lucetilogs | taste the blood as feathers fly

Entry tags:

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.]

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[...But even when she is here, something still holds him back from happiness. She disagreed. She disapproved. She was disappointed. She didn't understand.

What does he have to do? What can he do? Nothing but dig the hole deeper. Pull at the edges of the hole in his heart so that it opens up wider and wider and absorbs all the other holes pocking the surface. As notorious as he is for destroying others, he might be even better at destroying himself.

He wants more destruction. He wants both of them - so damned righteous and good - to be dragged down to where he is, even if it's only superficial. Without words, without any warning but a sharp exhale through gritted teeth, sword swiftly ready again, he launches toward his new target.]

Is that so wrong of me?

Edited 2012-06-23 03:56 (UTC)

[There is little warning to Mithos' attack- Frey isn't ready, but he does see the movement quick enough to jump back, but not quick enough to avoid the tip of the blade nicking his side as it slices through the air. It's shallow and bleeding sluggishly at least, and it wasn't his gut like the strike would have been if he had not moved.

There's no hesitation as he answers that strike with one of his own.]

You have every right to happiness in this world as anyone else does!

But you cannot take your sadness and loneliness out on others. You have to find a better way to deal with these emotions!

[Maybe-

Just shut up already.

- if you listened to people -

Sheena! Enough already, just stop trying.

- who wanted to help you instead of -

Hey!

- throwing your spells and swords at them...]

...Things'd be different.

[She's watching the fight continue in a vague, dazed way. Somewhere within her is the strength to get back up again and help if Frey starts to falter. She would have only one shot and it would have to be perfect. Knowing the odds of that, she hopes it does not come to that.

It's hard to keep focus.]

[He manages to dodge the brunt of that strike by leaping back, but it still catches him hard enough in the stomach to slow him down for a moment - double over and twist away in the same less-than-streamlined movement.] Don't tell me how I should feel!

[He's slowing down, he can feel it. The physical exertion is catching up to his body, and all the anger and sadness in the world isn't going to fuel him for too much longer. They are not viable substitutes for the stretched-thin food and sleep he's been scraping by on for months. His shoulder throbs with blood-loss; every struck point on his body aches, like widening cracks in a stone wall.

But he sees no option but to keep going. His assault doesn't let up, even as his movements lose precision. Again and again. He'll aim his sword at Frey until he can't anymore.]

Edited 2012-06-23 14:17 (UTC)

[He doesn't answer- He hadn't told Mithos at all how to feel, rather he had spoken of how he should be acting. That was the problem here. That Mithos did not know how to act, how to handle those emotions of his in a way that was nonviolent. He continues to block attacks, wincing as the blade slices into his arm somewhat deep, his grip faltering slightly but holding onto his weapon regardless. He was used to longer battles then this- he could hold out until he took him down.

He's falling back and to the side of one of those blows, sweeping out his leg in an attempt to throw Mithos off balance.]

[The line between feeling and acting is paper-thin to him. Put under enough pressure, it will tear in seconds. He keeps slashing at Frey, eyes frantic with fury to hide how lost he is.] You think you're so righteous, like you can do nothing wrong! You think you have an answer for everything, don't you?

[Then...]

[His eyes aren't fast enough - he catches that movement too late, and his legs are swept out from underneath him. He crashes down to the ground, landing hard on his shoulder blade and wing. The sharp jolt of pain near his injured shoulder draws a cry of pain, a cringe as he rolls to lie on his side.]

[When Mithos hits the ground, Freyjadour's weapon is there, making a pointed aim towards Mithos' face once more as Freyjadour glares down at him.

Any hint of violent action, this time, is definitely getting him knocked out. He isn't risking more of this.]

I said nothing of the sort- you are once again placing words in my mouth. But that does not matter. You will either stand down or I shall remove you forcefully, even unconscious if I must.

Mithos!!

[It probably comes at some surprise that Sayo could seemingly appear, but then, everyone's so focused on attacking and defending that it's really not so difficult when she runs as fast as her legs will carry her--the scene scares her, and even worse, it's something she considered could happen. She plants herself between Frey and Mithos while facing the latter, hands held out and extended fully, directed toward Mithos as a warning: she's coming closer to him and she's here to help.]

Mithos...

[Breathless, eyebrows furrowed in concern--and not just for Mithos, either. She hopes she can make him feel better, always. But Sheena's also a friend, and she's hurt. If she can calm Mithos down, Frey could take her to the clinic. Keep this from getting any more out of control.

Her eyes are only on Mithos. He needs that, right now. Crucially. They all need this right now.]

It only hurts to keep fighting your pain by yourself. Doesn't it?

[Another step forward.]

Please let me hold you.

[That gets her attention.]

S-Sayo! Don't do anything stupid! He'll hurt you!

[He had begun to push himself up from the ground, in spite of Frey's threats and the weapon staring him down, but then Sayo's voice cuts through. And suddenly she's there. Sitting up, refusing to let go of his sword to cradle his injured shoulder, he can only stare at her. Her stricken expression. Her open hands. Her words take a long moment to grasp, the warm texture still foreign in his tired fingers.

A part of him, somewhere in the turbulence, wonders why he's so surprised. Not long ago at all she had held him close, while he cried into her shoulder and let himself accept that she would be there for him. But on this morning it's hard to focus on anything but what is missing. What has been taken, what he needs, what is denied him again and again.

Stripped down to the lost boy he still is after all this time, he momentarily forgets Sheena and Freyjadour, but never the pain. He can think of only one thing to say.]

...What?

[He actually does take his eyes off Mithos when he hears Sayo, eyes wide, moving his weapon away from her but not lowering it. She shouldn't be here. He had to pull her away-]

Sayo!

[but that confusion on Mithos' face is enough to draw out that pause.

...What was this?]

It's alright... I trust him.

[She smiles, coming closer to Mithos, crouching down to his level with her arms still open. She imagines it must sound insane to the two, to hear that, but it's the truth. She trusts that he won't hurt her. Before he would have. Now? She just relaxes in front of him, reaching out to put a hand on his cheek.]

I'm here.

[He swallows a shuddering breath. Half of him just wants to collapse in her arms and have her shield him from everything, but half of him is still intent on running himself into the ground.]

I don't know what I'm supposed to do. [He can't stop - it never stops. Fight until he can't fight anymore. Fall farther and farther until he slams into the stone below.]

[He begins to pull himself up, slow, aching. His eyes dart to Frey, to Sheena. The intense desire to force his pain on others still grips him, but his sword remains dormant at his side, tip pointed toward the ground. It isn't accomplishing anything. He doesn't feel better.]

Tell me... [how to make it stop.] Tell me what I should do...!

['Tell me what I should do.'

That raw call for help has him lowering his weapon.

There was nothing fake about his emotions right now, and Frey thought he knew enough about the boy to know he wouldn't hurt Sayo if he truly needed her words as much as he seemed to.

he wanted her help.]

[She stands close to him, relaxed. Close enough that if he wanted, he could kill her. But she knows he won't. She knows nothing is like it was a year ago.]

You grieve and cry, and you hide and ask questions nobody is sure how to answer... You can look for something to cling onto, that way when you do all these things, you're never alone. But your sword can't talk to you, and everyone else's blood cannot comfort you with actions. Injuries and death won't hold your hand when you need it most.

[Her eyes line with tears--her heart is heavy for him. The situation is awful and it shouldn't be happening.]

There's no way to wash the pain away entirely--it sticks to you and never wants to let you go, doesn't it...? But there are ways to fight it.

Edited 2012-07-06 04:38 (UTC)

[She reaches forward and puts her hand over the one clutching the sword.]

Come home...

Please.

[How does she do it? She makes it sound...maybe not simple, but possible, when he stopped believing in so many possibilities a long time ago. Dangling from the end of a threadbare rope, more than once he's brushed against the damning realization that he might never find a way to undo everything that hurts.

Come home.

He's always thought that the only place he could call home is by his sister's side. He's beginning to wonder if it's okay to give that precious name to the spaces he shares with Sayo too. He can't answer that this morning, but labeling the feelings doesn't matter. The why or the what or the how. He just knows that his starved heart needs every word she can feed him.

His fingers begin to uncurl. The sword could be knocked from his grip with a light push.]

You'll...help me? [He still has to ask, even through all the times she's never wavered once.] You're going to stay by my side?

[Don't do it Sayo he'll just wind up with you on the same pedestal he put Martel on and when something happens to you he'll do this all over again.

He's got to learn.]

He's gotta learn. [It comes out slurred and quiet, and by now it's likely no one is listening to Sheena.] Ev'rybody has bad stuff happen. Not just you.

[Even with dimming vision she's staring very hard at Mithos. She's been thinking of tackling him again, now that his guard is down and he's not ready to attack with the sword. Even if Sayo and Frey and Mithos would all hate her for it. Hatred and Sheena are not strangers.

When she tries, she just ends up on her good hand and knees in the dirt instead. Damn. She's been bleeding more than she thought. Why does he get help when he attacked me out of nowhere?]

[Raine had been on her way to the flower shop, when a casual glance at her journal revealed a frantic note from Sayo. It had been a relatively peaceful morning, though the quiet was deceptive. Not many people seemed to be out, perhaps engrossed in routines or enjoying the break from the rest of the week.

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.]

Edited 2012-07-06 23:54 (UTC)

[Frey, while distracted, is able to see Raine in the distance, his eyes lighting with recognition when he spots her. There's a slow nod, and while he doesn't make any large movements, he does jerk his head slightly towards them, as if to say 'Come. Quickly.'

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.]

[She nods at Mithos before gently unclasping his fingers and taking the sword, dropping it at their side before she puts her hands on the boy's shoulders.] You already know the answer to that, Mithos. I'll help you as long as you want me to help you, always.

[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.

[He had stood still, listening, almost spellbound by the things he never thought he would believe.

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...]

[His skin prickles acutely as he becomes aware of a familiar presence pressing down on him. He twists around, shoulders attempting to break free from Sayo's hands.]

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Sorry for the late tag!

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