I'll be sure to get your preferred flavor next time, then.
[A sly grin. Even so, she looks pleased enough at his acceptance, plopping down in the seat after letting him through. The dull din of people murmuring amongst themselves dies down as the lights dim, and the show starts.
Fortunately for the people backstage, it appears to be a show with a single setting, which means they were able to go all out in making it look lavish; couches, the statue above the fireplace, everything that would make any other play's stage hands groan for having to move it so frequently. At first, the three people led into the room are in denial; the man claims he was executed for being a pacifist, while one of the women thinks there has been some mistake. But the other woman is quick to deduce that none of this has been left to chance, from the furniture to the three specific people present in the room.
Finally, they confess. One died from being executed by firing squad. One died of pneumonia, half-conscious. One died in her sleep, suffocated by a leaky gas stove. And, the woman Inez is quick to point out, they're here to make one another suffer.
Irhya scoffs.]
Mmm... rather quick to get to the point, isn't she?
[In a play with such a limited setting and so few characters, the success of the affair really was weighted on the skill of the writing and the presentation of the actors. And while Emet-Selch was well-prepared to be critical, he gradually relaxed somewhat and fell into the story as presented. Thus far, it was all competent enough....
He does look askance at Irhya at her comment (fortunately she's sitting on the side of his good eye, so he can sideeye her and actually see her). But he does spare a reply, given in an undertone.]
Some have a low toleration for liars.
[The three were all clearly terrible people- a fine example of mortals- and he could grudgingly appreciate that no matter how two of the characters might have protested, that there was no denying it in the end. There was no narrative justification or absolution for their crimes. And how appropriate, that three such people should be trapped together in death, the only company they deserved.]
[The play doesn't even last a full bell, over almost as quickly as it began. She has to wonder if it's just this particular troupe testing the waters before putting on something longer and more in-depth, to make sure nothing goes wrong to warrant a ban on theater again -- and that's probably exactly it, she concludes, but still, they could've chosen something a little more detailed. Or added onto the existing script, perhaps...
Once they're outside the theater, she stretches and yawns.]
Shorter than I thought, but what did you think? Enough to provoke thought for at least a few waking hours, I hope?
[It had been a rather short experience, he could agree with that much.]
You could say it didn't overstay its welcome.
[It was still daylight, even, when they exit the theater, his eyes blinking as they adjust to the comparatively brighter outside.]
It wasn't terrible. I've seen far worse. I'd even claim that its length is to its credit... when you can accomplish what you set out to in a short piece, extending it for the sake of it does you no favors.
[That all probably counted as some sort of praise. He's still mulling it over, at least, rather than immediately discounting the event.]
And what did you make of it? Not too disappointed with your choice, I hope.
[Comparatively, the sun to her is blinding; she has to bury herself in her hood for a few moments while her eyes adjust, making a groan of discomfort.]
Well, that sounds pretty positive coming from you.
[Though perhaps he has a point there. As long as the length didn't put him off, then it seems everything went according to plan. She can kind of get behind the author's worldview, too; the idea of the human experience being defined by what the individual chooses it to be. To some extent, at least.]
It met my expectations. I'd call it quite clever, actually, to take such a seemingly silly scenario like "three people trapped in a room after death" and inject the kinds of questions into it that it did. And with such brevity, too.
[Once she's no longer at risk for being blinded by the sun, she emerges again like a turtle coming out of its shell, just with the protective hood still up. The sun is not as high now, but no less powerful than before.]
So! Dinner? Are you hungry?
[Looking at him expectantly. If he's not, then she definitely is, though it's something she'll have to approach a little more tactfully than just blurting it out at the table... right?]
So neither of us came out disappointed. How fortunate.
[Not that he'd gone into it with particularly high expectations, but he always left room for disappointment. Even what he considered to be modest standards were frequently not met.]
And I suppose I could eat, if you haven't changed your mind about offering.
[He's actually thinking of Irhya's own dietary requirements at the mention of dinner. And while Emet-Selch is certainly selfish enough to not give much of a damn as a default, he is trying to be on better terms with her.]
But what of you? 'Tis not as though your recent snack did much for your own condition.
Well... I must admit, I had thought about asking you afterward, but it seems you beat me to it. It isn't urgent, but I prefer to keep fed so there's no chance of any... accidents.
[She brings a finger to her lips, thinking about it. It also wasn't the point of the outing, so a part of her wants to just say she's fine and let the opportunity go. And yet... he was willing to still put himself out there for that, so she ought to at least prove his trust isn't misplaced, feeble a thing though it is right now.]
I don't mind letting you eat first, though. Then perhaps we can return home and see to that, if you're still willing.
[Hopefully she won't mind a stupid amount of bruising and bite marks around his throat; pucas are not as tidy feeders as vampires.
But he punctuates it with a faint shrug, as though to indicate that it wasn't a big deal. That there was nothing wrong with being hungry, and nothing unusual in using him as a source of food. While things weren't normal and Emet-Selch wasn't about to pretend as such... treating something like this like it was something to make a big production of concern over wouldn't help anything at all.
And it was fair, feeding each other, one way or another.]
So, where are you taking me?
the Hyth player just reminded me of something important asjfkdhsakfj
[She's about to lead him away when she suddenly remembers something, her ears perking up with alarm. It had only been a passing mention by Hythlodaeus before he vanished, but it's still stuck in her mind...
Irhya stops in her tracks, whips around, and scans the theater's sign.]
Wait a second. Wasn't this the place where...?
[Shite. It is, isn't it? Abruptly, she pulls Hades by the hand and heads back towards the theater, powering her way past the ushers with a quick "Forgot something, sorry!"
It's only once she gets back to the now-clear aisle that she explains herself.]
Sod me, I almost forgot to tell you... Look up.
[She gestures at the ceiling. On it, someone has done a meticulous job of painting Amaurot's night sky.]
[Being dragged back inside (suddenly, and without much explanation) wasn't according to his expectations, but apart from a grumbly noise of protest, the Ascian doesn't argue. Whatever it was, Irhya would not be denied, and after his moment of annoyance, curiosity began to take its place. What could be important enough to warrant this kind of reaction?
So he goes with her. With a sigh, Emet-Selch looks up when directed.
--It's unmistakable. How many years had he spent looking up at that particular vision? How many years had he spent without it, longing for its return? And now, knowing that he'd never see it again....]
...How unnecessary of him.
[Because there was only one person who could've done this. The only person who knew Amaurot well enough to do so, and the only one who would bother to leave such a gratuitous record.
He didn't know what to think; apart from sudden distress, he didn't know what he felt either. How could he even begin to sort through it all- and to hit so suddenly, with no prior expectations.... There was offense, that Hythlodaeus would leave something so personal where anyone could see it (no one else had a right to that sky), comfort at the memories it invoked, but immeasurable grief at their loss.
--Sorrow primarily, perhaps. Still holding onto Irhya's hand, Emet-Selch finds himself digging into it without realizing. Still staring upward, lost in his own thoughts.]
--I never told him, you know. Of all that would happen to us.
[He's not sure if he regrets it or not. If he hadn't known that Hythlodaeus was one of those who had only arrived here for a short time, he thinks he would've had to. His friend would've eventually gotten it out of him.
But there hadn't been time. A month was nothing; and yet, he still wondered if he'd wasted it.]
[She squeezes his hand back, despite the crushing grip he's exerting on her already.]
I think... he must have suspected it, at least. Mayhap not the full details, but when he Bonded with me, it was... it felt like he softened in sadness, a little. Like he'd gotten a glimpse of the result.
[And maybe he did; she can't be sure, having no ability to see so intimately into another's soul like that. But Hythlodaeus is no fool, and even if he said nothing so as not to concern anyone, it was easy to tell the thought quietly weighed on him.]
I never told him, either. I thought maybe it wasn't my place to. But knowing he wouldn't be long here, I think he probably wanted to leave something more permanent. For you, and for himself.
[She looks directly at him then, expression mild.]
[Emet-Selch says it like it's a flaw, practically scoffing the words as he finally looks away from the ceiling, even closing his eyes entirely, as though that would make it disappear from his thoughts.
Belatedly realizing that he's practically strangling her hand, he doesn't let go, but does force himself to loosen his grip, almost to the point of barely keeping contact with it at all.]
I've little doubt he realized something was wrong. Between the both of us- there would've been no chance of missing it.
[Bonding did bring with it a tying of souls. Even without their sight, he wondered- would Irhya have brought him a brush of long-broken familiarity? An echo of a person who still existed in his day? Who still lived, who still remembered--]
So to be completely honest with you, Irhya--
[He looks back to her then; though he keeps his expression neutral, his voice is bleak.]
[No, it really isn't. And that's the part that hurts. She picks up his hand again in both of hers and brings it to her lips, unsure how else to respond but needing to do something to reach out.]
Hades...
[All she can do is offer support at this point. Perhaps it's hollow coming from her, but even a half-complete fragment of support is better than nothing. She murmurs against his knuckles.]
Do you still want to go out? If you've changed your mind, I can cook for you at home instead.
[It's a form of contact that has him blink at her, as though surprised by it, somehow. And from there, the feelings became more muddled: caution, uncertainty, grief- perhaps even a trace of gratitude, somewhere.
Could he pull himself back together? Almost certainly; he'd managed similar feats. Considering the frequency of his despair, he'd had to. But did he want to? Not particularly.
And really... going along and pretending he'd be fine (insofar as he ever was) wouldn't be pleasant for anyone, nor convincing. And- in a way, would be much the same as retreating in anger. A different sort of withdrawal. Neither would be productive.]
--Let's head back. We can try somewhere in town another day.
[Said as he, very lightly, squeezes back at her fingers.]
[She smiles wanly at him, letting their hands drop without parting as she moves out of the theater, apologizing to the ushers as she passes. It takes her a moment to adjust to the angle of the sun once more, pulling the hood of her cloak back up and looking around to regain her bearings, but soon she starts towards their shared home again, still holding his hand. He may argue to the contrary, but perhaps a supportive presence there will help, no matter the form it takes.
She spends the walk fairly close to him, though struggling a bit to keep up with his stride. Once they get inside again, she turns on her heel to face him and grins.]
So! Off the top of my head, I know I have salmon fillets and a beef steak. Either of those sound better than the other? If not, we'll go with chef's choice.
...Er, unless you want to change the order of events around? I'm not sure if you'd prefer to refill before or after I've fed from you...
[If it's not quite passively that he allows himself to be led, guided away from that place and towards their shared home- it's without commentary or much of anything in the way of reaction. Contained as he is, it's hard to tell if he's introspective or just tired.
...Or rather, the tired is a guarantee in either case. Her stride might be smaller, but the Ascian's is at least slow. And when they finally make it back inside, he glances around, as though just now realizing where they were, and not entirely sure how they'd gotten there.
Irhya's questions similarly force him to refocus, and he attempts to shake off whatever no-doubt-depressing reverie he'd found himself in.]
Salmon- perhaps. [Just to make a choice, even as he shakes his head, as though to indicate that this, and no doubt everything else, didn't matter--] Are you hungry? If you are, I see no reason to keep you waiting overlong.
[She stares at him for a moment, studying his face. Indeed, dinner seems to be just an afterthought for him... though truthfully, she did want to do something nice for him, too. She hadn't expected the sight of the theater ceiling to kill his mood so deeply...
It just seems so unfair, mostly to him. Perhaps she needs to try a little harder to keep that door from closing completely again.]
Well... all right. We can go up to your room if you're sure.
[Maybe the brief hormone rush from the bite will even help him forget about it for a while. Hell, if he's receptive, she can even try focusing on him for a bit and see where that takes him.
She marches up the stairs and allows him to be the one to open his own door, eyes following him into the room.]
Go ahead and lie down. I'll just... do the usual... if that's all right.
[If nothing else, at least she hadn't remembered before the show; while he would've wanted to remain, it would've made it... somewhat more difficult to focus on the production, his gaze and thoughts drifting upward....
It could've been worse. It wasn't the furious, biting sort of despair, but the melancholic variety, dull and quiet and sad, eaten by grief, rather than anger. His mood was always sensitive; she'd done nothing wrong.
Opening the door for them, Emet-Selch also closes it behind them out of habit.]
Yes- of course. Take your time.
[He's at least distracted from any thought of being discomforted by Irhya feeding off him, as he gets into place, falling onto his back upon the bed with a huff of breath.]
[To her credit, she isn't eager to just dive right in at first presentation of a willing blood source. Sauntering over, she straddles his waist, spends a moment looking down at him with a mild expression, then cups his cheeks and kisses him, gentle and sweet. If only something like this could transmit the depth of how much she wants to help him, she thinks...]
I miss you.
[The confession is almost lost by how quiet it is, murmured into his throat after she finishes with his lips. She doesn't touch the buttons of his shirt just yet, deciding to wait until she's got him in a better frame of mind, but she's keeping close tabs on his reactions. Her hands perch on his shoulders while her weight balances on his midsection, covering him in a comfortable crush.]
[Emet-Selch is both surprised and not, when Irhya settles on top of him instead of next to, her weight slight, but noticeable. His own expression carries a note of question to it, a feeling that is not wholly answered in her kiss, but more so by her words, soft as they are.
So soft that he's not sure at first if he just imagined them. In his uncertainty, he raises a hand to her hair, gently stroking from her bangs and back, a gesture nearly meant to sooth. But to sooth what- he wasn't sure. Nor was he certain who the reassurance was meant for. She cared for him- that much was clear, for all that he didn't understand the why nor the how. And much less, how he felt about it- apart from the pain of it. But that was normal.
That was sentiment. That was how his feelings ran.]
Yet....
[His own voice escapes at a similar volume, a vibration in his throat that barely qualified as words.]
[Irhya makes a noise of acknowledgment, her ears lowering sheepishly.]
But... it still feels like you're far away. Too far for me to reach.
[Maybe not even in her lifetime, she thinks wryly. Like the stars themselves. Besides, what would the beginning of that journey look like for him? How long could such a thing take? And what would be the catalyst to start it? Is it anything she's even capable of?
She moves back up to kiss his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. When she's done, she props herself up on her elbows and gazes down at him.]
[If it were an easier time, an easier mood, he might comment on how he's not that tall (certainly not Amaurotine-tall), and she'd reached him just fine in the past- but it wasn't that mood. Not even remotely. He can only sigh.]
Possibly.
[It's a quiet admission, and though his eyes flickered closed at kisses to his jaw, so close to his lips (a gesture itself that has his breath pause), they open again when she pulls back once more to observe him.]
Perhaps I'm just unreachable.
[Was that just how it was, how he was? He'd been on the same path for so long, that reaching the end of it, and having that end be failure- it didn't mean he could turn back, or carve out something else, or do anything other than remain in that final spot, fixed there, unchanging.]
How did you describe it... a black hole? [Said as though he didn't have her words memorized. His memory had unfortunate precision, at times. The burning recreation of Amaurot spoke to that.] People place their positive feelings, their hopes and efforts into my care, only for them to be crushed. You're not wrong.
[A late admission or agreement, but it's there, tone caught between some strange mix of resignation and simple sorrow.]
What do I do, Irhya. [Yet with the way he says it, it's more a statement than a question; his gaze falls upward, past her, towards the ceiling, though he's not really seeing that either, with his half-blinded gaze.] With you. Your counterparts. This place.
[Something raw flashes over her face at the recollection.]
I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you by saying that.
[It's always been her way to be blunt, to say what's on her mind. But if he's held onto it that long, then it clearly affected him more than he was willing to disclose at the time.
She really should be careful how much of herself she pours into someone who can't change nor reciprocate. Yet, in his position, what would she do? Unable to adapt, unable to move on, yet equally as unable to go back. Homeless, friendless, and without the release of death.
What could she do other than despair?]
Is there anything you wish from us? Anything within the realm of possibility? I know it is a difficult problem, but perhaps... if there is aught I can do to ease the pain...
[Maybe being there is the best she can do. But does her presence do more harm or good? She doesn't know anymore. This is a topic with no answer and no end in sight, certainly; she wonders briefly if she ought to try and distract him from it, or at least get the biting part done so she has an excuse to not talk for a while.]
[At the stated desire not to hurt him, Emet-Selch makes a breathless, slightly pained sound that doesn't even approach a laugh. Any time any of those Warriors said something like that- it felt that bit more absurd. And how hard it was to deny the impulse to protest or retort, to ask why now was she at all concerned about hurting him with words, when she was willing to apply her sword with a far more lethal intent?
Besides, it wasn't as though Irhya's description of him had been wrong. That was why it had hurt, after all. That's why he remembered it, that's why it had an effect.
At one point, not even all that far into the past, he would've ignored the mi'qote's question entirely. It was still tempting to reject it outright, if not out of spite- but because there was nothing he could think of. Nothing they could do, less that they would do- and he couldn't even ask to be left alone because he didn't want that either.
Not that he was sure why not. It wasn't as though they brought each other anything but pain. It wasn't as though they would ever, ever remember him.
But Emet-Selch pauses instead, silent, nearly still apart from his breathing. But eventually he shakes his head, barely perceptibly.]
--What would you do in my position? Were our circumstances reversed? [This seems to be something he ends up asking every Warrior in the end. But they were all different people; if he was ever to find any sort of answer for himself, he needed everyone's thoughts.] Could you forgive everything? Could you forget it, and live alongside those who--
[But what if there was no answer? No conclusion, no means to tidy away this mess of grief and resentment and solitude. It wasn't as though he'd ever learned to cope before, and he just sighs in the end. What if this was it, this uncertainty was the best he'd ever achieve?
A fitting capstone to a lifetime of futility.]
It would be easier if we despised one another. We both have more than enough reason for it.
[And yet here they were, lying together like this.]
[She makes a noise of uncertainty, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder and making circles on his shoulder with her thumb.
His thoughts run parallel to hers. It's not as surprising as it should be. She takes a while to think about it.]
...Probably not.
[She knows herself at least well enough to know she'd be just as bad about holding onto things, about not being able to forgive. Fray could attest to that. And yet... how miserable of a person could she have the capacity to become? It's hard to imagine, from her only twenty-odd summers of experience, compared to his twelve-odd millennia.]
But...
[She thinks of her mother. She thinks of how she never forgave her for taking out all of her problems on her children, how even though Irhya was hardly in the right, Shura was little better. Even Hades had said as much.]
Maybe it's possible not to forgive someone, and still love them. To not so much move on from the things that hurt you, but to acknowledge it's over with and that life goes on, even if you might wish it didn't sometimes.
[Just like Shiva had never really left Hraesvelgr's mind, after all that time apart. Even with the knowledge she was never to return, with all those centuries ahead of him.
Perhaps that's the very thing he can't quite accustom himself to just yet. Hate, misery, bitterness -- alongside care, as well. Not that it will ever be easy, but to some, that's just how things are; joy in small doses in a lifetime of alternating pain and apathy.]
I think that might be the conclusion I would draw after a while. Easier is not necessarily better. Rarely, in fact.
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[A sly grin. Even so, she looks pleased enough at his acceptance, plopping down in the seat after letting him through. The dull din of people murmuring amongst themselves dies down as the lights dim, and the show starts.
Fortunately for the people backstage, it appears to be a show with a single setting, which means they were able to go all out in making it look lavish; couches, the statue above the fireplace, everything that would make any other play's stage hands groan for having to move it so frequently. At first, the three people led into the room are in denial; the man claims he was executed for being a pacifist, while one of the women thinks there has been some mistake. But the other woman is quick to deduce that none of this has been left to chance, from the furniture to the three specific people present in the room.
Finally, they confess. One died from being executed by firing squad. One died of pneumonia, half-conscious. One died in her sleep, suffocated by a leaky gas stove. And, the woman Inez is quick to point out, they're here to make one another suffer.
Irhya scoffs.]
Mmm... rather quick to get to the point, isn't she?
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He does look askance at Irhya at her comment (fortunately she's sitting on the side of his good eye, so he can sideeye her and actually see her). But he does spare a reply, given in an undertone.]
Some have a low toleration for liars.
[The three were all clearly terrible people- a fine example of mortals- and he could grudgingly appreciate that no matter how two of the characters might have protested, that there was no denying it in the end. There was no narrative justification or absolution for their crimes. And how appropriate, that three such people should be trapped together in death, the only company they deserved.]
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Once they're outside the theater, she stretches and yawns.]
Shorter than I thought, but what did you think? Enough to provoke thought for at least a few waking hours, I hope?
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You could say it didn't overstay its welcome.
[It was still daylight, even, when they exit the theater, his eyes blinking as they adjust to the comparatively brighter outside.]
It wasn't terrible. I've seen far worse. I'd even claim that its length is to its credit... when you can accomplish what you set out to in a short piece, extending it for the sake of it does you no favors.
[That all probably counted as some sort of praise. He's still mulling it over, at least, rather than immediately discounting the event.]
And what did you make of it? Not too disappointed with your choice, I hope.
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Well, that sounds pretty positive coming from you.
[Though perhaps he has a point there. As long as the length didn't put him off, then it seems everything went according to plan. She can kind of get behind the author's worldview, too; the idea of the human experience being defined by what the individual chooses it to be. To some extent, at least.]
It met my expectations. I'd call it quite clever, actually, to take such a seemingly silly scenario like "three people trapped in a room after death" and inject the kinds of questions into it that it did. And with such brevity, too.
[Once she's no longer at risk for being blinded by the sun, she emerges again like a turtle coming out of its shell, just with the protective hood still up. The sun is not as high now, but no less powerful than before.]
So! Dinner? Are you hungry?
[Looking at him expectantly. If he's not, then she definitely is, though it's something she'll have to approach a little more tactfully than just blurting it out at the table... right?]
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[Not that he'd gone into it with particularly high expectations, but he always left room for disappointment. Even what he considered to be modest standards were frequently not met.]
And I suppose I could eat, if you haven't changed your mind about offering.
[He's actually thinking of Irhya's own dietary requirements at the mention of dinner. And while Emet-Selch is certainly selfish enough to not give much of a damn as a default, he is trying to be on better terms with her.]
But what of you? 'Tis not as though your recent snack did much for your own condition.
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[She brings a finger to her lips, thinking about it. It also wasn't the point of the outing, so a part of her wants to just say she's fine and let the opportunity go. And yet... he was willing to still put himself out there for that, so she ought to at least prove his trust isn't misplaced, feeble a thing though it is right now.]
I don't mind letting you eat first, though. Then perhaps we can return home and see to that, if you're still willing.
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[Hopefully she won't mind a stupid amount of bruising and bite marks around his throat; pucas are not as tidy feeders as vampires.
But he punctuates it with a faint shrug, as though to indicate that it wasn't a big deal. That there was nothing wrong with being hungry, and nothing unusual in using him as a source of food. While things weren't normal and Emet-Selch wasn't about to pretend as such... treating something like this like it was something to make a big production of concern over wouldn't help anything at all.
And it was fair, feeding each other, one way or another.]
So, where are you taking me?
the Hyth player just reminded me of something important asjfkdhsakfj
Irhya stops in her tracks, whips around, and scans the theater's sign.]
Wait a second. Wasn't this the place where...?
[Shite. It is, isn't it? Abruptly, she pulls Hades by the hand and heads back towards the theater, powering her way past the ushers with a quick "Forgot something, sorry!"
It's only once she gets back to the now-clear aisle that she explains herself.]
Sod me, I almost forgot to tell you... Look up.
[She gestures at the ceiling. On it, someone has done a meticulous job of painting Amaurot's night sky.]
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So he goes with her. With a sigh, Emet-Selch looks up when directed.
--It's unmistakable. How many years had he spent looking up at that particular vision? How many years had he spent without it, longing for its return? And now, knowing that he'd never see it again....]
...How unnecessary of him.
[Because there was only one person who could've done this. The only person who knew Amaurot well enough to do so, and the only one who would bother to leave such a gratuitous record.
He didn't know what to think; apart from sudden distress, he didn't know what he felt either. How could he even begin to sort through it all- and to hit so suddenly, with no prior expectations.... There was offense, that Hythlodaeus would leave something so personal where anyone could see it (no one else had a right to that sky), comfort at the memories it invoked, but immeasurable grief at their loss.
--Sorrow primarily, perhaps. Still holding onto Irhya's hand, Emet-Selch finds himself digging into it without realizing. Still staring upward, lost in his own thoughts.]
--I never told him, you know. Of all that would happen to us.
[He's not sure if he regrets it or not. If he hadn't known that Hythlodaeus was one of those who had only arrived here for a short time, he thinks he would've had to. His friend would've eventually gotten it out of him.
But there hadn't been time. A month was nothing; and yet, he still wondered if he'd wasted it.]
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I think... he must have suspected it, at least. Mayhap not the full details, but when he Bonded with me, it was... it felt like he softened in sadness, a little. Like he'd gotten a glimpse of the result.
[And maybe he did; she can't be sure, having no ability to see so intimately into another's soul like that. But Hythlodaeus is no fool, and even if he said nothing so as not to concern anyone, it was easy to tell the thought quietly weighed on him.]
I never told him, either. I thought maybe it wasn't my place to. But knowing he wouldn't be long here, I think he probably wanted to leave something more permanent. For you, and for himself.
[She looks directly at him then, expression mild.]
Will you be all right?
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[Emet-Selch says it like it's a flaw, practically scoffing the words as he finally looks away from the ceiling, even closing his eyes entirely, as though that would make it disappear from his thoughts.
Belatedly realizing that he's practically strangling her hand, he doesn't let go, but does force himself to loosen his grip, almost to the point of barely keeping contact with it at all.]
I've little doubt he realized something was wrong. Between the both of us- there would've been no chance of missing it.
[Bonding did bring with it a tying of souls. Even without their sight, he wondered- would Irhya have brought him a brush of long-broken familiarity? An echo of a person who still existed in his day? Who still lived, who still remembered--]
So to be completely honest with you, Irhya--
[He looks back to her then; though he keeps his expression neutral, his voice is bleak.]
No. But that's nothing new, is it?
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Hades...
[All she can do is offer support at this point. Perhaps it's hollow coming from her, but even a half-complete fragment of support is better than nothing. She murmurs against his knuckles.]
Do you still want to go out? If you've changed your mind, I can cook for you at home instead.
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Could he pull himself back together? Almost certainly; he'd managed similar feats. Considering the frequency of his despair, he'd had to. But did he want to? Not particularly.
And really... going along and pretending he'd be fine (insofar as he ever was) wouldn't be pleasant for anyone, nor convincing. And- in a way, would be much the same as retreating in anger. A different sort of withdrawal. Neither would be productive.]
--Let's head back. We can try somewhere in town another day.
[Said as he, very lightly, squeezes back at her fingers.]
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[She smiles wanly at him, letting their hands drop without parting as she moves out of the theater, apologizing to the ushers as she passes. It takes her a moment to adjust to the angle of the sun once more, pulling the hood of her cloak back up and looking around to regain her bearings, but soon she starts towards their shared home again, still holding his hand. He may argue to the contrary, but perhaps a supportive presence there will help, no matter the form it takes.
She spends the walk fairly close to him, though struggling a bit to keep up with his stride. Once they get inside again, she turns on her heel to face him and grins.]
So! Off the top of my head, I know I have salmon fillets and a beef steak. Either of those sound better than the other? If not, we'll go with chef's choice.
...Er, unless you want to change the order of events around? I'm not sure if you'd prefer to refill before or after I've fed from you...
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...Or rather, the tired is a guarantee in either case. Her stride might be smaller, but the Ascian's is at least slow. And when they finally make it back inside, he glances around, as though just now realizing where they were, and not entirely sure how they'd gotten there.
Irhya's questions similarly force him to refocus, and he attempts to shake off whatever no-doubt-depressing reverie he'd found himself in.]
Salmon- perhaps. [Just to make a choice, even as he shakes his head, as though to indicate that this, and no doubt everything else, didn't matter--] Are you hungry? If you are, I see no reason to keep you waiting overlong.
[It wasn't as though he had much appetite.]
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It just seems so unfair, mostly to him. Perhaps she needs to try a little harder to keep that door from closing completely again.]
Well... all right. We can go up to your room if you're sure.
[Maybe the brief hormone rush from the bite will even help him forget about it for a while. Hell, if he's receptive, she can even try focusing on him for a bit and see where that takes him.
She marches up the stairs and allows him to be the one to open his own door, eyes following him into the room.]
Go ahead and lie down. I'll just... do the usual... if that's all right.
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It could've been worse. It wasn't the furious, biting sort of despair, but the melancholic variety, dull and quiet and sad, eaten by grief, rather than anger. His mood was always sensitive; she'd done nothing wrong.
Opening the door for them, Emet-Selch also closes it behind them out of habit.]
Yes- of course. Take your time.
[He's at least distracted from any thought of being discomforted by Irhya feeding off him, as he gets into place, falling onto his back upon the bed with a huff of breath.]
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I miss you.
[The confession is almost lost by how quiet it is, murmured into his throat after she finishes with his lips. She doesn't touch the buttons of his shirt just yet, deciding to wait until she's got him in a better frame of mind, but she's keeping close tabs on his reactions. Her hands perch on his shoulders while her weight balances on his midsection, covering him in a comfortable crush.]
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So soft that he's not sure at first if he just imagined them. In his uncertainty, he raises a hand to her hair, gently stroking from her bangs and back, a gesture nearly meant to sooth. But to sooth what- he wasn't sure. Nor was he certain who the reassurance was meant for. She cared for him- that much was clear, for all that he didn't understand the why nor the how. And much less, how he felt about it- apart from the pain of it. But that was normal.
That was sentiment. That was how his feelings ran.]
Yet....
[His own voice escapes at a similar volume, a vibration in his throat that barely qualified as words.]
I'm still here.
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But... it still feels like you're far away. Too far for me to reach.
[Maybe not even in her lifetime, she thinks wryly. Like the stars themselves. Besides, what would the beginning of that journey look like for him? How long could such a thing take? And what would be the catalyst to start it? Is it anything she's even capable of?
She moves back up to kiss his jaw, then the corner of his mouth. When she's done, she props herself up on her elbows and gazes down at him.]
Like I don't have the gravity to pull you back.
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Possibly.
[It's a quiet admission, and though his eyes flickered closed at kisses to his jaw, so close to his lips (a gesture itself that has his breath pause), they open again when she pulls back once more to observe him.]
Perhaps I'm just unreachable.
[Was that just how it was, how he was? He'd been on the same path for so long, that reaching the end of it, and having that end be failure- it didn't mean he could turn back, or carve out something else, or do anything other than remain in that final spot, fixed there, unchanging.]
How did you describe it... a black hole? [Said as though he didn't have her words memorized. His memory had unfortunate precision, at times. The burning recreation of Amaurot spoke to that.] People place their positive feelings, their hopes and efforts into my care, only for them to be crushed. You're not wrong.
[A late admission or agreement, but it's there, tone caught between some strange mix of resignation and simple sorrow.]
What do I do, Irhya. [Yet with the way he says it, it's more a statement than a question; his gaze falls upward, past her, towards the ceiling, though he's not really seeing that either, with his half-blinded gaze.] With you. Your counterparts. This place.
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I'm sorry... I didn't mean to hurt you by saying that.
[It's always been her way to be blunt, to say what's on her mind. But if he's held onto it that long, then it clearly affected him more than he was willing to disclose at the time.
She really should be careful how much of herself she pours into someone who can't change nor reciprocate. Yet, in his position, what would she do? Unable to adapt, unable to move on, yet equally as unable to go back. Homeless, friendless, and without the release of death.
What could she do other than despair?]
Is there anything you wish from us? Anything within the realm of possibility? I know it is a difficult problem, but perhaps... if there is aught I can do to ease the pain...
[Maybe being there is the best she can do. But does her presence do more harm or good? She doesn't know anymore. This is a topic with no answer and no end in sight, certainly; she wonders briefly if she ought to try and distract him from it, or at least get the biting part done so she has an excuse to not talk for a while.]
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Besides, it wasn't as though Irhya's description of him had been wrong. That was why it had hurt, after all. That's why he remembered it, that's why it had an effect.
At one point, not even all that far into the past, he would've ignored the mi'qote's question entirely. It was still tempting to reject it outright, if not out of spite- but because there was nothing he could think of. Nothing they could do, less that they would do- and he couldn't even ask to be left alone because he didn't want that either.
Not that he was sure why not. It wasn't as though they brought each other anything but pain. It wasn't as though they would ever, ever remember him.
But Emet-Selch pauses instead, silent, nearly still apart from his breathing. But eventually he shakes his head, barely perceptibly.]
--What would you do in my position? Were our circumstances reversed? [This seems to be something he ends up asking every Warrior in the end. But they were all different people; if he was ever to find any sort of answer for himself, he needed everyone's thoughts.] Could you forgive everything? Could you forget it, and live alongside those who--
[But what if there was no answer? No conclusion, no means to tidy away this mess of grief and resentment and solitude. It wasn't as though he'd ever learned to cope before, and he just sighs in the end. What if this was it, this uncertainty was the best he'd ever achieve?
A fitting capstone to a lifetime of futility.]
It would be easier if we despised one another. We both have more than enough reason for it.
[And yet here they were, lying together like this.]
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His thoughts run parallel to hers. It's not as surprising as it should be. She takes a while to think about it.]
...Probably not.
[She knows herself at least well enough to know she'd be just as bad about holding onto things, about not being able to forgive. Fray could attest to that. And yet... how miserable of a person could she have the capacity to become? It's hard to imagine, from her only twenty-odd summers of experience, compared to his twelve-odd millennia.]
But...
[She thinks of her mother. She thinks of how she never forgave her for taking out all of her problems on her children, how even though Irhya was hardly in the right, Shura was little better. Even Hades had said as much.]
Maybe it's possible not to forgive someone, and still love them. To not so much move on from the things that hurt you, but to acknowledge it's over with and that life goes on, even if you might wish it didn't sometimes.
[Just like Shiva had never really left Hraesvelgr's mind, after all that time apart. Even with the knowledge she was never to return, with all those centuries ahead of him.
Perhaps that's the very thing he can't quite accustom himself to just yet. Hate, misery, bitterness -- alongside care, as well. Not that it will ever be easy, but to some, that's just how things are; joy in small doses in a lifetime of alternating pain and apathy.]
I think that might be the conclusion I would draw after a while. Easier is not necessarily better. Rarely, in fact.
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