Don't Let the Dead Bite [Closed]

[hearthebell]

Who: L, Myr, Niles, and Henry
When: Backdated slightly to September 26
Where: The Outpost
What: Necromancy and finger reattachment
Warnings: Little bit of blood? Maybe some profanity.



[At first, it had sounded too good to believe. So much that L had initially dismissed it as a cruel and insulting lie fed to him through one too trusting and optimistic to see it for what it was. As evidence had mounted that it was, in fact, believable, L's scoffing derision had given way to disturbed silence, heavy with uneasy speculation.

You're telling me, seriously, that he gave them to a necromancer who has had them this whole time?

It would be a lie to say that he's not disgusted by the notion, more than he would be if animals had gnawed them down to sun-bleached bone. It would be an equal lie to claim that he doesn't want them back, and as elegantly as Hiccup's prosthetics have served him, he simply can't refuse the peace offering. It's conditional on Myr being there, of course, because he's not foolish enough to meet with Niles or his associate alone, even after the establishment of some kind of truce. There's also a chance that it's been too long and even his native flesh won't rejoin what's mended and scarred and callused over the months they've been separated. He anticipates pain, while being reluctant to kill it with something that would also dull his mind when he feels he needs all his wits about him.

Hope is no indicator of trust, after all, and every shred of trust he possesses rests with his Bonded. Their appearance at the Outpost is sudden, teleported to the agreed-upon location, and L is tense, prepared for an ambush, wondering if it was foolish to come even with a companion. The air around him carries a charge and the faint scent of ozone along with it, a hint that he will tear the nearest molecules with lightning if anyone present intends to make a fool of him.]

Comments

[faithlikeaseed]

[Throughout all this--Niles leading them further back into the house, L seeing something that leaves him sorely distressed, Henry's arrival--Myr has remained entirely silent. His expression's fixed but the set of his ears and fluffed-up state of his tail bear mute witness to the distress he shares with his Bonded. No point in vocalizing that, nor even letting it flow back across the Bond when L's already in such a state himself, so he's resigned to keeping his peace and letting Henry's chatter flow over him entirely unremarked...

Except. While under any other condition the banter between Niles and his Bonded Witch would be endearing--humanizing--it rakes across Myr's nerves now. He opens his mouth, reconsiders, and bites his tongue for a solid ten seconds until he has something useful to say.]

If you could find that stool, serah Niles, [he manages at length, crisp and dispassionate; too bad the Chimera's already walked away from them and plunked himself down on something,] I'd like to stay at my Bonded's side.

[If the price of L remaining lucid for this is Myr also being at risk of weak-kneed collapse, well. Better to prepare for it.]

[cyclopticsadist]

[His job here is to keep his eye on Henry, and to keep his own nerves at L regaining his powers from seeping across. The best position for that was oblique and removed from the thing itself, but Myr's function was obviously quite different. This wasn't participants and bystanders. He frowns and sternly reminds himself that this is all about mending bridges. He'd already done more damage to Myr than he meant, he's not about to add more for the sake of petty posturing. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.]

Right, right, sorry.

[He doesn't dawdle, and does in fact bring back two chairs. Along with a book from a table that's back there too. He definitely won't be doing much reading tonight, but he has to have something to at least pretend to do with his hands, or he'll end up picking at his scars or his nails. He retreats but lingers at the edge of the room, not actually offering any more assistance, but not willing to commit to sitting down until he's sure no one is going to ask.]

[morbide]

[Heny makes a petulant sort of "Heeeeey," at this insult to his incredibly average height, thank you very much! Not everyone's like, a six-foot GIANT, Niles.

But the next interaction has the sorcerer humming. It's difficult to tell where he looks in a room, but his gaze flits from Niles, to Myr; to Niles, then Myr once more, looking for something he can't see, apparently. His smile is statuesque.

But with more chairs conveniently provided (and even one for him, despite his perfectly average height), Henry pats one of them invitingly for Myr and L.]

Well, guess we've got some fingers to reattach. And if you're his Bonded, that's some good thinking, mister. [A nod to Myr. Poor guy.] It COULD get ugly... I guess. I'm not much of a Bonds expert, though, so don't ask me about sympathetic pain. Feels like just yesterday I got one of my own.

[And yet, he's been here long enough to learn this much necromancy... It'd be pretty obvious to understand that Henry's just one of those Witches who would've been content exploding, probably.]

Whenever you're ready, I'm ALWAYS ready for a little bloody magic. It's kind of a hobby.

[hearthebell]

[Henry's overall demeanor clashes considerably with everyone else's, to the jarring point where L struggles to discern whether or not it's a good thing. He and Myr are on the same general page, through the unprecedented nature of this meeting and the myriad ways things could go very wrong once the procedure is underway and the pain is more than a concept. Niles is on guard but seems at least appropriately contrite and civil. There's still the undercurrent of a stand-off coloring everything, but Henry...

Well. The diminutive necromancer has an air of one who prepared for a party and arrived at a wake, doesn't he? An appropriate place for a necromancer, certainly, just minus the reverence and decorum. Perhaps L expected something different, living as one who has felt dead, but even as Henry cheerfully alludes to the "ugly" possibilities, his resolve won't be shaken.

There's just one regret and doubt, and that's the fact that Myr is likely to feel what seeps through their Bond on some level, no matter how stoic L remains or how well he controls his reactions to it. He might have been considerate enough at least for a shot or two of whiskey for the faun's sake, even if he didn't wish to opt for Henry's offered potion and its undesirable side effects. Maybe that's a decision he'll regret shortly; maybe restraints would have ironically been the better and kinder choice.

He remains close to Myr, almost cleaves to his Bonded's side, but addresses Henry.]

I'm sure you've been told this, at some point already, but your bedside manner could stand a reconsidered approach.

[He isn't actually asking for comfort or sympathy. There's a sense of control that comes with criticizing, and control is what he craves beyond any anesthetic.

He takes his seat, seeming uncomfortable and rigid in any chair he can't curl into his typical "safe" posture, waiting for Myr to do the same. For the first time, he reveals his hands fully, along with the fact that he's left his prosthetics at home. As a precious last resort, he couldn't risk bringing them or allowing them to be taken by one who has expressed an interest in crippling him.

The damage has healed, even callused, given the friction the set of clockwork fingers had placed on the knuckles at the site of their neat amputations. Pale and bony, with clearly defined tendons, it's at least clear that those spindly fingers match this man. He glances at Myr, reaching through the Bond, the only softness he allows himself to display at this incredibly exposed and uncomfortable moment.

I'm sorry. I'll block what I can from you so you don't have to feel it.

Whether Myr would gladly take on that burden isn't the issue. If L can selfishly hoard it away from the one who has already given him so much...

He's a still and compliant patient, but his gaze always at least keeps Niles in the periphery. He's still not entirely convinced that the chimera won't try something once he's cut, knowing that L's magic flows generously and often violently along with his blood.]

I don't care about "ugly." I care that this works.

[faithlikeaseed]

[Forgiven, amatus. You know I'll shoulder whatever you need.

Though he is learning, bit by bit, that there is merit in trusting his Bonded's discretion on when to share those burdens.]

Thank you, [he says, to Niles and to Henry, as the chair's brought over and he takes a seat at L's side. He sets his staff down where he can keep a hoof in contact with it before reaching out and patting the air until he finds his Bonded's thigh, there to rest his hand. It's a breath, and then another breath, before he can straighten out of his own curl-shouldered hunch, put a pleasant expression on his face, and find in himself something other than worry and dismay. Gratitude--gratitude even for a necromancer who fits none of Myr's Nevarran-informed preconceptions of the breed--is a good place to start.]

He is my Bonded, and we're both grateful to you for doing this, serah Henry. [Firmly ignoring the mention of any kind of magic involving blood; it's a requirement for healing here that he still cannot bring himself to accept.] And appreciate the risk you're both taking in it.