lucetilogs | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who:

whats_a_sneeze
What: Ain't no rest for the wicked
When: November 4th
Where: Some....where in the village
Summary: Mithos returns from the dead (nothing new here). Sayo finds him and offers her help - he couldn't hide forever. ...But what to do with him now?
Rating: No more than PG

[It’s déjà vu, waking up sprawled out on his side with his last recollection being one of dying. Even the white cotton New Feather pants are the same, and the underlying anger that rises up quickly once the sluggishness of suddenly coming to in very different circumstances than the ones left behind passes. Mithos pushes himself up with his hands. Gingerly, his fingers brush over a newly formed scar on his torso – one of several courtesy of Yuan. His expression darkens in the way that only his grudge can cause. The next time he sees that miserable traitor, he owes him. Big time.

He stands.

Or rather, he tries to, but the command gets lost somewhere on the way to his legs. One readily kicks out; the other refuses. He stares down at it, mind buzzing. He hits one hand across his thigh. Nothing. Not even the pins-and-needles tingle of shaking off numbness. He tries again, striking harder.

It might as well not even be attached to his body. This is where his expression turns to one of blanched panic. Another attempt at standing up, more frantic – the right leg begins going through the motions, but it’s useless without the other. His eyes dart around, trying to figure out where he is. His journal – where’s his journal? He can contact—

It’s sitting right where he left it, at the house. Up a creek without a paddle. He has to get out of here; he can’t stay out in the open where anyone could happen upon him like this. ...He still has three good limbs, and he’s nothing if not persistent. If he can support his weight on his one functioning knee, and drag himself with his arms...]

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[--Except he doesn't make it very far at all before he accidentally puts too much weight on his left leg and it crumples beneath him. Falling, flailing, reaching for something to stabilize himself on...]

[She's already moving in, and he doesn't have a chance to crumple before she reaches out and holds him up, almost into a hug—not her intention for something like that, but all she can really think is to keep him from falling face-first into the ground. Regardless, she has an arm around him, holding him carefully, very carefully.]

... [O-oh—she draws back when he gets that leverage again, her hand still on his back until she finally lifts it hesitantly away. And she nervously looks down.]

I'm sorry.

I thought you might—I didn't want you to hurt yourself, I mean...

[His body tenses as she holds him, definitely not missing out on the very protective, almost...maternal vibes of the gesture. It takes a moment for him to begin recollecting himself.]

[Upright again, and he has to look away. The trees on the side of the road are very interesting right now. If he has that much trouble taking just a few steps....]

I... [terse, hesitant, trying to pull a coherent thought from his racing mind]

I've gone and made things awkward, haven't I? [She smiles a bit.] Has it been long since you ate? I know my cooking isn't much, a-and I might have forgotten some dishes, but I'd be very glad if I could make you something...

I just relearned how to make dango again, and I thought it was really tasty, so if you like those, I can make some....

[s-sob sheepishness is just all over the place]

[...give in. There's a long pause, and still his gaze focuses elsewhere. How long has it been since he'd last eaten? He has no idea for how long he was dead... He can't even recall eating the day he'd been killed. Taking proper care of himself had lost priority after his sister's departure, falling to the wayside as grief pushed violently past it to the fore of his existence.

Brusquely, he nods once. The gesture is so minute, it could easily be missed if one isn't looking too carefully.]

[She's relieved that he's not pushing away anymore, that he actually has some sort of willingness to her offers. There's a small, glad smile as she turns toward the direction of the apartments, her hand still hovering, always hovering at his shoulder.]

It's not too far of a walk—if you want, I can stop by the item shop and find something much more suitable for you than an old stick. [Not that she knows what a wheelchair is, but still. Priorities. But she's leading the way cautiously, regardless.]

[And he follows alongside her. Slowly, eyes bent downward to carefully monitor his movements (a convenient excuse to not look at her too), but letting her lead him nonetheless. It...doesn't mean anything. It's what needs to be done for survival, nothing more...

Even he knows that's a lie, but lies are often easier to swallow. Small steps.]

...Alright. [A shirt would be great too. He can't help but wonder briefly if she still has the belongings he'd left behind in his rush to leave, that last time...]

[Don't even sweat it. She's already considering it, herself.]

I, uh... haven't moved any of your things from the room. I'm not sure what's left in there—I didn't want to disturb what wasn't mine... Are you cold? Should we get a jacket real quick while we're here?

[.....Oh. How can she be so...nonchalant about that? It feels like a taboo subject; they both know it's there, but that doesn't mean they have to talk about it. More maternal vibes, making his mind race against his heart.

His shivering answers that question sufficiently.] Yes. [striving for cold, detached. The fewer words, the better.]

Alright; let's get one! [The coldness, it is lost on her. She goes into the open door, toward the racks of clothes, pausing in front of the gloves and scarves set up in the front. But she's mainly interested in these scarves while she's ushering Mithos in steadily. :|]

Oh—what on earth are these for?

[he looks over to see what she's asking about. Almost out of reflex:] ...It keeps your neck warm.

[--Ah. He snaps his mouth shut and turns away again.]

...

[... She takes one of the gray ones and smiles.]

I understand! That makes a lot of sense, actually!

[And then she reaches over and THROTTLES YOU WITH THE SCARF--

... Okay, she just drapes it over around his head before turning back to the rack to get her one as well. She doesn't know it, but she already has five or six of these laying around the house. Sigh. But she's looking very content and rosy-cheeked, as she leafs through the many different jackets hanging up.]

Right, right—you like the color blue, don't you?

...I think you wear it a lot...

[lots of ellipses. ALL OF THE ELLIPSES.]

[...This is surreal. Like watching himself from outside his body. Far, far outside his body. Back to pokerfacing - cold, sharp, terse, anything to keep her at arm's length. He glances over the rack of coats.]

I don't care. [except she's right, he does.]

[The color blue it is. She reaches over, pulling out a regular blue hoodie—Sayo can't fathom how it's strange, for him to be in one. But oh well! She holds it up, nodding.]

This one, then?? It's pretty warm!

[She doesn't want to pull it over his head; she figures he'd want to put it on on his own accord, by himself. So she waits, hopeful, holding it up. You like it enough, right?]

[.....What the heck is that? Strange clothing from other worlds... Even though he said he didn't care, this is not a very impressed look.]

.... Ahm—

[OKAY, going back and getting a nice warm-looking long coat here. It's black and it has buttons! :D]

This one??

[Better. It has fastenings of some sort, at least. He nods curtly.]

[She smiles at that.]

Good! Ah--would you like to sit down and put it on yourself?

[She doesn't want to invade your personal space. Well, more than she already has, anyway. `_`]

[And he turns his glance to the side so he doesn't have to see her smile for longer than a few seconds. All of this is uncomfortable, but maybe not as uncomfortable as it should be...

There's a spare chair waiting nearby; he slowly makes his way over and awkwardly lowers himself onto it. It feels good to rest. But it's frustrating that something as minor as walking should wear him out so much. He starts putting the coat on, mindful of the wings - flashes of phantom pain surface in his mind, just briefly, recalling the instant they'd been torn out. Buttoning up, and done. But he'll stay sitting a moment more, not looking forward to having to struggle back to his feet.]

[She offers him a hand to help him stand. Regardless of his reluctance to accept any help from anyone in general, she'd already told herself she'd offer it when it was possible.]

Is it warm enough, Mithos-san?

[He lifts his hand to hit hers away, but ends up changing his mind at the last second and tentatively taking hold of it instead. Almost immediately, he regrets it - what's wrong with him? With her help, and relying on support from the makeshift walking stick, he rises to his feet. It's less of a struggle, not having to do it all by himself.

...That's a dangerous thought. Try to think of it any other way: it's not accepting help, it's manipulating resources.]

It's suitable. [Standing up, the hem reaches his knees, but the top is fitted. He'll need shoes too, but more importantly something to aid him in walking. His eyes scan the store.]

done

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