Myrobalan Shivana (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faithlikeaseed) wrote2019-08-01 12:00 am
faithlikeaseed) wrote2019-08-01 12:00 am
[Somewhere while listening to Myr speak, Mello has made his way with the slow, careful steps of a sneaking child to the other side of L. A knee touches the floor — both — and he's quiet long enough to process the information he's been given and come to a conclusion that only someone who refuses to give in would reach.]
[Eyes like glass focus on his mentor's face, his hands itch to grab at his arm. But Mello doesn't. There's only so much weakness he can show in the presence of another. Despite his distaste for the act, the instinct to ask Myr that they pray together is strong enough that it sits on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill.]
[But instead — ]
Mmno. [Eternal denial.] Everyone has a price. The key is to find someone who's willing to sell.
[Everyone wants — no, needs — something.]
Existing isn't the same as living, [He mutters with the weight of a thousand deaths on his shoulders.] He can very well exist in this state forever.
[Now, a with a bit of cruelty.]
Your prayers are useless.
[Eyes like glass focus on his mentor's face, his hands itch to grab at his arm. But Mello doesn't. There's only so much weakness he can show in the presence of another. Despite his distaste for the act, the instinct to ask Myr that they pray together is strong enough that it sits on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill.]
[But instead — ]
Mmno. [Eternal denial.] Everyone has a price. The key is to find someone who's willing to sell.
[Everyone wants — no, needs — something.]
Existing isn't the same as living, [He mutters with the weight of a thousand deaths on his shoulders.] He can very well exist in this state forever.
[Now, a with a bit of cruelty.]
Your prayers are useless.
[What a hideously cynical and reductive view of mankind, one that somehow doesn't surprise Myr at all. (For which bit of cynicism he ought himself to repent; he hardly knows this man, hasn't even got a name for him. Just a perception of desperate worry for Linden to match Myr's own.
If asked, he'd join Mello in prayer without hesitation.)
He breathes out a noise like a laugh.] I'd be interested to meet the mage who'd let you purchase her death from her, if that's what it took.
Mm. [Myr has no compunction about showing his too-soft heart to others--but he does have one about touching those he's fond of where someone might see and recognize any degree of fondness inappropriate to a Circle mage. That's why he drifts closer to the bed (direction and number of steps from that wall both long-since memorized) and reaches down to hover his hand just shy of Linden's hand. Wanting contact--trained against it--not even sure he deserves it any longer, if he's the one who's condemned Linden to that existence.] He could--but I doubt he will,
[By which he wishes he meant only surety Linden would wake and not that he'd rather be dead and they all of them ought to honor that wish.]
Not for very much longer. And you've come to that conclusion already, have you? Because the Maker Himself hasn't intervened to set things right?
[Never mind how very far Myr is from home; his own doubts are all the easier to bury in the face of outside opposition.
For all that he keeps his tone--mostly--level, keeps it kind. Return patience for provocation, compassion for cruelty...]
If asked, he'd join Mello in prayer without hesitation.)
He breathes out a noise like a laugh.] I'd be interested to meet the mage who'd let you purchase her death from her, if that's what it took.
Mm. [Myr has no compunction about showing his too-soft heart to others--but he does have one about touching those he's fond of where someone might see and recognize any degree of fondness inappropriate to a Circle mage. That's why he drifts closer to the bed (direction and number of steps from that wall both long-since memorized) and reaches down to hover his hand just shy of Linden's hand. Wanting contact--trained against it--not even sure he deserves it any longer, if he's the one who's condemned Linden to that existence.] He could--but I doubt he will,
[By which he wishes he meant only surety Linden would wake and not that he'd rather be dead and they all of them ought to honor that wish.]
Not for very much longer. And you've come to that conclusion already, have you? Because the Maker Himself hasn't intervened to set things right?
[Never mind how very far Myr is from home; his own doubts are all the easier to bury in the face of outside opposition.
For all that he keeps his tone--mostly--level, keeps it kind. Return patience for provocation, compassion for cruelty...]
Edited (eats phone typos) 2019-11-10 03:13 (UTC)
[All individuals operate differently — Mello has always been aware of this — and to think that anyone would share the desperate mindset of someone they'd never met before this moment is absurd. The laugh near-enrages him — of course it does — but if nothing else, even if this individual did have a hand in causing this, he's clearly mourning something. (Even if that 'something' can't possibly hold the ability to compare to a boy grown into a man witnessing the loss of something he's lost so long ago. A waking nightmare; a repetitive dream with no glitch point from which to end.]
Then we give them no choice.
[Isn't that obvious? If someone isn't willing to negotiate, you are to force their hand as they've forced yours with denial.]
What fucking Maker, [He snaps, perhaps out of annoyance. Perhaps it's due to his own wish that he could hold some form of faith that would allow Mello to believe something this catastrophic would work itself out. It occurs to the blonde that he and Myr aren't from the same place. Perhaps for the other, there is a tangible 'Maker." Maybe it's just another word for a God who has proven Himself non-existent by refusing to answer a single prayer.]
Don't answer that.
[He's thinking in circles. He wants hope. He needs hope. He doesn't care for an answer. Nothing will subdue him aside from those dark, long lashes fluttering open and a single sound from L's throat.]
[He closes his eyes, runs a hand over his face. He's taken note that the other can't see him — through his appearance, through his lack of response to most of Mello's movements — and Mello is grateful for it. No one should see the state of his expression. It's weak. A child's desperate insistence on a killer's face and oh, if Myr only knew what the body lying before them meant to Mello.]
[Who cares. Doesn't matter.]
He's still human. [Magic be damned.] He can't eat like this. [State the obvious, focus on the small things.] What's being done to ensure he doesn't starve?
[L is already so thin and frail.]
Then we give them no choice.
[Isn't that obvious? If someone isn't willing to negotiate, you are to force their hand as they've forced yours with denial.]
What fucking Maker, [He snaps, perhaps out of annoyance. Perhaps it's due to his own wish that he could hold some form of faith that would allow Mello to believe something this catastrophic would work itself out. It occurs to the blonde that he and Myr aren't from the same place. Perhaps for the other, there is a tangible 'Maker." Maybe it's just another word for a God who has proven Himself non-existent by refusing to answer a single prayer.]
Don't answer that.
[He's thinking in circles. He wants hope. He needs hope. He doesn't care for an answer. Nothing will subdue him aside from those dark, long lashes fluttering open and a single sound from L's throat.]
[He closes his eyes, runs a hand over his face. He's taken note that the other can't see him — through his appearance, through his lack of response to most of Mello's movements — and Mello is grateful for it. No one should see the state of his expression. It's weak. A child's desperate insistence on a killer's face and oh, if Myr only knew what the body lying before them meant to Mello.]
[Who cares. Doesn't matter.]
He's still human. [Magic be damned.] He can't eat like this. [State the obvious, focus on the small things.] What's being done to ensure he doesn't starve?
[L is already so thin and frail.]
Edited 2019-12-08 04:21 (UTC)
No. We don't.
[There's steel behind the words, final as a sword-cut; Myr's assessment of the man across from him is rearranged for the worse on the instant. Kind and trusting as the Faun's accustomed to being, there are some things--discussed in the actual, with intent--that he knows for warning sighs. This fellow would bear monitoring--a knight-enchanter could do no less with knowledge of that threat.]
We don't compel the innocent to pay prices we wouldn't ourselves. You're a Witch,
[Buy him back with your own life, if you'd murder for him.
Myr--might, such is the state he's in over this, such is his guilt, but doing that would come with its share of equal guilt for abandoning a post he'd pledged himself to not two days before. As long as we will it, he'd promised Everett; there wasn't a suicide clause in that.]
He's been given broth and water, as much as he can take. The Coven's also spells for maintaining one unconscious without risking choking them. You might learn those, too.
[Truly, transferring him to hospital might've been the better choice in this case, but there were so few empty beds there after the chaos of the mist--and Adeline would not leave the home easily, nor let Linden and his Bonded from her care--and so... Here they are.]
[There's steel behind the words, final as a sword-cut; Myr's assessment of the man across from him is rearranged for the worse on the instant. Kind and trusting as the Faun's accustomed to being, there are some things--discussed in the actual, with intent--that he knows for warning sighs. This fellow would bear monitoring--a knight-enchanter could do no less with knowledge of that threat.]
We don't compel the innocent to pay prices we wouldn't ourselves. You're a Witch,
[Buy him back with your own life, if you'd murder for him.
Myr--might, such is the state he's in over this, such is his guilt, but doing that would come with its share of equal guilt for abandoning a post he'd pledged himself to not two days before. As long as we will it, he'd promised Everett; there wasn't a suicide clause in that.]
He's been given broth and water, as much as he can take. The Coven's also spells for maintaining one unconscious without risking choking them. You might learn those, too.
[Truly, transferring him to hospital might've been the better choice in this case, but there were so few empty beds there after the chaos of the mist--and Adeline would not leave the home easily, nor let Linden and his Bonded from her care--and so... Here they are.]
[There is no we. Whichever code by which Myr operates, Mello seems to be on the opposite side of the spectrum. You do what you need to do in order to get things done, sacrifices be damned. If he'd ever stopped to consider who he was hurting during the process of getting what he wanted, Mello would simply have nothing at all.]
I am.
[A witch, and his tone mimics the biting reprimand — some things need not be spelled out for him — but Mello imagines how reckless L would find him if he were to sacrifice his own life to wake his mentor. The two of them already teeter on the edge of distrust — more so on L's side regarding his successor — and such an act? Would break whatever delicate bond Mello is slowly forming with the older man. What use is Mello to him if he shows no regard for his own life?]
[No. No, as tempting as it might be: it simply won't do.]
[As far as Myr is concerned? Mello doesn't trust nor agree with his standpoint on this. Anyone who gives a shit about L would do whatever it takes, so long as it doesn't jeopardize their own standing with the unconscious figure before them. What would break between Myr and L if a sacrifice were made to save him?]
At least those precautions have been taken.
[Flippant, dismissive. Mello is frankly disappointed and frustrated that more hasn't been done. He's frustrated that he simply doesn't hold the power to just fix this. The answer is simple: he needs to become as strong as possible. But right now, there's no time. Waking L holds importance above everything, and the amount of time it would take Mello to become that powerful is unacceptable.]
Listen to me.
[Grave. Insistent. Mello has no patience for opposition.]
I would burn the world to save him. [He wraps his fingers around the crook of his mentor's elbow. Can he feel him? Can he feel anything?] But not myself.
[His voice is near-hoarse with the confession.]
He would never forgive me. You wouldn't understand.
I am.
[A witch, and his tone mimics the biting reprimand — some things need not be spelled out for him — but Mello imagines how reckless L would find him if he were to sacrifice his own life to wake his mentor. The two of them already teeter on the edge of distrust — more so on L's side regarding his successor — and such an act? Would break whatever delicate bond Mello is slowly forming with the older man. What use is Mello to him if he shows no regard for his own life?]
[No. No, as tempting as it might be: it simply won't do.]
[As far as Myr is concerned? Mello doesn't trust nor agree with his standpoint on this. Anyone who gives a shit about L would do whatever it takes, so long as it doesn't jeopardize their own standing with the unconscious figure before them. What would break between Myr and L if a sacrifice were made to save him?]
At least those precautions have been taken.
[Flippant, dismissive. Mello is frankly disappointed and frustrated that more hasn't been done. He's frustrated that he simply doesn't hold the power to just fix this. The answer is simple: he needs to become as strong as possible. But right now, there's no time. Waking L holds importance above everything, and the amount of time it would take Mello to become that powerful is unacceptable.]
Listen to me.
[Grave. Insistent. Mello has no patience for opposition.]
I would burn the world to save him. [He wraps his fingers around the crook of his mentor's elbow. Can he feel him? Can he feel anything?] But not myself.
[His voice is near-hoarse with the confession.]
He would never forgive me. You wouldn't understand.
[Dearly and deeply as Myr loved those close to him, there were lines he would not cross for anyone--much as he would not expect anyone to cross them for him. To do so would forever pervert whatever positive bond they shared, turn any affection grasping and tainted by it. Look, I will render myself a monster, a sinner, a maleficarum for you was not an act of love or loyalty in his book. How could it be, if it diminished or destroyed the lover for his beloved's sake?
The point was to become better for one another. All else was a perversion.
It roils uncomfortably in his gut to realize Linden has someone like that devoted to him, someone who has twisted up inside for his sake.
He will not question the hows or whys of it now, simply take the facts as they've been offered him and think through them later.
Softly,] I'd hear you out on it even so.
[And understand a great deal more than you think.]
Who is he to you?
The point was to become better for one another. All else was a perversion.
It roils uncomfortably in his gut to realize Linden has someone like that devoted to him, someone who has twisted up inside for his sake.
He will not question the hows or whys of it now, simply take the facts as they've been offered him and think through them later.
Softly,] I'd hear you out on it even so.
[And understand a great deal more than you think.]
Who is he to you?
[Silence takes the place of an immediate response; there's something to be said for someone who is starkly against Mello's idea who would attempt to understand the situation regardless of their own views. It's respectable, and if Mello's head were in the right place at the moment, he would be able to acknowledge as much.]
[But it isn't. So he doesn't.]
[Instead he shakes his head, aware that the motion falls on useless eyes.]
I'll take care of it my own way.
[Stubborn thing that he is.]
[Because dead things have always remained dead, and life has been restored to someone who was long-gone by the time Mello found himself wandering in that forest that existed within a dream that wasn't a dream at all. L's arm is near-stiff beneath his hand, and he thinks that if he doesn't let go, Mello might die along with him.]
[So he does, but he can't tear his eyes away. He won't.]
[The question catches him off-guard. For all of his life after he went off on his own, Mello has been forced to hide any connection to L, play the part of an enemy against the title in order to infiltrate a criminal organization. He's had to hold his tongue at those L would see put in prison had he still been alive spit curses at the title, the unseen force that would see them all jailed if they took their activities too far.]
[But that was then, and this is now. A life left behind. A life born anew.]
[My idol. The only fucking person in this world I've ever cared about. An inspiration. A legacy. Something that turned my soul black when it disappeared.]
[But all that comes out is — ]
He's a father to me.
[The words escape his lips before he considers the gravity behind them.]
And my responsibility.
[But it isn't. So he doesn't.]
[Instead he shakes his head, aware that the motion falls on useless eyes.]
I'll take care of it my own way.
[Stubborn thing that he is.]
[Because dead things have always remained dead, and life has been restored to someone who was long-gone by the time Mello found himself wandering in that forest that existed within a dream that wasn't a dream at all. L's arm is near-stiff beneath his hand, and he thinks that if he doesn't let go, Mello might die along with him.]
[So he does, but he can't tear his eyes away. He won't.]
[The question catches him off-guard. For all of his life after he went off on his own, Mello has been forced to hide any connection to L, play the part of an enemy against the title in order to infiltrate a criminal organization. He's had to hold his tongue at those L would see put in prison had he still been alive spit curses at the title, the unseen force that would see them all jailed if they took their activities too far.]
[But that was then, and this is now. A life left behind. A life born anew.]
[My idol. The only fucking person in this world I've ever cared about. An inspiration. A legacy. Something that turned my soul black when it disappeared.]
[But all that comes out is — ]
He's a father to me.
[The words escape his lips before he considers the gravity behind them.]
And my responsibility.
Edited 2019-12-11 04:17 (UTC)
Take care, when you do. This world isn't like those we've come from.
[He will not threaten, nor make explicit that he would stand in Mello's way if he could, should the other man truly intend something akin to murder. This isn't the time for that argument, with a hideous grief thick between them; and besides, Myr's an inkling--given Linden--that his standing on that point here and now would not be an effective deterrent.
Given Linden. Something in that thought, something in He's a father to me breaks through Myr's hesitation at last and he reaches to touch fingers to Linden's wrist. To remind himself a pulse still beats there, that there's still warmth to that body that lies still as a corpse.
Maybe, maybe, something in the touch and the desperate worry that moves him to it will get through and call Linden back. Storybook reasoning, neither logical nor coherent, but what he'd beg the Maker for all the same.]
He's my dear friend. [The translation magic that makes them comprehensible to each other would not stutter over the word he uses, even though it's not in Common but in his father's tongue--Tevene intimus. Nearest and dearest, a brother of the heart.] And my responsibility as well, for all I put him here.
I am sorry.
[He will not threaten, nor make explicit that he would stand in Mello's way if he could, should the other man truly intend something akin to murder. This isn't the time for that argument, with a hideous grief thick between them; and besides, Myr's an inkling--given Linden--that his standing on that point here and now would not be an effective deterrent.
Given Linden. Something in that thought, something in He's a father to me breaks through Myr's hesitation at last and he reaches to touch fingers to Linden's wrist. To remind himself a pulse still beats there, that there's still warmth to that body that lies still as a corpse.
Maybe, maybe, something in the touch and the desperate worry that moves him to it will get through and call Linden back. Storybook reasoning, neither logical nor coherent, but what he'd beg the Maker for all the same.]
He's my dear friend. [The translation magic that makes them comprehensible to each other would not stutter over the word he uses, even though it's not in Common but in his father's tongue--Tevene intimus. Nearest and dearest, a brother of the heart.] And my responsibility as well, for all I put him here.
I am sorry.
[Perhaps it's a good thing that Myr doesn't possess the ability to see; Mello's expression when the other lays his had on L is something positively murderous. It's temporary: a fleeting rise in rageful emotion that passes as quickly as it arrives. Mello has never known L's life — not really — and it would be absurd of him to assume that he's never possessed a single connection with another individual.]
[Myr's words are genuine, that much is an easy tell. He wishes L no ill-will. Whatever happened: it happened by accident and with Mello being the reckless thing that he is, he understands how these things can happen.]
[That doesn't, however, denote forgiveness.]
Take care of him, then.
[As though he's in any place to give orders. Mello's ego has always been larger than the earth, itself.]
I'm not leaving for a while.
[Read: deal with it. It will take everything Mello has to avoid curling up next to L in this bed while he lies lifeless and Mello takes the rest he's so needed since arriving here.]
Just know this:
[Maybe it's a threat; maybe it isn't.]
I'll do anything to keep him safe. If you prove to be a problem, you become my enemy.
[Blunt as it comes.]
Understand me?
[Myr's words are genuine, that much is an easy tell. He wishes L no ill-will. Whatever happened: it happened by accident and with Mello being the reckless thing that he is, he understands how these things can happen.]
[That doesn't, however, denote forgiveness.]
Take care of him, then.
[As though he's in any place to give orders. Mello's ego has always been larger than the earth, itself.]
I'm not leaving for a while.
[Read: deal with it. It will take everything Mello has to avoid curling up next to L in this bed while he lies lifeless and Mello takes the rest he's so needed since arriving here.]
Just know this:
[Maybe it's a threat; maybe it isn't.]
I'll do anything to keep him safe. If you prove to be a problem, you become my enemy.
[Blunt as it comes.]
Understand me?
[Myr knew that was coming.
He doesn't like that he did, doesn't like what it says about his fundamental and immediate negative view of the other man, but he knew the threat was coming before it was uttered.
There's something deliberate in the way he takes up Linden's hand, presses his friend's nerveless palm before setting it gently back on the bed.]
Perfectly, serah. [Oh, he understands.]
The feeling is mutual. I would do a great deal to protect him myself.
[It's said quietly, politely, to sound like agreement. Maybe it isn't even a threat.
Maybe it is. He may be a Monster in a world of Witches, he may appear unassuming and crippled, but he is not without recourse of his own.
Breathing out a low sigh, Myr turns away from Linden's bedside, to retreat to his vigil and prayers.]
He doesn't like that he did, doesn't like what it says about his fundamental and immediate negative view of the other man, but he knew the threat was coming before it was uttered.
There's something deliberate in the way he takes up Linden's hand, presses his friend's nerveless palm before setting it gently back on the bed.]
Perfectly, serah. [Oh, he understands.]
The feeling is mutual. I would do a great deal to protect him myself.
[It's said quietly, politely, to sound like agreement. Maybe it isn't even a threat.
Maybe it is. He may be a Monster in a world of Witches, he may appear unassuming and crippled, but he is not without recourse of his own.
Breathing out a low sigh, Myr turns away from Linden's bedside, to retreat to his vigil and prayers.]
Edited 2019-12-17 01:44 (UTC)
[The package left on his doorstep contains a plate of homemade cookies from Marie and a fresh lily flower.
“Happy Holidays! We are not friends yet but I hope we can become friends in the coming year.” is what the attached note says]
“Happy Holidays! We are not friends yet but I hope we can become friends in the coming year.” is what the attached note says]
[Why look, Myr got a gift! It looks like he got little slippers for his hooves to wear indoors, as well as a note. When his fingers press on it, it speaks out loud.]
"I thought about getting you a new stick, but your old one works just fine. Happy Holidays Myr.
Let's try not get in too much trouble in the new year huh?
Signed, Sokie Undertown."
[Should he keep pressing it, the voice will repeat the message.]
"I thought about getting you a new stick, but your old one works just fine. Happy Holidays Myr.
Let's try not get in too much trouble in the new year huh?
Signed, Sokie Undertown."
[Should he keep pressing it, the voice will repeat the message.]
Did you leave early from the shop, my darling? I'm tied up a while longer. My sincerest apologies.
[he's not actually sorry, this is quite deliberate, but he will be polite about it]
[he's not actually sorry, this is quite deliberate, but he will be polite about it]
[Myr's at home when the message comes through, tinkering with yet another round of libum to see if he can get the recipe to his satisfaction (and, hopefully, Everett's). He dusts flour off his hands, picks up the watch...
And frowns most severely.]
Oh no, you do not, [he says to himself. Dealing with L's constant need to hide parts of himself away was one thing, but Everett getting increasingly dodgy about their repeatedly rescheduled dinner dates is quite another.
He doesn't respond to the message, instead packing a basket with libum and honey and boiled eggs--and, on a whim, a bottle of fruit brandy as well. Then he's off for DiplomaTea like a man on a mission, and is in short order shouldering his way in the door with a merry jingle of bells.
His approach probably feels like the arrival of a small and very miffed star through their Bond.]
And frowns most severely.]
Oh no, you do not, [he says to himself. Dealing with L's constant need to hide parts of himself away was one thing, but Everett getting increasingly dodgy about their repeatedly rescheduled dinner dates is quite another.
He doesn't respond to the message, instead packing a basket with libum and honey and boiled eggs--and, on a whim, a bottle of fruit brandy as well. Then he's off for DiplomaTea like a man on a mission, and is in short order shouldering his way in the door with a merry jingle of bells.
His approach probably feels like the arrival of a small and very miffed star through their Bond.]
[Everett was actually busying himself at the shop! Actually! Was any of the work actually pressing? Could he have delegated to others? He won't answer to that. However, he is busy enough to not notice Myr shooting in before it's too late to escape.
He gawks, shoulders held up tight, before spitting out a joke on reflex.]
I'm sorry, messere, we're closed.
He gawks, shoulders held up tight, before spitting out a joke on reflex.]
I'm sorry, messere, we're closed.
[Myr huffs a very cervine huff--amusement AND frustration--as he clip-clops over to where he remembers the nearest table to be. Finding it, he plunks the basket down and withdraws the bottle of brandy to brandish in Everett's direction.]
Good--then we'll not be interrupted at dinner. [It takes an effort not to lay his ears down and back as he considers his Bonded; the urge to Intimidate is there.] Which you are going to eat with me, Everett Vaughan. Whether or not you messere me the whole time.
Good--then we'll not be interrupted at dinner. [It takes an effort not to lay his ears down and back as he considers his Bonded; the urge to Intimidate is there.] Which you are going to eat with me, Everett Vaughan. Whether or not you messere me the whole time.
[Whoops! He's caught, just straight up captured, no escaping this with anything graceful. Really, he shouldn't be surprised, he'd not been too clever in avoiding this. Just stalling, waiting for Myr to give him no out. The faun instinct to run is there, but Springtide manners dictate better of him.
And then there's the desire to just... be honest. Finally. After letting it loom. Won't that be a relief? Mmmm, nope. Just dread, he's not able to force optimism out of himself.
Only one way to cope with that! More jokes!!]
Is sir better? Yes, sir.
And then there's the desire to just... be honest. Finally. After letting it loom. Won't that be a relief? Mmmm, nope. Just dread, he's not able to force optimism out of himself.
Only one way to cope with that! More jokes!!]
Is sir better? Yes, sir.
Ser, if you please, or knight-enchanter, [if I'd sat my vigil, Myr doesn't amend, foregoing his usual tidy precision to keep the joke rolling. It's a weird, white-knuckled kind of humor, when he's picking up on Everett's dread loud and clear and stomping ahead in the face of it anyway.
Even his consideration of others has got its limits, once he's pressed to them.
He unpacks the basket he's brought with crisp precision before reaching--reaching--ah, there it is, a chair to pull out and gesture Everett toward.]
Sit. Let's talk.
[He'll be producing the last of what he's brought--simple tumblers for the brandy; you didn't learn to appreciate alcohol right in the Circles--and pouring them both drinks.]
Even his consideration of others has got its limits, once he's pressed to them.
He unpacks the basket he's brought with crisp precision before reaching--reaching--ah, there it is, a chair to pull out and gesture Everett toward.]
Sit. Let's talk.
[He'll be producing the last of what he's brought--simple tumblers for the brandy; you didn't learn to appreciate alcohol right in the Circles--and pouring them both drinks.]
Let's... [he only echoes that far, sighing and taking a seat. A slip of his glasses off his nose to rub at the bridge, before returning and straightening them out. No being sullen, now, that's only childish. Though, that's just how he had been acting, refusing to face whatever questions Myr might have. Their bond is too strong and earnest, he knows lying or dodging the truth won't go over.
But he's not exactly offering anything upfront. Everett takes the tumbler to sip the brandy.]
But he's not exactly offering anything upfront. Everett takes the tumbler to sip the brandy.]
[Bad sign, isn't it, that resignation.
Myr takes his own glass and a seat, arranging himself close enough to Everett to touch. He considers his questions a moment before giving an internal shrug and charging straight at the looming problem:]
What are you afraid's going to happen if you talk about Sherwood, dearheart?
Myr takes his own glass and a seat, arranging himself close enough to Everett to touch. He considers his questions a moment before giving an internal shrug and charging straight at the looming problem:]
What are you afraid's going to happen if you talk about Sherwood, dearheart?
I... I would not say afraid. Merely that I'm- I am still unsure what to say on the matter. Where to begin, that you will not feel unduly burdened.
[difficult to know what to say and where to start. Myr holds some adoration towards Everett's people, instilled in him by Everett's stories and fondness shared. This, however, could so handily spoil that. It spoiled much for Everett, even, who loved his people so dearly and... he believed, unconditionally. All love need condition, doesn't it? Love without boundary is merely a poison?
Or is that his people's way of seeing it? As an illness. Another of their toxic beliefs?]
[difficult to know what to say and where to start. Myr holds some adoration towards Everett's people, instilled in him by Everett's stories and fondness shared. This, however, could so handily spoil that. It spoiled much for Everett, even, who loved his people so dearly and... he believed, unconditionally. All love need condition, doesn't it? Love without boundary is merely a poison?
Or is that his people's way of seeing it? As an illness. Another of their toxic beliefs?]
[Myr dips his head in acknowledgment of this sentiment; that's one he does understand, that--and the current of uncertainty and anxiety beneath it in the Bond.
He reaches out across the table, turning his hand palm-up and holding it out to Everett. To take, or not, as the mood strikes him.]
At the beginning, I'd say, with what you first knew of him. [A breath's pause.] Nothing I can take off your shoulders is an undue burden. We are in this together.
He reaches out across the table, turning his hand palm-up and holding it out to Everett. To take, or not, as the mood strikes him.]
At the beginning, I'd say, with what you first knew of him. [A breath's pause.] Nothing I can take off your shoulders is an undue burden. We are in this together.
That we are. I trust you to be as brilliant and compassionate as ever, yet... I know these matters are of particular sensitivity to you, my darling. If you don't wish to know, I would not insist.
[he knows necromancy is close enough in concept to the blood magic Myr so hated. It's best to be sensitive to that, though of course, it's not his only reason to hold this back.]
I suppose I'll start with my connection to him and how I once understood it. In Myddvai, souls return to the world tree upon death. We renew within it and return in time as a new person. Souls are often mixed about, like shuffling together many decks of cards. We rearrange and many breeds of beings do not return entirely as they once were. [he sips his brandy, humming]
But the Springtide are banished to the Below Lands... as are our very souls. Those important in our culture do often return in whole or in larger parts. Sherwood was the Founding Druid of the Springtide... and if I were to say I'm a full deck, I would be fifty part his soul and two wildcard my own.
[he knows necromancy is close enough in concept to the blood magic Myr so hated. It's best to be sensitive to that, though of course, it's not his only reason to hold this back.]
I suppose I'll start with my connection to him and how I once understood it. In Myddvai, souls return to the world tree upon death. We renew within it and return in time as a new person. Souls are often mixed about, like shuffling together many decks of cards. We rearrange and many breeds of beings do not return entirely as they once were. [he sips his brandy, humming]
But the Springtide are banished to the Below Lands... as are our very souls. Those important in our culture do often return in whole or in larger parts. Sherwood was the Founding Druid of the Springtide... and if I were to say I'm a full deck, I would be fifty part his soul and two wildcard my own.
[A twitch of the lips, a twitch of the ears signals Myr's faint wry amusement at that. He appreciates Everett's wishing to spare his sensibilities--given his own distress at many of Aefenglom's "commonplace" magical practices, how could anyone who loved him act any less? But he's had any number of lessons lately that seeking the truth of those around him, those he loves, requires pushing back that distress. And so--
Here they are.] I do appreciate it, dear heart.
[He will insist, though, and so laces fingers together beneath his chin to listen to another story of the Springtide. The metaphysics are--strange, to say the least of it, entirely unlike Thedas, but then Myddvai's about as far from Thedas as one got. Wonderful to contemplate for all that.
Though...something about the way Everett relates this puzzles him, unnerves him. His ears set back a little as he chews on the problem. He'll get it in a moment... But while he's doing that--]
You'd said Vaughan adopted you out of fondness for his old master, [he says, thoughtfully,] so it's expected that the more you're made up of someone's soul, the more you're like him?
Here they are.] I do appreciate it, dear heart.
[He will insist, though, and so laces fingers together beneath his chin to listen to another story of the Springtide. The metaphysics are--strange, to say the least of it, entirely unlike Thedas, but then Myddvai's about as far from Thedas as one got. Wonderful to contemplate for all that.
Though...something about the way Everett relates this puzzles him, unnerves him. His ears set back a little as he chews on the problem. He'll get it in a moment... But while he's doing that--]
You'd said Vaughan adopted you out of fondness for his old master, [he says, thoughtfully,] so it's expected that the more you're made up of someone's soul, the more you're like him?
That is the idea, yes. The cohesive traits of a soul often bind and the conflicting parts break away, rearrange, try to be new. I have always thought... that in such a metaphor, I am the two wildcard. Everett Vaughan is distinct from Sherwood by that distinct alone. [it was comfort to him, now, something he held onto as a mark of his individuality. Something that separates them, makes them truly different. Still, it nags at him, how that bit of difference is perhaps only details, pointless, nothing that change him at the core.
He's not a man who can be inherently good, he's too many parts rotten.]
Sherwood is a celebrated figure, to the Springtide. I've enjoyed my life of privilege through carrying his legacy, even if I did not become a Druid myself. Yet... as I'm sure you suspect. It's been revealed to me that he was not a man to be glorified. You... my darling, would believe him despicable. [but for more reasons than Everett does, maybe, which also tugs his heart down to the depth of dread and loneliness]
He's not a man who can be inherently good, he's too many parts rotten.]
Sherwood is a celebrated figure, to the Springtide. I've enjoyed my life of privilege through carrying his legacy, even if I did not become a Druid myself. Yet... as I'm sure you suspect. It's been revealed to me that he was not a man to be glorified. You... my darling, would believe him despicable. [but for more reasons than Everett does, maybe, which also tugs his heart down to the depth of dread and loneliness]
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