, something familiar to him in Adelis's expression.
His hand still feels cool where Adelis had held it, for just a moment. He thinks he understands, if only somewhat. )
... Very well, then.
( An easy concession, when stripped of his posturing of rank and pride. Because he thinks he sees a trace of himself somewhere here— the child that he once was, looking for someone to stay with him, looking for...
He reaches up with the hand Adelis had touched, and curls it around Adelis's own blackened hand, dividing it from his collar, and holding it tight. )
... I left you alone, didn't I? I'm sorry. I won't do it again.
( Adelis had friends. Adelis was smart, and he was clever, and he would always find a way to have people around him. He wasn't alone, and that's how Mishka always saw it.
But there is a type of quiet that settles in heavy in the room when you're without the one person you want to see. He knows, because he's felt it, too. )
no subject
He could have gotten out. Could have left. And yet he came back, and part of Adelis wished he had not, despite the selfish, visceral desire to live. Live as himself, live with his mind intact, live far, far away from Koshevek's tainted hold-
Adelis did not want to die. But he didn't want Mishka to die either, despite the times they had clashed. He would do it if he had to, bring the blade to Mishka's skin and snuff him out if came down to it, just as the other would in turn- but for all his griping and utterances of 'good riddance', it would bring no pleasure. Not even satisfaction.
He resents Mishka. He promised himself he would never get attached to another, for the sake of protecting himself- the loss had been too great the first time, the rending of his heart more agonizing than any wound or headache he'd suffered. He could handle pain of the body, but the red-hot pain in his heart was another story entirely. And yet for all his snapping teeth and barbed tongue, Mishka had still taken him in. Beaten him black and blue, spilt poison through his lips, and put a blade in his hand- but there was care, in the utterance of praise and the hands through his hair. Through the advice most would not get, through the patching of his wounds.
Through the way he would look at him, like he had some sense of worth.
He could have found someone else, got his own jobs, but he still went to Mishka. Took or rejected his offers, spat his venom, bantered over the occasional deck of cards and bottle of liquor. He knows the curse will swallow Mishka one day, as it does for all those born of Koshevek, but it had seemed so far off that it dwelled little on his mind- especially when he was going to leave, one day.
And then it had happened, and he hated how much it settled like a stone on his chest.
It is hard to read, blinded by the hot press of emotions as one is, but Adelis' eyes dart all over Mishka's face all the same. Searching, seething, the traces of fondness sending him back several years.
He does not expect the acceptance so easily, and it shows, disbelief furrowing his brows as he narrows his eyes further, but the touch is what makes him freeze. He stares, the other's larger hand coiling around his own, peeling it off and holding it tight in a gesture he wouldn't have expected.
His hands are so warm. It makes him want to throw up. ]
Bullshite. [ He still has a hard time swallowing it down, these...apologies. Promises are not made lightly, and yet he's just, just...he doesn't know. He should pull himself back, he realizes, but his face is as hot as his chest. ] If you were sorry, you wouldn't talk about doing it so goddamn easily!
[ Adelis doesn't pull his hand away, despite it all. His inky fingers flex, uncertain, anxious, like himself- but he wants to hear this, despite himself. He hates admitting this weakness, that he would rather Mishka not leave, but over a months worth of memories, pain, loss shoved into his head bubble over and spill over the sand. ]
...Prove it. [ He can't stop the hiss, and it bewilders even him, but he presses on. ] If you're going to talk about going away, then change your bloody tune, then prove it. Because if you put on all this bravado then up and disappear, I'll never fucking forgive you-
no subject
He sees in Adelis's expression echoes of a younger Adelis, serrated edges and raw emotion. The butterflies in his chest balance along branches and the curve of his smile, though subtle, curls just slightly.
The topic, though, is not an easy one, and his reply comes after a few moments of quiet. )
... My curse has begun to progress. I've been trying to repel it, but I have a few weeks left, as it is.
( He released his curse once, and now it returns to the natural way of things. )
I'm working on a means to prevent the change, but I don't know if it will overtake me in the interim.
( His fingers curl a little Adelis's hand, the hold growing a little firmer. He doesn't have a fixed plan. He doesn't know if it's possible. He's explored the possibilities for a month, but even now he's unsure.
But he doesn't want to disappoint him now that he's promised. He's handsomely passionate in a way Mishka likes when he's angry, and when he's sad; he would relish these and keep these things to himself, if he could. But, strange as it is, he doesn't want to let him hurt over this. )
... Stay with me until I find a way; ground me. I can't so easily disappear with you around, can I?
( Nor can he give in so easily. )
no subject
There is quiet, for a few moments, and it lets the bewildered slurry of emotions in his chest settle unevenly in the bottom of his stomach, if but for a moment- but they ice over the moment Mishka speaks again, Adelis freezing as the words slowly sink in against his will. ]
...What?
[ But he's been fine...or he has been, on the outside- not that they have spoken too much recently. Other people- have died here, haven't they? Trahearne did, and isn't he fine? There's no hells forsaken reason it should be coming back. If she's capable of this much, then despite how much he holds little faith in her, shouldn't she be capable of fixing this? Did she just choose not to?
Maybe he's lying again, is a thought that drifts through the static of his skull. It would be like him. But Mishka's tone is soft, and final, and something about it makes him feel sicker then he did before.
( Is this how Mishka felt, looking at him after? Cold and ill and with a painful, wrenching in his stomach. )
The hand around his own coils further, tighter. As if to keep him still, or prove his point. Adelis is staring, expression uncharacteristically torn as all the rage seems to simmer and shift to something more painful. He almost wants it back. He's searching for some kind of sign, something on the outside, but the tells are not so simple like they are with himself- although, now that he looks, Mishka is dressed far more covering than he usually would here, even with the cool weather. Much like himself. ]
How long has it been going on? Since you got here? The past month? [ His disbelief is not well hidden, even under the light accusatory tone. How long had he gone without telling him? Was he going to really just shut him out until it took him? ] You absolute fucking idiot-
[ Does he deserve it, deserve this from him after everything? No, he doesn't. That's what the rational part of him says, claws at him. The wounds are still fresh, the confusion still ripe. But he can't bring himself to do anything but squeeze the hand tighter, lips pursing as his face tightens in turn. ]
...You had better not be lying. [ He would wrest the tongue from his lying maw if he was, after enduring it for so long. ] And I'd sooner break your bloody ankles then let you continue to run. You do not deserve such an easy out.
[ It is not a 'I promise', it is not an 'I will', but it is a yes, all the same, in his own terms. ]
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Few things would make me prouder than you catching up to me at all to break my bones.
( For catching Mishka at all is no easy task. He flits about and he scurries, and he's a coward and he's shameless. But, if there is anyone who can catch him, he thinks it might be Adelis.
Adelis should have thrown up his hands by now, he thinks. He would have walked away, generally. But still he says, and will continue to stay. Mishka had been lost in that lonely infinity for so long that he— just wants there to be someone beside him, if he really does go. At least he won't go alone.
Adelis's feelings don't have to align with his own. It's fine, even, if Adelis does not wish to carry them. Mishka's feelings are heavy, and Adelis— deserves better. Yet, every time he has tried to spare Adelis the weight, Adelis has gotten so angry, so hurt, so distraught with him, as he has now. )
It has been about a month. Perhaps a little longer.
( He holds Adelis's hand in his own, and he holds onto the sensation of his palm, and his fingers, and he remembers it, like it might end up the last time he's able to hold it.
Then, he drags it down to the hem of his shirt, and he shifts his grip so he holds him by the back of the palm. Gently, he guides Adelis's hand up, his palm sliding up against the skin, pushing up his shirt with it. Across his abdomen web black, wisp-like leaf veins that web, the ink filled in as they approach the chest, as if smudged, and where there are bones there are impressions of these bones in that same charcoal black. )
... I can feel that I will become a beast again. And there is a chance I will lose my sense. I'm seeking to try... and retain who I am, despite the physical transformation. I don't know if I'll be able to speak. I don't know how much of me will remain.
( He brings Adelis's hand to rest above his heart, any sound or sensation of any organ obscured by the soft sound and feeling of scurrying movement just below the skin.
When he had released his curse, this had happened all at once, in a rapid transformation. Now, Adelis can see how it gradually devours him. )
... But if I manage it, if I remain myself, I'd like to propose. That's how you'll know it's still me.
( And finally, his gaze is level with him. Though his smile is easy, his tone is true. )
Ah, but don't tell me your answer now, even if you know it in your heart. ( He knows it's like to be a no, but it doesn't really matter, does it? ) I want you to look at me as I am then and tell me what you feel. But only then.
( Because he might be a beast. He might not be able to speak. He might only partly be Mishka.
But that will be Adelis's decision to make then. And... he has to let him have that, doesn't he? )
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