Mithos Yggdrasill (
imatreenow) wrote in
lucetilogs2012-06-16 09:18 am
taste the blood as feathers fly
Who: Mithos, Sheena, Freyjadour, Sayo, Raine
What: Confessions of a quadmillennial drama queen
When: Saturday the 16th, morning
Where: Somewhere in the village
Summary: Martel is gone and Mithos takes it about as well as usual. Misplaced rage very nearly solves everything (except not really), until someone has to show up and ruin it all. Then other stuff happens.
Rating: T for tantrum
[Cycles, patterns, unrelenting repetition - it becomes a way of life after so many stretched-out years, and especially in somewhere like Luceti, somewhere shaped and re-shaped by comings and goings yet somehow always the same. Over and over again. Mithos climbs the stairs, like he does every morning, to pay pilgrimmage to Martel's room and make sure that even if she remains in the custody of the Malnosso, she at least hasn't returned 'home'. Insanity - doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, like maybe this time his sister would stay by his side and he could be where he belongs. When he pushes the door open, he expects to see the same clothes sitting neatly on the chair, folded by patient hands months ago, waiting to be put away by their owner. The panpipes should be on the bedside table, perched precisely where he sets them down every day when he's done playing. The sheets and blankets should be rumpled just so, just as they were the day she was taken, her scent no longer lingering between the threads, neutralized by his own.
He takes a breath and his eyes sweep the space. The bed is right. The panpipes are right. The clothes are gone.
Gone. One word, one sharp syllable lodged into his chest, his ribcage constricting around it and pushing the tips of bone into the raw yielding tissue of his heart - he swears he can feel it puncture. The only sounds he can hear are the ones in his head, gutted memories, hollow voices, the same bad dream returning with a vengeance. His feet carry him to the wardrobe. Pull a drawer open. Empty. He backs away as though singed, sinking to the bed. He crumbles as soon as his body touches the blankets that don't smell of his sister anymore. His legs fold underneath him; his spine curls him into a ball; his fingers shape trembling fists. Tears, at first startled by the suddenness of loss, finally come spilling out.
Time keeps going around him. His swollen tearducts run dry and his body is still, but it's isn't alright. It isn't enough. Crimes should be met with punishment, and it is a crime of the highest order that his sister should be denied reprieve from her imminent death in a world that wanted neither of them. It is a crime of an even higher order that she should be pried from him, that he should be separated from her. But there is nobody on the other end of this crime. Nobody to blame. Nobody to wrest revenge from. Nothing he can do about it.
He refuses to accept that answer. He pushes himself up from the blankets. He stands, and he walks back down the stairs, and he takes up a sword. Out the door. Up the road. No destination in mind - let fate choose his target, and let it choose wisely.]
What: Confessions of a quadmillennial drama queen
When: Saturday the 16th, morning
Where: Somewhere in the village
Summary: Martel is gone and Mithos takes it about as well as usual. Misplaced rage very nearly solves everything (except not really), until someone has to show up and ruin it all. Then other stuff happens.
Rating: T for tantrum
[Cycles, patterns, unrelenting repetition - it becomes a way of life after so many stretched-out years, and especially in somewhere like Luceti, somewhere shaped and re-shaped by comings and goings yet somehow always the same. Over and over again. Mithos climbs the stairs, like he does every morning, to pay pilgrimmage to Martel's room and make sure that even if she remains in the custody of the Malnosso, she at least hasn't returned 'home'. Insanity - doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, like maybe this time his sister would stay by his side and he could be where he belongs. When he pushes the door open, he expects to see the same clothes sitting neatly on the chair, folded by patient hands months ago, waiting to be put away by their owner. The panpipes should be on the bedside table, perched precisely where he sets them down every day when he's done playing. The sheets and blankets should be rumpled just so, just as they were the day she was taken, her scent no longer lingering between the threads, neutralized by his own.
He takes a breath and his eyes sweep the space. The bed is right. The panpipes are right. The clothes are gone.
Gone. One word, one sharp syllable lodged into his chest, his ribcage constricting around it and pushing the tips of bone into the raw yielding tissue of his heart - he swears he can feel it puncture. The only sounds he can hear are the ones in his head, gutted memories, hollow voices, the same bad dream returning with a vengeance. His feet carry him to the wardrobe. Pull a drawer open. Empty. He backs away as though singed, sinking to the bed. He crumbles as soon as his body touches the blankets that don't smell of his sister anymore. His legs fold underneath him; his spine curls him into a ball; his fingers shape trembling fists. Tears, at first startled by the suddenness of loss, finally come spilling out.
Time keeps going around him. His swollen tearducts run dry and his body is still, but it's isn't alright. It isn't enough. Crimes should be met with punishment, and it is a crime of the highest order that his sister should be denied reprieve from her imminent death in a world that wanted neither of them. It is a crime of an even higher order that she should be pried from him, that he should be separated from her. But there is nobody on the other end of this crime. Nobody to blame. Nobody to wrest revenge from. Nothing he can do about it.
He refuses to accept that answer. He pushes himself up from the blankets. He stands, and he walks back down the stairs, and he takes up a sword. Out the door. Up the road. No destination in mind - let fate choose his target, and let it choose wisely.]
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Hearing the voices, she continues down the path, toward where she senses a certain presence. And there it is, laid out in front of her: Mithos, holding a sword, eyes wide and dangerous. Sayo, near him, being comforting. Frey on the defensive, likely confused - and then there was Sheena on the ground and in the dirt. Not a situation one walks lightly into, even after a very brief warning. She'd have to get to Sheena quickly, but any sudden movements could result in more injuries.
She keeps herself out of Mithos's line of sight, trying to catch the attention of Sayo or Frey with a pointed, direct look.]
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While Sayo seemed to be defusing the situation, they could not be too careful. He was ready to knock Mithos unconscious if he showed any sign of renewing aggression, especially since Sayo did not seem capable of defending herself, but he could not keep an eye on the situation and take care of Sheena's worsening injuries at the same time. Casting, right now, wasn't optional for Frey. It might even enrage Mithos again, bring him out of whatever calm Sayo had brought him, if Frey tried.
It seemed the best course of action might be to divide and conquer, without relighting the fuse that was Mithos' chaotic emotions.]
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[She knows that they're moving behind her--Raine was here at last, and Sheena would get the help she needs. But she's still focusing her attention on Mithos, because she knows that's where she can help most of all. For both sides to this.]
No more fighting today... It's enough. I'll take you home where you can rest. I'll make us something good to eat. You can talk to me about anything you'd like there. You'll be safe there.
1/2
You'll be safe there.
You'll be alright.
His fingers snap shut around empty air, panicked by the absence of the sword's weight. The right words slip from his grasp. He looks at her, wanting to follow her and leave everything else behind but finding himself stuck. He turns his eyes to Frey, to the lowered weapon, still a clear warning, and...]
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Just in case.]
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Fine then. They'd do it this way. She'll even do him a favor, stepping into his line of sight.]
What is the meaning of this?
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He isn't sure how to explain, and he isn't quite sure he should be the one doing it, given he arrived near the end of the fight. But just to make sure there was less of a risk to the health of everyone involved, he'll be kicking that that sword out of reach while Mithos is distracted by Raine.]
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Raine--Sheena-san needs a healer.
[She looks back to Mithos.]
Mithos, it's okay. I won't let anything happen--you know Raine is just here to help. I know you're angry, but I need you to trust me.
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...I don't want to be here anymore. [Not with Frey, Sheena, Raine. He's done. He just wants to go back.]
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It wouldn't be the first time, especially with Mithos in a state like this.
Still, if there was a way to peacefully resolve this, they should look for that possible outcome. If Mithos were to leave with Sayo ... she would have to trust in Sayo. The problem was that Mithos wasn't one to be trusted.
She gives Sayo a sharp nod, and moves to stand by Sheena's side, attempting to keep eye contact with Frey. If she could at least indicate to him to keep something of an eye on that pair - at least to make sure nothing else went wrong - then she could focus on healing Sheena, and have time to come to an understanding of the full situation. From there the next step of handling this situation could be figured out.]
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It's useless to tell her now that she hadn't started it. The focus is on Mithos and getting him to stop it and that won't help with the goal.]
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As much as he would like to trust that he would not do anything..... He had given him a chance already, if only a little one. This attack proved that Mithos was still vastly unstable.]
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... Then let's go. We'll talk about everything at home. Is that okay? About everything that you need to talk about.
[There doesn't have to be anymore bloodshed today.
She won't allow it.]
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For now she'll help Sheena settle into a half sitting position, at least enough so that she can properly cast a few healing spells to seal up the bleeding wounds. Cleanup would come later, once they're able to hobble to the clinic.
For now, though, she'll begin her casting.]
Hang on. We can talk more about it soon.
Split off here?
They might be in the clear now, but he couldn't risk Mithos losing it again. He had proven, twice now, how emotionally unstable he could be. What if someone, somewhere along the way, set him off again?
He'll glance back at Raine, making a quick motion with his head- He needs to follow them, and he wants her to know that. He needs to make sure they both get there without incident.
Then he sets off after Mithos and Sayo.]
Sure thang!
... Talk to me, Mithos.
I know--it's... Martel's left Luceti, right?
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Martel is gone... I kept waiting for her to come back, and she never did.
[He doesn't need more bloodshed. What he needs more than anything right now is for someone to listen, and if Sayo is willing to bear that responsibility, he isn't going to hold back.] It isn't fair! She was taken away so quickly...we were supposed to make up for lost time here!
[His voice is becoming heavy and damp; the first hot tear loosens itself.] She shouldn't have to go back to that worthless world, where she'll only be killed again!
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Of course, hearing Mithos speak of his sister in such a manner struck closer to home then he would ever admit. 'She'll only be killed again!'......He chose to shove away any thought on that for now, though. He couldn't afford such thinking at the moment.]
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It's okay to feel miserable, knowing that much. It's okay to cry when we think about how cruel the world can be. I'm here to help you with all of that.
... Does it hurt? You arm...
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placeholder....ish, until I talk to Sapph. Feel free to continue.
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Also I am just going to say Frey's already cast a healing spell on his own wounds while waiting
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[None of her injuries are particularly terrible on their own; even together, she's stood through worse. It's blood loss getting to her.]
You can't just let him go with her like that...
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[She's not happy about the arrangement either. In this situation however, there was very little she could do about it.]
Frey is going with them.
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[Her intention to get up again doesn't even make it from thought to action. She just isn't moving. It's a safe bet she doesn't notice her head leaning against the nearest leanable thing either.]
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[But she may stop giving conversation soon, when her attention focuses to more important healing spells, making sure that all of Sheena's open wounds are sealed.]
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