[CLOSED] everything our passion led us to soon shall fall

[faithlikeaseed]

Who: Hector, Myr, and Special Guest Adelheid (...and Viren, Everett, and Silas)
When: 5/12-ish, evening
Where: A decrepit garden in the Outer City.
What: A Literal Murder
Warnings: In Which A Couple of Fauns Kill An Angry Revenant; death and egregious injury ahoy.

There's an abandoned park across the Bright Wall from the Haven, stitched into the Outer City's edge like a decaying jewel. It was lovely, once; now it is overgrown with weeds and brush, a haunt of ferals and the destitute. It's here Myr called Hector as soon as he could once his watch was returned to him; it's from here, in his fury-addled way, the deer plans to bait Adelheid to them and kill her.

He's--somehow--found a bench half-consumed by greenery amongst all the decay and cleared away enough of the weeds to lay out his kit in orderly fashion: Folded bits of paper with bound spells for paralysis and silence, each a different shape. His watch. His knife.

Two temporary Bonding potions.

There's a twitching, furious energy beneath Myr's skin, in his sharp economy of motion as he mounts the blade on his staff. He's failed twice this month already to protect his Bonded, and with one of them lying mutilated and despairing in hospital already, his patience with the world at large has grown a little fucking thin. Exacting the revenge he couldn't on Niles by beating the Incarnate to bone shards and rose dust would go a long way to restoring it.

Comments

[petcromancer]

[It's the smell of Everett's ridiculous marinade cologne that finally breaks Hector out of the spiral of panic. The scent overwhelms the lingering smoke that clings to Hector, and the association is so strongly of Everett and safety that even the animal terror is quieted.

He goes boneless into the couch, exhausted and aching.]

...we destroyed her. She's gone now.

[It's important that Everett know that. That no matter what else came of it, they succeeded in their mission.]

[rollfordiplomacy]

You two- [Everett's voice is harsh and angry and he cuts it off right there]

No. Nope! Scolding later... just breath steady and slow, Hector. [The puncture looks deep, there's a lot of blood still pooling from it, it even with the pressed down blanket. Everett getting more nervous by the moment. No reason to make Hector more terrified than he must already be. He looks over his shoulder to Silas tending to Myr, the glow of magic at his hands, healing over severe burns. His poor loves... and all because of him. The guilt he feels is palpable, dreadful, and heavy in the air]

Same for you, Myr, darling.

[petcromancer]

[Hector hasn't seen Everett get truly angry before. For as long as Hector's known him, Everett has had the vices of a sinner and the patience of a saint.

He looks away from Everett, down at the bloodied blanket. The wound isn't so concerning. He doesn't think Adelheid punctured any organs. A body can take worse abuse than that and survive.

Far worse is the prospect of losing Everett's love. Hector's exhausted his fear at this point, and he's left with just a cold resignation.]

...it's fine... [He puts a hand over one of Everett's. His skin is still too-warm from the fire and smudged with soot and blood.]

[rollfordiplomacy]

[Everett pushes his other hand over Hector's when it reaches to his, pressing all three down with an even pressure to the wound. He can't tell if the beating he feels is his own pulse of Hector's, but it's heavy and visceral, Everett feeling hyper aware of it.

So fixated on it that he jumps when Silas has suddenly yelled at Myr. "You will sit down!" so loud and enraged it's all that fills the room, practically leaves Everett's ears to ring with it. He'd never think Silas could be so angered, but there it is, starkly so.]

Silas-! [What is he even supposed to say to that? Calm down? No, no... the last thing he needs is to spark more anger or dredge up memories of Vaughan demanding Silas contain himself.] Please, there's not time for bickering!

[it's enough, if not the words, than the pleaded tone. Silas moves to them and Everett moves to one side, taking his hands away from the wound with Hector's still held between. Silas moves the blanket away from the only partially clotted wound to begin healing the deepest part]

[petcromancer]

[Everett's pissed, Silas is pissed, and the flickering light of Myr's bond has gone dark. Hector shivers, shrinking back further into the couch cushions as Silas comes closer to him.

The shouting is just proof that everything is about to go to shit. At least Everett isn't likely to attack him, the way an angry vampire would. Silas, Hector is less sure of. He's in no state to try to oppose the boar, though.

Hector's hand tightens on Everett's as Silas gets close enough to heal him. This tense moment of forced silence must be what qualifies as the calm before the storm.]

[cuteganon]

[Myr obeys and Silas is placated, moving to Hector's wound in silence. Well trained in surgery and far more gruesome healing methods than the magic of Aefenglom, the druid lacks for any sensitivity to the gore literally at hand.

He sighs at what he discovers. One more complication.]

She poison tipped her antler. It's obstructing my healing and your blood clotting. [So. What to do now. He looks wearily to Everett and then to the wilted Myr. Given the gardens at hand, perhaps they have knowledge of a cure. Silas could handle this if he only had his detoxifying magic, but that is not available to him here and now]

Have we any knowledge of a cure? Any plants or potions on hand?

[petcromancer]

...of fucking course... [Hector grumbles. Adelheid had known she was coming for him, so why wouldn't she toss some poison into the mix? It's not like an undead creature like her would be affected by it.

It's a good think Hector was able to keep her from goring Myr too.

He doesn't have any ideas for a cure. He knows little about poisons, and even less about how to find an antidote for an unknown poison. He'll have to drag himself to the Coven healers.]

[rollfordiplomacy]

I have all manner of plants on hands, but... I am not aware of any w, with anti toxin properties. [Silas hums at that, thinking of what he knows, but coming up short. In Myddvai, he could absorb any manner of toxin from another and process it himself, so learning cures for such a thing was unnecessary. Not to mention, this felt like something specific to this place. Something Adelheid must have discovered and prepared on her own. Silas can't know what it is.

"Do you have opium?"]

Yes! Yes, that I do have. ["Grab some for him. I can focus less on relieving his pain. More on blocking further blood loss..." Everett squeezes Hector's hands just a moment before rushing off to gather just that.]

[petcromancer]

[The experience of being a patient is not one Hector relishes. Everett and Silas have a conversation over him, and soon, Everett is administering a dose of opium.

Hector is well-acquainted with alcohol, but drugs, he has no tolerance built up. When it starts to hit his system, the pain fades. Focus becomes slippery, and Hector reaches up and tangles his fingers in Everett's shirt. The threat of poison is far away and hazy. Much more concerning is Everett's anger at him.]

...don't wanna go. Let me stay here...

[He looks up with pleading, dilated eyes.]

[rollfordiplomacy]

[Everett is careful with the dose, knowing it's heavy stuff. Addictive, too, and he'd never forgive himself if Hector grew a need for such a thing. It's handy in these limited uses, to push away harsh pains until they can be fully handled.

He stays near, watching Silas until Hector pulls him closer by his tunic. Which he follows after, ducking in close, down onto his knees beside the couch if necessary. Hector's muttered words set his heart to ache]

Hector, you're going to be okay. Stay with me, keep talking to me, okay? I won't let you slip away. I vow it, I promise.

[petcromancer]

You won't send me away?

[There's a dragon in the room and Hector doesn't even register it. The world has gone fuzzy and the only thing that's really important is Everett, and living with Everett in this cottage.

He looks up at Everett in awe, quiet until he remembers. 'Keep talking to me,' Everett said. Hector's on thin fucking ice, so now's not the time to disobey.]

Don't wanna go back t' th'apartments. I like it here. With you.

[rollfordiplomacy]

[Oh... Everett's breath hitches at that, caught in his throat. Hector's here and he's hurt, desperately hurt, and it's not death he's worried for... but being separated. He holds the air in his lungs until they burn, finally ducking his head to take something in. It's a short, contained sob, before he looks back to Hector.

This time, with a smile soft as he can manage with tears rolling down his face.]

Anywhere you go, my dear- my precious Hector, I will follow you. Eager a, as a puppy dog!

[He'll fake the humor and the calm as much as he needs. Anything to comfort Hector. His voice is clear and every word is earnest, even if the control is a facade]

That'll be where we call home. Wherever we are together. It doesn't matter where that is, if it's with you.

["Home will need be a Coven Hospital soon. We need to move him if there is no cure at hand." Silas is not precisely tactful in his timing, but Everett gasps out a forced laugh at that all the same. Some part relief of contained panic, but it needs to happen if it will save Hector, Everett will do what it takes]

[petcromancer]

[It's getting harder to breath. The drugs, or the poison, or the glistening of tears in Everett's eyes?

Hector lets go of Everett's shirt, but his hand sinks back down onto the couch instead of reaching up to cup Everett's cheek like he'd intended. Huh. Odd.]

...you're not the dog... [There's certainly one of them that's like a puppy at the others' heels, but it's not Everett. Silly man.]

...glad...you're not mad... [His voice comes out so weak and hopeful. In matters of emotions, Hector's strangely childlike.

Silas says something from far away, and Hector ignores it. The couch is comfy and his body feels simultaneously heavy and weightless without the pain from his injuries. He'll just stay here, with Everett, and everything will be fine.]

[bloodwit]

[ having been needlessly engrossed in his own confrontation, viren's caught the tail end of this conversation; it certainly reads like a serious affair - and considering he's overheard the discovery of the other faun's poisoning, that would lend credibility to it. nearer to everett, viren props his forelegs up on an empty arm of the couch, claws digging into its cushioning. ]

[ his tail wishes to-and-fro behind him, a tell to his impatience (anxiety). ]

Am I interrupting something??

[ —and thus, he's noisy in that. upset, but there's an undercurrent of excitement to his demeanor. ]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr's not all that far behind Viren in joining the rest of the group--though he keeps to the edge of it, and keeps his mouth shut, resigned for now to hovering like a sad little cloud and listening to the proceedings.]

[rollfordiplomacy]

[Everett kisses Hector's hand in his before lifting his gaze to Viren. Somewhat teary, but he's resolved, not panicked. He knows they need to do something, can't just leave Hector in this state. A look that answers Viren's inquiry with "he's dying" in it's seriousness. He won't say as much, it doesn't need to be put into words, it's too obvious.]

We need to cure him or get him to the Coven. Immediately.

[bloodwit]

[ viren's eye glimmer, claws pricking into the couch's cushion. he leans forward as he can in this form. he's alert, even weighed with the heavy emotions transpiring through their bond, his muscles are taut with excitement. ]

The [ INSERT INCREDIBLY OVERBLOWN, SCIENTIFIC NAME HERE. ]! That flower shared between you two, the one you spoke at length about.

[ if the situation were less dire, perhaps he'd like to harrowingly drag this announcement to its conclusion, build upon the tension. but he further amends his more bristling, introductory question, ]

It can work as an antidote; when activated with a Witch's blood, should someone then ingest it, it would "reverse" the effects of any poisoning—!

[rollfordiplomacy]

[It takes Everett just a moment to catch up on what Viren is referring to- His gaze swivels around the room until he sees it, glowing upon the counter of his kitchen. Thank whatever heave here might be, for that not being in his bedroom when Adelheid toasted it-]

It's just there! But I don't have any Witch's blood on hand- [he used it all on silly, frivolous acts and whoops- Luckily, Silas is with them. He chimes in.

"My hands are busy. Cut the end of my tail. It should bleed." He sounds mildly unsure, if only because he hadn't bled since becoming a druid. As a witch, it's different, he doesn't passively heal over the moment he's harmed. "Do not argue with me. Simply do it." Everett can't say much beyond that. He looks to Clementine]

Fetch a sharp knife and a cup, little one! [Viren can get the flower and bring that over, the rats will take care of the other items. Everett addresses Myr, after, not able to leave Hector's side, he can't bare it,]

Darling, you'll have saved him yet. [though he's sorry to tear up that lovely flower, gifted to him, but he'd give up any possession if it meant saving a life. Such things can be replaced, Hector cannot.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Better he hadn't needed saving in the first place, Myr thinks, but doesn't say; the self-recrimination's fleeting, though, swallowed up in sheer relief that everything they needed--the orchid, the Witch, Viren's instant recognition of the circumstance--was in this little room. (Wasn't that the way the Maker's answers always came?)

Even if it does require blood magic... That's a discomfort Myr pushes aside, for it is so small in the face of Everett's pain and the slow inexorable way he feels Hector slipping away from their collective grasp. That near-death is a softer and more peaceful thing than he'd imagined it to be does nothing to endear it to him; only his iron confidence that Viren knows what he's about and Silas has this well in-hand keeps Myr from panicking that one of his Bonded, however temporary, is dying.

He feels his way forward to find the couch with a hand, trailing fingers to the back of it to guide him as he limps around to stand behind the other two fauns. Whatever he'd hold against himself now is quietly, neatly folded away as he rests a hand on Hector and a hand on Everett. His presence is back in their Bonds--there is fear in it, for who would not be afraid to lose someone dear to him; and there is sorrow; but mostly there is quiet and steadfast reassurance. Whatever comes of this...]

It seems so. Courage, dearheart. [Hector might be past hearing them, now; hopefully he's not past feeling as Myr squeezes his shoulder.]

[bloodwit]

[ viren's quick on the draw, using his tail to nab the glowing flower from the counter. it's pretty. he marches back on over to the conscious trio, delicately dropping the flower into silas' lap with a flick of his tail.

perhaps in contrast to other emotions felt through the web of bonds within the crowded room, viren's at sharp attention, his focus turned toward the knife that should reappear. he doesn't need to look at myr to know the unease he should be showing, emanating — hopes the exposure, morbidly, to be a good thing. should anyone else shy away from cutting the witch's tail, by all means, viren should serve as a ready volunteer. ]

[rollfordiplomacy]

[Silas' hands are occupied, so Everett will grab the flower up quickly. He sets it into a teacup brought over by Clementine and is given then required knife by a few other rats (rather intimidatingly) brandishing it. Everett takes as much carefully and, albeit somewhat awkward, reaches for Silas' tail which slung back behind him. A long boar's tail, of mossy green fur, with a white water lily at the end rather than a tuft of hair.

No time to consider the oddity of that. Everett takes the knife and winces to draw a cut through fur and skin. Silas' jumps just slightly, a piggish squeal through grit teeth, but forces himself from rushing off or taking his hands away from Hector. "I am... okay. Sorry. Haven't bled in a long while..." a snort, Everett apologizing under his breathe, though it's distracted with dripping the witch's blood into the teacup to a sufficient amount. He looks to Viren for direction. Hector is... pretty weak and loopy at this point,]

Need he chew and swallow it? Or can it be ground into the liquid-?

[bloodwit]

[ the knife cuts, and viren's like a cat overhearing a can opener at work. not quite as vocal with any meows, though. his body language is still tense with the stress of the situation. his head tips at the question, coupled with a minute narrowing of dark eyes, reflecting on how to best handle the answer.

with surety, ]

Grind it into the blood.

[rollfordiplomacy]

Into the blood... [Everett repeats, stealing himself for the task as Clementine fetches him a pestle from nearby. It was beautifully grim, wasn't it? Crushing a flower given to him my Myr into Silas' blood. Sacrifices both had given without the slightest hesitation, knowing it would save Hector's life. He mixes the two into a soon glowing red potion, scented heavily of iron. Moving carefully to Hector with it in hand, he moves to prop him up enough to drink.

He speaks as clearly as he can, hoping the young man is still lucid enough to swallow the drink down without retching]

Hector, my dear, drink this down swiftly. All of it, it shall cure the poison.

[petcromancer]

[Hector's been in a fog, slipping in and out of awareness. His wound hurts, but with the drugs, he feels removed from the pain. The bond with Myr is... a little less of the dark, inky thing it was before, but he's too muddled to puzzle through the various emotions there.

Everett's voice above him calls him back to himself. His eyes open into slits, his dilated pupils over-sensitive to the light in the room.]

Hmmm? [He only registers part of what Everett is saying, and his tongue feels too heavy to reply that he isn't thirsty, just tired.

In the end, it's easier to just do what Everett tells him to do. He likes following Everett's orders. They always end up being pleasant in the end. So he parts his lips so Everett can lift the cup to his mouth.]

[rollfordiplomacy]

Don't spill any. Good boy, Hector, that's all you need. [Everett gives his quiet praise and direction as he tilts the cup to Hector's lips. He's careful to not overwhelm or pour so slowly the taste catches up and makes him pull away. Bitter iron, but nothing too disgusting to stomach. When it's finished off, he can set the cup aside and brush his gloved fingers over Hector's lips]

You're going to be alright. Now. Just relax. [or so Everett hopes. It's not going to work instantly, but if it didn't help, Silas would know soon.]