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

[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.]