driftfleet | Waystation Mingle Log!

[He is and he adjusts quickly, sparing a glance to quirk a brow.]

The burn or the dance?

[At that, he laughs. A look like that! Why? Had a comment on his mother affected his vision of him so? What brain wash.]

The burn, of course! I have no doubts about my dancing.

Of course. [He laughs, but it's more subdued.]

It exists? It's there? I see it in the mirror every morning.

[He looks down to his feet again.] Honestly, I'm not sure what you want me to say. Does it hurt? I'd have thought the answer to that painfully clear.

You're upset about it.

[He speaks his observation simply, and their dancing stays slow. It's fine, because he can stay close. His words are softer this way, and the furrowing of his brows can be taken for focus.]

I was asking for your thoughts. Have you none? Have you even been caring for it properly?

I—[Upset? His brow furrows and his mouth thins.] Upset is the wrong word.

[It's something less than that. A prickling border that ensnares him in a nameless feeling.] I am... perturbed, maybe? It's hard to attach a name to it. It feels like a loss. Like I should at least remember the sensation. But I can't.

[He laughs then but it's a shameful one. The sound of a man who knows better.] It makes it difficult to care for, honestly. I keep forgetting it's there and when I do—well. It hardly feels like a problem.

[Another laugh, this one brighter. He made a joke, Oren. See?]

[That was the worst joke he has ever heard. He doesn't spare a laugh, not out of concern so much as being lost in thought. Disturbed, a little, that there are people who can be so detached from something so simple.

Their dance slows to a stop and Oren continues to linger close, holding up the form as he looks to him.]

Of all the sensations to long for, pain is a strange one. [Just saying, if he had the chance to forget all his pain...]

But if memory is the issue, then perhaps I should be reminding you. If your arm falls off, how would we dance, after all?

[Mattias can't help it. He pulls back and laughs, canting his head at Oren.]

Is that supposed to be romantic?

[His broad smile gradually fades to something thinner. He pulls close again, daring so far as to rest his head on his shoulder. It's not without risk. He's half-afraid Oren will pull away. Half-afraid he'll sharpen his words at a moment's notice.]

You've already reminded me enough.

[Somehow, the truth slips out on an easy breath. Funny, how that works. How one of his best memories can be shaken into a reminder of a greater loss and how that can summon courage. Exhaustion. He's tired of this game. Tired of Oren's split-second decisions and zig-zag paths. For once, he wants a straight line.] Why are you doing this?

[Something's still off about all of this. Mattias calls him out, and Oren isn't expecting it. They're apart and then close again in just a moment, and at the very least, he doesn't pull back, despite the irritation nagging at him to snap. Why was he doing this? Why was Mattias acting like this!

'You've already reminded me enough.' It's as if he's aware-- and as he's reminded of how difficult time can be here, he wonders if he is.

He frowns, allowing Mattias to rest his head there as he stares past him.]

What, exactly? [He turns his head just slightly, just enough to look at him, to make his voice a little louder as he speaks so softly.] Dancing with you? Speaking to you? I'm not sure I understand what's so surprising.

Forgive me, but you'll have to ask more directly for me to answer.

[He figured as much. Oren could never make it easy. Could never give without pulling first. With reluctance, Mattias pulls away, gaze turned downwards. Miraculously, the right words come easily.]

Why do you chase me? Why waste your time on a man like me?

Why...?

[Those questions are pointed. He makes a note of it even as he takes a half-step back himself. With his hands now free, one raises to smear at his face, and a laugh comes out easily.]

Why... If only it were so simple. [Truth. Straight lies never won anything over, they never did anything for him. But to weave truth and lies was therapeutic, in a way, as well as convincing. He could be open and guarded at the same time. Protect himself and let it out all at once.

His hand drops from his face, and he looks a little more serious again as he turns his gaze on Mattias.]

I don't happen to think it's a waste of time, for one. To be quite honest with you, Messiah, I've wondered myself. [He takes that half-step back forward, gesturing with one hand in an attempt to lighten the information he's sharing.]

You bring back old memories. [A pause, and he lets out a laugh like he feels pathetic about it, looking down to the ground.] Foolish, I know. But I understand, even if that may be approaching heresy to say, and I can't simply stand by and watch you throw yourself into danger.

[With a perfectly timed pause, he looks up again.]

I care about you, Mattias.

[Goddess, does he want to fall into those last words. He can feel his legs weaken already. So cliche, so unoriginal and yet so true to the moment. I care about you. It echoes like a chorus, his heart providing the rhythm. It takes all the strength he can muster to resist. To recall the rest. It comes to him hazy at first, muddled and thickened before thinning out. Before words surface. Old memories and a mess of words that speak of protection. As if he were some damsel in need of rescue, some idiot who didn't know how to properly walk.

With a twist of a snarl, he pushes away from Oren.]

"Old Memories"? That's your reason? I'm some... host to the spectres of your past?

[He hates it. Hates the idea of being someone else in Oren's eyes. He'd rather take the knife, take the betrayal, then live as the ghost of a person.] And you can't stand me throw myself into danger? [He laughs humorlessly, throwing his arms out.] Am I a child? Look at me. Do I seem a child? What makes you think I need your protection? Do you mistake me for naive? Think lower of me? I can't think of another reason why you'd need to protect me.

[He's sick of it. Of people protecting him, hurting for him, dying for him, all under the pretense that he's too fragile. More a precious gem than a living person. Than a knight.

Scoffing, he shakes his head and turns, busying himself with changing the image in the room.]

Edited 2015-04-08 20:21 (UTC)

Listen to yourself!

[He knew this would end in a mess of emotions. Of course it would. But he could steer in messes, still, and this could lead to clarity. Either between them or of what is causing Mattias' sudden change in view. How much time had passed, really?

He steps forward after him, and as he steps down, he forces the scenery to change himself. The library where they first met. His hand presses down on the table nearby as he stops in front of him.]

Haven't you just finished telling me that you couldn't remember to fix your own arm? How am I not to worry when you treat yourself with such disregard!

[Facts are his weapon. True annoyances come out and his own expression clouds with a mixture of concern and irritation.]

A child is precisely what I hope you not to be! Not to remind me of! If you're so offended by it, then change! It's strange to me that the protection we received on board the ship was not nearly so offensive to you, Mattias!

[He pushes up from the table, standing tall again.] There is nothing wrong with caring for your well being.

There is when it belittles me!

[He whirls around, angry that Oren is pointing out clear arguments. Angry that he changed the room without permission, angry that it's the first place they met. Angry that he's using a swell of memories against him and innately furious that he brings up Robin.]

The ship was different! We could nothing against our enemies. We were truly helpless. We needed the help! But here? On the ground? I am perfectly capable. I am not the Messiah, Oren. I am a knight, I am an elite. I can withstand fire and I can withstand gods! I do not need to be protected.

[He's snarling, gesturing heatedly, a fire in his eyes.] Do not hide it under the guise of caring.

[Control is wavering and Oren isn't sure how to handle it. Something desperate in the back of his mind snaps, and more emotion than usual makes its way onto his face. He can't lose this, he can't, they've already lost Nocta but they'd get her back. Mattias was an idiot, so why was he choosing now to be so observant!

But it was observance as well as idiocy. He was a fool, an utter fool, and Oren wasn't sure right now if he was more angry or upset that things were going this way.]

Guise?

[He spits it out like it's an insult. An offensive word that doesn't apply to him. His own hand gestures out, and he steps closer, causing the room to go blank.]

You cannot withstand everything, Mattias! Knight, Elite! No one can!

[How dare he insinuate otherwise? He wants to hit him, to tear him apart with every bit of knowledge he has. With every flaw he's picked apart over his time knowing him-- but that would do no good, and so he channels the heat of this argument elsewhere. Somewhere more productive.

Both hands cup Mattias' face as he pulls him into a kiss filled with emotion. Anger, desperation, loneliness-- it all surfaces from their own sources, and he uses it like this.]

[His mouth is open for a retort and instead catches Oren's lips. His eyes stretch open and a noise squeaks from the back of his throat and he knows he should resist. Push back. Knows this is just a distraction, something to get him to stop talking. But he can't help it.

He melts into it. For every emotion Oren shoves into the kiss, Mattias trades his own. Anger for love, desperation for longing, loneliness for heartbreak. Their own personal war. It's not how he imagined it but it's better than he could have wished, his hands reaching up to cup Oren's hands tentatively.

And, like Oren no doubt wants, it placates him. Makes the tension in his shoulders seep free, the anger in his brow slipping away. He leans into him and their chests bump, lighting a fire that heats his chest and cheeks. Hands move, sliding up his arms and wrapping round his neck as confidence slowly builds and one thing conquers all the conflict stirring about inside him.

He doesn't want this to end.]

[This is something he's far more comfortable with. Rather than arguing points being brought up that he can't understand how Mattias got a hold of in the first place, he can get lost in feeling just like this. As genuine as he was in kissing, he got it all back the same. It was a taste of each person he'd done it with. Something more telling than even their actions and shallow words. Ahl would be furious, and that spurs him on further.

He can feel Mattias melting at his touch, and so he lets it stretch out longer. Like he's trying to communicate through this alone-- and in a way, he is. With added warmth over his hands, he lets one travel back further, fingers curling just beneath his ear. Mattias' hands are gone just as quickly, around his neck now as they move closer still, and it's a whole new dance in this blank scenery.

When he's tasted enough confidence, he pulls back slowly, making sure to linger so their lips are almost still touching. He ends it with one last callback, a smile hinting at his lips.]

You're a quick study, after all.

[He breathes out a laugh, blushing like mad. Dragging his teeth across his bottom lip, he smiles, eyes closed. He can feel Oren's breath beating against his lips and it makes him want nothing more than to repeat it all again. Pull him into another kiss and never let go for fear of going back to how they were. He didn't want to go back to valleys and peaks of conversation. Let him have this plateau, this equal footing. Just for a moment longer.

It doesn't last.

Their argument comes back in a rush of emotions. He remembers his anger, his fury and it comes back calmer. Softer. His smile saddens, his eyes open.]

I'm tired of being fragile, Oren.

[In the end, that's what it came down to.]

[Oren lets his hands linger until finally Mattias is looking at him and he can drop them down to his sides more naturally. He pulls back only enough to give him the space to breath, and there's something more personal in his face as he looks away.]

Aren't we all?

[He's said too much, though, and he shakes his head, taking another step back and half turning. Not really a retreat so much as what looks to be a sheepish allowance of space. It's actually just him folding in on himself.]

Someone fragile couldn't know me. [He says that first, glancing back over to him after a few seconds of pause.] And those who are strong should know when to accept help.

[He remembers what it was like in Renacht. Remembers the sight, the smell of burning wood mixing with scorched corpses, smoke thick in the air. He remembers his eyes tearing, remembers running with Oren's hand clutching his own. Remembers when they stopped and the words that passed between them. The shock, the hurt that the dagger brought. None of it physical, none of it tangible. It would have been easier if it had been.

This man had damaged him. Ripped his heart out and now, what? He was offering to mend it? Sew it up with patches of sweet words and honeyed lies? The idea was more attractive than Mattias cared to admit.

He wonders if perhaps Felix was wrong. If maybe, somehow, the Atroma had messed with his personality. That maybe, just maybe, this offer to help was genuine. Free from the threads Oren usually wove, all curves and zigzags. Maybe, just maybe, this was an Oren who believed in straight lines.

With dreamlike consciousness, he sees his hands reach out and knows he's sealing himself. An omniscient experience, his fingers wrap around Oren's palm and can already feel himself sinking, a blood soaked future ahead. A repeat, just as everything else had been in this damn room.]

I accept. [His voice is faint.] I accept your help.

[Funny, how it goes hand-in-hand with his fate.]

Edited (CHANGE OF WORDING) 2015-04-09 00:31 (UTC)

[He feels a warmth at his palm, and he knows he's won. Fingers curl around it in response, and he turns quietly to face Mattias once more. To look in those eyes. All at once, holding his hand here feels like hope. A different sort of hope from the ones of younger days, the foolish dreaming and refusing to accept reality-- no. This was tangible, it was real, and he could do this for his father.]

And I, yours.

[They're both receiving help here, in the end. It's an ideal relationship, or at least his words paint it to be. He steps closer, granting Mattias one last chaste kiss to the lips, though it lingers a little longer before he pulls away.

He allows their hands to stay joined for as long as Mattias will.

He requests the next scenery change in a whisper, and they're at that quiet spot in Renacht. The one he'd listed as his last memory, where they'd danced and laughed and joked. And now they can enjoy that balcony again-- at least for now.]

You won't regret it, Mattias. I promise. [Smiling, he pulls back just enough, tugging him along by the hand.]

Now, shall we dance again?

[He would regret this. The thought makes his face split, smile cracking into a thousand pieces. He tries to pick them all up, stick them back together, reform his persistent smile but it fails more than succeeds and he's left wondering why, during the argument, he insisted he was strong. He was weak. Sacrificing the Nalani's hope for a foolish love story that, for all he knew, would destroy him.

There was no doubt. When he died, the demons of the sky would feast upon his body for all he had sinned.]

Of course. [His voice wavers. Smile still reforming, he follows with plodding feet.] How could I deny you?

[He'd be his puppet for as long as it kept him near.]

[How could he not notice a face cracking like that? His expression falling, and yet he hadn't done a thing to cause it. It doesn't bring any comfort in this way. Rather, it's concerning that Mattias has been so strange since his arrival.

He feels as if he's closer to the answer but not quite there. Did it have to do with the others he'd met here?

Raising his hand tenderly between them like a dance move of its own, he steps closer until he can kiss the corner of his mouth, and then all the way across it to the other corner.]

Then why, [He gives that last kiss, lingering there and pulling back slowly so their eyes stay locked.] Do you look so broken?

[Like a rising tide, his heart swells and crashes. The kiss—it's all he ever wanted. All he ever dreamed of, once. Sweet, touching, perhaps even a bit genuine. A kiss that would stain and live in memory.

He didn't want this, and yet Oren's hand feels so warm against his cheek. He leans into it, eyes locking on anything that wasn't the other man.]

I—[He tries to summon a lie but all the energy has left him. He feels empty. Drained. Powerless in his hold. The truth is on the tip of his tongue, dallying between tripping off and staying within. He wants to smile. Wants to slip back into the guise he's worked so hard to maintain. How pathetic, for him to crack this easily.

So he decides a different route. Not the same truth but a different one. One that might ring more true.]—I'm scared. Of getting attached.

[An answer like that only brings him back to those old memories he'd mentioned before. He channels his discomfort into worry, his frown becoming more apparent. Deeper.]

Scared?

[If the mood were better he'd joke about that, but he knows better. Instead, he's hooked on this himself, focused and trying to find the answer to this puzzle.]

Why?

I'm meant to die, Oren. [The words come out easier than he thought. Perhaps it's the person he's with, his knowledge of their world, of how it works. The lack of judgement there that leaves him somewhere close to comfortable. Oren understands and, in a way, he speaks for both of them.] That's what Hosts do. We sacrifice all we have to them. And... [His face sinks with guilt, gaze dropping.] ... Even if I've lost her, I'm still bound by oath to serve her. To find and die for her.

But you... this... [He sways, motioning weakly to what's around them.] ... here? It makes me want to sin. It makes me want to live. And I'm scared of what that desire will make me do.

Waystation Mingle Log!

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attack of the italics

it's like you used an italicanon

i hope you feel ashamed for that

not one bit tbh

you're garbage

wtf rude as heck

u kno it

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i'm done

rip me

no screw you i'm dying first