"Before. I meant before you fall," Elidibus corrects himself. Should Lahabrea start to fall, he wants to catch him before he's out of reach. "But of course I do not fully understand. I have read many books. I have spoken to others of these changes. But none of them would know it as you do now." As an Ascian becoming a 'beast'. Nor would any of them have an inkling of comprehending the horror of it to Lahabrea.
Except perhaps another Unsundered. Elidibus truly wishes to know more, but also to be someone to whom Lahabrea can speak more than the fragment he just professed.
"At the end of the day, should the feral side manifest Lahabrea, no steel will hold a dragon's rage. And the bars are too far apart for your smallest form. Where I stand in this room will make no difference." So in a way, he should not have come in at all. Yet, Elidibus had, knowing how fragile the illusion of the cage and security was.
Elidibus shows no sign of mockery. Steadfast, he picks up his satchel. But... not to leave.
"I desire to remain if you would allow. And given the conditions, perhaps it would be best to spend the time practicing the best means of physical contact. Would you please secure your hoard and make room for me?" He will, of course, turn around should Lahabrea give in to the idea that Elidibus means to stay. Naturally, he'll be bringing his food and drink and probably books along.
"I have not access to either the vaunted strength nor the shape change that others may possess." Puncturing that illusion of safety, that the bars could and would hold, is going to have consequences down the line. An animal certain it can't escape will rarely try to, learned helplessness preventing most attempts ... but that seed's been planted. All it takes is a whisper of doubt, after all the work he'd put in to securing at least one location against the inevitable.
There were no other Unsundered that might be dragged into this world unless it grew so cruel as to seize Amaurotines directly and inflict this hell upon them ... and that might well be worse than what's been done to him. He's had at least a few eons to adapt to unwelcome changes in environment or the attitudes of others.. but learning that adaption had come at a terrible price they'd all paid. Some poor soul snatched off the streets of the Black City would have no such familiarity, or explanation at all. Only the sudden horror like unto the End Times, though less contagious in its terror.
It's for the best, really. He wouldn't wish this fate on others of his kind.
This stubborn persistence was going to get Elidibus killed. He's certain of that too, whether by accident or design.
But wasn't contact supposed to help? Would it do anything about the warping of language into nonsense, the wavering sense of self and time, the boiling fury that never quite went away? None of it was as all-consuming as it had been the month before, but it felt like a near thing.
"If I tell you to leave, you will leave. No questions, no arguments. I will not have Ascian blood on my hands again." There's always a price, it seems, in trying to negotiate for anything with Lahabrea. This one might be rather less personally demanding than the last, of memory and effort into maintaining it!
But where is that little stash of jewels and precious metals? His gaze shifts to the side, weighing how safe it is. The cage is spacious, forged for something considerably larger than he was now, a cell more properly than merely a holding place for a beast in its tenuous comforts. But here indeed were the best of cushions, the softest blankets, the nicest area rug. His books, a magicked lamp. It might be better appointed than the sleeping space he usually utilized, but for the long stark shadows the bars throw. "And stay astray of the books." Which must thus be where he's also keeping his precious things, presumably the box they're stacked upon.
What a terrible temptation, putting all the reading material where murder would result if approached.
There may be a price to pay. But nothing truly worked for is free of cost. And Elidibus has proven he'll stand in the place meant for another's sacrifice. He won't allow for a hint of a reminder of this to show, out of respect and a desire to help Lahabrea. Even if the Emissary were to know that it isn't a simple matter of obtaining another host if this body were to die, he'd likely still persist.
"I shall," Elidibus agrees. Conditions are... acceptable. Some sort of trust has to exist from both ends for this to work. Where there's trust, there is safety. Where safety is, there's room for a little more effort. The rest is a race to save Lahabrea with this method before the feral state becomes irreversible.
He waits and then, Lahabrea doesn't need Elidibus to turn away to secure the stash. He infers where it is and trusts the Emissary not to do anything foolish. Which he will follow, though the books on Lahabrea shelves docontain a few volumes he has not gotten ahold of himself. If he finishes his own material brought along in the satchel, he'll just have to ask the Speaker to pass him an interesting book.
As long as there are cushions aplenty, Elidibus will not bring another with him. And before he approaches, he'll shed himself of his boots and socks, leaving only pants and shirt and bare feet. Once the cage is unlocked, the Ascian enters with care and great heed given to the danger zone of books and chest. The door is closed, the lock redone. The satchel was given a place to rest. Its contents can wait for a bit. He did, after all, set himself to a task after entry.
A cushion is chosen for him to sprawl into. Elidibus has been watching the mortals of late, seeking signs of bonding behavior that was not overly.... improper in tone. A great deal of this has consisted of various ways in which one sprawls over or against the other Bonded. It seems safe enough to try to encourage a form of it. Though the Emissary does start by reaching out (and up) with his hand. "There is something new I wish to try if you'll allow."
If Lahabrea would accept the hand, he will be encouraged to settle almost touching Elidibus.
Surely it is still just a matter of finding a new host for all of them. The only reason Lahabrea hadn't done so himself was the fact that his taint was soul-deep, had affected every thought he had; changing to a new body might simply mean enduring all of this a second time and warping a new shell into unrecognizability. But that Elidibus could simply find a new body to inhabit really wasn't the point as far as he's concerned. After having his impropriety thrown into stark relief in his attack on Emet-Selch not so long ago, he's not interested in repeating that grievous mistake any time soon, if he could help it.
The problem was, he's not sure he could help it, not during the damned full moons.
At least for the moment, there's no sudden overwhelming certainty that Elidibus is in fact after his treasures and he has to defend it, but he watches nonetheless, just in case, but it seems Elidibus is mindful of its location and has no intention of going near. That's fine. The comfortable spots were further away anyway, and he'd gone out of his way to collect all the best things for him to soothe himself with for the next few days.
Including the constant temptation of beanbag chair, waiting for the inevitability of Elidibus descending upon it once more.
Lahabrea himself has done no such research on bonds, and what was, and was not a good idea to do. That would require leaving, or dealing with neighbors, or other such things, but he did have a lone star-crossed lovers dime novel in the stack of books that suggested bodice ripping was in fact an amazing way to help strengthen a bond.
He has no intention of putting on a bodice, or suggesting Elidibus do the same. Instead there's an offered hand, and it's studied for a long silent moment before he acquiesces and does as bidden. "And what precisely are you intending to try?" Nothing improper surely, at least not intentionally, but their grip on what counted and what didn't was occasionally tenuous.
Spoiler Alert: It's not bodice-ripping. But also, Elidibus had fallen to the allure of the bean-bag chair. Why shouldn't he be comfortable during this practice session? It's not an addiction and he'll be able to stop any time he wants.
Of course, it wouldn't be as easy as offering out a hand. While it remains outstretched, there is a slack added to it, so it is not too tiresome to maintain its reach. "I have observed a public habit of Bonded pairs which is a step outside of our comfort and thus, more telling of whether there is any beneficial effect." There is a slight pause and close of the eyes before they're reopened. Though his expression didn't change, it may well be a version of steeling himself further over the remainder.
"One would stretch out, not unlike I have. While the other would settle close to their side. In varying degrees, the second Bonded would then overlap body parts while the first wraps an arm in an embrace. They were capable of both practicing touch and attending to a second task." For instance, reading a book. Or knitting. Or eating a meal. It was very impressive.
And thus Elidibus demystifies the nature of a cuddle with calm, simple details.
The bean bag chair will not be denied. To attempt such is pure folly. But on the bright side, it also keeps Elidibus from the little shards of black glass.
Lahabrea's responses are slow and measured, from movement to word, as if by patient carefulness he can avoid sudden flashes of rage or violence, root it all in thought and decision and there proceed as safely as possible. He understands what Elidibus is trying to say, he's seen it plenty ... albeit not so much here, on this star, for he traveled it much less than he did the Source in the guise of others.
After a long moment, Lahabrea sets his chisel to one side, the rounded lump of rock with it. Such a thing as entwining with another in that fashion was certainly not what he'd consider normally, it was an affront to autonomy at the very least, far beyond a mere passing touch. But more importantly, did it work? Did those that indulged in such displays benefit from it?
"I have seen what you speak of." Careful. But not here - in Ul'dah, in Gridania, in even Garlemald.
Such a mortal gesture. The surge of disgust and fury rises and falls like a briefly passing wave. Up, down and gone.
Had it always been a mortal gesture? He couldn't remember, and memory didn't elude him as often as it did Elidibus. "But you've somehow gotten smaller," the dragon mutters, as if this was in fact done on purpose by Elidibus simply to make things inconvenient, forcing him to move and adjust to the difference, to the outstretched arm. But he didn't have to move too far, he had a reach that exceeded the grasp of talons re-made sharp in the moon's sway, and there is a whisper of feather on fabric as he adjusts just enough to sweep his tail around, the long brassy feathers clamped close, and wrap the arc of crimson around both Elidibus and the ever tempting bean chair and with it, drag both just a touch closer. Enough to reach without reaching.
He knew that tail was a fair bit longer than most dragons had that he's seen, but it had its uses. "Mayhap.."
"And you taller," Elidibus answers. He may have meant this literally. He really didn't bother to compare heights with Ardbert when he'd first found the Warrior of Light. He did feel it was about the same. Well, no matter. It probably wasn't a thoughtless memory meandering out of his mouth. Probably.
He's.... scooted. Gone from idly wondering what Lahabrea was doing with his tail to finding out firsthand. There's that brief sound of shuuuuuuuuuf and mild crackle that is outer canvas dragging against a floor littered with bits of obsidian chips. At the end of the trip, he reaches back toward the satchel and there's a rustle of the packet of ginger snaps before he draws one out and crunches it. "Hm." Again reaching in, the Emissary takes out another and offers it up to Lahabrea with his free hand. He was told it's polite to bring food and thus, he brought food.
"Your tail is remarkably convenient," Elidibus notes. "How well can it manipulate what it holds?" This.... also really doesn't have a lot to do with cuddles. Though with proximity comes a long, thoughtful look over the real differences in their length. Touch has also opened a door to a deeper sense of the dragon's feelings. It's... a bubbling cauldron. He was given some warning by the earlier surge and lapse in Lahabrea's comprehension. But now it's much... more real. And stirs a sense of concern for the Speaker from his fellow Ascian.
"Perhaps you should be the one to stay still while I overlap?" He already has the ends of the fingers belonging to the clasped hand looking to burrow under the nearest feathers and give an experimental scratching by the scales.
Perception is everything. Elidibus might well be exactly the same size as before! But the perspective has changed, and Lahabrea didn't precisely have a ruler up against the wall by which to measure himself. "Not well." Still careful, still measuring careful restraint, any flicker of fury or annoyance buried as if it were perfectly ordinary. "While easy to move there's no grip." Not prehensile, he couldn't wrap something tightly and lift it, but he could sweep from side to side easily enough, and bend back and forth or coil a little and that was about it. More lizard than serpent in that respect.
As it has been many times before, his relative quiet is deceptive. He's certain had Elidibus not somehow turned up on this planet that this would be another night of lost time and lost memories, and likely the next several days. Would he have ever come out of it? But even if it's a battle he'll inevitably lose, it's one he's used to fighting, and close contact does at the very least make it easier to do.
Acceptance is a long, long way off, and so the storm continues, seething foreign instinct and urges that have nothing at all to do with ascian or hyur impulses. That emptiness that fills Elidibus seems to drain a little bit of it away, tiny bit by tiny bit. Any respite is still a respite.
Though the ginger snap is taken, it's set on one knee instead of eaten. He's not sure that's going to work with the way his molars feel, and any such effort would have to be cautious. So much caution. He was sick of it. No wonder monsters would race to the streets or skies in their desperation to shake off caution and fear. Some distant part of his mind notes that ruffling up under the feathers definitely felt better, even if Elidibus lacked claws. "Whatever you may find most comfortable," is the obviously magnanimous response.
The last time he'd bothered with anything even vaguely similar he'd been wearing Thancred at the time and had begged out of more than one close encounter. Maybe it would be best if he let Elidibus do as he pleased and focused on keeping his head clear. The passivity itself is a bit of a struggle, a tug-of-war between forced acquiescence and the desire to shake him off and chase him out of the cage entirely. To do nothing at all.. a surprising amount of effort.
"Though if only contact is required. Mayhap it will be enough." If he could get his tail to curl the rest of the way in spite of feathers and bone structure beneath, he could in theory wrap Elidibus directly in a fluffy but possibly rather warm boa. But there are limits to his autonomous flexibility, by the way he can't quite get the offending appendage to bend further under his own efforts and will.
"Hm?" Elidibus looks puzzled. He'd been about to oblige by freeing his hand and shifting to a spot further along Lahabrea's arm. The exact places where the scritching is applied to the best effect should be carefully grid-searched! The Ascian is showing what might be to others an endearingly awkward level of self arrangement in this new position between the draws of beanbag and dragon. As well this whole matter of overlap changing to him being the smaller and more logical one to lean against the other.
But not so distracted as to miss feeling like he missed something important. "Be enough? Ah. Yes." Elidibus realizes it may be in reference to the notion he didn't need to do any overlapping at all. Not, there was some key matter he'd failed to observe in the public displays. To him, its use is one of trying to maximize contact needed to strengthen the Bond while also maintaining efficiency in a second task. He isn't naive. He knows mortals see and take more out of these actions than he would. One can argue he might even be aware that their race had once indulged, else wherefore would the discomfort of such displays have arisen between his fellow Unsundered?
But Elidibus had been thinking through the process just now as one would pour over an outline of dance steps as shown in diagrams in a book. Well, at least the realization that Lahabrea may have been speaking of something else seems to have hit him in good time.
Having finally settled, Elidibus ends up with one leg curled underneath him into the bean bag cushion and the other braced shin down against the coil of Lahabrea's tail wrapped around the base of his seat. His head and shoulders would likely settle somewhere against Lahabrea's stomach area. And his hands... Well, one goes about the systematic creep up the Speaker's arm. The other has reached into the satchel (again!!) and pulled out a book which, upon opening, is revealed to be something of a journal. So he has been writing things down after all. The writing in this case is the language very long dead to the world as their race, for that is its origin.
And he certainly hasn't gotten the journal enchanted against deciphering magic, he's just going to need to keep it close until he can suitably enchant it himself. Eorzean script is for a less private journal. This one has secrets. Like observations on dragons. He voices them as he picks up the pen and writes.
"The connection is clearer. Though one may infer this is as much to do with the full moon as it is our current position." Keeping up the journal writing and the scritching seems to pose no problem. The book is suitably wedged in a fold of the chair so it doesn't scoot around under the writing tool. His other hand moves steadily upward. "I can feel what caused the earlier fugue." That roiling creature underneath, though Elidibus doesn't linger overlong on its presence, so as not to draw too much notice to it. He knows Lahabrea is trying so hard. "Please tell me what you feel through me?"
Interest. Clinical observation. A hole in which emotions seem to stream without a sign of them ever hitting bottom. They may drain into the Emissary. But they do not seem to find purchase within.
Back then, while the first two might have been a majority when Elidibus studied something, that hole was unlikely to have been there. Instead perhaps a wonder and respect to all the differences of the world. Not which was right or which was wrong. But which was the best to serve all? And how fascinating it all was! To the point he'd often been reminded to go outside once in a while.
Who knows where things changed and fell apart. Maybe it was when they realized they'd likely have to watch their own Convocation die again and again. It wouldn't do to get too attached.
But time and absence makes it awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe not physically, the weight leaned against him is negligible and hardly full of sharp objects, but it all just seems so ... utterly intimate, so completely opposite of what had been comfortable centuries of habit and pattern. The uncertainty of it keeps instability bubbling up into anything truly concrete, just little sparks of annoyance at every shift and move that inevitably settles itself back down in short order.
It fights two very different sets of behavior, neither of which is overly keen on it - but it is necessary.
And it doesn't feel bad, to feel someone else's breath against his body, the muted pulse of another, or fingers working their way through his feathers. It felt better than solitude, it felt appropriate and right, which meant of course it wasn't, and he should be careful.
"I'm not sure it's the moons." Can he be sure? Not at all. "It's ... distinctly different, now versus a few minutes ago." How was it different? Lahabrea wasn't exactly sure, it wasn't something he could get his teeth around. That it seemed easier in turn seemed like an inexact explanation, and his inability to formulate anything ELSE spiked his annoyance significantly. Language defined thought, and if he couldn't find a word for it, him of all people--
But the seething monster beneath his skin lingers, chewing away at the edges of alert consciousness constantly. It's a little strange, how it's both distinct and utterly the same as Lahabrea, less as if someone had simply dropped a dragon in the back of his mind and more simply added a few elements to reshape what had already been. There's no immediate response to Elidibus' question as to what he feels in return, for this takes stillness and reflection. This takes pushing aside the endless storm of turmoil and trying to find a focus point instead.
His hands itched to continue the work he'd set himself to earlier, simply to continue to direct his thoughts. He leans forward slightly, more flexible than he usually gets to enjoy in a hyur body, blond hair and feathers a pale curtain easily long enough to dangle to the point of touching Elidibus' own dark hair. A not unuseful thing, it traps scent a little better and he was still getting used to adjusted senses. "Very little." The free hand rise, cookie not forgotten but still left where it was on his knee, to gently run a clawtip through that dark hair, not hard enough to even leave a line in its wake. "Not ..."
Frustration again, a quick, hot surge almost felt in skin and breath as much as emotion, a brief temperature spike. Eloquence eludes him, and it shouldn't. "Not a sense of nothingness, as if there were no tug on the other end of a chain. A sense of thought, of consideration and contemplation, of awareness and intelligence, but there is no impression... that you feel." This last is a soft exhalation of heat and faintly minty scent.
"At all. No pain. No fear. No joy or happiness, or rage or sorrow, a presence but little to fill it, an image of a soul and not the passions that motivate one. Like staring at an endless sky through glass, unable to feel the wind or sun, or smell the air."
Touch helped him, redirected the animal that shared his mind whether he wished it or not, but what did it do for a witch? Did they suffer any turmoil? He could pick up nothing that felt like a constant disruption. "Do you feel? Can I make you feel, I wonder."
What an interesting sensation. Elidibus had expected more discomfort and awkwardness, yet this... becomes easier the longer it happens. 'Bond or mortal instinct? A lingering sense of unease but overall positive.' is written down.
As Lahabrea begins to explain the sensation from his end, Elidibus notes the rise and fall of the Ascian's emotional state. The frequency of the shifts in the dragon's condition gives ample material from which to separate surface emotions from the undercurrent of dragonish 'being' the Speaker fights against. At the same time, recognizing the two as individual forces is... incorrect? The Emissary's brow furrows as he dwells on the matter. Was it perhaps true then, that Lahabrea is fighting against what is fundamentally his own nature?
The spikes in temperature, the struggle with eloquence, these are certainly noticed. And Elidibus skips Lahabrea's shoulder and goes to the neck. It's less thorough and more practiced. He wouldn't ever admit that he's been practicing on the amaro but...
Try to calm, attempt to soothe. See if the distress and spikes of anger are minimized. "Try to relax a little more, now the contact seems to be showing signs of aiding you."
In turn, the small attentions Lahabrea gives in return seem to have a relaxing effect on Elidibus's host, for all finding an emotional response is... well.
The pen stills. There's no tapping on the page or any other thoughtful or agitated gesture. Yet it's the only clear sign that Elidibus is taking heed to Lahabrea's words. No. There's a flutter of something that stirs underneath the lack of feeling but hard to define. He is, after all, keeping himself free of what little emotion he has. But there are some answers he can give.
"There is no room for joy or happiness whilst our God fractured, our peoples' souls scattered," he answers without any sign of remorse. It is, to Elidibus, a matter of fact. "Fear... Perhaps once, a long time ago." Beyond a time he can recall. "Fear is a weapon I refuse to let our enemies use against me. Pain. I am slowly learning what the various discomforts of this mortal form mean." Ah, but is that what Lahabrea means by pain?
Rage and sorrow. He knows those. Elidibus had never looked up until then. Not toward Lahabrea but to some point outside the cage. The Emissary closes his eyes and invokes an image. His variation of the Source. His Warrior of Light and the memory of learning... seeing Emet-Selch's confrontation and fall. It does invoke a low boil of something like rage.
Distant, partially detached. In Lahabrea's analogy, it would be a wind strong enough to rattle the sheet of glass keeping him separate from the experience. But wholly belonging to the Ascian. "I know rage," he offers with quiet intensity. "And I think.. sorrow." The rage doesn't last long. Without the real, physical presence of what he invokes, emotions really don't last long.
But then whether it's Elidibus's own efforts to keep an emotionless state or the touch of the taloned finger brushing along his short hair.
"I would not be against effort on your part to try, Lahabrea," Elidibus has returned to a normal state and continues to write with the pen to catch up on his notes. "It would be beneficial to know. Would you rather I make an effort to resist or simply allow its natural course?"
The scales are thinner there, the feathers sparser; either they weren't finished growing in yet or were for some strange reason weaker. Every dragon had a spot that needed to be protected, but there was no great drive beyond practicality to protect it, and Lahabrea had no reason to think Elidibus might suddenly drive a spike through the side of his throat.
No, the point of this was to allow touch and see what happened, and there was no-one else to see and mock or deride. So it's allowed without protest, and no comment made about it. It feels nice; maybe it was why a dog or a horse or a bandersnatch might lean into a questing hand at their throats, eyes closed in trusting bliss. The mapping of such a feeling to mere animals is ... not comfortable, not something he wants to weigh long.
There are other distractions, than a pleasant touch along skin and feather and scale. "No. There is."
But it's hard to formulate. There's room for joy, for fear, for hope and loss.
Was he even capable of connecting to something other than burning fury, with the dragon so close to the surface, even with the calming presence of a bond and the soothing touch of foreign magic? Instead of answering whether or not Elidibus would be better off resisting or doing nothing, he struggles with the line of thought instead. How? If he couldn't describe it, could he ever do it?
"There's more than stoicism. There's laughter. There's silliness." It's not quite a massage, for that would preclude the sharp tips of claws, but he draws them nonetheless across across Elidibus' scalp in slow spirals as he works on beating the beast down enough to think. "To remember it and live it and breathe it is .. to remember once was something better, something nobler than the misery of the moment. To honor a god shaped by love and hope and the high wild joys of life, and show we have not forgotten ... not in memory of this incident or that time, but in our souls, what it means to shepherd a world. Not just.. the weight of responsibility alone. We are vast, we are great, and we can contain more than just the pain of loss or determination to see a task through." It takes him a while to put it together, bit by bit, with the undercurrent of fury that never ended.
He could remember times where there was happiness. Flashes of better things, more vivid things than the day to day struggle. He could remember the flush of pride and joy in success and not only grim satisfaction. Dredging them up now is hard. It's slow. It's all slow, with gaps and pauses and awkward tones and ire when he can't shape what he wants out of words even with the ongoing efforts to soothe away the lunar rage. "If there is no laughter, then our God's touch is somewhere else. If there is no joy or peace, even in fleeing moments then there is no hope. We become merely the tattered remnants of melancholy people basking in our inability to be people. If we cannot celebrate, how can we truly worship?"
Lahabrea closes his eyes, though whether from the touch against his skin or to measure thoughts or continue to work to lock the scent and sound of Elidibus in his mind so there must not in the future be risk to him from the beast ... it's a mystery. All of them. None of them. "Our God would not be shamed to see us wrench a moment of silliness out of our dark duty, or feel a spark of fear. What is fear but a motivating force? We can't let it control us, of course, but to feel it .. to feel any of it... is a gift."
He found his own joy and happiness, though sometimes it was merely in watching mortals struggle and fail and die, over and over. But still... it's a happiness. "Through our elation, and our misery, we show Lord Zodiark we have not forgotten what it means to live, and that one day soon He too .. will be free to experience more than our vicarious pain." The little circles of clawtips continue, slow and measured. "Stoicism is easier. But it is better to share what we can with Him, isn't it? It's why I won't break such a silly thing as Emet-Selch's bond with that rabbit. A little joy, however fleeting it must be..."
Elidibus's efforts at 'experimenting with contact' slow as he listens to Lahabrea struggling to articulate how there is room for joy and sorrow. The pen stills again but this time, it is set down. So much has been said that has logical meaning. The words spoken of their God... how true. Has he not said as much before, in the past? He has, hasn't he? A soft sigh escapes him as though resigned.
But that is completely opposite of the emotion struggling to surface and make its way through the bond. The one that so oft surfaces when struggling through the realization of another lost memory, though most usually hidden behind mask and robe. Confusion. Frustration. If it is this bad now, how much moreso was it in the beginning when he realized what was happening to him?
"I am Elidibus. And it is my duty to remain ever apart, that I might keep the balance between Light and Dark. That I may steer our people to the correct choice." The others got to shepherd the world. He... he was a shepherd to their people, whether that be for or against their actions. He had to remain apart.
The Ascian doesn't look up. But his shoulders have hunched and tension which had been removed by earlier, surprisingly relaxing contact and touch, is returning. His expression would be one likened to distress and struggle. Of someone who repeats a rote message to make sure he remembers he still has his duty... over and over and over again. Those words have that cadence. Of one seeking to still some unrest. It is like a twisted taint upon those old times, where his enthusiasm for work bordered on obsession, but was done with such joy and wonder for the world.
"Memories are so fleeting. Would you ask me to bear their happiness? Their joy of the moment, when they will fade again?" He's said something of the sort to Emet-Selch before. But here, there is something to add. A tap of his free hand to the open journal. "It is enough that I must suffer writing of a matter here." And should he write of some fleeting happiness and forget it? There it would be, stark proof. He is not looking forward to it. "No. I would rather remain true to my office. Therein lies my purpose, even here."
Without his memories, he is only his duty and the will of his people. Without the title of Elidibus, without performing that duty is he then nothing? The fingers still at rest against the side of the dragon's neck dig in a little. It seems the answer to Lahabrea's earlier question is yes. Elidibus can still feel pain in the emotional sense, if not the physical.
And perhaps implied, that he suffers fear, though it does not surface here. He is but a Primal, uncertain whether he can even be considered the true Elidibus. Where would be his place at duty end, but to perhaps, if lucky, return to Zodiark's heart?
And if not, to fade into oblivion.
Elidibus doesn't push Lahabrea's actions away. In a sense, the touch is an anchor he can use. But also a part of him seems to recognize that he's hiding nothing from his fellow Ascian. And maybe underneath it all, there is something soothing he craves about it. If only he had the capacity.
Fingers curl carefully, and then Lahabrea raps Elidibus very lightly across the top of the skull with his knuckles. "Enough of that."
He can recognize a spiral in others, at least, an unhealthy obsession - and this particular individual has had a long term issue with unhealthy obsession. It is at least, something to focus on in the absence of his earlier carving, giving him something else to turn his attention to than the lack of anything to turn his attention to. While it's something to feel, some distinct emotion, it's not really helpful ones, is it?
And confusion and frustration simmer alongside his endless wrath, in a cocktail of unpleasantness. "I will remind you the role of Elidibus, as the man who inducted you to that role." How ostentatious, to think anyone might know better than Elidibus himself what that duty was! "To steer mankind and the star upon its most beneficial course. Sometimes standing against us. Sometimes standing with us. But never apart, Emissary. Never apart, for then we would not in our whole be fourteen." A rote message reworded a little over time, it seems, for erroneous impressions have crept in, and Lahabrea allows himself the inklings of fury at it. It needed some small outlet, lest it find something else to latch to. Turn the dragon from fury at anything in its presence to things beyond its reach, beyond its ken. "How can you know the truest course, without being among those you are meant to guide?"
How much of that duty can be performed her? Perishingly little, but that didn't matter.
Silence again for a time, resuming the slow scratch of claws on skin, ignoring the discomfort of pulled feathers. He's torn out plenty himself, what's a few more? "I will remind you, should you forget. Because never have you been expected to bear the happiness of anyone but yourself." Only then does he let go, reaching instead for the gingersnap on his knee, plucking it up between curved ivory talons. "You enjoy these. Should you forget that you do, must we deny you ever consuming another? Nay, tis better to offer it up, and let you experience anew and fresh, the small happiness that is a simple snack." The cookie, meant for him but never eaten, is offered. "One need not a complete memory to experience joy. One needs merely to experience. Yours may be a past incomplete, and a future unwritten, but now ... now is full of many things. A cookie. A book. A chair full of strange things. And if any are experienced as if it is the first time, then that does not detract from the moment. Mayhap it can enhance it, and offer an ever new and refreshing perspective."
He won't go so far as to ever call it a gift. It isn't. It's a terrible burden. "Every time the cookie fades, there is another waiting to be tasted, fresh and pristine. Take it up, that momentary happiness. It matters not if it fades, for there is always another moment, and the thousand that come before it weakens not the thousand that may follow, each fresh and new and wonderful. Mayhap you must forget aught but duty, but to feel, without reservation, is part of that duty, for it binds us all, to each other, to our God, to our very star." And the ginger snap. "Take up your role, Emissary, and linger among us, suffering as we do, laughing as we do. As our God would, if He could."
The rap of knuckles on the top of the head, light though it is, succeeds in shocking Elidibus out of his efforts to bring himself back away from the pain and the looming, empty well that once held what defined him. Not just as Elidibus, but as...
Lahabrea will catch sight of the anguished expression before it shifts to some shocked surprise and finally is followed by a bit of slack and widened eyes. Confusion and... just a touch of recognition.
"You," he breathes. "You were the Convocation Speaker then?" He knows Lahabrea is the Speaker now. But somehow, Elidibus had not considered the notion that those fragmented memories applied to the Lahabrea he now looks upon. "I... I remember. You... you used to chide me. You and... and..." A struggle. No, he doesn't remember. "To go outside ...and then you were gone." Not gone. He had likely gone with them. But Elidibus can't remember what happened next. It's obvious through the Bond and the desperate way his eyes dart from side to side in the moment as if looking for something physical which would tell him what happened next.
The idea that he was no longer truly a part of the Convocation as he stood alone so as to steer them. That was truly a fear. It is true time and necessity when they became a Convocation of Three had somewhat warped that message, especially as they found and ascended sundered pieces of the other Convocation members. When he listens to Lahabrea tell him that the very act of being Elidibus was not to stand apart, Elidibus appears and feels dumbstruck.
And before he can open his mouth to refute... before the cold logic returns to bury the emotion, to center himself back to his purpose of now, not what once was. To once again be a void where Lahabrea's fury can simply drop into and fall, fall, fall, the Speaker has continued. Elidibus has loosened his grip, thankfully pulling only a couple of feathers truly loose, before falling back to his lap, clutching the downy tuft. They aren't inclined to open, so it is with his other hand that he receives the cookie. "I enjoy these?"
It's as if the Emissary never considered that buying them regularly- and yes he most certainly has been seen eating the cookies frequently as they rebuilt the second floor- meant he enjoyed them. Or the bean bag or a book. He speaks up as if to deny this, "It is but a convenience this form finds no discomfort from it."
It really is a weak excuse. Why else buy the same cookie or gravitate to the same chair? He doesn't get it, it's obvious through the Bond that he doesn't. And it's tragic.
He closes his eyes. Thoughts are in turmoil, confusion rests in listening to the Speaker's words and seeing him say such things with so much earnestness. He can't close out the subtle sensation of the claws running through his hair ever so lightly and carefully. Nor can he shut out Lahabrea's presence. Not anymore. And he was not able to control the pace of his heart, which seemed to beat in a quick, squeezing manner for a moment. When his eyes open they are downcast as though he were still in thought. Carefully words are murmured one by one.
"I... did speak before, did I not? That we must put aside some habits of eld and stand together." He knew he would have to make such sacrifice, though it would cost him a part of his duty to do it. But dare he be allowed to believe that Lahabrea is right and it is, rather than abandonment, a return to the proper meaning to his office?
Dare Elidibus truly let himself think for one moment that he should risk the happiness, joys, and sorrows of his fellow Ascians while their God remains broken? Perhaps when they finished their long task, he could rejoin Zodiark's heart, taking with him the carefully saved memories- Lahabrea will surely not fail him, yes- so that He would know His people had found small moments for themselves in the long Darkness.
Perhaps...
At least for now, for a night, Elidibus might choose to believe. He certainly can't weigh the matter in this state. But there is a promise he can make, by bringing the ginger snap to his mouth and biting into it. Taking in the taste that had drawn him to buy the cookies several times now and trying to place it with the idea of enjoyment.
"I... need to consider this carefully. Yet I thank you, Lahabrea."
The funny thing about memory is while Lahabrea doesn't suffer from any particular memory loss, he's lived a long life and pinpointing this or that exact moment can actually take a bit of time. He'd chided Elidibus on many occasions, but with someone else? To go outside? This is weighed for a little bit before he comes to a conclusion. "Yes. And for quite some time." He hadn't gone to his office thinking he would oversee the end of their world. And now of all times, trying to dredge up fragments of moments thousands of years in the past, in a time where there was no desperate need to commit everything to memory..
"..Ah. Igeyorhm. She didn't like your tendency to obsess over your work." Which is an ongoing problem, clearly. But he doesn't recall the exact moment, it hadn't made some great fundamental impression on him at the time. Maybe it was in there somewhere, buried in the recesses of his mind. "I assume this was one of such times. I assure you we did not simply disappear, but it is normal to not remember everything of every moment. What came before, what came after, it fades in all of us if it isn't as important as the part that is recalled. I know she didn't always succeed in dragging you away from your books. Nor could I." Things had been different, once. The nostalgia is bittersweet at best, more bitter than sweet, for Elidibus wasn't the eager youth he once was and Igeyorhm..
It didn't bear thinking about right now, and it's put aside.
How someone could be so detached from anything as to not understand what a preference was beggared belief, and for a little bit this is considered. Even Ifrita knew what she wanted, how she wanted it and how to get it it, and she was a creation through and through. Why would Elidibus not know such a basic, ordinary thing? Even the derivative misshapen echo of Ifrit knew. "Yes. If you choose it instead of other, more practical things, then you prefer it, and thus enjoy it. If it were mere convenience you sought then some nutritious easily carried food would be the preference, not a piece of confectionery."
This was a problem. How long had it been going on?
They both have much to consider, but the thought of it seems to draw a long sigh from the dragon. "It seems I have much to accomplish before this world finishes ruining me," he mutters. "If only to set you back to a true equilibrium before this goes any further. Stay the night. I would see what comes." They did say after all that shared dreams and such could be an issue, and maybe once he knew where all the plentiful gaps were he could begin filling them in.
"Yet I have forgotten the splendor of your creations. Would that not have merited some importance? Would not the actions of Azem?"
Yes, twisted as his recollection was at the time, further thought had unraveled that he'd jumbled memories. There's another page for such things, in that open journal. But more upon that later. The point now is relevant.
And like scabs upon an open wound, the matter is begging to be picked at, for all the pain it gives. "Why not more of my inauguration? And why so much of a brief, inconsequential moment?" He calls it 'so much' when it is naught but a few moments of speech. Elidibus's hands shake from the tension in its body, humming warning of its limits.
Yet Lahabrea disarmed him. With a cookie. Though Elidibus does manage a minor protest and a glance at his satchel. "Of course I have nutritious food Lahabrea, this body cannot live solely upon biscuits. What is the p--" Oh.
Ooooh.
And Igeyorhm, yes. Elidibus had proffered a thoughtful looking nod then at odds with his current confusion. Automatically trying to place the data in its proper context already. Yet even knowing Lahabrea of now was the Speaker then hasn't cemented a clearer image of the memory. Igeyorhm, barely known as a Convocation member to his mind, that much less. But now he knows.
And now, it seems to have merited enough importance that Elidibus swiftly picks up his pen and turns to that page... pages upon the Convocation. Most, just names. Tidbits over the eons regarding the use of their Sundered pieces that he recalls. He writes down the information-- a memory of old, this time-- on Igeyorhm and Lahabrea. The bits about that memory. Of rains ended and a new day to look upon. He doesn't hide what is written and Lahabrea can see. Several pages are used up for matters of the Convocation and their Seats sure. But so little compared to what could be there.
And as expected, almost nothing of Amaurot.
Writing calms him and emotions drain again. Even when stirred, he'd never been able to maintain them for long. Sure they are still uneasily settled for now, but it is clear that it's not just by force of will he keeps himself hollow. The book is closed and it and the writing tool are returned to the satchel. His other hand is finally noticed and lifts, still clutching the feathers. "My apologies. These are yours, I believe." Under his fingers, he can feel the soft hum of their power and potential. After all his is... slightly weakened and a dragon is strong regardless of the time of the month.
More focused, Elidibus can understand what Lahabrea refers to. And perhaps there might be a concession reached. But later. Certainly now is not the time, especially as the dragon speaks about staying to sleep. To see what comes?
"Hm. Would you have us stay like this?" the Ascian asks. Certainly, contact would be most like to curry the transfer of dreams across the Bond. "Or shall I settle elsewhere while you continue work?" Briefly, Elidibus's eyes stray up to the obsidian block. And it's a reasonable question. He hardly expects Lahabrea or himself to remain in contact the entire night. Though Elidibus doesn't seem to find it in him to move right now, either.
"I have forgotten some of my creations." Countless projects throughout his education, some failed, some not. Dabbling here or there. He remembered many, all the ones that were important to him, but the rest? "What is important to one is not what is important to another. That you recall this or that, over some other thing, means at one time it was more meaningful. I can't tell you why, for it is subjective." He returns gradually, to the light scratch of claws on skin, partly to give himself something to do, partly to see if it helps with the turmoil he could feel even in just a heartbeat against his stomach. Was all of it nonsense? Maybe. He didn't actually know why Elidibus might remember some tiny part of a conversation he himself didn't, but it must have meant something to the Emissary at some point.
Lahabrea could pry about the book, but he doesn't. What its purpose was he could take guesses at, it wasn't quite the writing down he had meant but maybe it would so some good. Or at least, leave some sort of record for the future.
There was nothing to focus his indignation on over any of it; his own situation, the trouble Elidibus endured. The only one who seemed to be coming out of any of this content was the missing third, and he ... well, it might not even be his doing but the manipulations of others.
It's too much to think about when thought itself was an effort, and the last few minutes took considerable tenacity to manage. It was easier, preferable even, to stew in his own irritation than any thoughts that might accompany such annoyance. Blank frustration and fury. "I can't well put them back." Those were definitely his feathers, and he was going to have a small gap in his plumage now. It would grow back eventually. "There are some who will pay well for such things. Keep it." Or sell it, as the implication goes, there's not much Lahabrea can do with it now.
Later would tend to later, and though he did indeed itch to return to some kind of work, doing nothing somehow deeply antithetical, but if he moved it would force Elidibus to do likewise, and for the moment, with the trouble he's already having, that seemed.. a little rude. So he remains where he is, even though it was an annoyance.. but everything, everything was an annoyance, including going back to work so he chooses the one that is at least comfortable. "There's no reason to move unless one grows cramped or some such," is the eventual reply. "Mayhap the days and nights will pass more quickly if I am simply not conscious to experience them."
There's another book for that. This seems a collection of personal notations, with a dissertation on the memories of an Eighth Umbral Calamity completely missing. No doubt it can be asked after another time. Elidibus fetches the water out again, now room temperature at least and a drink is taken. Due consideration is given between the gift of feathers and the water. He does suffer a fleeting thought that his limited abilities with magic could cool it down. But wouldn't that be a waste? A square of cloth is pulled out and the feathers wrapped carefully away to be tucked safely back into the satchel along with the bottle of water.
And yes, though Elidibus might not admit it and it may not be discernable through the general cycle of calming down, the touch of his Bondmate has help eased the pace of his heart.
And made the Emissary willing to speak in the first place, of such private matters as his fears.
Speaking about the matter of what to do about sleeping, Elidibus is suddenly conscious that there is no real discomfort in their position. It's only a little awkward now that he's thinking about how much in contact he is with his fellow Ascian. But somehow this dratted mortal host had reacted on its own again to shift into the most comfortable position. As if the accursed bean bag chair wasn't bad enough. Elidibus sighs.
"No, it seems there is not any reason. Though it may prove a bit uncomfortable later... Hm. Desist with your talons for a moment, if you will."
The matter was given a moment's reflection and the 'why later' is easily answered. Sitting up just enough, Elidibus begins to remove the sleeveless turtleneck to leave his torso bare. Yes, the matter of Lahabrea's body temperature has been a bit troublesome, though the shirt itself is not going far. Some sort of barrier has to be used as a mat between the constant temperature spikes and bare hyur flesh.
There. Settling back down, the Ascian cranes his head so he can look up at Lahabrea. "I would recommend against using alcohol as a vector." Let's just say by this time he's had a recent... experience on such matters.
Lahabrea does pause when bidden, though there's a brief thump of tailtip against the floor to suggest he's not particularly pleased about it. No actual protest, which might be recognition that his ongoing annoyance has nothing to do with Elidibus at all. Restraint.. continues. Must continue.
Anywhere else this certainly would be scandalous now, with both of them now shirtless, maskless, and otherwise comfortably somewhat entangled, and he's acutely aware of it. But nobody else is here. And Elidibus couldn't well mock him for it when he himself was participating in it. Was there a word for a shame one indulged in anyway? If there is, it eludes him for now, though he sets his mind to puzzling after it anyway. A guilty pleasure, perhaps. There was a part of him, one he wasn't entirely sure was the dragon, that was perfectly content to enjoy any kind of physical contact at all.
"Stars, no." Alcohol! "..When have you ever tried to use alcohol to sedate yourself?" He turns a scrutinizing gaze downwards, frowning faintly. Would he have recognized it if Elidibus went and got himself drunk? Probably not. Would he have done anything about it had he known?
If Lahabrea didn't return to running talons through Elidibus's hair once he had resettled, well.
"...If you wish to continue, I will not object."
He'd heard that thump of a tail. Also, something seemed oddly missing when it stopped.
The Ascian isn't remiss in offering his own return to the efforts of finding good places to scritch. But this time it's without a methodical search. He finds a place easy to reach. Probably somewhere around the ribs, letting his fingers burrow to scratch along the scales underneath.
"Of course I haven't used alcohol to sedate myself," Elidibus answers. Perhaps with a bit of reproach. He's none so foolish. Not... intentionally. The Emissary looks up to meet Lahabrea's gaze. Perish the thought! "A recent... investigation may not have exactly as I intended." Ah yes. And that admittance is accompanied by a slight sense of discomfort through the Bond.
Lahabrea knows there's better spots than simply this, but with sharp claws that was going to be difficult to see to, and so he resumes as bidden, still careful to not actually cause any harm. A stronger bond would benefit Elidibus' grip on this world's magic, that was worthwhile enough. These other troubles, the memory gaps far deeper and broader than first imagined, the emptiness instead of vibrant but hidden emotion... they would have to wait.
He could wonder at them but could not yet devise any way of doing anything about it.
Was it something worth venturing to bring up to Emet-Selch? Could he even care, as he was, about this uncomfortable discovery?
The faint flicker of what might be embarrassment draws a slow furrow of brows. "Speak plainly. What have you been up to?" With Elidibus' general and alarming ignorance for all things obvious, that left a whole lot of possibilities, some of which are starkly alarming and potentially extremely dangerous.
It's not as if Elidibus hadn't been aware of the effects of alcohol. And his host would certainly have had some tolerance and he would have been certain to restore the body to its peak performance. But while he likely had some food, he didn't really get its purpose in curtailing the speed at which inebriation would happen. Or its after-effects.
And he was maintaining a moderate pace. It's just that pace car was an Irishman.
Elidibus clearly doesn't want to clarify further. Especially as Lahabrea's inquiry is very broad. He duly considers asking for more specificity to muster up the necessary choice on what to say. And then the Emissary concludes that it was probably not very wise to test Lahabrea's patience on the full moon. He does sigh a bit.
"I was speaking to a Mirrorbound I arranged a meeting with. He professed a willingness to speak on the kidnapping of Mirrorbound which happened last year-- though not related to the current kidnappings performed by the Evergreen Circle. As he proclaimed he would require a round of ale to speak of matters I wished to discern, it seemed fitting that I too indulge."
Reasonable so far.
"While I had taken some time to study how one conducts themselves in such environs, it seems I misunderstood some of the intricacies which mortals use." Elidibus doesn't seem embarrassed anymore, but probably because being precise is... familiar. Though he pauses and frowns in thought to recollect more of the specifics. "Did you know their habit of eating copious amounts of bite-sized, overly salted food was in fact to negate some of the worst symptoms of inebriation? I had thought it some manner of a ploy on the part of the establishment's owners to encourage patrons to buy more drinks."
Well, he's correct on that count. He just missed the first bit.
Elidibus seems intrigued by it. Not that one would be able to see it in his expression, but there is something akin to interest which briefly sparks across the Bond.
Somehow he had expected something rather more severe than that, by the way Elidibus was mincing his words. Like drunken benders, snorting mysterious substances off of doe-eyed au ra girls. Maybe things weren't quite so dire as Thancred's adventures have led him to believe.
"It is." He sounds a little puzzled at the idea that salty snacks might in any way help do anything but increase thirst. That's just not how it worked, a pretzel didn't have enough nutrients in it to do anything worthwhile. "If the tavern owner wished to slow inebriation, he'd water his drinks instead. Salt merely encourages it."
How ridiculous!
Of course, if such a tale is sown, then it would encourage patrons to eat, and then drink more, so it's likely one of those ongoing deceptions that people assume are true simply because everyone says it is. "How long did it take for you to reach a state of impairment?"
A more concerned person might suggest Elidibus not touch alcohol ever again. Lahabrea isn't one of these people. Obviously Elidibus survived the experience, and his only actual warnings are to the deceptive practices of certain barkeeps. So bland is his reaction in fact that it might be tacit approval - no flare of sharp irritation or anger, aside from the baseline ongoing trouble.
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.
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Except perhaps another Unsundered. Elidibus truly wishes to know more, but also to be someone to whom Lahabrea can speak more than the fragment he just professed.
"At the end of the day, should the feral side manifest Lahabrea, no steel will hold a dragon's rage. And the bars are too far apart for your smallest form. Where I stand in this room will make no difference." So in a way, he should not have come in at all. Yet, Elidibus had, knowing how fragile the illusion of the cage and security was.
Elidibus shows no sign of mockery. Steadfast, he picks up his satchel. But... not to leave.
"I desire to remain if you would allow. And given the conditions, perhaps it would be best to spend the time practicing the best means of physical contact. Would you please secure your hoard and make room for me?" He will, of course, turn around should Lahabrea give in to the idea that Elidibus means to stay. Naturally, he'll be bringing his food and drink and probably books along.
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There were no other Unsundered that might be dragged into this world unless it grew so cruel as to seize Amaurotines directly and inflict this hell upon them ... and that might well be worse than what's been done to him. He's had at least a few eons to adapt to unwelcome changes in environment or the attitudes of others.. but learning that adaption had come at a terrible price they'd all paid. Some poor soul snatched off the streets of the Black City would have no such familiarity, or explanation at all. Only the sudden horror like unto the End Times, though less contagious in its terror.
It's for the best, really. He wouldn't wish this fate on others of his kind.
This stubborn persistence was going to get Elidibus killed. He's certain of that too, whether by accident or design.
But wasn't contact supposed to help? Would it do anything about the warping of language into nonsense, the wavering sense of self and time, the boiling fury that never quite went away? None of it was as all-consuming as it had been the month before, but it felt like a near thing.
"If I tell you to leave, you will leave. No questions, no arguments. I will not have Ascian blood on my hands again." There's always a price, it seems, in trying to negotiate for anything with Lahabrea. This one might be rather less personally demanding than the last, of memory and effort into maintaining it!
But where is that little stash of jewels and precious metals? His gaze shifts to the side, weighing how safe it is. The cage is spacious, forged for something considerably larger than he was now, a cell more properly than merely a holding place for a beast in its tenuous comforts. But here indeed were the best of cushions, the softest blankets, the nicest area rug. His books, a magicked lamp. It might be better appointed than the sleeping space he usually utilized, but for the long stark shadows the bars throw. "And stay astray of the books." Which must thus be where he's also keeping his precious things, presumably the box they're stacked upon.
What a terrible temptation, putting all the reading material where murder would result if approached.
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"I shall," Elidibus agrees. Conditions are... acceptable. Some sort of trust has to exist from both ends for this to work. Where there's trust, there is safety. Where safety is, there's room for a little more effort. The rest is a race to save Lahabrea with this method before the feral state becomes irreversible.
He waits and then, Lahabrea doesn't need Elidibus to turn away to secure the stash. He infers where it is and trusts the Emissary not to do anything foolish. Which he will follow, though the books on Lahabrea shelves docontain a few volumes he has not gotten ahold of himself. If he finishes his own material brought along in the satchel, he'll just have to ask the Speaker to pass him an interesting book.
As long as there are cushions aplenty, Elidibus will not bring another with him. And before he approaches, he'll shed himself of his boots and socks, leaving only pants and shirt and bare feet. Once the cage is unlocked, the Ascian enters with care and great heed given to the danger zone of books and chest. The door is closed, the lock redone. The satchel was given a place to rest. Its contents can wait for a bit. He did, after all, set himself to a task after entry.
A cushion is chosen for him to sprawl into. Elidibus has been watching the mortals of late, seeking signs of bonding behavior that was not overly.... improper in tone. A great deal of this has consisted of various ways in which one sprawls over or against the other Bonded. It seems safe enough to try to encourage a form of it. Though the Emissary does start by reaching out (and up) with his hand. "There is something new I wish to try if you'll allow."
If Lahabrea would accept the hand, he will be encouraged to settle almost touching Elidibus.
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The problem was, he's not sure he could help it, not during the damned full moons.
At least for the moment, there's no sudden overwhelming certainty that Elidibus is in fact after his treasures and he has to defend it, but he watches nonetheless, just in case, but it seems Elidibus is mindful of its location and has no intention of going near. That's fine. The comfortable spots were further away anyway, and he'd gone out of his way to collect all the best things for him to soothe himself with for the next few days.
Including the constant temptation of beanbag chair, waiting for the inevitability of Elidibus descending upon it once more.
Lahabrea himself has done no such research on bonds, and what was, and was not a good idea to do. That would require leaving, or dealing with neighbors, or other such things, but he did have a lone star-crossed lovers dime novel in the stack of books that suggested bodice ripping was in fact an amazing way to help strengthen a bond.
He has no intention of putting on a bodice, or suggesting Elidibus do the same. Instead there's an offered hand, and it's studied for a long silent moment before he acquiesces and does as bidden. "And what precisely are you intending to try?" Nothing improper surely, at least not intentionally, but their grip on what counted and what didn't was occasionally tenuous.
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But also, Elidibus had fallen to the allure of the bean-bag chair. Why shouldn't he be comfortable during this practice session? It's not an addiction and he'll be able to stop any time he wants.
Of course, it wouldn't be as easy as offering out a hand. While it remains outstretched, there is a slack added to it, so it is not too tiresome to maintain its reach. "I have observed a public habit of Bonded pairs which is a step outside of our comfort and thus, more telling of whether there is any beneficial effect." There is a slight pause and close of the eyes before they're reopened. Though his expression didn't change, it may well be a version of steeling himself further over the remainder.
"One would stretch out, not unlike I have. While the other would settle close to their side. In varying degrees, the second Bonded would then overlap body parts while the first wraps an arm in an embrace. They were capable of both practicing touch and attending to a second task." For instance, reading a book. Or knitting. Or eating a meal. It was very impressive.
And thus Elidibus demystifies the nature of a cuddle with calm, simple details.
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Lahabrea's responses are slow and measured, from movement to word, as if by patient carefulness he can avoid sudden flashes of rage or violence, root it all in thought and decision and there proceed as safely as possible. He understands what Elidibus is trying to say, he's seen it plenty ... albeit not so much here, on this star, for he traveled it much less than he did the Source in the guise of others.
After a long moment, Lahabrea sets his chisel to one side, the rounded lump of rock with it. Such a thing as entwining with another in that fashion was certainly not what he'd consider normally, it was an affront to autonomy at the very least, far beyond a mere passing touch. But more importantly, did it work? Did those that indulged in such displays benefit from it?
"I have seen what you speak of." Careful. But not here - in Ul'dah, in Gridania, in even Garlemald.
Such a mortal gesture. The surge of disgust and fury rises and falls like a briefly passing wave. Up, down and gone.
Had it always been a mortal gesture? He couldn't remember, and memory didn't elude him as often as it did Elidibus. "But you've somehow gotten smaller," the dragon mutters, as if this was in fact done on purpose by Elidibus simply to make things inconvenient, forcing him to move and adjust to the difference, to the outstretched arm. But he didn't have to move too far, he had a reach that exceeded the grasp of talons re-made sharp in the moon's sway, and there is a whisper of feather on fabric as he adjusts just enough to sweep his tail around, the long brassy feathers clamped close, and wrap the arc of crimson around both Elidibus and the ever tempting bean chair and with it, drag both just a touch closer. Enough to reach without reaching.
He knew that tail was a fair bit longer than most dragons had that he's seen, but it had its uses. "Mayhap.."
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He's.... scooted. Gone from idly wondering what Lahabrea was doing with his tail to finding out firsthand. There's that brief sound of shuuuuuuuuuf and mild crackle that is outer canvas dragging against a floor littered with bits of obsidian chips. At the end of the trip, he reaches back toward the satchel and there's a rustle of the packet of ginger snaps before he draws one out and crunches it. "Hm." Again reaching in, the Emissary takes out another and offers it up to Lahabrea with his free hand. He was told it's polite to bring food and thus, he brought food.
"Your tail is remarkably convenient," Elidibus notes. "How well can it manipulate what it holds?" This.... also really doesn't have a lot to do with cuddles. Though with proximity comes a long, thoughtful look over the real differences in their length. Touch has also opened a door to a deeper sense of the dragon's feelings. It's... a bubbling cauldron. He was given some warning by the earlier surge and lapse in Lahabrea's comprehension. But now it's much... more real. And stirs a sense of concern for the Speaker from his fellow Ascian.
"Perhaps you should be the one to stay still while I overlap?" He already has the ends of the fingers belonging to the clasped hand looking to burrow under the nearest feathers and give an experimental scratching by the scales.
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As it has been many times before, his relative quiet is deceptive. He's certain had Elidibus not somehow turned up on this planet that this would be another night of lost time and lost memories, and likely the next several days. Would he have ever come out of it? But even if it's a battle he'll inevitably lose, it's one he's used to fighting, and close contact does at the very least make it easier to do.
Acceptance is a long, long way off, and so the storm continues, seething foreign instinct and urges that have nothing at all to do with ascian or hyur impulses. That emptiness that fills Elidibus seems to drain a little bit of it away, tiny bit by tiny bit. Any respite is still a respite.
Though the ginger snap is taken, it's set on one knee instead of eaten. He's not sure that's going to work with the way his molars feel, and any such effort would have to be cautious. So much caution. He was sick of it. No wonder monsters would race to the streets or skies in their desperation to shake off caution and fear. Some distant part of his mind notes that ruffling up under the feathers definitely felt better, even if Elidibus lacked claws. "Whatever you may find most comfortable," is the obviously magnanimous response.
The last time he'd bothered with anything even vaguely similar he'd been wearing Thancred at the time and had begged out of more than one close encounter. Maybe it would be best if he let Elidibus do as he pleased and focused on keeping his head clear. The passivity itself is a bit of a struggle, a tug-of-war between forced acquiescence and the desire to shake him off and chase him out of the cage entirely. To do nothing at all.. a surprising amount of effort.
"Though if only contact is required. Mayhap it will be enough." If he could get his tail to curl the rest of the way in spite of feathers and bone structure beneath, he could in theory wrap Elidibus directly in a fluffy but possibly rather warm boa. But there are limits to his autonomous flexibility, by the way he can't quite get the offending appendage to bend further under his own efforts and will.
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But not so distracted as to miss feeling like he missed something important. "Be enough? Ah. Yes." Elidibus realizes it may be in reference to the notion he didn't need to do any overlapping at all. Not, there was some key matter he'd failed to observe in the public displays. To him, its use is one of trying to maximize contact needed to strengthen the Bond while also maintaining efficiency in a second task. He isn't naive. He knows mortals see and take more out of these actions than he would. One can argue he might even be aware that their race had once indulged, else wherefore would the discomfort of such displays have arisen between his fellow Unsundered?
But Elidibus had been thinking through the process just now as one would pour over an outline of dance steps as shown in diagrams in a book. Well, at least the realization that Lahabrea may have been speaking of something else seems to have hit him in good time.
Having finally settled, Elidibus ends up with one leg curled underneath him into the bean bag cushion and the other braced shin down against the coil of Lahabrea's tail wrapped around the base of his seat. His head and shoulders would likely settle somewhere against Lahabrea's stomach area. And his hands... Well, one goes about the systematic creep up the Speaker's arm. The other has reached into the satchel (again!!) and pulled out a book which, upon opening, is revealed to be something of a journal. So he has been writing things down after all. The writing in this case is the language very long dead to the world as their race, for that is its origin.
And he certainly hasn't gotten the journal enchanted against deciphering magic, he's just going to need to keep it close until he can suitably enchant it himself. Eorzean script is for a less private journal. This one has secrets. Like observations on dragons. He voices them as he picks up the pen and writes.
"The connection is clearer. Though one may infer this is as much to do with the full moon as it is our current position." Keeping up the journal writing and the scritching seems to pose no problem. The book is suitably wedged in a fold of the chair so it doesn't scoot around under the writing tool. His other hand moves steadily upward. "I can feel what caused the earlier fugue." That roiling creature underneath, though Elidibus doesn't linger overlong on its presence, so as not to draw too much notice to it. He knows Lahabrea is trying so hard. "Please tell me what you feel through me?"
Interest.
Clinical observation.
A hole in which emotions seem to stream without a sign of them ever hitting bottom. They may drain into the Emissary. But they do not seem to find purchase within.
Back then, while the first two might have been a majority when Elidibus studied something, that hole was unlikely to have been there. Instead perhaps a wonder and respect to all the differences of the world. Not which was right or which was wrong. But which was the best to serve all? And how fascinating it all was! To the point he'd often been reminded to go outside once in a while.
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But time and absence makes it awkward and uncomfortable. Maybe not physically, the weight leaned against him is negligible and hardly full of sharp objects, but it all just seems so ... utterly intimate, so completely opposite of what had been comfortable centuries of habit and pattern. The uncertainty of it keeps instability bubbling up into anything truly concrete, just little sparks of annoyance at every shift and move that inevitably settles itself back down in short order.
It fights two very different sets of behavior, neither of which is overly keen on it - but it is necessary.
And it doesn't feel bad, to feel someone else's breath against his body, the muted pulse of another, or fingers working their way through his feathers. It felt better than solitude, it felt appropriate and right, which meant of course it wasn't, and he should be careful.
"I'm not sure it's the moons." Can he be sure? Not at all. "It's ... distinctly different, now versus a few minutes ago." How was it different? Lahabrea wasn't exactly sure, it wasn't something he could get his teeth around. That it seemed easier in turn seemed like an inexact explanation, and his inability to formulate anything ELSE spiked his annoyance significantly. Language defined thought, and if he couldn't find a word for it, him of all people--
But the seething monster beneath his skin lingers, chewing away at the edges of alert consciousness constantly. It's a little strange, how it's both distinct and utterly the same as Lahabrea, less as if someone had simply dropped a dragon in the back of his mind and more simply added a few elements to reshape what had already been. There's no immediate response to Elidibus' question as to what he feels in return, for this takes stillness and reflection. This takes pushing aside the endless storm of turmoil and trying to find a focus point instead.
His hands itched to continue the work he'd set himself to earlier, simply to continue to direct his thoughts. He leans forward slightly, more flexible than he usually gets to enjoy in a hyur body, blond hair and feathers a pale curtain easily long enough to dangle to the point of touching Elidibus' own dark hair. A not unuseful thing, it traps scent a little better and he was still getting used to adjusted senses. "Very little." The free hand rise, cookie not forgotten but still left where it was on his knee, to gently run a clawtip through that dark hair, not hard enough to even leave a line in its wake. "Not ..."
Frustration again, a quick, hot surge almost felt in skin and breath as much as emotion, a brief temperature spike. Eloquence eludes him, and it shouldn't. "Not a sense of nothingness, as if there were no tug on the other end of a chain. A sense of thought, of consideration and contemplation, of awareness and intelligence, but there is no impression... that you feel." This last is a soft exhalation of heat and faintly minty scent.
"At all. No pain. No fear. No joy or happiness, or rage or sorrow, a presence but little to fill it, an image of a soul and not the passions that motivate one. Like staring at an endless sky through glass, unable to feel the wind or sun, or smell the air."
Touch helped him, redirected the animal that shared his mind whether he wished it or not, but what did it do for a witch? Did they suffer any turmoil? He could pick up nothing that felt like a constant disruption. "Do you feel? Can I make you feel, I wonder."
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As Lahabrea begins to explain the sensation from his end, Elidibus notes the rise and fall of the Ascian's emotional state. The frequency of the shifts in the dragon's condition gives ample material from which to separate surface emotions from the undercurrent of dragonish 'being' the Speaker fights against. At the same time, recognizing the two as individual forces is... incorrect? The Emissary's brow furrows as he dwells on the matter. Was it perhaps true then, that Lahabrea is fighting against what is fundamentally his own nature?
The spikes in temperature, the struggle with eloquence, these are certainly noticed. And Elidibus skips Lahabrea's shoulder and goes to the neck. It's less thorough and more practiced. He wouldn't ever admit that he's been practicing on the amaro but...
Try to calm, attempt to soothe. See if the distress and spikes of anger are minimized. "Try to relax a little more, now the contact seems to be showing signs of aiding you."
In turn, the small attentions Lahabrea gives in return seem to have a relaxing effect on Elidibus's host, for all finding an emotional response is... well.
The pen stills. There's no tapping on the page or any other thoughtful or agitated gesture. Yet it's the only clear sign that Elidibus is taking heed to Lahabrea's words. No. There's a flutter of something that stirs underneath the lack of feeling but hard to define. He is, after all, keeping himself free of what little emotion he has. But there are some answers he can give.
"There is no room for joy or happiness whilst our God fractured, our peoples' souls scattered," he answers without any sign of remorse. It is, to Elidibus, a matter of fact. "Fear... Perhaps once, a long time ago." Beyond a time he can recall. "Fear is a weapon I refuse to let our enemies use against me. Pain. I am slowly learning what the various discomforts of this mortal form mean." Ah, but is that what Lahabrea means by pain?
Rage and sorrow. He knows those. Elidibus had never looked up until then. Not toward Lahabrea but to some point outside the cage. The Emissary closes his eyes and invokes an image. His variation of the Source. His Warrior of Light and the memory of learning... seeing Emet-Selch's confrontation and fall. It does invoke a low boil of something like rage.
Distant, partially detached. In Lahabrea's analogy, it would be a wind strong enough to rattle the sheet of glass keeping him separate from the experience. But wholly belonging to the Ascian. "I know rage," he offers with quiet intensity. "And I think.. sorrow." The rage doesn't last long. Without the real, physical presence of what he invokes, emotions really don't last long.
But then whether it's Elidibus's own efforts to keep an emotionless state or the touch of the taloned finger brushing along his short hair.
"I would not be against effort on your part to try, Lahabrea," Elidibus has returned to a normal state and continues to write with the pen to catch up on his notes. "It would be beneficial to know. Would you rather I make an effort to resist or simply allow its natural course?"
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No, the point of this was to allow touch and see what happened, and there was no-one else to see and mock or deride. So it's allowed without protest, and no comment made about it. It feels nice; maybe it was why a dog or a horse or a bandersnatch might lean into a questing hand at their throats, eyes closed in trusting bliss. The mapping of such a feeling to mere animals is ... not comfortable, not something he wants to weigh long.
There are other distractions, than a pleasant touch along skin and feather and scale. "No. There is."
But it's hard to formulate. There's room for joy, for fear, for hope and loss.
Was he even capable of connecting to something other than burning fury, with the dragon so close to the surface, even with the calming presence of a bond and the soothing touch of foreign magic? Instead of answering whether or not Elidibus would be better off resisting or doing nothing, he struggles with the line of thought instead. How? If he couldn't describe it, could he ever do it?
"There's more than stoicism. There's laughter. There's silliness." It's not quite a massage, for that would preclude the sharp tips of claws, but he draws them nonetheless across across Elidibus' scalp in slow spirals as he works on beating the beast down enough to think. "To remember it and live it and breathe it is .. to remember once was something better, something nobler than the misery of the moment. To honor a god shaped by love and hope and the high wild joys of life, and show we have not forgotten ... not in memory of this incident or that time, but in our souls, what it means to shepherd a world. Not just.. the weight of responsibility alone. We are vast, we are great, and we can contain more than just the pain of loss or determination to see a task through." It takes him a while to put it together, bit by bit, with the undercurrent of fury that never ended.
He could remember times where there was happiness. Flashes of better things, more vivid things than the day to day struggle. He could remember the flush of pride and joy in success and not only grim satisfaction. Dredging them up now is hard. It's slow. It's all slow, with gaps and pauses and awkward tones and ire when he can't shape what he wants out of words even with the ongoing efforts to soothe away the lunar rage. "If there is no laughter, then our God's touch is somewhere else. If there is no joy or peace, even in fleeing moments then there is no hope. We become merely the tattered remnants of melancholy people basking in our inability to be people. If we cannot celebrate, how can we truly worship?"
Lahabrea closes his eyes, though whether from the touch against his skin or to measure thoughts or continue to work to lock the scent and sound of Elidibus in his mind so there must not in the future be risk to him from the beast ... it's a mystery. All of them. None of them. "Our God would not be shamed to see us wrench a moment of silliness out of our dark duty, or feel a spark of fear. What is fear but a motivating force? We can't let it control us, of course, but to feel it .. to feel any of it... is a gift."
He found his own joy and happiness, though sometimes it was merely in watching mortals struggle and fail and die, over and over. But still... it's a happiness. "Through our elation, and our misery, we show Lord Zodiark we have not forgotten what it means to live, and that one day soon He too .. will be free to experience more than our vicarious pain." The little circles of clawtips continue, slow and measured. "Stoicism is easier. But it is better to share what we can with Him, isn't it? It's why I won't break such a silly thing as Emet-Selch's bond with that rabbit. A little joy, however fleeting it must be..."
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But that is completely opposite of the emotion struggling to surface and make its way through the bond. The one that so oft surfaces when struggling through the realization of another lost memory, though most usually hidden behind mask and robe. Confusion. Frustration. If it is this bad now, how much moreso was it in the beginning when he realized what was happening to him?
"I am Elidibus. And it is my duty to remain ever apart, that I might keep the balance between Light and Dark. That I may steer our people to the correct choice." The others got to shepherd the world. He... he was a shepherd to their people, whether that be for or against their actions. He had to remain apart.
The Ascian doesn't look up. But his shoulders have hunched and tension which had been removed by earlier, surprisingly relaxing contact and touch, is returning. His expression would be one likened to distress and struggle. Of someone who repeats a rote message to make sure he remembers he still has his duty... over and over and over again. Those words have that cadence. Of one seeking to still some unrest. It is like a twisted taint upon those old times, where his enthusiasm for work bordered on obsession, but was done with such joy and wonder for the world.
"Memories are so fleeting. Would you ask me to bear their happiness? Their joy of the moment, when they will fade again?" He's said something of the sort to Emet-Selch before. But here, there is something to add. A tap of his free hand to the open journal. "It is enough that I must suffer writing of a matter here." And should he write of some fleeting happiness and forget it? There it would be, stark proof. He is not looking forward to it. "No. I would rather remain true to my office. Therein lies my purpose, even here."
Without his memories, he is only his duty and the will of his people. Without the title of Elidibus, without performing that duty is he then nothing? The fingers still at rest against the side of the dragon's neck dig in a little. It seems the answer to Lahabrea's earlier question is yes. Elidibus can still feel pain in the emotional sense, if not the physical.
And perhaps implied, that he suffers fear, though it does not surface here. He is but a Primal, uncertain whether he can even be considered the true Elidibus. Where would be his place at duty end, but to perhaps, if lucky, return to Zodiark's heart?
And if not, to fade into oblivion.
Elidibus doesn't push Lahabrea's actions away. In a sense, the touch is an anchor he can use. But also a part of him seems to recognize that he's hiding nothing from his fellow Ascian. And maybe underneath it all, there is something soothing he craves about it. If only he had the capacity.
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He can recognize a spiral in others, at least, an unhealthy obsession - and this particular individual has had a long term issue with unhealthy obsession. It is at least, something to focus on in the absence of his earlier carving, giving him something else to turn his attention to than the lack of anything to turn his attention to. While it's something to feel, some distinct emotion, it's not really helpful ones, is it?
And confusion and frustration simmer alongside his endless wrath, in a cocktail of unpleasantness. "I will remind you the role of Elidibus, as the man who inducted you to that role." How ostentatious, to think anyone might know better than Elidibus himself what that duty was! "To steer mankind and the star upon its most beneficial course. Sometimes standing against us. Sometimes standing with us. But never apart, Emissary. Never apart, for then we would not in our whole be fourteen." A rote message reworded a little over time, it seems, for erroneous impressions have crept in, and Lahabrea allows himself the inklings of fury at it. It needed some small outlet, lest it find something else to latch to. Turn the dragon from fury at anything in its presence to things beyond its reach, beyond its ken. "How can you know the truest course, without being among those you are meant to guide?"
How much of that duty can be performed her? Perishingly little, but that didn't matter.
Silence again for a time, resuming the slow scratch of claws on skin, ignoring the discomfort of pulled feathers. He's torn out plenty himself, what's a few more? "I will remind you, should you forget. Because never have you been expected to bear the happiness of anyone but yourself." Only then does he let go, reaching instead for the gingersnap on his knee, plucking it up between curved ivory talons. "You enjoy these. Should you forget that you do, must we deny you ever consuming another? Nay, tis better to offer it up, and let you experience anew and fresh, the small happiness that is a simple snack." The cookie, meant for him but never eaten, is offered. "One need not a complete memory to experience joy. One needs merely to experience. Yours may be a past incomplete, and a future unwritten, but now ... now is full of many things. A cookie. A book. A chair full of strange things. And if any are experienced as if it is the first time, then that does not detract from the moment. Mayhap it can enhance it, and offer an ever new and refreshing perspective."
He won't go so far as to ever call it a gift. It isn't. It's a terrible burden. "Every time the cookie fades, there is another waiting to be tasted, fresh and pristine. Take it up, that momentary happiness. It matters not if it fades, for there is always another moment, and the thousand that come before it weakens not the thousand that may follow, each fresh and new and wonderful. Mayhap you must forget aught but duty, but to feel, without reservation, is part of that duty, for it binds us all, to each other, to our God, to our very star." And the ginger snap. "Take up your role, Emissary, and linger among us, suffering as we do, laughing as we do. As our God would, if He could."
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Lahabrea will catch sight of the anguished expression before it shifts to some shocked surprise and finally is followed by a bit of slack and widened eyes. Confusion and... just a touch of recognition.
"You," he breathes. "You were the Convocation Speaker then?" He knows Lahabrea is the Speaker now. But somehow, Elidibus had not considered the notion that those fragmented memories applied to the Lahabrea he now looks upon. "I... I remember. You... you used to chide me. You and... and..." A struggle. No, he doesn't remember. "To go outside ...and then you were gone." Not gone. He had likely gone with them. But Elidibus can't remember what happened next. It's obvious through the Bond and the desperate way his eyes dart from side to side in the moment as if looking for something physical which would tell him what happened next.
The idea that he was no longer truly a part of the Convocation as he stood alone so as to steer them. That was truly a fear. It is true time and necessity when they became a Convocation of Three had somewhat warped that message, especially as they found and ascended sundered pieces of the other Convocation members. When he listens to Lahabrea tell him that the very act of being Elidibus was not to stand apart, Elidibus appears and feels dumbstruck.
And before he can open his mouth to refute... before the cold logic returns
to bury the emotion, to center himself back to his purpose of now, not what once was. To once again be a void where Lahabrea's fury can simply drop into and fall, fall, fall, the Speaker has continued. Elidibus has loosened his grip, thankfully pulling only a couple of feathers truly loose, before falling back to his lap, clutching the downy tuft. They aren't inclined to open, so it is with his other hand that he receives the cookie. "I enjoy these?"It's as if the Emissary never considered that buying them regularly- and yes he most certainly has been seen eating the cookies frequently as they rebuilt the second floor- meant he enjoyed them. Or the bean bag or a book. He speaks up as if to deny this, "It is but a convenience this form finds no discomfort from it."
It really is a weak excuse. Why else buy the same cookie or gravitate to the same chair? He doesn't get it, it's obvious through the Bond that he doesn't. And it's tragic.
He closes his eyes. Thoughts are in turmoil, confusion rests in listening to the Speaker's words and seeing him say such things with so much earnestness. He can't close out the subtle sensation of the claws running through his hair ever so lightly and carefully. Nor can he shut out Lahabrea's presence. Not anymore. And he was not able to control the pace of his heart, which seemed to beat in a quick, squeezing manner for a moment. When his eyes open they are downcast as though he were still in thought. Carefully words are murmured one by one.
"I... did speak before, did I not? That we must put aside some habits of eld and stand together." He knew he would have to make such sacrifice, though it would cost him a part of his duty to do it. But dare he be allowed to believe that Lahabrea is right and it is, rather than abandonment, a return to the proper meaning to his office?
Dare Elidibus truly let himself think for one moment that he should risk the happiness, joys, and sorrows of his fellow Ascians while their God remains broken? Perhaps when they finished their long task, he could rejoin Zodiark's heart, taking with him the carefully saved memories- Lahabrea will surely not fail him, yes- so that He would know His people had found small moments for themselves in the long Darkness.
Perhaps...
At least for now, for a night, Elidibus might choose to believe. He certainly can't weigh the matter in this state. But there is a promise he can make, by bringing the ginger snap to his mouth and biting into it. Taking in the taste that had drawn him to buy the cookies several times now and trying to place it with the idea of enjoyment.
"I... need to consider this carefully. Yet I thank you, Lahabrea."
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"..Ah. Igeyorhm. She didn't like your tendency to obsess over your work." Which is an ongoing problem, clearly. But he doesn't recall the exact moment, it hadn't made some great fundamental impression on him at the time. Maybe it was in there somewhere, buried in the recesses of his mind. "I assume this was one of such times. I assure you we did not simply disappear, but it is normal to not remember everything of every moment. What came before, what came after, it fades in all of us if it isn't as important as the part that is recalled. I know she didn't always succeed in dragging you away from your books. Nor could I." Things had been different, once. The nostalgia is bittersweet at best, more bitter than sweet, for Elidibus wasn't the eager youth he once was and Igeyorhm..
It didn't bear thinking about right now, and it's put aside.
How someone could be so detached from anything as to not understand what a preference was beggared belief, and for a little bit this is considered. Even Ifrita knew what she wanted, how she wanted it and how to get it it, and she was a creation through and through. Why would Elidibus not know such a basic, ordinary thing? Even the derivative misshapen echo of Ifrit knew. "Yes. If you choose it instead of other, more practical things, then you prefer it, and thus enjoy it. If it were mere convenience you sought then some nutritious easily carried food would be the preference, not a piece of confectionery."
This was a problem. How long had it been going on?
They both have much to consider, but the thought of it seems to draw a long sigh from the dragon. "It seems I have much to accomplish before this world finishes ruining me," he mutters. "If only to set you back to a true equilibrium before this goes any further. Stay the night. I would see what comes." They did say after all that shared dreams and such could be an issue, and maybe once he knew where all the plentiful gaps were he could begin filling them in.
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Yes, twisted as his recollection was at the time, further thought had unraveled that he'd jumbled memories. There's another page for such things, in that open journal. But more upon that later. The point now is relevant.
And like scabs upon an open wound, the matter is begging to be picked at, for all the pain it gives. "Why not more of my inauguration? And why so much of a brief, inconsequential moment?" He calls it 'so much' when it is naught but a few moments of speech. Elidibus's hands shake from the tension in its body, humming warning of its limits.
Yet Lahabrea disarmed him. With a cookie. Though Elidibus does manage a minor protest and a glance at his satchel. "Of course I have nutritious food Lahabrea, this body cannot live solely upon biscuits. What is the p--" Oh.
Ooooh.
And Igeyorhm, yes. Elidibus had proffered a thoughtful looking nod then at odds with his current confusion. Automatically trying to place the data in its proper context already. Yet even knowing Lahabrea of now was the Speaker then hasn't cemented a clearer image of the memory. Igeyorhm, barely known as a Convocation member to his mind, that much less. But now he knows.
And now, it seems to have merited enough importance that Elidibus swiftly picks up his pen and turns to that page... pages upon the Convocation. Most, just names. Tidbits over the eons regarding the use of their Sundered pieces that he recalls. He writes down the information-- a memory of old, this time-- on Igeyorhm and Lahabrea. The bits about that memory. Of rains ended and a new day to look upon. He doesn't hide what is written and Lahabrea can see. Several pages are used up for matters of the Convocation and their Seats sure. But so little compared to what could be there.
And as expected, almost nothing of Amaurot.
Writing calms him and emotions drain again. Even when stirred, he'd never been able to maintain them for long. Sure they are still uneasily settled for now, but it is clear that it's not just by force of will he keeps himself hollow. The book is closed and it and the writing tool are returned to the satchel. His other hand is finally noticed and lifts, still clutching the feathers. "My apologies. These are yours, I believe." Under his fingers, he can feel the soft hum of their power and potential. After all his is... slightly weakened and a dragon is strong regardless of the time of the month.
More focused, Elidibus can understand what Lahabrea refers to. And perhaps there might be a concession reached. But later. Certainly now is not the time, especially as the dragon speaks about staying to sleep. To see what comes?
"Hm. Would you have us stay like this?" the Ascian asks. Certainly, contact would be most like to curry the transfer of dreams across the Bond. "Or shall I settle elsewhere while you continue work?" Briefly, Elidibus's eyes stray up to the obsidian block. And it's a reasonable question. He hardly expects Lahabrea or himself to remain in contact the entire night. Though Elidibus doesn't seem to find it in him to move right now, either.
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Lahabrea could pry about the book, but he doesn't. What its purpose was he could take guesses at, it wasn't quite the writing down he had meant but maybe it would so some good. Or at least, leave some sort of record for the future.
There was nothing to focus his indignation on over any of it; his own situation, the trouble Elidibus endured. The only one who seemed to be coming out of any of this content was the missing third, and he ... well, it might not even be his doing but the manipulations of others.
It's too much to think about when thought itself was an effort, and the last few minutes took considerable tenacity to manage. It was easier, preferable even, to stew in his own irritation than any thoughts that might accompany such annoyance. Blank frustration and fury. "I can't well put them back." Those were definitely his feathers, and he was going to have a small gap in his plumage now. It would grow back eventually. "There are some who will pay well for such things. Keep it." Or sell it, as the implication goes, there's not much Lahabrea can do with it now.
Later would tend to later, and though he did indeed itch to return to some kind of work, doing nothing somehow deeply antithetical, but if he moved it would force Elidibus to do likewise, and for the moment, with the trouble he's already having, that seemed.. a little rude. So he remains where he is, even though it was an annoyance.. but everything, everything was an annoyance, including going back to work so he chooses the one that is at least comfortable. "There's no reason to move unless one grows cramped or some such," is the eventual reply. "Mayhap the days and nights will pass more quickly if I am simply not conscious to experience them."
There's an idea, drug himself into oblivion!
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And yes, though Elidibus might not admit it and it may not be discernable through the general cycle of calming down, the touch of his Bondmate has help eased the pace of his heart.
And made the Emissary willing to speak in the first place, of such private matters as his fears.
Speaking about the matter of what to do about sleeping, Elidibus is suddenly conscious that there is no real discomfort in their position. It's only a little awkward now that he's thinking about how much in contact he is with his fellow Ascian. But somehow this dratted mortal host had reacted on its own again to shift into the most comfortable position. As if the accursed bean bag chair wasn't bad enough. Elidibus sighs.
"No, it seems there is not any reason. Though it may prove a bit uncomfortable later... Hm. Desist with your talons for a moment, if you will."
The matter was given a moment's reflection and the 'why later' is easily answered. Sitting up just enough, Elidibus begins to remove the sleeveless turtleneck to leave his torso bare. Yes, the matter of Lahabrea's body temperature has been a bit troublesome, though the shirt itself is not going far. Some sort of barrier has to be used as a mat between the constant temperature spikes and bare hyur flesh.
There. Settling back down, the Ascian cranes his head so he can look up at Lahabrea. "I would recommend against using alcohol as a vector." Let's just say by this time he's had a recent... experience on such matters.
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Anywhere else this certainly would be scandalous now, with both of them now shirtless, maskless, and otherwise comfortably somewhat entangled, and he's acutely aware of it. But nobody else is here. And Elidibus couldn't well mock him for it when he himself was participating in it. Was there a word for a shame one indulged in anyway? If there is, it eludes him for now, though he sets his mind to puzzling after it anyway. A guilty pleasure, perhaps. There was a part of him, one he wasn't entirely sure was the dragon, that was perfectly content to enjoy any kind of physical contact at all.
"Stars, no." Alcohol! "..When have you ever tried to use alcohol to sedate yourself?" He turns a scrutinizing gaze downwards, frowning faintly. Would he have recognized it if Elidibus went and got himself drunk? Probably not. Would he have done anything about it had he known?
....Probably not.
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"...If you wish to continue, I will not object."
He'd heard that thump of a tail. Also, something seemed oddly missing when it stopped.
The Ascian isn't remiss in offering his own return to the efforts of finding good places to scritch. But this time it's without a methodical search. He finds a place easy to reach. Probably somewhere around the ribs, letting his fingers burrow to scratch along the scales underneath.
"Of course I haven't used alcohol to sedate myself," Elidibus answers. Perhaps with a bit of reproach. He's none so foolish. Not... intentionally. The Emissary looks up to meet Lahabrea's gaze. Perish the thought! "A recent... investigation may not have exactly as I intended." Ah yes. And that admittance is accompanied by a slight sense of discomfort through the Bond.
Perhaps... embarrassment?
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He could wonder at them but could not yet devise any way of doing anything about it.
Was it something worth venturing to bring up to Emet-Selch? Could he even care, as he was, about this uncomfortable discovery?
The faint flicker of what might be embarrassment draws a slow furrow of brows. "Speak plainly. What have you been up to?" With Elidibus' general and alarming ignorance for all things obvious, that left a whole lot of possibilities, some of which are starkly alarming and potentially extremely dangerous.
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And he was maintaining a moderate pace. It's just that pace car was an Irishman.
Elidibus clearly doesn't want to clarify further. Especially as Lahabrea's inquiry is very broad. He duly considers asking for more specificity to muster up the necessary choice on what to say. And then the Emissary concludes that it was probably not very wise to test Lahabrea's patience on the full moon. He does sigh a bit.
"I was speaking to a Mirrorbound I arranged a meeting with. He professed a willingness to speak on the kidnapping of Mirrorbound which happened last year-- though not related to the current kidnappings performed by the Evergreen Circle. As he proclaimed he would require a round of ale to speak of matters I wished to discern, it seemed fitting that I too indulge."
Reasonable so far.
"While I had taken some time to study how one conducts themselves in such environs, it seems I misunderstood some of the intricacies which mortals use." Elidibus doesn't seem embarrassed anymore, but probably because being precise is... familiar. Though he pauses and frowns in thought to recollect more of the specifics. "Did you know their habit of eating copious amounts of bite-sized, overly salted food was in fact to negate some of the worst symptoms of inebriation? I had thought it some manner of a ploy on the part of the establishment's owners to encourage patrons to buy more drinks."
Well, he's correct on that count. He just missed the first bit.
Elidibus seems intrigued by it. Not that one would be able to see it in his expression, but there is something akin to interest which briefly sparks across the Bond.
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"It is." He sounds a little puzzled at the idea that salty snacks might in any way help do anything but increase thirst. That's just not how it worked, a pretzel didn't have enough nutrients in it to do anything worthwhile. "If the tavern owner wished to slow inebriation, he'd water his drinks instead. Salt merely encourages it."
How ridiculous!
Of course, if such a tale is sown, then it would encourage patrons to eat, and then drink more, so it's likely one of those ongoing deceptions that people assume are true simply because everyone says it is. "How long did it take for you to reach a state of impairment?"
A more concerned person might suggest Elidibus not touch alcohol ever again. Lahabrea isn't one of these people. Obviously Elidibus survived the experience, and his only actual warnings are to the deceptive practices of certain barkeeps. So bland is his reaction in fact that it might be tacit approval - no flare of sharp irritation or anger, aside from the baseline ongoing trouble.
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"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.
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