driftfleet | Waystation Mingle Log!

[there, that's better. that's the Mattias he wants. his fingers wrap around the other man's in return, just as gentle.]

Then don't get lost in either of us, Nightjar.

[His gaze lowers, but his grip holds. That, at least, never wavers.]

Promise me you'll be careful around him.

[He's already lost one god. He doesn't want to lose another.]

Very careful. I promise.

[which is an odd thing to promise, since he's spent so much of his life feeling very differently about that kind of thing.]

[the moment is... somewhat derailed as he looks down at Mattias' arm, though. lifting his hand a little.]

And what is wrong with your arm?

[he's seen the burns, a little bit, over the course of his time here. apparently now is the moment he needs to ask about it?]

[WAY TO RUIN THE FUCKING MOMENT. Mattias looks at his arm as if it's nothing more than a papercut.]

Oh. This? I got it in the attack. It doesn't hurt.

[deal with it, bitch.]

Show me.

[He gives a belabored sigh but obeys, leaning back and taking his arm out of his sleeve. The rest of his tunic flops to the side.]

It's truly nothing to concern yourself over.

[It is, actually. His arm is peppered in red and white patches of raised tissue, starting from mid-forearm and continuing onto his upper arm. Blasé, he offers it to Robin.] It's nostalgic, really.

Of what, the attack? You can't be thinking fondly back to it already.

[he doesn't look horrified, at least. isn't yelling at him to get it checked out. he simply holds the injured arm out at the hand, and brings his other hand over the surface of the ruining skin.

more of that hot-cold, tingling feeling. this feels deeper than then he was fixing simple cuts. he has to start with the damaged tissue closest to the bone, and work out from there.]

[Watching Robin mend it nearly makes him want to injure himself more. It's fascinating. Beautiful to both watch and feel. He watches it intently, teeth scraping over his lip as the tingling continues. What a delight.]

It had it's moments. [He says it as if offended and then chuckles, shaking his head.] No, I speak of earlier. Before everything started I was quite heavily scarred. I think you'd surprised if you could have seen me then.

[His tone is conversational but distracted, his gaze showing where the true interest is.]

Really...

[he's a little distracted too, since burns are hard to fix... and this will keep him occupied for a while. but the comment brings up a lot of questions, concerns. other things he'd been wondering.]

Can I ask how that happened?

[He hesitates, wary of the concern, the judgement that might accompany the news. It's only the reminder of their past conversation that makes him reconsider. They'd have to know each other in order to go forward. If they could go forward.

He sighs, running his free hand through his hair.]

It was part of my training. All voluntary, mind you.

[Though most had to be encouraged.] It was fairly standard. [Ok. Well. He shrugs.] Well, no. That's not true. It was fairly exceptional but—there were others. Ten, maybe. The point is, I wasn't alone.

Like special forces training? Or some kind of ritual...?

[those are the only two things he can really equate it to. he feels better knowing it was voluntary, regardless of the context--though he glances up at him, barely a beat after his previous question.]

Is that why you don't feel your injuries?

[He offers a polite smile.]

So you've noticed? I suppose it's a rather obvious thing.

[He chuckles, gaze falling back to the healing skin.] Yes, that's why. It was more training though there were certainly ritualistic qualities.

[He smiles nervously, shifting in his seat and wetting his lips. Hesitating before reminiscing. Afraid of being judged. Being scolded, as if his decisions were wrong. But again, he reminds himself that this is what Robin wants. Equal understanding. Pieces of him. And this—this was a large piece.] There was one. An entry ritual, of sorts, though honestly it felt more like a contest. There's a pool. Deep in the basement of our tower. And it was full of boiling water. At all times. I don't know how hot it was. Over a hundred degrees, at least. [He's getting caught up on the details. With a quick shake of his head, he gets back on topic.] There was medical staff on hand. Behind us, standing with the older troops. We—the new ones—we'd stand in a line and watch as each one of us put our arms in the water. See how long we could last.

[Having gone into a daze as he spoke, he now laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.] I lasted seventeen minutes. Second longest! [He chuckles but it dies quickly.] Anyway, we'd end up with scars, of course. Burns, up to here—[he gestures to halfway above his elbow]—or so. It was a symbol of what we were. What we could do. It was a symbol of pride.

[He falls silent and there's the distinct feeling of words left unsaid. Then he's laughing again, leaning back as far as Robin's grip will let him.] So, nostalgic! You see?

Edited (shoulda proofread ) 2015-04-16 00:51 (UTC)

[he has little to fear. Robin's eyes go back to his work, and he seems to be thinking while he talks, listening to the details with all of the divided attention he can spare...

it isn't until Mattias mentions how long he'd been in the boiling water that Robin looks up, in surprise--and continues to listen, attentive.]

Seventeen minutes? [he looks amazed! laughing.] You're kidding! That must have been... [horrible? painful? he smiles wide.] The blisters must have been terrible, I can only imagine. Amazing...

[humans. weak, flawed, painfully easy to destroy, and yet... he looks back down, though he's paused in his work.]

I'm jealous. My body doesn't scar anymore.

[but he'll leave Mattias some, he decides. he'll heal the rest of his arm, but he'll try to keep some skin ruined and white, just for him.]

[It's better than he expected. The opposite of everything he expected. Acceptance where he presumed disapproval. Appreciation where he expected anger. It's a relief and he's left wondering what would happen if he told him about all of it. If he spilled every secret, would he catch them without judgement?]

Do you hurt?

[It's a soft, curious question asked with a downcast gaze. He's watching his arm, studying the skin that levels before his eyes and noting the spots that don't. The scarring that remains. And he knows what he's doing and he knows what it means and it melts his heart and rebuilds it a temple devoted purely to this moment, this touch, this man.

How he'd kill stars for the chance to kiss him. Run his fingers across his palm and trace his knuckles. And he's tempted to do it. Fully knows he could. It'd be simple and he can picture it clear as the sky. A simple reach forward, a gentle grip, his thumb running over ridges and lines.

Is he truly someone you can be with?

It's his fantasy and yet his hand is pulling back, their hands falling away. Wordlessly, he slips back into the present, the reality, and this time the spots of raised skin do nothing but make him ache.

Oren was right. He had made his choice.]

Can you feel the pain?

[he isn't privy to his thoughts, but he can feel the way his heart swells and falls, even if only abstractly--and worries, of course, because he doesn't know what it is in him that made things change.]

I have to. That's who I am.

[his work here is nearly done, but there's still a bit left, so... he tries to fill in the space with something else. a trade.]

Would you like to know how I learned this? How to heal this way?

[He wants to say no. There's another question on his mind that he wants the answer to, something permeating, moving like a fog through his mind. Instead, he cracks a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes and swallows tightly.]

Honestly? I'm tempted to force you to wait. Then at least I could use it to see you again. It took a lot of effort to blow up the ship just to make you come visit.

[His laughs weakly but it dies quickly, and his gaze melts into that tender sadness that's becoming far too normal.] But I can't say no to you. So if you'll tell me, I'll listen.

[he smiles too, though it doesn't quite manage to get to his eyes either.]

It's a long story. You should go first. You have something... [--bothering you, he can tell. something eating at him. if nothing else, it's an invitation to learn why it hurts so much to be with him, now; whether that's Robin's fault, or Oren's, or just... how things are.]

Me?

[It'd be so easy to tell him. To be rid of the burden of Oren, of Renacht, of his cause and his oncoming death. Of what he'd done. Of why he'd done it. To be rid of everything he hid from him and to stand open, exposed, before him.]

No. [He laughs breathlessly, shaking his head.] No, I've nothing. Please, [he gestures to him] continue.

[He wouldn't get it. He wouldn't understand. It'd only burden him. Turn himself into something fragile. Something to be protected. The easy way was never right. It never had been.]

[he sighs, softly. his smile gets a little wider, ducking his head a little.]

All right. But if you change your mind, I'm a great listener.

[kind of a joke at his expense--he'd just explained to Riku, a few weeks ago, that it was his job to listen to the problems of others. it was his purpose. hearing that would sometimes the guilt away from people, but it doesn't seem quite fitting here. ah.

so he starts on his story.]

The thing about creatures like me... Our souls live on forever, but our bodies are technically mortal. We're flesh and blood, we can be killed. My... brother, Crow...

[...is suddenly seems a silly thing to talk about, but honesty is honesty. they're sharing; he wants to give Mattias something in return for his speaking the truth about his scars and his training. that's why he'd thought of this explanation. it was going to come up someday anyway.]

...He's the one who killed the others, up at the ruins. He tried to kill my sisters, Finch, they-- [ah, he has to stop and gesture, briefly--] They had two heads, so they were they and not singular. Anyway.

[he returns to the rest of his work. his explanation might be just as disjointed and tangential as Mattias' was.]

He tried to kill Finch, but he didn't quite manage... They had time before their death to give me a gift, a blessing of eternal life. A chance to make things right again, for my family and for my world. Since my natural affinity for magic is through blood, that's where it settled. Now, my blood will heal any wound of mine, without so much as a scratch to show for it.

[which is... in itself, something that makes his heart sink. he longs for a scar, something to prove the passage of time. something that shows he can change, for once. still, that's not his point, and he latches onto the good thing with a breathy laugh.]

And I, actually... Am very bad at magic, compared to the others. It's embarrassing. I would never have figured out how to heal if Finch had not given me this gesture, since I was able to learn it by mimicking what it does to me...

[...done. he lifts his hand away, even though his grip lingers at Mattias' fingers, where he's been holding his arm up this whole time.]

...Ah, I thought I had more of a point to that, but. Maybe it's that good things come in strange packages?

[Mattias clings to that touch as long as Robin allows, his hand drifting to his lap when he's gone. Inquisitive, he rubs at the skin, marveling at the smoothness before chuckling.]

Perhaps it was in warning. Should I be wary when you use magic on me next?

[He glances up and catches sight of his hands again. It takes everything within him not to take them back. Shifting, he leans away from the temptation, threading his own fingers together and resting his elbows on the arm of the chair.] If you'll permit me, I think what you were trying to say—[He turns his arms out at the elbows. The barest shrug imaginable.]—is that we're both screw-ups. Just in opposite ways.

[He grins lopsidedly, folding his hands again.] Some would call that a good match.

[his absent smile turns into a grin, which bubbles over into a laughter--he is very permitted, and Robin's delighted with the suggestion.]

Well, I never hear it quite that way, but...

[a screw-up. it's so... true, but Mattias says it so easily. with a smile. maybe they're both surprised with how well they treat these things.]

I'll take it. [pressing his knuckles into the side of his own face, trying not to be too obviously charmed.] Anyway, I aught to go get that stuff I was talking about. I'll be back?

[There's a hint of mischief in his eyes as he turns his chair back to his console, flicking switches and starting up some sort of test on the newly fixed machine.]

And I'll be here.

[Waiting.]

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