Red Fish Mingle

[mortalcoil]

Who: The crew and (many) visitors of the Red Fish!
Broadcast: Nope
Action: Aboard the SS Red Fish
When: Nebulously after the Great Winter Soldier Violence Spree of '16

[it was bound to happen sometime. all three captains of the SS Red Fish are hauled back home in various stages of medical distress, and things have been a little weird since then.

one of these things is the super soldier with the busted metal arm that is brought in to be kept locked up in Coil's lab for a while. turns out those restraints he'd had installed did come in handy. that's a thing.

so, whether you're here to check on one of the various ailing people here, gawk at the guy chained up in the dungeon lab, or are just trying to live your life in relative peace and sanity, come on in!]

Comments

[mortalcoil]

[he nods, and presses the heel of one hand against his eye. his head is beginning to pound, but it's probably a good sign that he is more concerned about that than the prospect of someone strolling in on his work. it's probably pretty safe.

though, he does make sure to reach out and dig a couple fingers into the soft wax of the nearest candle for a second, as if steadying it, before Zhas gets any closer. it's a safe bet that the little gesture was probably important for something, and that Zhas announced himself before approaching.]

[theboogieman]

[the candle is just one more thing he won't ask about. even if he wanted to know, the explanation would not be worth it.

at least he isn't completely hopeless; he treads carefully and avoids disrupting anything with his large boots. when he can get close enough, he'll even take a seat in front of him so that Coil doesn't have to stand up.

he holds the bowl out for him. hopefully, eating hasn't somehow gotten even harder for the kid since his injury.]

[mortalcoil]

[at least there is no clearly-drawn circle to avoid; the shape of this rite is only implied by the periodic candle and crumpled paper offering. it's almost subtle enough to allow for a suspension of belief. if it wasn't for the way the bits of paper continue to quietly smolder far longer than they seemingly should be able to, one could almost pretend that everything in this room is normal.

and, unfortunately, everything has been made more difficult since his injury. between the wounds themselves and the conflicting magics that have been warring to heal them, he doesn't feel much like eating or sleeping or moving anymore.

so, he takes the bowl of food, but just rests it in his lap.]

[theboogieman]

[the smoldering is distracting. he'd had it in his mind to tell Coil to eat, but when he raises his hand to do so, he's obviously looking at a piece of paper off to the side.]

[mortalcoil]

[those pieces of paper probably need to keep burning, and they probably won't keep it up forever. so, when Zhas just sits there, getting distracted and spending more of Coil's time, the necromancer lifts a hand enough to give a weak wave--trying to call his attention back.

just ignore that. don't worry about it.]

[theboogieman]

[well, it gets his attention, but now he's starting to get questions stuck in his brain. he doesn't want to know... but... it's kind of hard not to ask.

'is this...' gesturing vaguely towards the whole setup, 'for you?

pointing towards Coil's chest, specifically. it's his only guess that isn't awful.]

[mortalcoil]

[it's more than a little weird to have Zhas actually... asking... about this. but, if anything, this whole ordeal is leaving Coil too tired to fully appreciate the awkwardness of it.

he shifts a little uncomfortably, but the exhaustion is much more prevalent in his whole posture. he's drained to his core--and his core still has a big dent in it.

settling with even more weary dead weight against the cabinets, he hesitantly nods. yeah, it's for him.

'I don't like hers, he further explains, pointing vaguely toward the door and the rest of the ship.]

[theboogieman]

[that, at least, is a reasoning that Zhas can understand. he doesn't like Syeira's healing much himself. the explanation gets a short nod before he moves on; that's plenty of magic talk for now.

'eating will help,' he suggests, 'you need the energy.']

[mortalcoil]

[he nods in agreement because Zhas is right, but it's clear that his heart isn't in it.

'no time,' he signs. and he glances down at the nearest smoldering paper--giving away the fact that he almost points at the ember to explain. there's a slowly ticking clock here, but Zhas hasn't asked for details, so he catches himself.]

[theboogieman]

[he follows the glance anyway. again, he isn't the brightest bulb in the lamp--but he can make a connection between unusual, infernal smoldering and the fizzling of a lit fuse.

after a second or two of quiet thought, he holds his hand out again, implying that he'll take it back. he even signs with his other hand: 'I'll wait.']

[mortalcoil]

[it feels uncommonly understanding for the skull-faced man, but Coil isn't going to spend time worrying about it, and he certainly isn't going to complain. with his god kept waiting--put on hold while he deals with these mortal cares--and part of his attention quietly perpetuating the slow-burn of the paper bits, he's only grateful.

he even signs 'thank you,' as he passes the bowl back to Zhas.]

[theboogieman]

[he takes the bowl, stands up, and backs carefully out of the implied circle again. no issues, no arguments--his living as a human among creatures with powerful (and often impossible) abilities has given him a healthy caution for this kind of thing.

his will is important, yes, and he really does want to make sure Coil eats--but even he can recognize that the necromancer's mysterious gods are a little higher on the food chain right now. however, he doesn't leave the room... he'll hang out near the doorway, leaning in the frame, to show that he doesn't plan on disappearing any time soon.]

[mortalcoil]

[it isn't until Zhas actually shoulders comfortably into the door that Coil gets the fact that he's not... going anywhere...

and then he waits a few minutes more just to make damn sure. because, as far as he knows, there hasn't been anything that could have gotten Zhas to stick around for an active rite. not that he's ever particularly wanted an audience, but the whole subject had always been a surefire way to cause his partner to disappear.

he can't afford to get stuck thinking about it, though. time is running out.

so, reaching out to dip a few fingertips into the scalding wax of the candle he'd grabbed before, he struggles to shake his attention from the man loitering in the doorway and focus on picking up the complicated prayers where he had left them.

and they are prayers. with head bowed and eye closed, the words he silently forms are pleas and petitions, with the occasional symbol traced on the floor in wax and ash. the symbols never stay where he draws them for very long, but there is a thin and dimly-gleaming smoke-trail drifting from his fingers after a minute or two that leaves more of an impression. and when he needs a new bit of paper to burn? he tears it off and sets it curling into embers with his touch alone.]

[theboogieman]

[he isn't sure what compels him to stay and watch, this time. perhaps the events of the last few days have had an impact on him--either making him more curious or more wary of it in general. he stays still and says nothing, as passive and unobtrusive as he would have been at one of their Queen's ceremonies...

but he is paying attention, and his jaw is set against the familiar feeling of bad magic crawling over him.]

[mortalcoil]

[Coil forgets that Zhas is there--it's the only way that the rite will work properly. he needs to be in perfect communion with whatever it is that has a hope of healing him, and giving anything less than all of his attention and energy just won't do.

but paper is a weak offering. just when the embers are beginning to match the grey glow of his fingertips, and hints of it are beginning to reflect from the back of his mouth, the material finally runs out... and it seems that the unholy attention goes with it.

he tries to shield the embers from air currents that barely move, trying to coax them back to life, but they all die out. the candles run low, guttering and beginning to drown in their own wax, and the weight in the air lifts away like an indifferent, passing cloud.

and so, when Coil finally gives up, he does so abruptly. an exhausted sigh falls out of him as he leans away and rests his head back against the cabinets, no longer willing to use any of his own strength to hold himself up. in the wake of all that, he has no choice but to rest.]

[theboogieman]

[he's not an expert, but that seemed... surprisingly ineffectual.

after a long silence, the sound of his boot-steps move towards Coil again. he's still careful not to knock anything over or tread on the unholy shrapnel of this particular ceremony, but not with as much wariness as before.

he'll crouch down again, hold out the bowl the same way he had before. he intends to stay this time, since now Coil looks like he could really use it.]