Mikleo | Luzrov Rulay (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
nerdeology) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
driftfleet2016-09-24 11:59 pm
nerdeology) wrote in driftfleet2016-09-24 11:59 pm
Entry tags:
that was the worst nap in the world
Who: Mikleo & Visitors
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Huntress
When: 9/25 (and on)
[A seraph child hurries through a chilly, unlit ruin, carrying a lantern. Just ahead, a human boy is shoving at a sealed door with all his might.
"Stop, stop," the seraph protests, pulling the boy back. "You'll hurt yourself."
"But this is the way we need to go!" says the boy. "That's what the sign means, right?"
"You're getting your runes mixed up again. That means 'down', see, and that one's 'level'-- that's just the basement."
"What if it's written sideways?"
"No one writes sideways!"
They bicker. They knock a stone against the wall until a spark lights the wick, and together they wander, still fighting over who's right. In the end it matters very little if the door won't open, anyway. They fumble through passage after passage, turning corners they can't recognize ten minutes later, opening doors that close behind them, searching for a breath of fresh air that won't come. They argue about sore feet. The human child's stomach growls. The seraph forms his hands into a cup and the boy drinks until he comes up coughing. An hour passes. Then, two. Three, and they argue over which corner to desecrate when the human boy has to relieve himself.
They stumble, unexpectedly, upon a gorgeous mural, carved and painted stone. It's cracked and crumbling, bits of it scattered across the ground, the colours washed out by time and the musty air. Tired, hungry, sore, hopelessly lost, they sit in front of the wall for hours with the lantern burning slowly between them; the expedition is immediately worth it all.
"We should come back. With supplies, and books! We can study it!"
The seraph turns to beam at his companion, but the boy is gone. His face is gone. His lips are a sealed wound and his eyes are two great black holes, and he's reaching, reaching--
"You were right all along, mortals, humans, we're just- we're all just rotten.
Hang in there. You’ll be okay soon.
You're my one and only. I love you."
And then there are hands, hands reaching towards him and every touch is corrosive, every brush is as gentle as a feather and still cuts to the bone. The hands are on his skin--
no
his skin (his scales)
his fingers (his talons)
his teeth, his teeth, crunching bone and tasting blood
there's so much blood
he can't breathe, he's in the sky and he can't breathe, he's falling and he can't breathe, everything's broken and everything hurts and he's screaming and
"It's okay."
it hurts
"It's over now."
it hurts
"I'm here."
can't breathe
"I know."
kill me
"Just hang on."
I'm dyi--]
-----
[Mikleo wakes up screaming on the Marsiva.
He has to bite his tongue to make himself stop; at first he doesn't even know why he's screaming. And then, as the memories begin to trickle in, he almost gnaws a hole in his pillow trying to stop himself from screaming all over again. He's certain that if he starts, he might never stop. The taste of blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten down is so disgustingly familiar that he wants to throw up, but he can't throw up, nothing in his stomach--
deer cow horse boar people, people, dragons eat people, did he eat, did he eat
--so he hunches on the floor beside the bed with a garbage pail, dry-heaving until he figures out how to breathe again. He doesn't even need to--
breathe, breathe, he can't breathe, the air's gone around him, Sorey's crying and
--breathe, but he stays on the floor for a while, inhaling, exhaling, struggling for calm. He feels sick in a way that is entirely new to him- it's not like the illness he'd felt from malevolence, or even the poisoned planet, but instead a deep-set weariness that no amount of sleep can cure. He feels... old, something no seraph should ever feel in a physical sense unless they will it to be so, something a seraph of his age should be centuries away from experiencing. He feels wretched in ways he never thought possible.
Eventually he musters the strength to try and move again, but as his hand touches the bed, it meets cool metal instead of fabric; he clumsily draws the item closer and finds the communicator. He stares at it uncertainly, as if the very concept of it is lost on him, as if the memories of his transformation, his degredation, and his subsequential demise have written over everything else. Finally, his hands trembling, he turns it on. Message alerts greet him- dozens of them, most from the same contact. Seeing it, recognizing it, sends a rush of emotions through his body: relief and terror, both. Sorey. They're almost all from Sorey. They date as far back as around two weeks.
Two weeks. Two weeks.
He draws a shaky breath, hesitant for a long time, frightened by what he might find, but eventually he lifts the comm to his ear. He listens. He weeps. He feels heartsick, guilty, and very, very loved. He's lonely and he's lost and dead, he was dead, and suddenly he isn't anymore and he doesn't know how to process any of it. There's two weeks of grieving in his ear, two weeks of the lives of his friends that he wasn't there for, two weeks where Sorey thought he was gone, two weeks since he was a dragon, he was a dragon and he can taste the blood in his mouth all over again.
He flings the comm away from himself, curls up, and cries, and cries, and cries.]
-----
( action; locked to sorey )
[Hours later he wakes again; he doesn't even remember falling asleep. His eyes are still puffy and damp, and somehow he feels more tired, not less, but that doesn't stop him from realizing that he's not on the Marsiva anymore, but rather in his own bed on the Huntress. He casts his gaze wearily around the room at his limited belongings: the elegantly crafted staff hanging on the wall, little pieces of artwork he'd collected from their previous stops, a lovingly packed bookshelf, the half-finished embroidery he'd stored in the corner of the room by the desk. It's been too long and his memories are still too muddled- he can't tell if anything is different, but it smells... lived in, somehow, despite his absence. He's uncertain of that's a good sign or a bad one. He knows Sorey's been here; the project he'd been working on is missing, now that he knows to look for it. The sheets smell like him.
He glances down at his comm, and a flood of memories greets him; the messages people had left for him, some expecting him to come back, hoping he'd come back. Hearing that everyone else is okay. Hearing Lailah's voice, Lailah, who hadn't been here before they changed, who must have shown up in the middle of all of this horrible mess, who severed the pact to save them all, who's been taking care of Sorey in his absence and still trusts him to be the Shepherd despite everything. Dezel, who must understand what he's feeling right now, whose words echo the ache in his heart. And Sorey--
Sorey--
...I need to...
He tries to get out of bed, but his knees are shaky and too weak to move himself on his own; he barely makes it two steps before they buckle beneath him and he collapses in a heap on the floor. Cursing under his breath, he pulls his body up to the door, but even doing that much saps his strength and leaves him trembling. He can't even stand up enough to open it.
Frustrated and desperate, too woozy to force himself any further, the best he can manage to do is slump against the wall beside the exit, his hand on the floor, periodically rapping his knuckles against the bottom of the door. The sound is quiet but steady; all he can hope is that the noise echoes in the hall enough to be heard. He'd left his comm on the bed and out of reach, and with the sub lord pact broken, he can't connect with the Shepherd or the other seraphim at all. The best he can do is wait, and pray, that he's noticed before too long. He can't bear another minute alone like this, but he'll do this for hours if that's what it takes.
Someone- anyone. Please... I need...
Sorey...
...I'm here.
I'm right here.
Come back.]
-----
( ota; days in the aftermath )
[After he's been found and properly looked after, Mikleo will be in his room, laid out or sitting up in bed, still exhausted but available for visitors over the next week or so. Maybe the news of his return spreads around, or perhaps a Huntress resident/visitor just stumbles upon him- either way, his door is unlocked, although he can't promise to be particularly good company. Sorey is likely with him or hovering nearby, unless visitors or Mikleo can nudge him off to take a break (which he will sorely need on occasion) but he won't really interfere with the company Mikleo gets. He might just be sleeping.
Mikleo will also be responding to any messages via comm, for those less inclined to visit in person. He's too weak to do much else right now, unfortunately.]
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Huntress
When: 9/25 (and on)
[A seraph child hurries through a chilly, unlit ruin, carrying a lantern. Just ahead, a human boy is shoving at a sealed door with all his might.
"Stop, stop," the seraph protests, pulling the boy back. "You'll hurt yourself."
"But this is the way we need to go!" says the boy. "That's what the sign means, right?"
"You're getting your runes mixed up again. That means 'down', see, and that one's 'level'-- that's just the basement."
"What if it's written sideways?"
"No one writes sideways!"
They bicker. They knock a stone against the wall until a spark lights the wick, and together they wander, still fighting over who's right. In the end it matters very little if the door won't open, anyway. They fumble through passage after passage, turning corners they can't recognize ten minutes later, opening doors that close behind them, searching for a breath of fresh air that won't come. They argue about sore feet. The human child's stomach growls. The seraph forms his hands into a cup and the boy drinks until he comes up coughing. An hour passes. Then, two. Three, and they argue over which corner to desecrate when the human boy has to relieve himself.
They stumble, unexpectedly, upon a gorgeous mural, carved and painted stone. It's cracked and crumbling, bits of it scattered across the ground, the colours washed out by time and the musty air. Tired, hungry, sore, hopelessly lost, they sit in front of the wall for hours with the lantern burning slowly between them; the expedition is immediately worth it all.
"We should come back. With supplies, and books! We can study it!"
The seraph turns to beam at his companion, but the boy is gone. His face is gone. His lips are a sealed wound and his eyes are two great black holes, and he's reaching, reaching--
"You were right all along, mortals, humans, we're just- we're all just rotten.
Hang in there. You’ll be okay soon.
You're my one and only. I love you."
And then there are hands, hands reaching towards him and every touch is corrosive, every brush is as gentle as a feather and still cuts to the bone. The hands are on his skin--
no
his skin (his scales)
his fingers (his talons)
his teeth, his teeth, crunching bone and tasting blood
there's so much blood
he can't breathe, he's in the sky and he can't breathe, he's falling and he can't breathe, everything's broken and everything hurts and he's screaming and
"It's okay."
it hurts
"It's over now."
it hurts
"I'm here."
can't breathe
"I know."
kill me
"Just hang on."
I'm dyi--]
-----
[Mikleo wakes up screaming on the Marsiva.
He has to bite his tongue to make himself stop; at first he doesn't even know why he's screaming. And then, as the memories begin to trickle in, he almost gnaws a hole in his pillow trying to stop himself from screaming all over again. He's certain that if he starts, he might never stop. The taste of blood in his mouth from where he'd bitten down is so disgustingly familiar that he wants to throw up, but he can't throw up, nothing in his stomach--
deer cow horse boar people, people, dragons eat people, did he eat, did he eat
--so he hunches on the floor beside the bed with a garbage pail, dry-heaving until he figures out how to breathe again. He doesn't even need to--
breathe, breathe, he can't breathe, the air's gone around him, Sorey's crying and
--breathe, but he stays on the floor for a while, inhaling, exhaling, struggling for calm. He feels sick in a way that is entirely new to him- it's not like the illness he'd felt from malevolence, or even the poisoned planet, but instead a deep-set weariness that no amount of sleep can cure. He feels... old, something no seraph should ever feel in a physical sense unless they will it to be so, something a seraph of his age should be centuries away from experiencing. He feels wretched in ways he never thought possible.
Eventually he musters the strength to try and move again, but as his hand touches the bed, it meets cool metal instead of fabric; he clumsily draws the item closer and finds the communicator. He stares at it uncertainly, as if the very concept of it is lost on him, as if the memories of his transformation, his degredation, and his subsequential demise have written over everything else. Finally, his hands trembling, he turns it on. Message alerts greet him- dozens of them, most from the same contact. Seeing it, recognizing it, sends a rush of emotions through his body: relief and terror, both. Sorey. They're almost all from Sorey. They date as far back as around two weeks.
Two weeks. Two weeks.
He draws a shaky breath, hesitant for a long time, frightened by what he might find, but eventually he lifts the comm to his ear. He listens. He weeps. He feels heartsick, guilty, and very, very loved. He's lonely and he's lost and dead, he was dead, and suddenly he isn't anymore and he doesn't know how to process any of it. There's two weeks of grieving in his ear, two weeks of the lives of his friends that he wasn't there for, two weeks where Sorey thought he was gone, two weeks since he was a dragon, he was a dragon and he can taste the blood in his mouth all over again.
He flings the comm away from himself, curls up, and cries, and cries, and cries.]
-----
( action; locked to sorey )
[Hours later he wakes again; he doesn't even remember falling asleep. His eyes are still puffy and damp, and somehow he feels more tired, not less, but that doesn't stop him from realizing that he's not on the Marsiva anymore, but rather in his own bed on the Huntress. He casts his gaze wearily around the room at his limited belongings: the elegantly crafted staff hanging on the wall, little pieces of artwork he'd collected from their previous stops, a lovingly packed bookshelf, the half-finished embroidery he'd stored in the corner of the room by the desk. It's been too long and his memories are still too muddled- he can't tell if anything is different, but it smells... lived in, somehow, despite his absence. He's uncertain of that's a good sign or a bad one. He knows Sorey's been here; the project he'd been working on is missing, now that he knows to look for it. The sheets smell like him.
He glances down at his comm, and a flood of memories greets him; the messages people had left for him, some expecting him to come back, hoping he'd come back. Hearing that everyone else is okay. Hearing Lailah's voice, Lailah, who hadn't been here before they changed, who must have shown up in the middle of all of this horrible mess, who severed the pact to save them all, who's been taking care of Sorey in his absence and still trusts him to be the Shepherd despite everything. Dezel, who must understand what he's feeling right now, whose words echo the ache in his heart. And Sorey--
Sorey--
...I need to...
He tries to get out of bed, but his knees are shaky and too weak to move himself on his own; he barely makes it two steps before they buckle beneath him and he collapses in a heap on the floor. Cursing under his breath, he pulls his body up to the door, but even doing that much saps his strength and leaves him trembling. He can't even stand up enough to open it.
Frustrated and desperate, too woozy to force himself any further, the best he can manage to do is slump against the wall beside the exit, his hand on the floor, periodically rapping his knuckles against the bottom of the door. The sound is quiet but steady; all he can hope is that the noise echoes in the hall enough to be heard. He'd left his comm on the bed and out of reach, and with the sub lord pact broken, he can't connect with the Shepherd or the other seraphim at all. The best he can do is wait, and pray, that he's noticed before too long. He can't bear another minute alone like this, but he'll do this for hours if that's what it takes.
Someone- anyone. Please... I need...
Sorey...
...I'm here.
I'm right here.
Come back.]
-----
( ota; days in the aftermath )
[After he's been found and properly looked after, Mikleo will be in his room, laid out or sitting up in bed, still exhausted but available for visitors over the next week or so. Maybe the news of his return spreads around, or perhaps a Huntress resident/visitor just stumbles upon him- either way, his door is unlocked, although he can't promise to be particularly good company. Sorey is likely with him or hovering nearby, unless visitors or Mikleo can nudge him off to take a break (which he will sorely need on occasion) but he won't really interfere with the company Mikleo gets. He might just be sleeping.
Mikleo will also be responding to any messages via comm, for those less inclined to visit in person. He's too weak to do much else right now, unfortunately.]
no subject
I thought I'd make something for when you came back. And then I kinda evolved the idea to give one to everyone in our group. It's a more physical representation of our bonds with each other.
[Lailah just has to track down Dezel and Zaveid. The former will be far easier to find than the latter, at least.]
no subject
Lailah... thank you.
[It doesn't fix anything, they both know that. Lailah's not trying to do it, either. But little things, little reminders- that he's back, that he's not alone, that he's still a part of something despite... everything... it means a great deal to him.
That reminds him of something else, though, so he sets the the flower on the bedside table for safekeeping and faces Lailah again, his expression serious, somewhat uncertain.]
Hey... about the pact. If you're willing to have me back, I'd... I'd like to continue as your sub lord.
no subject
Her expression is more serious as Mikleo brings up the pact. After a moment of silence, the fire seraph nods.]
Of course I'd like for you to continue as my Sub Lord. From my perspective, I see no reason to keep you from that.
[She smiles a little and reaches out to ruffle his hair gently for a brief second.]
We can reforge the pact now or wait until you're in better health.
no subject
Does my health make a difference? Would it affect Sorey in some way if we did it too soon?
no subject
It makes no difference to Sorey. His body is used to the power, and the time in between didn't diminish that.
[Lailah cups her chin, frowning a little.]
The worry is that I'm not sure how it'll impact you. I've never tried forging a pact with a seraph who wasn't at full strength. It's possible the pact can help you recover quicker, but...I'm not totally sure on that at all.
no subject
...I'd rather go for it and have the pact than wait just because of that. This isn't even supposed to be possible... there's no precedent, here, at least not that I'm aware of. We don't know what's going to happen even without a pact.
[Without precedent, they have no way of knowing if he ever will get back to full strength. It may well be that life is the best he can hope for, here. Only time will tell, and he hates the thought of waiting without the connection they'd had and come to love and depend on for so long.]
I think... that's what Sorey would want, too.
[He'd probably worry about Mikleo's health, in truth- and maybe Mikleo would like for the pact to be formed before Sorey can hear about this and change his mind. He doesn't want to end up having another argument about it.
Either way, it's his risk to take and no one else's.]
no subject
She gently takes his hands in hers. The fire seraph recites the pact to him, and there's a brief light show before it dissipates. When it's over, Lailah lets his hands go and gives him a somewhat stern look.]
If you feel like the pact is making you feel worse, I want you to tell me straight away. We can try to reforge it when you're better later. Alright?
no subject
I will, I promise. Thank you... for trusting me. For trusting both of us.
[With this, but also in general. It isn't surprising that someone like Lailah would forgive what happened so quickly, but still, it's something to be grateful for. She'd been under no obligation to take any of them back. They'd made her suffer, too.]
no subject
Of course I trust both of you. Mistakes were made, but now we all have the chance to learn from them.
[Even though she sometimes feels the echoes of pain from when the hellion tried to steal all of her fire, she thinks that her suffering is only a drop in the bucket in comparison to what the others have gone through. She could've suffered much worse, and Lailah understands that she got lucky. The fire seraph doesn't want to think about how disastrous it could've been if the hellion had remembered her true name.]
I'll keep checking in on you to make sure you're recovering well. Is there anything you want or need?
no subject
[Mikleo frowns, glancing down, and brushes a hand across his forehead. He's still exhausted and uncomfortably feverish, but there doesn't seem to be anything that anyone can do about that. They just have to wait it out and see if anything changes.]
No, not me... just... until I'm strong enough, Sorey's going to keep needing your support. I know you've already done so much, but...
[He doesn't like to place more of a burden on her shoulders, but he knows this isn't something he can really do in the state he's in.]
no subject
[Heck, it's no different than what she's been doing before. She just has to be a little more hands-on about it until Mikleo's better.
Lailah shuffles off the bed so that she can stand, smoothing her skirt so that it's even again after.]
I'll leave you to sleep. Hopefully, you'll be right as rain in no time.
[Get it? Because he's a water seraph?]
no subject
I... appreciate it.
no subject
Then I'll sea you later!
[GOOD NIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!! She leaves with the last laugh, mwahahahaha!!!!]