[Sylvain's response is just as casual, yet he can't help but think that this knowledge is better off being buried. He'd only shared the existence of this event with his professor, and even then it was only in the vaguest terms... he never imagined Hubert would be the one to see it in all it's visceral detail first.
First - because with the way this place works, with the way bonds work, he's certain someone else will see it sooner or later. He's... not sure how to feel about that.
Not that he has the chance to consider it as the two figures finally make it to them. Miklan might look vastly different from how he'd last appeared, but there was still that same look in his eyes, still that soul-deep hatred for the world that had wronged him, focused entirely on Sylvain. Sylvain himself looks young - barely ten, if that - but there's a sort of resignation about the way he fights, like he knows that no matter how hard he tries to pry Miklan's hand from his arm, it won't do any good.
"Okay, you can stop now... I'm sorry..."
Sylvain clearly isn't dressed for the weather. He's barefoot, wearing short sleeves that reveal a bruise already darkening on his arm from the tight grip Miklan has on him. He has a black eye, but it's noticeably healing, already several days old, and a still-bleeding nose.
"If you really mean that, then you won't come back, this time."
And that's... it. With a yank and a shove, Sylvain is tipped over the edge of the well, plunged into its dark depths. Sylvain - the older, the one standing by Hubert - presses a hand to his eyes, if only to remain standing. He remembers that fall, and being entrenched in the memory, can feel the vertigo from the drop again. Whether that's psychosomatic or not... well, he's sure to find out, if Hubert feels it, too.
There's a short, terrified scream and then a splash, and then... nothing, for what surely feels like much too long - only twenty seconds, more or less, but still too long, considering the circumstances - before there's more flailing splashes, coughing, the sound of desperate scratching on stone, as he tries to hold his head up above the water while he catches his breath after breathing in from the shock of the icy cold enveloping his body.
And Miklan has already turned to leave, clearly not intending to fish him out.]
no subject
[Sylvain's response is just as casual, yet he can't help but think that this knowledge is better off being buried. He'd only shared the existence of this event with his professor, and even then it was only in the vaguest terms... he never imagined Hubert would be the one to see it in all it's visceral detail first.
First - because with the way this place works, with the way bonds work, he's certain someone else will see it sooner or later. He's... not sure how to feel about that.
Not that he has the chance to consider it as the two figures finally make it to them. Miklan might look vastly different from how he'd last appeared, but there was still that same look in his eyes, still that soul-deep hatred for the world that had wronged him, focused entirely on Sylvain. Sylvain himself looks young - barely ten, if that - but there's a sort of resignation about the way he fights, like he knows that no matter how hard he tries to pry Miklan's hand from his arm, it won't do any good.
"Okay, you can stop now... I'm sorry..."
Sylvain clearly isn't dressed for the weather. He's barefoot, wearing short sleeves that reveal a bruise already darkening on his arm from the tight grip Miklan has on him. He has a black eye, but it's noticeably healing, already several days old, and a still-bleeding nose.
"If you really mean that, then you won't come back, this time."
And that's... it. With a yank and a shove, Sylvain is tipped over the edge of the well, plunged into its dark depths. Sylvain - the older, the one standing by Hubert - presses a hand to his eyes, if only to remain standing. He remembers that fall, and being entrenched in the memory, can feel the vertigo from the drop again. Whether that's psychosomatic or not... well, he's sure to find out, if Hubert feels it, too.
There's a short, terrified scream and then a splash, and then... nothing, for what surely feels like much too long - only twenty seconds, more or less, but still too long, considering the circumstances - before there's more flailing splashes, coughing, the sound of desperate scratching on stone, as he tries to hold his head up above the water while he catches his breath after breathing in from the shock of the icy cold enveloping his body.
And Miklan has already turned to leave, clearly not intending to fish him out.]