notbert | Aefenglom IC Inbox

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

It's very suspicious.

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

Did you do something?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Some days later...

Here goes nothing.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I apologize that it was held up this long.

Edited 2021-03-26 07:09 (UTC)

text; un: lalli

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

text

text; ~around the 17th

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

Another brief message!

text, mid-March-ish??