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driftfleet2016-05-24 02:30 pm
lord_wizard) wrote in driftfleet2016-05-24 02:30 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Felix and you?
Broadcast: none
Action: Starstruck & Iskaulit
When: Monday
In what passes for the early morning hours Felix jolts awake in his room. This time, he is certain it isn't just another nightmare. Just as he is certain that the source of them isn't just his own traitorous mind. He'd been home again. This cold fact isn't much of a comfort to him when the memories of years in other worlds warred with events that to him felt like only minutes ago.
At the time he'd been merely numb, but the shock impels him to move. He gathers his clothes in a rush and goes to the showers, head down and feet hurried. When he gets there, he runs the water as hot as he can stand and lets it run over his body. He stares blankly at his wrists, feeling the ghosts of pain where there should be open welts. The same way the rest of his skin is unblemished by any forming bruises or the lingering impression of hands all over him. There is no soreness. No aches. No stains. Everything his memory tells him he should be feeling - almost still feels - but the reality tells him otherwise.
His magic, too, is still strong. Not that weak, fluttering fragment that they'd made of it. The ritual, as he'd only discovered he'd been the focus of far too late to stop it, had nearly drained the life from him. And would he have, really, if he'd been able? He'd needed the money to help his brother. Hadn't he?
One thing that was the same, however, was that lurking presence at the back of his mind. The one he'd dismissed at first as a figment - some glitch of the augment or remains of his nightmares - was proven to be more than real. The fantôme...the rachenant, as it had named itself...was indeed a spirit he had invited in on the road to Caloxa. And it had followed him here.
Beloved. Thou needst me. Thou hates the one that have chained thee here. I can free thee, it whispered as he tried to scrub away the memories.
The water runs cold before he leaves the shower, probably leaving a surprise for any of his early rising shipmates, but he's not quite in the mood to chat. Instead, he dresses and makes for the shuttles, hair still wet and unbound but not caring so much about appearances.
He takes the shuttle to the Iskaulit and wastes no time in getting to Malum, where he relieves the bar of a few bottles of wine. Crowley would understand. Rather than sitting at the bar, he finds a dark corner to ensconce himself, being not quite in a hurry to explain why he's getting drunk before breakfast.
Funny, he thinks, that weeks ago he was judging others for just this life choice. He made the mistake of believing he'd become inured to anything the fleet could possibly do to him. As it turns out, he was wrong. Just like quite a few things in his life.
(ooc: feel free to run into him at any point. This is the second phase of Felix's canon. Warning for vague allusion to rape and possibly more in tags)
Broadcast: none
Action: Starstruck & Iskaulit
When: Monday
In what passes for the early morning hours Felix jolts awake in his room. This time, he is certain it isn't just another nightmare. Just as he is certain that the source of them isn't just his own traitorous mind. He'd been home again. This cold fact isn't much of a comfort to him when the memories of years in other worlds warred with events that to him felt like only minutes ago.
At the time he'd been merely numb, but the shock impels him to move. He gathers his clothes in a rush and goes to the showers, head down and feet hurried. When he gets there, he runs the water as hot as he can stand and lets it run over his body. He stares blankly at his wrists, feeling the ghosts of pain where there should be open welts. The same way the rest of his skin is unblemished by any forming bruises or the lingering impression of hands all over him. There is no soreness. No aches. No stains. Everything his memory tells him he should be feeling - almost still feels - but the reality tells him otherwise.
His magic, too, is still strong. Not that weak, fluttering fragment that they'd made of it. The ritual, as he'd only discovered he'd been the focus of far too late to stop it, had nearly drained the life from him. And would he have, really, if he'd been able? He'd needed the money to help his brother. Hadn't he?
One thing that was the same, however, was that lurking presence at the back of his mind. The one he'd dismissed at first as a figment - some glitch of the augment or remains of his nightmares - was proven to be more than real. The fantôme...the rachenant, as it had named itself...was indeed a spirit he had invited in on the road to Caloxa. And it had followed him here.
Beloved. Thou needst me. Thou hates the one that have chained thee here. I can free thee, it whispered as he tried to scrub away the memories.
The water runs cold before he leaves the shower, probably leaving a surprise for any of his early rising shipmates, but he's not quite in the mood to chat. Instead, he dresses and makes for the shuttles, hair still wet and unbound but not caring so much about appearances.
He takes the shuttle to the Iskaulit and wastes no time in getting to Malum, where he relieves the bar of a few bottles of wine. Crowley would understand. Rather than sitting at the bar, he finds a dark corner to ensconce himself, being not quite in a hurry to explain why he's getting drunk before breakfast.
Funny, he thinks, that weeks ago he was judging others for just this life choice. He made the mistake of believing he'd become inured to anything the fleet could possibly do to him. As it turns out, he was wrong. Just like quite a few things in his life.
(ooc: feel free to run into him at any point. This is the second phase of Felix's canon. Warning for vague allusion to rape and possibly more in tags)
no subject
Crowley utters that one word as he lets all of that sink in. That Felix had this thing inside him not because of some spell gone wrong, or because someone had forced it on him, but because he wanted to help. That he'd reached out and the spirit had taken that offered help.
He relaxes, a touch, letting out a harsh laugh. He runs his hand through his hair, shaking his head in gentle amusement.
"Of course you bloody did. Sounds just like you, to be honest," he pauses, tilts his head, watching Felix a little. "You feeling okay? I mean, are you dealing with it alright?"
no subject
The laugh he answers with sounds wounded. "That isn't even...I mean...which part of it? Honestly, the fantôme is merely an annoyance. I can deal with it."
Thy lover pretends to care about thee, but he canst not free thee the spirit crooned jealously, and Felix shifted uncomfortably. He did not precisely fear it, but he did fear what it could do with his powers. There was no restraint, just the memory of hate and anger. But it was bound by rules he could manipulate.
"Why aren't you angry? You were ready to burst into flames a moment ago," he continued, evasive but curious.
no subject
"I was angry. Probably still am a little, but not at you. You were just...being you," he leans back on his seat. "I thought something had just forced its way in without your permission and was actually a threat to you."
He glances at Felix again, or, possibly, through him.
"Still not sure on that one. I don't especially like it, I don't want you getting hurt. Or worse."
no subject
"Worse? Allowing it to gain control of me would be bad, yes, but truly the worse thing would be letting it out only to have it find a new victim. And the power that I have...? It's nothing compared to what other people...people like you...would be capable of." In a sense it felt safer this way. It was something he could manage. And in the end the burden was still his to bear.
He's not sure how he can assure Crowley that he'll be fine when it certainly doesn't look like he is. The usual temptation would be to reach out and comfort with something more than words, but he can't do that right now. Simply cannot. The experience of Bernatha is still fresh on his mind, so that the thought of anyone touching him right now makes some of the calm he's been trying to build since he woke up wither and crumble beneath him.
no subject
His lips form a thin line. But that's not what's eating at him, it's a concern, yes, but it's not at the forefront of his mind. It's not what's tearing into his chest, vicious and unyielding. Fear isn't something Crowley feels a lot in his existence, when Hell isn't concerned, but he's feeling it now and it's taking a lot of focus not to let that fear turn into panic.
"That doesn't make you any safer. I'm not talking about you going off your nut and attacking people. That can be dealt with," somehow, Crowley isn't violent by nature but by Someone he will protect those he loves with all the viciousness one would expect from a demon. "I'm talking about it turning on you. Doing...I don't know what kind of damage to you."
Harming Felix in a way that Crowley can't heal. He knows people come back here, that like in Paradisa, death is not a permanent fixture. It doesn't mean he wants to see it happen to Felix though. Not at all. Not after everything they've been through. Everything to bring them to the place they are now.
"Like I said. I don't want you getting hurt."