Aefenglom IC Inbox

[notbert]

Comments

text; un: lalli

[nau]

[When Onni and Reynir disappear, Lalli isn't quite sure what to do about it. He panics, at first, but... So many people seem to be disappearing lately.

It's very suspicious.

So one night - or morning, depending on how you look at it, Eldibus gets a text.]

Did you do something?

text; un: ardbert

[notbert]

[Look, it's true that Elidibus is not the last in the list to accuse in the advent of mysterious disappearances but surely people don't know that here!

At least he recognizes the username after a brief scroll through stuff he's posted to on the network.]

I remember you. The cousin. You'll need to be more specific.

[nau]

[He doesn't WANT to be more specific, he wants Elidibus to know exactly what he means so he can feel safe in his worries.]

My cousin is missing. He was talking to you. Do you know where he went?

[Reynir is missing too, but, like............... That's fine, it's easier to pretend he's not worried about him.]

[notbert]

[Poor Lalli. But at least his response quickly lets Elidibus know the reason for the demand. Unfortunately he has no easy answer.]

I'm afraid I have not heard from him since our public conversation.
I understand your concern. And now I think about it, it seems unusual I have not heard from him since.
[Elidibus had a lot of things in the works and been unable to reach out himself.]
Given the recent kidnappings, I'm certain it is of some concern. When did you last speak to your cousin? When did you discover he was missing?

You know, since we used mine before i'm using your inbox this time. Backdated!

[fuelingfire]

For monsters like Lahabrea, who have yet to accept anything about their situation, least of all the instincts involved, the entire week surrounding the full moons is a trial. For someone already prone to temper and irritability, it's a long and frustrating trial at trying to rein in instinct and temper, and get as much accomplished before moonrise. He hasn't been at it quite long enough for it to become routine, but he definitely plans ahead.

Which means for a few days the doors are locked, the window closed, shades pulled, hearth fires for the most part banked, the lack of desire for anyone visiting obvious - it's at least one that the harpies respect. Food has been packed up and placed in his cage, bottles and containers of water, something to do in the ensuing few days likewise collected, and then he'd simply retreated with the most comfortable of cushions, the entirety of his small hoard, and his bomb as soon as the moonshifts set in and marked the rise of the Sisters. His robes and even his mask have been left elsewhere, for in one's home it's perfectly proper to go without, and he'd made do with a pair of modified shorts and little else. There was one blessing to the way the moons warped his body, for his hips and knees finally felt right and he could move with ease after uncomfortable jostling and realignment. Unfortunately it also came with increasing his size and the coverage of scale and feather, the small nubs of horns twisted into large arcs of dark ivory, the whites of his eyes fully occluded by the storm-gray iris, and pupils gone reddish-amethyst instead of a more proper black. He could, if he were lined up against them, outsize the largest of roegadyn at this point ... but that would likely fade once the moons' influence waned.

Usually it's a fairly monotonous couple days but with nobody around to trigger temper or violence, even in the times where awareness fades and leaves only an animal behind, not much has come of it yet, which was exactly how he liked it. Which is exactly how he liked it right now, even with the itch to leave and do ANYTHING BUT SIT THERE, carefully chipping away at a large chunk of black rock with a small variety of tools up against one side of the cage so shards don't just get everywhere. The moons demanded he do something, and he's doing something, keeping himself utterly focused on this task and not giving into the impulse to leave, to hunt, to find a rival and tear their throat out with his teeth.

There's really only one visitor he'd even tolerate at this juncture, one who may be surprised to find the worst of the staircase squeaking has been settled via vigorous application of hammer and nails; Elidibus hadn't exactly been warned of any of it but Lahabrea didn't feel warning was necessary; he already knew the Speaker trended towards unstable, that he had a cage and put it to use, and that the moons had risen. Anything more would surely be extraneous.

But it's a distracting thought that keeps making small chisels go still in his hands, stopping to listen with ears perked and attention honed for the sound of a door lock being opened, or footsteps across hardwood. Elidibus might wisely choose to not visit til the full moons have passed, and certainly Lahabrea would say that is the best decision to make.

It doesn't stop him from pausing, and listening, still and unmoving under the pale electric light to catch any whisper of a sound, of a scent that might mark the end to silence.

The borrowed clothes he'd insisted they bring with them were no solace; for all he could smell familiarity, taste familiarity, it brought with it only utter certainty that this isolation was wrong, and he should find the rest of his flight, for there was safety, there was comfort in numbers, in a fragile bond--

He knows the thought isn't really his, and so it's deliberately shoved aside, and he returns to careful chipping, the surge of blind fury that boils up carefully likewise bottled and put aside. It too would pass, eventually.

Yes, give them. POSTS FOR THE POST GOD--- I mean BOX.

[notbert]

Elidibus has spent a decent amount of his time in the intervening weeks cleaning and repairing the rooms he intends to inhabit. A good dusting and cleaning of the second-floor rooms and then a focus on what's most needed when it comes to repairing stairs, floors, walls, and ceiling. A place to sleep and a workspace. Perhaps signs that he'll eventually take over the whole second floor but... there are other matters to take care of first.

Mid-Ieneuer had seen a little less of the Emissary. On top of his normal studies of magic and combat and the world of Talam, he'd been drawn to observing the matter of the Circle and kidnappings to gain a pulse on the darker undercurrent of Aefenglom's flow. And to put more of his 'Ardbert' identity in peoples' minds perhaps. For instance, one day he'd come back with bottles of alcohol and stored them in the chest. Which was closed only after being thoroughly sure the Cherry Bomb was nowhere in attendance. His error earlier this month will not quickly be forgotten.

So the matter of whether he would be here today at the start of the full moon, had been in question. Indeed, whether the first full moon since their Bond and his arrival was a wise time to visit may have been examined carefully. But the benefits and, dare he say it 'desire', to attend had finally made the choice a simple matter. The solid thud of boots on less squeaky stairs and the scent- perhaps the Bond strengthens a touch with proximity- and it's certainly the Emissary.

Another hint is that those footsteps would have been heard going upstairs first, though, to change. What he comes down with is not robes and mask, but the sleeveless brown turtleneck, pants, and footwear. This much shouldn't be surprising if one were to consider he planned to spend considerable time in the basement. He'd brought with him a satchel too which, though mostly in containers, there are some scents of food escaping from it. Elidibus had not come empty-handed.

"I apologize. I meant to arrive before sunset but matters kept me." In all honesty, given what he's heard he's not sure how Lahabrea will look or act. So he's slow to descend and looking toward the cage even before he's fully in view. This being the best decision does not mean due caution isn't in order. "Have you kept your wits about you thus far, Lahabrea?"

TAGS FOR THE TAG THRONE

[fuelingfire]

Thankfully this time the bomb is already down stairs and far from alluring locked chests it's not supposed to get into. It, of all creatures, doesn't seem to actually bother Lahabrea at all, be it near or far from his hoard or anything else, so it's allowed to do as it pleases. Which for the moment is staying burrowed in the longer feathers of his tail, asleep. What separated it from all other life on this forsaken world might simply be its origins - Lahabrea created it from naught but his own aether, and so in a strange sort of way, it was a part of him. It was almost sad that the little creature would be his final true creation, a legacy of grand wonder whittled down to a lone cherry bomb.

Although his hearing isn't as sharp as many turnskins, it's enough to hear the door, and then footsteps. Not a stranger, nobody who didn't know where they were going would stride from place to place without hesitation, and marginally he relaxes. There was always the possibility of someone unwelcome of course, but they'd get one nasty surprise for their efforts.

And as Elidibus comes down the stairs, albeit at a rather measured pace, he's watched through narrowed eyes. The cage hasn't been reopened, the outside lock still firmly in place, nothing's been destroyed yet, and there's a chisel in one hand. Not ... precisely the actions of a beast, but one can never be sure. "As much as ever."

Which is a complete lie, but his recollection of feral states is dim at best, and so far not an issue. Previously... previously he hadn't had the soothing outside source of magic, whether or not it came from a fledgling witch. But the steady resistance of any impulse he recognized as not naturally his certainly did him no favors. One hand rises to gesture; there's still other cushions about, outside the cage. "The bars should hold."

He sounds.. fairly normal, for all that's worth. The same dry rasp, even if it doesn't really match the undercurrent of emotion beneath it. His control for the time being, is iron.

But this time there's no immediate effort to curl in on himself or hide, he remains on his comfortable cushion without even his mask to obscure his features, the bold red and gold markings across his face almost but not quite a substitute. "What have you been doing?"

Anything is a distraction.

[notbert]

'As much as ever', is it? Elidibus does wonder if that's any more true than 'the bear trap injury is just fine, I don't feel any pain'. But mostly, the Emissary had a different impression of what a feral state during the full moon would be. Certainly not a grumpy as ever Lahabrea.

For now, Elidibus chooses to take the proffered cushions. The satchel is placed on a low table beside his chosen seating. This will all be dragged relatively close to the cage, though respect for the dragon's reach through those bars is given, for the time being. Out of the satchel comes two packets of cookies. Ginger snap of course; he's become quite interested in them.

"I brought these," the Emissary offers, as a subtle indication that he desires to approach and pass the packet through to Lahabrea. And, as he has noticed the chisel in hand and the project it's being used for- it being rather difficult to miss- he adds, "Am I to presume your full moon condition affords the clarity for such delicate craft with the dragon brimming so close to the surface?" Perfectly mild. Utterly dry. Yes, this is Elidibus and he is calling you on your lie, Lahabrea.

As for what Elidibus has been doing? "Patrols. A watch for those manipulated and those being kidnapped in the city by the Evergreen Circle." He doesn't have to pretend the fervent dedication to doing good deeds characteristics of Warriors of Light here so he doesn't. But the Ascian does explain further. By this time there's been enough time for Lahabrea to accept the packet or refuse it, so Elidibus is settled on his chosen cushion and one cookie into his own.

"My observations have been insightful, albeit more difficult than I'm accustomed." For one thing, people can easily see him and he can't use magic or natural ability to scry matters from afar. "Aside from that matter, I have been visiting the archives of the Coven and researching this world." Elidibus's mouth twitches in a sign of annoyance. "The approach of the full moon seems to have weakened my grasp on the magick of this world." Which was already comparatively non-existent. "There never seems to be enough aether. I will have to plan for this in the coming moon."

text

[omnicrafter]

[Some days later...

Here goes nothing.]

Hey, I finished one of the saddles. The other one's still a work in progress, but I'd love to show you what I have so far when you have time.

Sorry for the delay! Had things come up! D: (Also text)

[notbert]

[A response is sent in a reasonable amount of time.]

I'd be interested to see which one was finished first.

[One might even take that for humor!]

I suppose I should bring Filia. To your home then?
[He knows where you live.]

[omnicrafter]

The heavier-duty one, since I figured you would need it sooner than the other one. I'm practical, what can I say?

Yes, please. I'll be here.

[notbert]

I will be there before the next bell.
[There is a second message sent a few moments later. As if someone were correcting himself to a more native way noting time.]
A half an hour.

---

And about a half-hour later, the familiar sounds of an amaro's cry are heard. And maybe they're seen, man and beast; he isn't riding the creature. For one it'd probably be uncomfortable for both of them without a saddle. Secondly, his only means of reins are still in the form of a halter and lead. While taken good care of and perfect for the task it does, it is not something one wishes to use to guide a steed down city streets on a winter... afternoon? Early evening? Well, Elidibus did say he wouldn't mind the time, given the Warrior of Light's nocturnal needs.

Filia seems to be in good spirits. What 'Ardbert' doesn't give in affections, Tataru has no doubt made up for. She remains well-fed, well-groomed, and without any signs of poor health. If Irhya is watching for the arrivals, she might even catch the amaro nuzzling at the warrior and he... sighs a bit and fondly(?) scritches the feathers around the top of Filia's head or cheeks.

But the cheerful look he's placed on his features doesn't really change. It's just there for show. The attention to the amaro too. Or maybe there's a practical reason for it.

But he'll enter the yard and secure Filia much where he had before. Somewhere out of the wind even without the makeshift shelter this time. And Elidibus will approach to knock. It's only natural to see him armed again and not just because of where he's at. The streets are getting more dangerous lately. People missing, Cwyltid popping up. It's a dangerous world.

It's best to be prepared.

text; ~around the 17th

[unsundered]

[It was fortunate that his watch had been undamaged and recovered with his corpse when he'd been brought in to be revived. Left in the room with him as he rested, he'd eventually both noticed it, and had the energy (both physically, and especially mentally) to spare on using it. But with Mettaton successfully resurrected and with him, and weeks of 'lying still and mostly trying to sleep' ahead of him, it was time to Communicate. Perhaps it would even distract him from how terrible he felt (it wouldn't).

Through text, of course. It wasn't easy, with his right hand still lacking the dexterity for typing, and his overall coordination reduced. But Emet-Selch perseveres, laboriously, carefully reading through his message several times to make sure everything's spelled correctly. In text, at least, it's easier to maintain a certain tone, which is most of why he fails to use the easier voice messaging (there was no chance of all at using video, considering how unwell he looked).]

In case you were planning any more charming get-togethers, I'm afraid I might just have to miss out. Unless, of course, you were willing to host them at the hospital... small as my room is, I'm sure we could all squeeze in if we tried.

In the meantime, to distract you from the great distress the dearth of my company might provoke, [Absolutely aware there is no such thing.] I now know some things you might find intriguing. I hope you appreciate the effort I went to in learning this.

A death here for us is the same as it is for any human. We're afforded no more control over it, no more ability to change forms and take on another, relying instead on mortal contrivance to be called right back to the body we'd recently vacated. If there's any consciousness at all to be involved after death- well, I didn't discover it.

[And of the three of them, Emet-Selch was confident that he would've had the greatest chance to.]

They say it should take several weeks for me to recover, another point against dying most tragically or otherwise.

Oh yes, I also have some experience now with the sensation of a cwyld infection. In case you were harboring any doubts, I can assure you that it does not come with my recommendation.

Not a Text. Ominous.

[notbert]

[There is no immediate response.]

---

This would, of course, lead to exhaustion rising to claim its toll. Perhaps even fast enough to not be truly worried that an immediate response was not forthcoming.

Perhaps.

Recent events with the machinations of the Evergreen Circle have utterly taxed the caregivers, witches, and aides of the Coven. So when Elidibus, looking every bit the altruistic type of person who would volunteer and also has more than two brain cells to rub together, is not devastated by brainwashing, grief, guilt, remorse, or all of the above, he doesn't even have to try to convince someone to let him help. They practically fling a smock and a volunteer armband at him.

He does, however, have to do a little work to find out the location of his fellow Ascian and current bed partner and after that, it's just a matter of stopping another volunteer, readily convincing her that he can handle this particular room since the occupants are friends and he'd like a chance to check on them. She looks at him like he's her savior, which is something of a surprise until she explains what the cause for her relief is.

Ah. Yes, that puts matters into perspective. Nevertheless, he grins and chuckles and nods his understanding, accepts the tools she'd been carrying to the room, and lets her escape. Elidibus steps into the room and closes the door firmly and silently behind him before letting the act of emotions drain away from his features.

Mostly. There is something there. The uninitiated might have called the furrowed brow a mannerism brought on by 'disappointment'. But those who have dealt with the Emissary over countless millennia may be able to read deeper than that superficial assumption. Distant as it may appear to be, this is what concern might look like, were concern a creature newly born into the world and not yet sure of its purpose.

Never fear. It will be hiding deep in the recesses of Elidibus's psyche by the time Emet-Selch awakens and risks bringing it to the Emissary's attention, thus ending its short life.

Elidibus takes a moment to look over the patients which have been left in his care. One is his primary concern of course, but given they are likely to be tangled around each other by this point- it's what Bonded do, or so he learned- he'll have to deal with that matter.

What had sent the other volunteer scurrying was a concern over the Puca which, perhaps understandably so, was very protective of Emet-Selch currently. Doctors and aides had already gotten a few broken bones trying to get too close after Mettaton had gained some stamina back. While the volunteer had protection and been sent because she could be gentle and convincing and was going to back out of the room again if things went south quickly, she had definitely been glad it was Elidibus taking the risk, not her.

But it appears even machines run out of energy. Or... whatever the Puca is currently anyway. The entry did not stir Mettaton and drawing closer to Emet-Selch's side of the bed brought no ire. Hmm. Elidibus draws the smallest denomination of cune from his belt ouch and sends it into a nearby wall. He watches for any signs of motion, any twitch of a long ear.

Nothing. Excellent.

Carefully, since he really doesn't intend to awaken either one at first, Elidibus draws back the blankets to expose Emet-Selch's upper torso. Bandages are immediately noticed, as they cover a great deal of flesh. But so too is the smear of blood and gunk everywhere, thanks to Mettaton's presence; it seems the doctors were confused about whether they could use water around the machine? Or maybe the Puca had woken up about that point and made it a moot issue with his bad behavior. Elidibus sighs.

Which brings the matter around to the items he brought in. A basin, a pitcher of steaming water. Plenty of clean cloth. It's true, the Emissary wasn't sure at first if he was going to go so far as to use the tools he'd been given. He'd hoped to talk to his fellow Unsundered about the contents of the message. But if more sleep was needed to recover, then Elidibus wouldn't sit idle. He could begin with an examination of the condition Emet-Selch's host is in.

And to do that, he was going to have to wash away the grime. Maybe change those bandages. Untangle Mettaton. Wash... Mettaton? Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Pulling over the room's only seat- a stool at a good height to examine (or bathe) patients- Elidibus leans over Emet-Selch. Though the warm, damp towel drops to rest on a patch of flesh around the neck and left shoulder area, the Emissary does take the time to try and carefully pry open the eyelid of what was, at least reckoning, the non-functioning eye. Still nonfunctioning? The right arm is... well, let's save that for later, as he would need to contend with moving Mettaton to get a better look at that.

The check is over quickly enough. Which leaves us with an opening that goes something like this.

When Emet-Selch wakes up, he finds Elidibus- one hopes it's Elidibus and not suddenly the real Ardbert- giving him a sponge bath.

[unsundered]

Emet-Selch had done all that he had felt required of him: he'd let his two compatriots know of his condition. And with that accomplished, he'd set the watch aside, and crumpled back onto Mettaton, letting out a heavy breath as he settled into as comfortable a position as he could. Letting the other Ascians know that he was alive again (as well as that he'd died, he supposed) was one thing, but staying up to see if they replied went beyond what he thought could be expected of him. He was tired; they could wait.

And with Mettaton finally in something that at least looked like good, thorough sleep, Emet-Selch had little and less reason to fight off an encroaching unconsciousness. Despite how exhausted he was, he knew it would probably be fitful, prone to waking in twitching starts, thoughts muddled with memories of blood and dark burrows and the scent of rot all around him. That was just how it had been, ever since he'd revived, and what he assumed would continue for some time to come.

But not this time. His body had finally won the conflict with his mind and his heart, pulling him into a heavy, thorough unconsciousness. Even without the incidence of death, he hadn't slept well for several weeks preceding; with dying added into the mix, what this mortal flesh needed most of all were long, deep periods of rest. And with his Bonded safe and in close, constant contact, all concerns that required consciousness had been lifted- and his body could, so-to-speak, pounce, dragging him into a heavy instance of repose.

And so he remained, oblivious to Elidibus' ominous lack of response. Were it not for the slight movement of his chest, and a body temperature greater than ambient, it would be possible to mistake him for having slipped back into the realm of the dead. His coloring was still poor, sickly, his wounds extensive, and his body fragile. He was not well, and there was no mistaking it.

The room is entered; Emet-Selch had a visitor, but is unprepared to receive him, sleeping through anything that might've been mistaken as concern on his guest's face.

There's no movement, no sound, no reaction at all to the partial exposure of his body, as Elidibus peels away protective blankets. That his chest had taken significant damage across it becomes expressly evident for all that it's covered, considering the amount of bandaging applied. Applied and in need of refreshing, as they had both old blood transferred there from being pressed to Mettaton's body, as well as signs of fresher bleeding underneath- a silent record of how his weakened body had tried to propel itself, for whatever reason (to reach his Bonded, of course). The newer bleeding seems to have been well contained and not urgently serious, at least, having not soaked entirely through the bandages- but were a warning for why the Ascian needed to keep still, lest he make anything worse. Another bandage lay at the side of his neck, in much the same condition.

But any prodding goes unremarked on, unnoticed, unreacted to. Even when his non-functioning eye is opened for him, there's not so much as a flinch. Elidibus could proceed, could observe as much as he liked, and there was precisely naught that Emet-Selch could do about it. Granted, even had he been awake his only defense would have been commentary, as so much as sitting up under his own power was exhausting and not something to be attempted casually.

Yet sleep, deep as it was, eventually fades. And where individual gestures like the sound of a coin hitting the wall, or the prodding of his eye, or the moving of blankets wasn't enough to rouse him, the steadier contact of damp fabric rubbed against skin might have helped coax Emet-Selch back to the surface sooner than otherwise. What was that, and why was it happening? His breathing changes slightly; he shivers, as though more of his skin was exposed, and eventually his eyes half-open, his working one struggling to focus on the source of this strange sensation. His head tilts, his eyes blink, expression moderately uncomfortable as his gaze adjusts to the light, and then fails to adjust to what he sees in it.

Elidibus, damp cloth in hand (a damp cloth stained reddish, he notes absently), applying said cloth to his body. Emet-Selch freezes, tensing as much as his weakened muscles allowed.

...A moment later though, he relaxes. This was clearly a dream, some absurdity his unconscious mind had come up with. He did want to be washed off, after all, the old blood and bits of fur and dirt that he'd picked up from his Bonded weren't pleasant to have left on his skin, so this was just an expression of that desire. That it was Elidibus performing the task, well, that was dreams for you. They were always a bit nonsensical. He closes his eyes again, waiting for the dream to move on.

But it didn't. And rather than falling back asleep (or continuing to sleep?), that peculiar feeling of being washed... persists. His brow furrows. His eyes open again, focusing once more on Elidibus there, in his hospital room, where Emet-Selch lay tangled up with his fiancé, wearing nothing but blankets over his lower half and bandages on his chest and throat. Bits of his skin were wet (and somewhat cleaner). Elidibus was bathing him. The Convocation's very own Emissary, made into the manifestation of their people's hopes, was washing him, by hand.

A low, strangled sort of noise escapes his throat: his initial response to something he could not now un-experience. There's flashes of inclinations: to laugh, to try and go back to sleep, to ignore it all. There were a lot of things he could say, some more flippant than others, some rude, some demanding, most some manner of perplexed.

His eyes close yet again, but not to sleep or pretend to. His voice is slightly taut, words given in a tone that makes a valiant attempt towards idleness. "I didn't know you were so eager to... change careers, Elidibus. But nursing. I'm not certain it suits you."

The last time he'd seen the Emissary, the other man had treated wounds wrought by dragon claw. Was this going to become some sort of pattern?

Just look at that bedside manner expression.

[notbert]

One thing Emet-Selch might notice. Elidibus does seem to be better at this than when he'd last cleaned any portion of his contemporary's body. Perhaps this makes the situation even more surreal than it already seems. It's almost as if he cares.

Make no mistake. This initial cleaning is not his intended result. Elidibus is giving Emet-Selch's host body a critical examination. If even a fraction of what was said in the message is true and that it might be imperative to take care of their current hosts, then he wants to know what condition his fellow Unsundered are in. Particularly the Architect, who had already had notable degradation.

And if this resurrection did not restore lost limbs or that eye, what else will cease to function after this recent incident? One could suspect he started before Emet-Selch woke up because there would be protests otherwise. They would only be partially correct.

There are many factors involved. Keeping up the act of what he's ostentatiously here to do, yes. The practicality behind cleaning away the extra grime before removing the bandages before thinking of tending to the injuries underneath. Of course. Planning on how to extract Emet-Selch's frame from an overly protective Puca, sure. And naturally, that full-body examination, which is clinical to the point of terrible from someone who claims to be a 'brother'. By the time awakening is a factor, the Emissary has no doubt managed to thoroughly check over as much of the body as he thus far has access to.

There is a slight pause in action when Emet-Selch first shows signs of stirring. But he continues, letting his contemporary wake up- or rather, decide whether or not he's awake or still dreaming something utterly ridiculous. By this point, it's pretty reasonable to assume he's got a basin of dirty water. But thanks to magic, it's just a matter of touching the basin in a certain spot to empty it, then refill from a pitcher that seems to have plenty more water than it seems capable of holding. It's during one such change that the bed-ridden Ascian speaks.

Elidibus turns his head to look down on Emet-Selch. Then to the door which is still firmly closed and then back once again. A decision is made, whether to speak like 'Ardbert' in a public place and hint toward preferring his identity not be placed at further risk. Or, simply answer as he was addressed. Slowly turning back and wringing out the cloth once again, he reaches out to continue his work. He also chooses the latter of the two options, though he speaks quietly enough that the noise and bustle outside will not let his voice carry beyond the confines of the small room.

"I see your tongue has suffered little from your aborted demise, Emet-Selch," the Emissary offers calmly. "Though no doubt had you your full wits, it might occur to you that rather than change careers, I am simply adapting to our current needs." Elidibus won't wipe anywhere that will impede the other Ascian's ability to speak. In fact, he's largely done what he can without a few further matters taken care of. Namely, Mettaton. And bandages.

But first, "In the absence of anyone more suited and since it is oft ill-advised to allow the patient to treat himself, I have stepped into that capacity. It allows me a chance to comprehend the damage done and what this... Resurrection magic can accomplish." Disturbingly little other than the retrieval of the soul itself, it seems. And if such is the case, he is no doubt struggling with the instinct to reject any mortal care administered to such a precious commodity as an Ascian's sole host body. Even if there's only so much he can do. For a brief moment, the fledgling feeling of concern might flit through the Emissary's gaze.

Then gone again. Because cleanup, an examination of the shell, and changing bandages? These are things he can do. Blandly, Elidibus concludes, "Now that you are awake, I would like to continue my task. So if you would kindly unravel yourself from your puca's clutches, I will endeavor to do so."

And once that's done, there's no doubt going to be a talk over what that message said and the events that led to it being sent. But first things first, as unusual as it might be for an Ascian to consider a 'disposable body' as a priority over information.

it's a text, but like yesterday or the day before.

[fuelingfire]

There's a very peculiar individual on the pocketwatches today.

If you're doing naught else, it might be diverting for you to speak with them. Another fledgling mage, though this one seems a little less idiotic than most.

Though unlikely, mayhap they would make a decent target for your own nascent skills in this world's magic.

A response! Totally a little after the text was sent.

[notbert]

You describe a great many individuals. Perhaps a name they go by would aid in narrowing it down?

Are you suggesting I aid them or take advantage of their relative inexperience?

[fuelingfire]

If you were to look instead of ask me you'd note there is only one new mage of recent messaging.

Yes.

Another brief message!

[fuelingfire]

[This one's audio though, not text. The sound of the river can be heard in the background, ice cracking slightly. He sounds.. perfectly normal.]

In light of Emet-Selch's loss of his fae bond, I volunteered you to take her place. It would, I think, do him good to have one of his own kind instead of another mortal as a link, especially given the rest of them can't be relied on.

Re: Another brief message!

[notbert]

[Since audio is the method, Elidibus responds in kind. He is somewhere quiet and likely secure as he uses his own voice]

I have no objections. It will be interesting to see how the Warrior of Light reaction, should he accept the proposal. I have recently confirmed my true identity to her.

[fuelingfire]

Given I am fairly certain she is entirely the source of Emet-Selch's ongoing peculiarly hostile behavior, I care not what her opinion is. Though I must wonder if upon revealing yourself, her attitude toward you changed rather quickly into pointless pettiness.

text, mid-March-ish??

[omnicrafter]

I finished the other saddle. You can come get it if you still want it.

I apologize that it was held up this long.

[notbert]

I did not plan to renege on our bargain. I will be there within a bell. You need not apologize. I realize this past moon has been eventful.

---

It was a simple response and probably to be expected from Elidibus now that he is not trying to fumble through an impression of Ardbert when speaking to Irhya. And punctual as ever he arrives at her home, astride Filia who is in turn wearing the more practical of the two saddles the Ascian had commissioned.

Once securing the amaro's reins the Emissary approaches the door. She might be surprised that he doesn't show up fully armed and armored today. It's... a calculated decision. With the streets quiet again- for now- and their truce in place, it seemed more fitting to arrive without looking as though he were going to battle.

So there is Ardbert's body dressed in a close-knit brown turtleneck with long sleeves, a pair of black slacks. Dark boots and gloves, the latter thin and mostly meant as a barricade to direct contact. Those ancient sensibilities, you know. A red scarf is wrapped around his neck like a splash of color. Yet one could liken the color to the red mask or sigil which serves as an identity of the Ascian's office.

Without much preamble, Elidibus knocks.

[omnicrafter]

At first, the enchanted ring idea seemed great, until she went to try and take it off. Ever since, she's been holing herself up in the house to try and figure out a way to take it off without also removing the finger along with it, but to no avail.

Which is why she didn't want to summon Elidibus, but she'd already taken longer than planned on the second saddle due to getting kidnapped. And though she could've probably told herself he could wait a little longer, it didn't seem right. Business is business, and he knows that, too...

Okay. Get it together.

Irhya puts a hand on the knob and opens the door. She looks a little flushed, but it's hard to tell when vampires have little need to sweat most of the time. There's a faint sense of heat coming off her, just barely detectable when one draws close enough, but she's quick to ease back in the hopes he doesn't catch it.

"Hi," she says, raspy, then clears her throat and tries again. "Ah... It's in the same place as before. Should I--"

An odd pause. Something like recognition sparks on her face; alternatively, it could also be another bad idea of hers.

"Actually, why don't you come in for a few minutes? The weather's warmed a bit, but I can put down a blanket for your amaro if you want."