driftfleet | Eleasis 13 1370 dr

Entry tags:

Eleasis 13 1370 dr

Who: Syeira and YOU
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Red Fish, other ships, Iskaulit
When: Beginning 8/10 and ongoing

[Red Fish]

Hello Red Fish. Here she is. Again. Clean as a whistle, in her clothes that should be less than dust, all neat and tidy. Even her hair is brushed. But somehow she still looks like a wreck. Probably due to the all over flush and the sweating due to her raging fever. And also the fact that she feels as weak as a newborn kitten. She stumbles, leaning heavily against walls when she can't keep to her feet.

[On your ship, her first week back]

Somehow, she's there. Feverish, very likely still dressed for bed. Because that's where she ought to be. But no, she's on your ship. Wandering around, maybe looking for someone, or something. Talking to herself softly, deliriously. How did she fly a shuttle in this condition? Probably very poorly.

"Here...Here? Wrong place. Or the right place?"

[Iskaulit, first week]

She has a stick of charcoal in her hand and she's chosen some spot, a wall or floor, perhaps in the garden or the gym, or one of the bars or even a hallway, and she's furiously drawing. It's just lines and smudges in black on black. The more she tries to make it make sense, the less it seems to, and the more her obvious frustration grows.

"I saw...I saw but it won't come out..." There's black streaks across her face, her hands and on her shift. She's still a weak, feverish mess.

Threaded | Flat

Fingon frowned in concern when he saw a young woman he did not recognize. She did not look well so the Elf stopped in her path, hands held out non-threatening.

"I know not where you are to be. But you are welcome here, on the Paisley. Are you hungry?"

It seems like it's been weeks and weeks. He hadn't trusted them. Didn't think it was really possible. How a man can be involved with something like dream sharing and be so skeptical is crazy, but it's how he is.

He still looks awful. He's carrying himself like he's sore, and he's a sickly pale, looking like he hasn't gone out in the sun since she died. At least he's shaved, though he missed a tiny spot on his jaw. It's easier this way, to shave and dress in his suits. People don't notice you're broken when you tape up the cracks.

She looks like a ghost when he first sees her, a specter that's been haunting his mind from the moment she turned into that creature and ran from them. When she stumbles, something clicks in his mind. This is real. She's here. She's here. He moves toward her, a step at a time. And then suddenly, he's holding her up, and she's there and warm and safe.

"Syeira, God-" he chokes out before he leans forward, pressing his lips to hers, squeezing his eyes shut tight against the threat of tears.

It is probably terrible of him to spend so much time at the bar (Fingon is here, Maedhros no longer needs him, Father is gone, Syeira is... )

Sometimes, Maglor thinks that Finrod is going to kick his arse when he realises how much his cousin is drinking. But. He likes Tyrion's company, too.

So he comes often to the bar here, and he walks the decks and considers a little half-heartedly the plans he had for a music shop. He isn't expecting to hear Syeira's voice (but why not? All his ghosts are his victims, in one way or another, why not her, too?), and wistfully, he follows it (stupid, Makalaure, you know you can never actually find...

.............. )

"Syeira?"

[Laura is in the cargo hold with her fuzzy slug things, and she smells Syeira before she hears her. That faintly, off-putting sense of someone clearly ill. She's just putting the slug she was holding back into one of the tanks when the door opens, and she turns, frowning at the taller woman. Hmm. She knew of her, but hadn't really met her...the problem of spending so much time alone.]

You are ill.

[So helpful, Laura.]

[well, well, well. here he was, set to mope it out for the next couple of months... until he gets to the top of the cargo bay stairs, turns into the hallway, and sees an incredibly familiar figure at the other end.

and for once he looks shocked, the dark blocky shapes around his eyes stretching wider as his hand instinctively reaches towards the knife he keeps holstered at his side.

you can't blame him. she's supposed to be dead, and he's spent an astounding amount of his life destroying dead things that have come back to life. he wants to believe it, but he's been tricked before. he waits, hand hovering over his side, not blinking or breathing for fear of dispelling whatever moment he's stumbled into.]

When Syeira sleeps, she dreams, more often than when she doesn't. There are dreams of dark, evil things, she cannot recall when she wakes. They confuse her and spur her up below her fever riddled mind can adjust, leaving her in of places trying to decipher if she's still asleep or not.

But other times, she dreams of Candlekeep. Of the Taint of Bhaal that wears Imoen's face, raging at her, at Atroma. Whatever it's in the mood for. Tonight, Syeira runs in her dream, chased by a girl with short, pink hair, who stalks with the patience only villains possess. But that patience is strained to its shattering point.

"You cannot deny your fate! Your destiny!" The Taint bellows as Syeira runs past rows and rows of bookshelves. Books explode, pages bursting into the isles, just barely behind her. Syeira doesn't look back, just runs for the door at the end of the long hall. She opens it, and slams it behind her.

The Taint can still be heard loud and clear, even through the thick wood of the door. This is only a moment of respite.

He recognizes her from the back even before he can see her and shape she's in. For a brief moment, like his own piece of delirium, he wonders if maybe he's seeing her ghost. He sucks in a breath, feeling a shiver creep over him, until something more rational makes it's way into his mind. She doesn't look like a spirit. There's none of that glassy transparency to her, but he finds himself reaching out to tap her shoulder, just to be sure.

"Syeira? Are you--"

"Syeira!"

For once, all decorum is tossed to the side, and Finrod rushes forward, pulling her into a hug. "The right place. This is very much the right place."

But frowns a little as he pulls back, examining her face. "But you should not have come in this condition; I would have come to you, you know."

Threaded | Flat

On the S.S.Paisley

Red Fish

Iskaulit

Red Fish

Red Fish

For Bill

Starstruck

on the Bishop