![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
One must remember this is Elidibus. The misjudgment itself was something of an embarrassment. Every time he feels reasonably secure in the mortal host, something else happens.
"I doubt the man I was speaking with would have recommended a place where the owner was known for the practice of watering down his drinks," Elidibus answers dryly. That much he could pick up, even if it hadn't been said in so many words.
But how much had he been able to take in before he'd been impaired? This is a good question and one which the Ascian takes a few moments to reflect on. "I am unsure," is offered after a moment. "While my mind seemed to possess some clarity, this host's movements were difficult to control when I first stood." This much he is certain of. "Perhaps... four or five servings of ale?" Serving being relative. Whether he had anything else other than drink was also relative. "Hm. There were more, but I seem to be having trouble recollecting a precise accounting." Which he seems to find a little annoying. Recent memories don't fade as quickly. But especially since he came to this world, his recollection of details has been especially sharp. "I did not expect the impact to be so severe."
Yes, Elidibus did think he could willpower through alcohol. At least the lesson's learned. It certainly won't stop him, but he'll be more cautious.
"I doubt the man I was speaking with would have recommended a place where the owner was known for the practice of watering down his drinks," Elidibus answers dryly. That much he could pick up, even if it hadn't been said in so many words.
But how much had he been able to take in before he'd been impaired? This is a good question and one which the Ascian takes a few moments to reflect on. "I am unsure," is offered after a moment. "While my mind seemed to possess some clarity, this host's movements were difficult to control when I first stood." This much he is certain of. "Perhaps... four or five servings of ale?" Serving being relative. Whether he had anything else other than drink was also relative. "Hm. There were more, but I seem to be having trouble recollecting a precise accounting." Which he seems to find a little annoying. Recent memories don't fade as quickly. But especially since he came to this world, his recollection of details has been especially sharp. "I did not expect the impact to be so severe."
Yes, Elidibus did think he could willpower through alcohol. At least the lesson's learned. It certainly won't stop him, but he'll be more cautious.
Elidibus tilts his head to one side, studying Irhya for a moment. Disliked it? Not exactly. There is a sigh, which might surprise the miqo'te given her assumption. "I recognize you are capable enough at your craft to elegantly capture a scene while maintaining the object's functional use." He half turns so he can glance at the saddle and its design sketches. A short wave of his hand is cast in its direction. "But you would be better served speaking to Emet-Selch on matters of enjoyment."
It has a double meaning. Elidibus does not have a wide arrange of emotions and he doesn't remember the intended beauty of the scene. Look closely, as the Ascian looks again at the saddle and the images. One might see something like a failure to recognize that which should, by rights, be known. Blue skies? He could envision it if he bothered. But all he remembers is the reflection of Emet-Selch's creation, washed by the ever-shifting murk of a raging ocean.
He returns his gaze to Irhya. Once more devoid of any particular emotion, so alien to the features he had stolen and used as a powerful tool on the First. "Surely the Elidibus you knew was not so different from me? Did he seem like a man who could take joy such creations?" He leaves out the obvious addition. 'Much less from the Warrior of Darkness'. "I am not against using it if that were your concern. I will keep my end of the bargain."
Elidibus shakes his head and speaks in a resigned manner, "The illusion we maintained was bound to shatter sooner or later. But I have no desire to drag our battle to this Star. You need not grip your table so tightly." Of course, he noticed that. But his comment would likely have remained the same regardless of Irhya's insistence that he misunderstood.
"And now you have your confirmation. You need not apologize. A somewhat naive effort but I have no reason to judge you for it." Something like mild curiosity and keen interest expresses itself in the Ascian's gaze. He's... surprisingly calm for the Elidibus he suggests the miqo'te should consider as an example, isn't he? Whom he's almost certain, from Lahabrea's reactions, is in much the same state as himself. "And this is where you wish to end this matter? A confirmation," The Emissary speaks with no malice, only patience. "...and nothing more? No questions? No conversation?"
It has a double meaning. Elidibus does not have a wide arrange of emotions and he doesn't remember the intended beauty of the scene. Look closely, as the Ascian looks again at the saddle and the images. One might see something like a failure to recognize that which should, by rights, be known. Blue skies? He could envision it if he bothered. But all he remembers is the reflection of Emet-Selch's creation, washed by the ever-shifting murk of a raging ocean.
He returns his gaze to Irhya. Once more devoid of any particular emotion, so alien to the features he had stolen and used as a powerful tool on the First. "Surely the Elidibus you knew was not so different from me? Did he seem like a man who could take joy such creations?" He leaves out the obvious addition. 'Much less from the Warrior of Darkness'. "I am not against using it if that were your concern. I will keep my end of the bargain."
Elidibus shakes his head and speaks in a resigned manner, "The illusion we maintained was bound to shatter sooner or later. But I have no desire to drag our battle to this Star. You need not grip your table so tightly." Of course, he noticed that. But his comment would likely have remained the same regardless of Irhya's insistence that he misunderstood.
"And now you have your confirmation. You need not apologize. A somewhat naive effort but I have no reason to judge you for it." Something like mild curiosity and keen interest expresses itself in the Ascian's gaze. He's... surprisingly calm for the Elidibus he suggests the miqo'te should consider as an example, isn't he? Whom he's almost certain, from Lahabrea's reactions, is in much the same state as himself. "And this is where you wish to end this matter? A confirmation," The Emissary speaks with no malice, only patience. "...and nothing more? No questions? No conversation?"
It's just sad, isn't it? To look upon it and think he feels nothing.
"Well..." She glances to the side. "I didn't think you were the type to do that, not like Lahabrea. And I don't want to fight you here, either." Despite his keen eye for what her hands are doing, much to her chagrin, she doesn't let go of the table. But how can she engage a half-empty vessel in a friendship? Perhaps as long as he's willing to be civil...
"I don't care if it's foolish; I'd still help you if you needed it. I made that offer for you to stay the first time we met knowing full well you could be someone other than you appear."
"Well..." She glances to the side. "I didn't think you were the type to do that, not like Lahabrea. And I don't want to fight you here, either." Despite his keen eye for what her hands are doing, much to her chagrin, she doesn't let go of the table. But how can she engage a half-empty vessel in a friendship? Perhaps as long as he's willing to be civil...
"I don't care if it's foolish; I'd still help you if you needed it. I made that offer for you to stay the first time we met knowing full well you could be someone other than you appear."
"Therefore he's interested in selling more drink, not offering sobriety cures. Tis the impairment of judgment that is most vital." As Elidibus has discovered, drinking over his limit and apparently suffering for it!
But there's no real reproach, some lessons need to be learned in person and not simply told. Especially in the case of the Emissary, who might summarily choose to abstain entirely and miss out on plenty of interesting drinks simply to avoid a risk. "After a point it does blur together," he says, as if working through memories not his own. Which is precisely what he's doing in fact, he didn't retain overmuch from his time as Thancred, but the bits he retained were useful in their way. "Some mortals consider it a high point of socialization, if you're willing to drink to the point of not remembering. You may have ingratiated yourself to this individual by doing so."
Maybe encouragement, maybe not, it's hard to tell. Lahabrea's not elaborating further, if only because the details elude him; instead he settles in place a bit more comfortably, shifting this way and that in such a fashion that Elidibus might get jostled a bit before returning to something like stillness.
It's enough for now. It did answer his question, it did mean Elidibus has found another potential source of information and who knows what else, and Lahabrea wasn't going to interfere. Endless ignorance of even the obvious aside, Elidibus could handle himself quite well, and there was no need to worry over-much about most of what this city could bring to bear. Most of it could be handled quite well with a sudden axe to the face.
For all intents and purposes it doesn't seem like Lahabrea intends to add anything else.
But there's no real reproach, some lessons need to be learned in person and not simply told. Especially in the case of the Emissary, who might summarily choose to abstain entirely and miss out on plenty of interesting drinks simply to avoid a risk. "After a point it does blur together," he says, as if working through memories not his own. Which is precisely what he's doing in fact, he didn't retain overmuch from his time as Thancred, but the bits he retained were useful in their way. "Some mortals consider it a high point of socialization, if you're willing to drink to the point of not remembering. You may have ingratiated yourself to this individual by doing so."
Maybe encouragement, maybe not, it's hard to tell. Lahabrea's not elaborating further, if only because the details elude him; instead he settles in place a bit more comfortably, shifting this way and that in such a fashion that Elidibus might get jostled a bit before returning to something like stillness.
It's enough for now. It did answer his question, it did mean Elidibus has found another potential source of information and who knows what else, and Lahabrea wasn't going to interfere. Endless ignorance of even the obvious aside, Elidibus could handle himself quite well, and there was no need to worry over-much about most of what this city could bring to bear. Most of it could be handled quite well with a sudden axe to the face.
For all intents and purposes it doesn't seem like Lahabrea intends to add anything else.
When Irhya separates 'the type to do that' from 'not wanting to fight', something like a puzzled frown is drawn from Elidibus. "Exactly what are you proposing Lahabrea is doing wrong?" There were a few things there. That Lahabrea would enjoy seeing a good creation compared to Elidibus is certainly true, though there is a reason Elidibus suggested Emet-Selch over the Speaker.
"Or do you feel he is not one to keep bargains?" Though when that would have ever come up is beyond the Emissary's knowledge. There was no reason for the Scions or Lahabrea to ever trust one another enough for a bargain. There may have been something else the miqo'te refers to and he'll certainly give room for her to answer.
But one last thing he asks of her in that strange, calm state. "You seem disappointed in my brethren. Given you are the Warrior of Light Lahabrea knows, do you truly find it unfair of him to have any negative reaction? In particular, should you have approached him here in the same way you no doubt approached the 'me' of your time?" He hasn't asked about Lahabrea's interactions with his Warrior of Light in detail. But it can't have gone well if she had thrown understanding and sympathy at his feet.
When he first approached her here. Indeed she had every right to be suspicious. Even if Elidibus himself hadn't recognized her, she had every reason to know about who he could have been. Had been fooled (or chosen to be fooled), just as he had by an illusion that just as well might have been an uneasy truce.
After having given ample time for his prior words to be addressed, Elidibus concludes, "You'll... help?" For a moment, he seems bemused, as though he isn't sure what he's hearing. He's not sneering. But he does intentionally give way to his host's normal voice for a moment, "Curious. No demands I stop pretending to be Ardbert? To give back his corpse?"
The next time he speaks, he'll do so with the carefully mimicked tones of his true self. This was just a test to see whether Irhya would flinch on hearing 'Ardbert', now that she's sure.
"Or do you feel he is not one to keep bargains?" Though when that would have ever come up is beyond the Emissary's knowledge. There was no reason for the Scions or Lahabrea to ever trust one another enough for a bargain. There may have been something else the miqo'te refers to and he'll certainly give room for her to answer.
But one last thing he asks of her in that strange, calm state. "You seem disappointed in my brethren. Given you are the Warrior of Light Lahabrea knows, do you truly find it unfair of him to have any negative reaction? In particular, should you have approached him here in the same way you no doubt approached the 'me' of your time?" He hasn't asked about Lahabrea's interactions with his Warrior of Light in detail. But it can't have gone well if she had thrown understanding and sympathy at his feet.
When he first approached her here. Indeed she had every right to be suspicious. Even if Elidibus himself hadn't recognized her, she had every reason to know about who he could have been. Had been fooled (or chosen to be fooled), just as he had by an illusion that just as well might have been an uneasy truce.
After having given ample time for his prior words to be addressed, Elidibus concludes, "You'll... help?" For a moment, he seems bemused, as though he isn't sure what he's hearing. He's not sneering. But he does intentionally give way to his host's normal voice for a moment, "Curious. No demands I stop pretending to be Ardbert? To give back his corpse?"
The next time he speaks, he'll do so with the carefully mimicked tones of his true self. This was just a test to see whether Irhya would flinch on hearing 'Ardbert', now that she's sure.
"I... No, I suppose he does have that right. I only take issue with the murderous intent at this point. Though if you're suggesting practicality is the ticket, I'll... have to consider it."
He did, after all, refrain from lifting a finger at her during the dreamscape. Lahabrea still honors his word, no matter how degraded his conscience may have become. The problem is obtaining it. And, well... perhaps she did go about it wrong, but there's inevitably going to be a glass ceiling to how much she can win his trust without swearing herself to Zodiark.
(Ah, but here she is, caught in the middle yet again...)
Her visage flickers when he dons Ardbert's voice again, eyes narrowing as she shifts her weight. "But if you do that, it will require you to take a different vessel. And that's not even including the ways the rules here differ from back home. So as much as I don't like it... I would also not compromise anyone else here, particularly someone who's still using their body."
Besides, she would sooner lay him to rest on the First, where he belongs.
He did, after all, refrain from lifting a finger at her during the dreamscape. Lahabrea still honors his word, no matter how degraded his conscience may have become. The problem is obtaining it. And, well... perhaps she did go about it wrong, but there's inevitably going to be a glass ceiling to how much she can win his trust without swearing herself to Zodiark.
(Ah, but here she is, caught in the middle yet again...)
Her visage flickers when he dons Ardbert's voice again, eyes narrowing as she shifts her weight. "But if you do that, it will require you to take a different vessel. And that's not even including the ways the rules here differ from back home. So as much as I don't like it... I would also not compromise anyone else here, particularly someone who's still using their body."
Besides, she would sooner lay him to rest on the First, where he belongs.
Sobriety cures will be researched. On that account, Elidibus will likely take time to make sure what he's told is proven. And he's intelligent enough to recognize 'drinking more booze is a cure for the after-effects of booze'. "Time will tell. I remember nothing unfavorable about our conversation." ...One hopes there was nothing unfavorable forgotten. Indeed, time will tell.
The advice, such as is offered is accepted with a nod. Getting an understanding of how various drinks effects sobriety is definitely on the list. There's a bottle of gin and one of honey mead waiting for such experiments upstairs. The third bottle is not for his personal consumption, of course.
It's easy to let the conversation end there, though the Emissary frowns a little bit as he's jostled. A matter he might not have been aware of being annoyed about because as soon as Lahabrea is obviously not getting up, the Ascian's expression clears.
So they fall into silence. It's not as awkward as one might think; simply a period where one doesn't feel the need to talk. After a while, Elidibus's hand stops scratching along Lahabrea's side. He settles against Lahabrea, though he half suspects the host body's idiosyncrasies are at work rather than his own intent. "I am going to sleep now." His arms are crossed over his stomach. And with the dragon Lahabrea still in contact, it comes with an odd sense of security. Well, he isn't very familiar with that either, so it'll be up to the Speaker to pick up on that through the Bond before it gets buried.
"...I wish to speak to you again. If you will avoid sleeping through the entirety of the next few...suns." Decades or centuries are words more customary to the slumbers he's seen his fellow Ascian go through. Especially Emet-Selch. A few days is such a silly thing to be stressed over. "...I would appreciate it." So please, no drugs.
Without further conversation, or questions, the body's needs will take over and he'll eventually drift off to slumber. But there may be much that happens between now and the dawn of morning. A dragon in the full moon. The matter of pants. And of course the chance of dreams.
The advice, such as is offered is accepted with a nod. Getting an understanding of how various drinks effects sobriety is definitely on the list. There's a bottle of gin and one of honey mead waiting for such experiments upstairs. The third bottle is not for his personal consumption, of course.
It's easy to let the conversation end there, though the Emissary frowns a little bit as he's jostled. A matter he might not have been aware of being annoyed about because as soon as Lahabrea is obviously not getting up, the Ascian's expression clears.
So they fall into silence. It's not as awkward as one might think; simply a period where one doesn't feel the need to talk. After a while, Elidibus's hand stops scratching along Lahabrea's side. He settles against Lahabrea, though he half suspects the host body's idiosyncrasies are at work rather than his own intent. "I am going to sleep now." His arms are crossed over his stomach. And with the dragon Lahabrea still in contact, it comes with an odd sense of security. Well, he isn't very familiar with that either, so it'll be up to the Speaker to pick up on that through the Bond before it gets buried.
"...I wish to speak to you again. If you will avoid sleeping through the entirety of the next few...suns." Decades or centuries are words more customary to the slumbers he's seen his fellow Ascian go through. Especially Emet-Selch. A few days is such a silly thing to be stressed over. "...I would appreciate it." So please, no drugs.
Without further conversation, or questions, the body's needs will take over and he'll eventually drift off to slumber. But there may be much that happens between now and the dawn of morning. A dragon in the full moon. The matter of pants. And of course the chance of dreams.
There's nothing terrible about silence and stillness save Lahabrea favors neither and had little to focus himself upon beyond the moons' inevitable weight upon his actions and interests. It leaves a constant undercurrent, more tangible with the constant steady contact, to the quiet. Soothed somewhat, but not entirely by the presence of another at least; whether or not the bars were useful - and the seed of doubt planted as to whether they would hold or not, rendering that sanctuary of certainty utterly useless and setting up for problems in the future perhaps - they at least allowed for a smaller, more closed off space.
Intimate, even if disturbing in its way.
"I don't have the means to render myself unconscious for that long," is the reluctant response. "Else I would use it." He would, whether or not Elidibus wanted to talk. It would not calm the storm but it would render it utterly ignorable, and that was as far as he was concerned, a perfect ideal. The risk remained, for all that it was for the moment dampened a bit even without the soothing rub of fingertips on scale; what might get said or done that would spike smoldering fury into blind wrath and lead him to lash out with terrible consequences?
The thought sat uncomfortably alongside the vague sense of security that bled through their bond. He could so easily betray that trust, without ever intending to.
But he'll still be there when Elidibus wakes. If he himself dozes off at any point it's not really easy to tell, but in the passage of hour upon hour in quiet and warmth, the Emissary remains for the most part undisturbed and unawoken.
Save perhaps a silent monitoring of temperature, and if the room grows too hot for what Lahabrea knows mortals tolerate easily, do something about that without actually untangling enough to get up ... and maybe the tinge of red to dreams that might otherwise not be there, like fires on the distant horizon.
Intimate, even if disturbing in its way.
"I don't have the means to render myself unconscious for that long," is the reluctant response. "Else I would use it." He would, whether or not Elidibus wanted to talk. It would not calm the storm but it would render it utterly ignorable, and that was as far as he was concerned, a perfect ideal. The risk remained, for all that it was for the moment dampened a bit even without the soothing rub of fingertips on scale; what might get said or done that would spike smoldering fury into blind wrath and lead him to lash out with terrible consequences?
The thought sat uncomfortably alongside the vague sense of security that bled through their bond. He could so easily betray that trust, without ever intending to.
But he'll still be there when Elidibus wakes. If he himself dozes off at any point it's not really easy to tell, but in the passage of hour upon hour in quiet and warmth, the Emissary remains for the most part undisturbed and unawoken.
Save perhaps a silent monitoring of temperature, and if the room grows too hot for what Lahabrea knows mortals tolerate easily, do something about that without actually untangling enough to get up ... and maybe the tinge of red to dreams that might otherwise not be there, like fires on the distant horizon.
The corner of the Emissary's mouth lifts knowingly. So she flinched.
"A vessel need not be alive," Elidibus reminds Irhya. Case in point, his current host. No indication is given on what he might still be capable of. He either sees no reason to reveal his cards so easily or confirm anything Emet-Selch might have already told the Warrior of Light. "But no matter. I have cultivated my identity as 'Ardbert' here and have little interest in beginning again. Do you now understand what it means to be willing to 'help me', Warrior of Light? Can you keep yourself from flinching any time you hear me speak with his voice?"
Can Irhya accept him interacting with those she knows and loves as 'Ardbert'?
Elidibus seems to be considering the matter of suggestion and murderous intent. Whether to discuss and give pointers. It seems he decides something must be said on the matter and so, with the same calm air he offers.
"What I suggest is that you think back upon your... confrontations with Lahabrea upon this Star." It's a blanket word, that. It would likely belittle the moments between the Warrior of Light and Lahabrea to call them less than a confrontation. "Consider whether you might have applied your..." naive he refrains from saying "...mortal comparisons to one of his stature."
Keenly, the Ascian regards Irhya. "You were not so foolish as to blithely dismiss his transformation based on your own experience and acceptance, I hope?"
"A vessel need not be alive," Elidibus reminds Irhya. Case in point, his current host. No indication is given on what he might still be capable of. He either sees no reason to reveal his cards so easily or confirm anything Emet-Selch might have already told the Warrior of Light. "But no matter. I have cultivated my identity as 'Ardbert' here and have little interest in beginning again. Do you now understand what it means to be willing to 'help me', Warrior of Light? Can you keep yourself from flinching any time you hear me speak with his voice?"
Can Irhya accept him interacting with those she knows and loves as 'Ardbert'?
Elidibus seems to be considering the matter of suggestion and murderous intent. Whether to discuss and give pointers. It seems he decides something must be said on the matter and so, with the same calm air he offers.
"What I suggest is that you think back upon your... confrontations with Lahabrea upon this Star." It's a blanket word, that. It would likely belittle the moments between the Warrior of Light and Lahabrea to call them less than a confrontation. "Consider whether you might have applied your..." naive he refrains from saying "...mortal comparisons to one of his stature."
Keenly, the Ascian regards Irhya. "You were not so foolish as to blithely dismiss his transformation based on your own experience and acceptance, I hope?"
Dreams, Elidibus has learned, come with mortal slumber. And for the most part, he has ignored them as nonsensical images. Mostly. Of course, there were a few things ingrained deep within his soul that would never be forgotten. Fire in the distance.
And a rain of fire in the sky.
As the Emissary drifts off to sleep, some hope might be found. The emotionless nature remains strong, but there is a sense that some of it is of conscious making. Some of it refusal to fall prey to emotions, this is true. But also a fight not to fall into the void and simply become nothing. Not just for the sake of everyone else, but also his own.
Is it any surprise a sense of heat and distant fire would give rise to memories of the Final Days in his dreams? Though perhaps the fleeting glimpse of watching a twisted mix of Aefenglom and a distant twist of Amaurotine towers. The rain of fire a distant scene. Elidibus turns to say something to... is that a dragon?
But the dream shifts before anything is head. Still, it might have been somewhat familiar.
Elidibus at peace with himself, surrendering to the aether fed to him, reshaping his existence into a vessel... a heart.
But deep within the amethyst void, awareness. Prayers cried out. Voices of thousands unceasing. Risen not in pleasant debate but fearful argument. They called and he answered.
It's out of order, but also the fragmented memory of the Convocation Speaker and another member, speaking to him about his dedication to duty. Still barely recognized, though Lahabrea's mask now replaces a featureless red and in that dream, Elidibus seems on the cusp of almost knowing who they were.
Yet they withdraw and vanish as he reaches out to them yet again.
Precious little of this is dreams, though undoubtedly Elidibus would call it such if asked. These instead are nightmares.
In the passage of the first several hours of the night, his host body does stir, does sweat. His mind drifts between the state of dreaming and deeper slumber, but never at rest. And not just because there is too much heat.
And a rain of fire in the sky.
As the Emissary drifts off to sleep, some hope might be found. The emotionless nature remains strong, but there is a sense that some of it is of conscious making. Some of it refusal to fall prey to emotions, this is true. But also a fight not to fall into the void and simply become nothing. Not just for the sake of everyone else, but also his own.
Is it any surprise a sense of heat and distant fire would give rise to memories of the Final Days in his dreams? Though perhaps the fleeting glimpse of watching a twisted mix of Aefenglom and a distant twist of Amaurotine towers. The rain of fire a distant scene. Elidibus turns to say something to... is that a dragon?
But the dream shifts before anything is head. Still, it might have been somewhat familiar.
Elidibus at peace with himself, surrendering to the aether fed to him, reshaping his existence into a vessel... a heart.
But deep within the amethyst void, awareness. Prayers cried out. Voices of thousands unceasing. Risen not in pleasant debate but fearful argument. They called and he answered.
It's out of order, but also the fragmented memory of the Convocation Speaker and another member, speaking to him about his dedication to duty. Still barely recognized, though Lahabrea's mask now replaces a featureless red and in that dream, Elidibus seems on the cusp of almost knowing who they were.
Yet they withdraw and vanish as he reaches out to them yet again.
Precious little of this is dreams, though undoubtedly Elidibus would call it such if asked. These instead are nightmares.
In the passage of the first several hours of the night, his host body does stir, does sweat. His mind drifts between the state of dreaming and deeper slumber, but never at rest. And not just because there is too much heat.
"Of course not," Irhya says immediately. "Believe me, I know full well it sucks to have drawn the short straw. Hells, for an Ascian, it probably sucks either way."
She's utterly unconcerned with the crude language in his presence, as usual. Picked up from other Mirrorbound, more like than not. She'll have to try and discern later if she has anything of worth to him to perhaps try and force a truce with.
As for Ardbert, working against him does her no good in this case. He's going to do it even if she complains, and to go behind his back and tell everyone he's an Ascian using the identity of a dead man would be counterproductive, to say the least. She stares at him for a while, evaluating.
Well, it beats him picking up the ashes of Morgana's body. Somehow.
"That depends." She turns and walks to the corner of the table, closer to him. "Can I trust you not to do him a massive disservice by your actions? It isn't my preferred outcome, no, but if I must compromise, this is as close as I'll get."
She's utterly unconcerned with the crude language in his presence, as usual. Picked up from other Mirrorbound, more like than not. She'll have to try and discern later if she has anything of worth to him to perhaps try and force a truce with.
As for Ardbert, working against him does her no good in this case. He's going to do it even if she complains, and to go behind his back and tell everyone he's an Ascian using the identity of a dead man would be counterproductive, to say the least. She stares at him for a while, evaluating.
Well, it beats him picking up the ashes of Morgana's body. Somehow.
"That depends." She turns and walks to the corner of the table, closer to him. "Can I trust you not to do him a massive disservice by your actions? It isn't my preferred outcome, no, but if I must compromise, this is as close as I'll get."
Ah yes. Wouldn't that be something? If upon death, the Ascians still retained their ability to take another host, even one that was but ashes and create another body to be stuck in? Frightening really if they could; just take the ability and memories of some very accomplished Witch that suits their needs. Fortunately, the city is unlikely to allow that and even if Elidibus was aware at this time, he wouldn't share that little tidbit. Let any mortal who might understand his nature wonder.
Crude language isn't something he particularly cares about. Physical aggression would be and there's none here. Irhya's answer is given a nod in acceptance. "I won't advise you much in regards to your encounters and relations with Lahabrea. Mayhap there is nothing you or he say to one another that won't end with anger. Yet I would avoid any suggestion that understanding you now have of our history is sufficient to understand us. Or to sympathize. Instead, if you would have Lahabrea speak of the conflict of our star, perhaps you ought not to do anything but listen rather than provoke a response."
Listen? Well, it's not as though Elidibus is asking Irhya side with them on the matter. Or even swear loyalty to Zodiark. One can listen to theology and not have to convert to do so. Though whether Lahabrea will readily speak on any matter regarding their past, one can only hope for a miracle on that matter. Particularly if one is not supposed to be... provocative about it.
Ah of course, there would be a demand for compromise. Elidibus certainly desires to sigh again, but he refrains from doing so. She approaches him and he does not move. There is no malicious intent gauged. And he does acknowledge some reason exists in her words, even if they are a bit naive in structure.
"Trust, is it?" What an interesting term to use between the two of them. "What you can trust, Warrior of Light, is that it is in my interest to maintain this identity. The value of being seen as a 'good man' far outweighs any desire of being known for what I truly am. Have I not once spoke on the value of useful tools to you?" Perhaps not 'him', but the other Elidibus. He likely refers to that.
"And as unpleasant as it no doubt is for you to hear of me to speak of 'Ardbert' as a tool, I suspect you would find more comfort in this truth than you would if I made such a promise on the vague nature of avoiding a 'massive disservice'."
It is, after all, more fitting to see Elidibus this way, is it not? The Ascian looks at Irhya intently. "There is no need for 'compromise' here, Warrior of Light. Only your choice and conviction in seeing it through. I hold you no more hostage than you do me. Since the day we first met here, I made plans for this inevitable revelation."
It was, after all, always a matter of when it happened, to him. Possibly to both of them.
Crude language isn't something he particularly cares about. Physical aggression would be and there's none here. Irhya's answer is given a nod in acceptance. "I won't advise you much in regards to your encounters and relations with Lahabrea. Mayhap there is nothing you or he say to one another that won't end with anger. Yet I would avoid any suggestion that understanding you now have of our history is sufficient to understand us. Or to sympathize. Instead, if you would have Lahabrea speak of the conflict of our star, perhaps you ought not to do anything but listen rather than provoke a response."
Listen? Well, it's not as though Elidibus is asking Irhya side with them on the matter. Or even swear loyalty to Zodiark. One can listen to theology and not have to convert to do so. Though whether Lahabrea will readily speak on any matter regarding their past, one can only hope for a miracle on that matter. Particularly if one is not supposed to be... provocative about it.
Ah of course, there would be a demand for compromise. Elidibus certainly desires to sigh again, but he refrains from doing so. She approaches him and he does not move. There is no malicious intent gauged. And he does acknowledge some reason exists in her words, even if they are a bit naive in structure.
"Trust, is it?" What an interesting term to use between the two of them. "What you can trust, Warrior of Light, is that it is in my interest to maintain this identity. The value of being seen as a 'good man' far outweighs any desire of being known for what I truly am. Have I not once spoke on the value of useful tools to you?" Perhaps not 'him', but the other Elidibus. He likely refers to that.
"And as unpleasant as it no doubt is for you to hear of me to speak of 'Ardbert' as a tool, I suspect you would find more comfort in this truth than you would if I made such a promise on the vague nature of avoiding a 'massive disservice'."
It is, after all, more fitting to see Elidibus this way, is it not? The Ascian looks at Irhya intently. "There is no need for 'compromise' here, Warrior of Light. Only your choice and conviction in seeing it through. I hold you no more hostage than you do me. Since the day we first met here, I made plans for this inevitable revelation."
It was, after all, always a matter of when it happened, to him. Possibly to both of them.
Edited 2021-02-10 18:30 (UTC)
There is nothing deliberate in an effort to share a dream, or experience it, or see if it might be influenced. While admittedly Lahabrea is curious, too concerned is he that he might poison any potential dreams that might come with the dragon's eternal, endless ferocity and wrath. Terrible enough that he had to endure it, to inflict it on another ... especially one so rare in his own emotions that it might not be recognized as an external source?
No.
He couldn't allow it. He could't let the beast drag them both down.
But over the passage of time, Lahabrea too grows tired. In spite of his firm alliance with Zodiark he was ever a creature of diurnal habits, and staying awake all night every night was beyond him. The dragon weighs on it, for it too prefers the daylight to the night, and only once he's certain Elidibus isn't about to sweat him into soddenness with feathery absorption does he allow his awareness to fade. In time it means moving again, a slow and unwaking shift until he has the rather smaller Ascian thoroughly wrapped in arms and tail; where there cold to be had, it wouldn't reach there, in a shroud of crimson and gold.
And in dreams, a spark of fire of a different hue weaves across the burning distant horizon. It's there, again and again.
A flash of feathers and streaming fiery tail as meteors crawl inevitably groundward, bright and shining and as far away as those meteors themselves. The glass and steel of mixed Amaurotine and Aefenglom construction reflect no meteorfall, but that distant burning spot does.
It's easy to miss. There's so much else going on.
But it's there. It's always there, when it shouldn't be, a faraway gleam within a shroud of darkness, one more voice rising in the chorus of fear and horror and confusion. A forgotten melody, high and wild and full of an elation so intense it is pain; it doesn't belong here.
It belongs here. It's always been there. Hadn't it?
Hadn't it?
There's a sound, as Elidibus reaches towards futile disappearing forms. If a hearthfire had a song, if flame could soothe, gentle what it touches, if the merry crackle of a bonfire on a cool autumn night had music of its own, then it would be that sound. It doesn't drown out the darkness, it never could. But what it can do is seed the dark with a million pinpoints of burning light shaken off its wings in showers of sparks.
"The song too heals, like its magic. If it is allowed to. It cannot live in an unwilling heart."
In the distance, a spark dances - flaming wings and burning tail and an eye as bright as the dawn, not ... quite the shape of a dragon. A bird, only a bird, though at most one of its kind ever in existence at any given moment, and its claws shape the distant stars into recognizable formations, one by one.
No.
He couldn't allow it. He could't let the beast drag them both down.
But over the passage of time, Lahabrea too grows tired. In spite of his firm alliance with Zodiark he was ever a creature of diurnal habits, and staying awake all night every night was beyond him. The dragon weighs on it, for it too prefers the daylight to the night, and only once he's certain Elidibus isn't about to sweat him into soddenness with feathery absorption does he allow his awareness to fade. In time it means moving again, a slow and unwaking shift until he has the rather smaller Ascian thoroughly wrapped in arms and tail; where there cold to be had, it wouldn't reach there, in a shroud of crimson and gold.
And in dreams, a spark of fire of a different hue weaves across the burning distant horizon. It's there, again and again.
A flash of feathers and streaming fiery tail as meteors crawl inevitably groundward, bright and shining and as far away as those meteors themselves. The glass and steel of mixed Amaurotine and Aefenglom construction reflect no meteorfall, but that distant burning spot does.
It's easy to miss. There's so much else going on.
But it's there. It's always there, when it shouldn't be, a faraway gleam within a shroud of darkness, one more voice rising in the chorus of fear and horror and confusion. A forgotten melody, high and wild and full of an elation so intense it is pain; it doesn't belong here.
It belongs here. It's always been there. Hadn't it?
Hadn't it?
There's a sound, as Elidibus reaches towards futile disappearing forms. If a hearthfire had a song, if flame could soothe, gentle what it touches, if the merry crackle of a bonfire on a cool autumn night had music of its own, then it would be that sound. It doesn't drown out the darkness, it never could. But what it can do is seed the dark with a million pinpoints of burning light shaken off its wings in showers of sparks.
"The song too heals, like its magic. If it is allowed to. It cannot live in an unwilling heart."
In the distance, a spark dances - flaming wings and burning tail and an eye as bright as the dawn, not ... quite the shape of a dragon. A bird, only a bird, though at most one of its kind ever in existence at any given moment, and its claws shape the distant stars into recognizable formations, one by one.
Edited 2021-02-11 00:14 (UTC)
Hellfire. There's a small seed of desire for her to lash out, to lose her temper and ask why she has to give ground like this when he evidently doesn't. It doesn't show, but she feels it, like the barest flicker of a candle.
"Even though I know you'd sooner say that than lie through your teeth, it doesn't make me feel any better." She leans her weight forward, looking him in the eye defiantly. "But I'm not asking you for much more than you've already been doing. You originated the damn concept -- at least humor me on this."
Irhya bites her lip hard, and it shows. "Can I keep myself from flinching? Eventually, sure. Do I understand that by not cutting you down, I'll inevitably help further your goals? Well, it's the same with Emet-Selch, and we've been through even more here on top of what happened on the First. And I get that a promise like that might be hollow coming from you, but..."
She clenches her teeth and smacks her fist on the table. What isn't immediately clear is that it's not merely the idea of helping an Ascian maintain a flagrant lie that's upsetting to her. Maybe any appeal to his emotions is null and void, but damn it, she has to try. Better than having to kill him again and end a long, lonely fight.
"Even though I know you'd sooner say that than lie through your teeth, it doesn't make me feel any better." She leans her weight forward, looking him in the eye defiantly. "But I'm not asking you for much more than you've already been doing. You originated the damn concept -- at least humor me on this."
Irhya bites her lip hard, and it shows. "Can I keep myself from flinching? Eventually, sure. Do I understand that by not cutting you down, I'll inevitably help further your goals? Well, it's the same with Emet-Selch, and we've been through even more here on top of what happened on the First. And I get that a promise like that might be hollow coming from you, but..."
She clenches her teeth and smacks her fist on the table. What isn't immediately clear is that it's not merely the idea of helping an Ascian maintain a flagrant lie that's upsetting to her. Maybe any appeal to his emotions is null and void, but damn it, she has to try. Better than having to kill him again and end a long, lonely fight.
Elidibus would absolutely lie through his teeth if it was perceived to be the better decision to make at that moment. If Irhya wants to believe otherwise, he won't dissuade her.
Briefly, the Ascian narrows his eyes. "Oh yes. He did learn that." Elidibus sighs while closing his eyes. "I suppose I should consider the same of you." It's a hint that the Emissary does still see Irhya as somewhat... separate to the one Warrior of Darkness he's connected to in his time. Which is probably for the best.
But there is some frustration that least into his words. Once again his eyes snap open. "Think! I know you are capable of it," Elidibus collects himself, though his words are given no less strength. "You wanted to bear the burden of truth." The Emissary turns enough to sweep his hand toward the ornate saddle and its finished design. This whole meeting was designed to expose him, clumsy though it might have been by an Ascian's standards. "Only to beg me to pull the veil of illusion once more across your eyes by making a hollow promise?" By her own words at that.
"I think not. What do you really want, Warrior of Light? Irhya?" Elidibus stresses her name. Not maliciously or condescendingly. As if he were talking to the person. "You are aware I can acceptably fulfill the role." He is the first Warrior of Light. He has been others, stood with them, taught them. "The battle waiting for us is not here in this prison. The only matter for us to consider here is survival and escape. It is not I who am unwilling to compromise, here."
He will maintain the guise of 'Ardbert'. Or at least what's sufficient for this world. There really shouldn't be any worry about it. Elidibus can't be the real Ardbert, but he certainly can play the role of a Warrior of Light.
He is willing to not play out their battle to save the world here, though the Warrior of Light before him seems to grasp at straws as if it were some sacrifice that she likewise hold back. One might argue that he's leaving out the notion that it would be 'useful' for either side if the Unsundered or the Warrior of Light remains imprisoned. But that's hardly a thing to bring up and not sound even more threatening.
Not to mention, with these twisting possibilities of Time, utterly fruitless for one's own world. Somewhere, the Warrior of Light is saved from the brink and succeeds in preventing the Eighth Umbral Calamity. Elsewhere they fall.
So yes, Elidibus is aware Irhya is holding something back, that this anger of hers is about something she's not saying. It is a sign he has some small hope for the Source's Warrior of Light, that he was frustrated by her foolish, mortal efforts to try and hide it by pretending she wished to hide her head in the dirt. Here! In front of him.
Briefly, the Ascian narrows his eyes. "Oh yes. He did learn that." Elidibus sighs while closing his eyes. "I suppose I should consider the same of you." It's a hint that the Emissary does still see Irhya as somewhat... separate to the one Warrior of Darkness he's connected to in his time. Which is probably for the best.
But there is some frustration that least into his words. Once again his eyes snap open. "Think! I know you are capable of it," Elidibus collects himself, though his words are given no less strength. "You wanted to bear the burden of truth." The Emissary turns enough to sweep his hand toward the ornate saddle and its finished design. This whole meeting was designed to expose him, clumsy though it might have been by an Ascian's standards. "Only to beg me to pull the veil of illusion once more across your eyes by making a hollow promise?" By her own words at that.
"I think not. What do you really want, Warrior of Light? Irhya?" Elidibus stresses her name. Not maliciously or condescendingly. As if he were talking to the person. "You are aware I can acceptably fulfill the role." He is the first Warrior of Light. He has been others, stood with them, taught them. "The battle waiting for us is not here in this prison. The only matter for us to consider here is survival and escape. It is not I who am unwilling to compromise, here."
He will maintain the guise of 'Ardbert'. Or at least what's sufficient for this world. There really shouldn't be any worry about it. Elidibus can't be the real Ardbert, but he certainly can play the role of a Warrior of Light.
He is willing to not play out their battle to save the world here, though the Warrior of Light before him seems to grasp at straws as if it were some sacrifice that she likewise hold back. One might argue that he's leaving out the notion that it would be 'useful' for either side if the Unsundered or the Warrior of Light remains imprisoned. But that's hardly a thing to bring up and not sound even more threatening.
Not to mention, with these twisting possibilities of Time, utterly fruitless for one's own world. Somewhere, the Warrior of Light is saved from the brink and succeeds in preventing the Eighth Umbral Calamity. Elsewhere they fall.
So yes, Elidibus is aware Irhya is holding something back, that this anger of hers is about something she's not saying. It is a sign he has some small hope for the Source's Warrior of Light, that he was frustrated by her foolish, mortal efforts to try and hide it by pretending she wished to hide her head in the dirt. Here! In front of him.
Edited 2021-02-12 20:27 (UTC)
It's a strange night. One of warmth and dreams, nightmares and heat.
At the dreams begin to cross into a realm which by any right could be deemed 'nightmare', there are... stars.
They do not fall in a rain of flame and terror. The sparks instead are lifted on wings (not a dragon, but feathers, heat... song) and shaped into stars. Countless symbols of hope. Then those stars are themselves shaped, the beginning of tales long forgott--
To say Elidibus is a little surprised when he awakens may be an understatement. There is intense confusion and some discomfort as the Ascian becomes aware that it is not wrapped in a blanket in an over-warm room. This is another living individual. Complete with a heartbeat, the steady rise and fall from breathing, and the tactile sensation of feathers and scale against hyur flesh.
Much more than he remembers baring last night. It appears in the interests of comfort, but his own and the dragon's concern for sweat-soaked feathers, Elidibus has been divested of pants. Only smallclothes remain. He takes a while to reflect on his condition and what he.... 'feels' about it. Oh, the near-nudity is not what bothers the Emissary. It's certainly not about 'sexual' intimacy that could be construed from the circumstances. Such matters just do not register.
Elidibus wonders if this would have been how he awakened on a night where the full moon hadn't been affecting Lahabrea's behaviors. Or more to the point, will this be what he needs to expect in the future? The Ascian gazes at the top of the steel cage. Tonight may have been a risk, but it was not without results.
And ah yes. Dragging himself- somewhat reluctantly- back to the thought of how he feels. A dim memory of song tugs at his mind. Something from his dreams? It's too new and the content, both good and bad, somewhat ephemeral as it is. The Ascian isn't too fond of dreaming, yet. It's like an even more confusing array of fragmented memories into which errors accrue. It's just as well they mostly fade when he wakes up.
Then there's this virtually unfettered tangle of bodies to weigh. Elidibus can't say he feels like a victim of circumstance. Here and there he obviously tried to make himself more comfortable. Legs tried to escape and get a bit cooler air, only to end up wrapped around (or wrapped back up) by tail and... Lahabrea's legs.
There are a few places where the Ascian can probably work his way free. An arm, for instance. Part of his leg. Another leg.. tug... hmm. It seems other bits are going to be difficult without tugging and threatening to disturb Lahabrea and Elidibus is not sure what frame of mind his Bonded is going to wake in. So finally, he offers in a bland voice.
"Lahabrea. Are you awake?"
If the dragon is awake, he might notice the small trace of tears upon the Emissary's face before they are completely dry. Elidibus does not seem aware. Perhaps he thought it nothing more than a trace of sweat brought on by the room and his sleeping partner.
In truth, he's completely oblivious to it.
At the dreams begin to cross into a realm which by any right could be deemed 'nightmare', there are... stars.
They do not fall in a rain of flame and terror. The sparks instead are lifted on wings (not a dragon, but feathers, heat... song) and shaped into stars. Countless symbols of hope. Then those stars are themselves shaped, the beginning of tales long forgott--
To say Elidibus is a little surprised when he awakens may be an understatement. There is intense confusion and some discomfort as the Ascian becomes aware that it is not wrapped in a blanket in an over-warm room. This is another living individual. Complete with a heartbeat, the steady rise and fall from breathing, and the tactile sensation of feathers and scale against hyur flesh.
Much more than he remembers baring last night. It appears in the interests of comfort, but his own and the dragon's concern for sweat-soaked feathers, Elidibus has been divested of pants. Only smallclothes remain. He takes a while to reflect on his condition and what he.... 'feels' about it. Oh, the near-nudity is not what bothers the Emissary. It's certainly not about 'sexual' intimacy that could be construed from the circumstances. Such matters just do not register.
Elidibus wonders if this would have been how he awakened on a night where the full moon hadn't been affecting Lahabrea's behaviors. Or more to the point, will this be what he needs to expect in the future? The Ascian gazes at the top of the steel cage. Tonight may have been a risk, but it was not without results.
And ah yes. Dragging himself- somewhat reluctantly- back to the thought of how he feels. A dim memory of song tugs at his mind. Something from his dreams? It's too new and the content, both good and bad, somewhat ephemeral as it is. The Ascian isn't too fond of dreaming, yet. It's like an even more confusing array of fragmented memories into which errors accrue. It's just as well they mostly fade when he wakes up.
Then there's this virtually unfettered tangle of bodies to weigh. Elidibus can't say he feels like a victim of circumstance. Here and there he obviously tried to make himself more comfortable. Legs tried to escape and get a bit cooler air, only to end up wrapped around (or wrapped back up) by tail and... Lahabrea's legs.
There are a few places where the Ascian can probably work his way free. An arm, for instance. Part of his leg. Another leg.. tug... hmm. It seems other bits are going to be difficult without tugging and threatening to disturb Lahabrea and Elidibus is not sure what frame of mind his Bonded is going to wake in. So finally, he offers in a bland voice.
"Lahabrea. Are you awake?"
If the dragon is awake, he might notice the small trace of tears upon the Emissary's face before they are completely dry. Elidibus does not seem aware. Perhaps he thought it nothing more than a trace of sweat brought on by the room and his sleeping partner.
In truth, he's completely oblivious to it.
At least one of them is awake.
The other very much is not; sleep is not something Lahabrea welcomes, it interrupts endless work that needed to be done, and being comfortable enough with his surroundings to bother was rarer yet, but there was something strangely comforting about having someone else there. Maybe he'd been taking the wrong track these past millennia, and should have sought company earlier. A strange and unexpected balm, comfort where none was really expected ... surely the result of a bond and not some neglected need for company he's been ignoring all this time.
Were they any others but themselves, stripping Elidibus of most of what remained of his clothing would certainly have been a lead-in to things guaranteed to cause even more sweat and heat - but neither are inclined, and such a thing was practicality only.
Besides, he kept it hot enough in this house where clothing was for decency alone, not necessity.
As soon as Elidibus so much as twitches, there's a brief change in warm breath before it steadies again, but now the dragon's awake. He's not moving, but he's absolutely awake, and as the Emissary tugs and pulls a little bit in a vague attempt to free himself, Lahabrea is quietly utterly uncooperative.
It's thoroughly inappropriate, he supposes, but isn't that what other bonds do? Inconvenience each other in a constant parade of small petty and mostly harmless ways?
"Mm." He's awake. Mostly, anyway, that undercurrent of endless wrath hasn't stirred itself back up yet, though it surely inevitably would. Another day.. or two ... and that might become easier to contend with, to bury, but for now ... there's being a mild inconvenience in keeping Elidibus a little tangled up.
There is the scent of tears alongside the smell of sweat. What dreams had plagued, to cause such a thing? He didn't remember. "You stink." It's quiet, barely more than a murmur.
No he doesn't. And who's fault would it be if he did, anyway? Elidibus isn't the living furnace here.
The other very much is not; sleep is not something Lahabrea welcomes, it interrupts endless work that needed to be done, and being comfortable enough with his surroundings to bother was rarer yet, but there was something strangely comforting about having someone else there. Maybe he'd been taking the wrong track these past millennia, and should have sought company earlier. A strange and unexpected balm, comfort where none was really expected ... surely the result of a bond and not some neglected need for company he's been ignoring all this time.
Were they any others but themselves, stripping Elidibus of most of what remained of his clothing would certainly have been a lead-in to things guaranteed to cause even more sweat and heat - but neither are inclined, and such a thing was practicality only.
Besides, he kept it hot enough in this house where clothing was for decency alone, not necessity.
As soon as Elidibus so much as twitches, there's a brief change in warm breath before it steadies again, but now the dragon's awake. He's not moving, but he's absolutely awake, and as the Emissary tugs and pulls a little bit in a vague attempt to free himself, Lahabrea is quietly utterly uncooperative.
It's thoroughly inappropriate, he supposes, but isn't that what other bonds do? Inconvenience each other in a constant parade of small petty and mostly harmless ways?
"Mm." He's awake. Mostly, anyway, that undercurrent of endless wrath hasn't stirred itself back up yet, though it surely inevitably would. Another day.. or two ... and that might become easier to contend with, to bury, but for now ... there's being a mild inconvenience in keeping Elidibus a little tangled up.
There is the scent of tears alongside the smell of sweat. What dreams had plagued, to cause such a thing? He didn't remember. "You stink." It's quiet, barely more than a murmur.
No he doesn't. And who's fault would it be if he did, anyway? Elidibus isn't the living furnace here.
Elidibus has suspicions.
Not at first. They're tangled up pretty tightly, after all and it stands to reason that being careful about extrication does mean some resistance. Still, puzzling out limbs shouldn't be taking this long and it seems every time the Ascian makes progress, there's another metaphorical knot to work loose.
So he relaxes and calls out to see if Lahabrea is 'awake'. Letting sleeping dragons lie (about being asleep) need not continue. The moment a vaguely affirmative 'mm' is offered, blue eyes are turned upward to find Lahabrea's face.
There is also a faint sniff of the air. Well, a hyur's nose isn't going to be too fine about it, but there's the smell of sweat that's undoubtedly not the dragon, among whatever dragon smells come from feathers, scales, and heat. And without much judgment, Elidibus answers, "Indeed. I will be glad to master magicks which will minimize the work it takes to keep it clean." It'll be too late by then. He'll be addicted to the concept of a hot bath or shower. "Of course you realize I could have attended to the matter some minutes ago, had you not seen fit to complicate matters?"
Without much judgment. And despite something that's almost like dry humor and an answer about the condition of his body that was too pragmatic, Elidibus doesn't seem too put out.
"...May I inquire as to the location of my trousers?"
Not at first. They're tangled up pretty tightly, after all and it stands to reason that being careful about extrication does mean some resistance. Still, puzzling out limbs shouldn't be taking this long and it seems every time the Ascian makes progress, there's another metaphorical knot to work loose.
So he relaxes and calls out to see if Lahabrea is 'awake'. Letting sleeping dragons lie (about being asleep) need not continue. The moment a vaguely affirmative 'mm' is offered, blue eyes are turned upward to find Lahabrea's face.
There is also a faint sniff of the air. Well, a hyur's nose isn't going to be too fine about it, but there's the smell of sweat that's undoubtedly not the dragon, among whatever dragon smells come from feathers, scales, and heat. And without much judgment, Elidibus answers, "Indeed. I will be glad to master magicks which will minimize the work it takes to keep it clean." It'll be too late by then. He'll be addicted to the concept of a hot bath or shower. "Of course you realize I could have attended to the matter some minutes ago, had you not seen fit to complicate matters?"
Without much judgment. And despite something that's almost like dry humor and an answer about the condition of his body that was too pragmatic, Elidibus doesn't seem too put out.
"...May I inquire as to the location of my trousers?"
[It is becoming clear that a conversation through text is not going to get them anywhere quickly.]
There is little insight I can offer here. Yet I admit some concern. Would you be willing to allow me to join you in this investigation? If it comes to light this is a kidnapping, a comrade would not be remiss.
There is little insight I can offer here. Yet I admit some concern. Would you be willing to allow me to join you in this investigation? If it comes to light this is a kidnapping, a comrade would not be remiss.
[It is best to keep an eye on him. No one should let a RPG Protagonist Incarnate wander around someone's home without supervision. Chests are opened. Potions are taken. Pots are smashed.]
We should not delay any longer. You have already mentioned it has been two days since you last spoke. Any chance of finding clues to his whereabouts will fade the more we wait.
Where do you wish to meet?
We should not delay any longer. You have already mentioned it has been two days since you last spoke. Any chance of finding clues to his whereabouts will fade the more we wait.
Where do you wish to meet?
The complication of matters continues.
It is well known that Lahabrea doesn't in fact possess a sense of humor that he'll admit to, nor that he actually enjoys anything but the suffering of others, so clearly none of that can be happening. There is nothing of gentleness in the Abyssal Celebrant, so anything like it must be an illusion, some deceit for some unknown purpose.
But he continues to quietly make a nuisance of himself, the dimmest, barest flickers of amusement crossing their bond. It's too easy to do with the size difference between them and having an entire extra limb up on Elidibus. In this strange liminal moment, it might be easy to forget there had been bloodthirsty fury, or hunger or the edges of moon-madness. Certainly it can't last, it wouldn't last, and very likely no-one else would be allowed such an indignity as Lahabrea idly working on keeping them entangled with the subtlest of little motions.
It's a good thing he doesn't have his wings yet, else he'd use those too. "Of course, of course." He still hasn't raised his voice. There were bathing opportunities to be had upstairs! And hot running water to go with it, because it's about the only sort he can even tolerate, and then it's the smell of wet feathers for HOURS but Elidibus wo't have that problem.
"....Mmm.. over there somewhere." There's a nebulous gesture with one hand, and with it the barest openings of escape. Honestly he hadn't paid much attention, they were in the way and causing more sweat and it wasn't necessary besides. How utterly scandalous this would be in another situation.. "Do you remember your dreams? I smell salt." Tears.
It is well known that Lahabrea doesn't in fact possess a sense of humor that he'll admit to, nor that he actually enjoys anything but the suffering of others, so clearly none of that can be happening. There is nothing of gentleness in the Abyssal Celebrant, so anything like it must be an illusion, some deceit for some unknown purpose.
But he continues to quietly make a nuisance of himself, the dimmest, barest flickers of amusement crossing their bond. It's too easy to do with the size difference between them and having an entire extra limb up on Elidibus. In this strange liminal moment, it might be easy to forget there had been bloodthirsty fury, or hunger or the edges of moon-madness. Certainly it can't last, it wouldn't last, and very likely no-one else would be allowed such an indignity as Lahabrea idly working on keeping them entangled with the subtlest of little motions.
It's a good thing he doesn't have his wings yet, else he'd use those too. "Of course, of course." He still hasn't raised his voice. There were bathing opportunities to be had upstairs! And hot running water to go with it, because it's about the only sort he can even tolerate, and then it's the smell of wet feathers for HOURS but Elidibus wo't have that problem.
"....Mmm.. over there somewhere." There's a nebulous gesture with one hand, and with it the barest openings of escape. Honestly he hadn't paid much attention, they were in the way and causing more sweat and it wasn't necessary besides. How utterly scandalous this would be in another situation.. "Do you remember your dreams? I smell salt." Tears.
[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.
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.
[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.
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.
Page 3 of 7