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
no subject
Nothing for certain, yet. I think for now we're just getting used to being around each other again. It must've been jarring for him, to try and get used to me being gone, suddenly to have me alive again. We haven't given much thought to what comes next.
no subject
[Shirley starts to offer something, then second-guesses herself. Sorey and Mikleo's circumstances aren't the same as hers were, so does she really have anything helpful to say? She goes ahead with it, but she sounds a little less sure of herself now.]
After my friends rescued me from Nerifes, I barely had time to see the friend I told you about before, Senel. We were close, but...it wasn't until we went out hunting monsters that we got to spend time with each other. It was nice, though, knowing we could protect the town together. And it was the first time I got to fight alongside him, when he'd always tried to protect me before. That felt good, too.
[Like a new kind of normal, in retrospect. Maybe that's what she's been trying to say.]
no subject
I'd like it if we could just go back to normal like none of this ever happened. I'm just not sure if that's even possible.
[Is wanting to forget about this a bad thing? Isn't that what caused all of this- denying oneself and one's feelings, allowing malevolence to fester?
Still... he doesn't want to think about it anymore.]
no subject
no subject
[He knows that, but it hurts to acknowledge it, regardless. There's nothing he'd like more than to wipe this whole experience from his mind, just because of everything it'd taken from them. But that would erase the lessons learned, and that's just asking for a repeat of it all. That wouldn't help anyone.]
I have a lot of thinking to do, I expect. But... not yet. If I focus on it too much, I'm afraid I might fall apart.
[And he doesn't like acknowledging that either, but it's easier when Sorey isn't listening. He has enough to worry about.]
no subject
[Shirley hadn't wasted any time herself back then, out of fear of falling back into old ways if she didn't figure things out. But then again, she hadn't died during her time as Merines.]
Do what you need to do to keep yourself together. If you want to talk...I'll be here.
no subject
That... can't be too hard, right?]
I appreciate the offer, really. Everyone's been so supportive... I shouldn't be surprised, but after what we did, it's hard not to be.
no subject
[It had been good for her, in the end. But reintegration sure felt awkward.]
no subject
[He hasn't heard this story - Sorey didn't tell him, either - and it may be invasive, but it's a welcome distraction. He can't feel guilty about it if it's something she brought up, at least.]
no subject
[So it's a story Mikleo already knows, actually.]
They were the ones who came after me, again and again. I would have really gone through with it if not for them. And even though I'd tried to kill them before that, they welcomed me back.
[Well, they welcomed her back and then split up to pursue their lives for a few months. Can't fault them for that though.]
no subject
[He smiles weakly, the expression both pained and humourless. What an unfortunate cautionary tale that was, in retrospect.]
I'm sorry... you shared that story with us to prevent history repeating itself, and we failed so miserably to heed your warning.
no subject
[Shirley closes her eyes, remembering her time back then.]
I'm sorry I didn't see it, too. My friends saw what happened to me, but even so they all nearly fell to their own problems when things were bad. Senel and I had to help remind them...I wish I'd seen all of you needed it, too.
no subject
[It's not like they were aware enough of their own problems to find a solution before it all went to hell. It would be unreasonable to expect new friends to solve the issues for them.]
no subject
[Stella's words are still with her. Shirley has to wonder what else her sister might say if she were here, but she can't imagine it it as well as she'd like.]
But I understand. Please know that if there's anything I can do to help, I'll gladly do it.
no subject
[Honestly, it's been a little overwhelming. He's not even sure how to properly describe it.]
...for now, I think I just need rest. Everything else can come later.
no subject
[Better not to keep him up or make Mikleo overexert himself with conversation, anyway.]