middaeg | [OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

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[OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

Who: L Lawliet and YOU (some open prompts, some semi-open)
When: Octeuril 21 through the end of the month
Where: Around Geardagas
What: Waking up to find that he doesn't have permanent severe brain damage is tempered by realizing and processing that his Bonded actually does.
Warnings: References to violent events, angst, will update if necessary

A. Octeuril 21, The Cottage (Open to residents, visitors and healers)

[It's been a week since Myr's desperate attack had thrown blackout curtains over L's senses and thoughts, further complicated by the violent fundamental alteration of his Bonded. He'd received prompt healing to his head and ribs that made the overall prognosis hopeful, and has been cared for and kept comfortable enough, but the fact of the matter is that Connor woke up, and then the SQUIP, but trailing behind them, L just didn't. Frequent doses of healing magic can help, but not change, the fact that the brain is complex and fragile, and rebuilding and repairing it can take time with even skilled and careful intervention.

For seven days and nights, he's been sleeping it off, recuperating in the quiet and subtle ways that make the biggest collective difference. Eventually, the culmination amounts to "enough", and with no trigger, catalyst or warning, he sits up in bed with no memory of how he got there.

So, start from the beginning.

Who? The SQUIP. Rich. Niles, Michael, Jeremy, Connor and Justine. Myr.

What? The Bond is different. The Bond has changed. The SQUIP has changed.

Where? Just outside. There was blood on the pavement.

When? Too long ago. So much has happened.

Why? It had to be stopped.

How? Fingertips explore the tender place where a skull was broken, has begun to mend in earnest. Clear enough, somehow... with no small measure of disquietment, L understands that he should probably be a vegetable. Someone, or several someones, have been working on ensuring that he woke up with the one thing he couldn't live without intact. How long is the list of names? How many people does L theoretically owe his life to, now?]

Is someone there?

[A week in bed has him anxious to get to his feet again, but... oh, slow, it's a head rush just to put them on the floor while he remains seated. He's hungry, and though either magic or gentle attentive hands have been keeping his body free of grime, he wants to bathe badly.]

Please tell me what's happened.

[He'll settle for anyone, the first person he lays eyes on. Friend or foe, he has to know; he isn't usually the last, this way.]

B. The Coven (Open)

[Getting back to some semblance of an ordinary life means returning to old familiar habits. The things that L's grey matter remembers so well it's second nature are, quite simply, folding into the sanctuary of committed study, and while the new and far more human SQUIP needs him in ways it didn't used to, that's still overwhelming. Latching onto L as a fellow human who can guide it through this transition is a mistake; whether or not it's a birthright, L was never very good at being human. It's the reason he considered a machine safe, and now that it's distraught and tormented and volatile, all on account of its reaction to his injury.

Books and scrolls are stacked high at his side, and he's working on a new set of runes. A jeweler's magnifying lens is held against his eye as he carefully etches them into pieces of scrap metal bent into the crude shape of a ring. These are just practice goes, of course, but some of them are promising. He places them in one pile; a far larger pile of rejects is littering the floor around the legs of his chair.

He glances your way, shoulders curling, seeming to grow a touch more protective of his work. Lately, he can only assume that others want to take things from him that bring him some small semblance of happiness.]

C. The Sly Seadog- Samuin (Open)

[Then, of course, there are the things that are not familiar at all. A mind is more than just a collection of memories and compiled facts; it has to adapt and respond and arrange data into solutions, and while working in a controlled and quiet environment is one way to test that, L can't think of a better scenario than this one to put himself through his paces.

The SQUIP can't help him the way it used to. He feels, in many ways, like a child about to cross the street for the first time without holding his caretaker's hand.]

Buy me a shot of liquor.

[He's addressing you. Maybe you know each other and he genuinely feels you owe it to him; maybe you're strangers and he is just testing the baseline for any kind of natural charisma he may possess in this capacity. Either way, he's getting some looks from a few of the bar's rowdier-looking individuals, and deigns to add]

...please.

D. WILDCARD

[Don't see it? Want it? Well, COOL, in all likelihood I do too but just didn't think to include it. Write your own prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up on plurk at lexil or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]

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[L's head jerks up at the soft sound of one of his housemate's voices. It makes sense that Ada would be around; with a jolt, he comprehends that she's probably been one of the people caring for him. His hand goes to shield his sore eyes from the wash of daylight, but he's no longer a vampire; it's no longer a concern, just a mild headache that should subside once he's a bit more accustomed to it.]

Let... you.

[He repeats it slowly, ultimately agreeing, even if he's uneasy with the insistence. Easy. If it's been this long, she's probably been doing some of this already.

He accepts the teacup gratefully, very nearly greedily. He's parched.]

The SQUIP is... alright? What's happened?

[He repeats the question, breathless after gulping his tea.]

Adeline allows him to do so, gently taking it into her palms to hold it just within reach― keeping the teacup readily available, but allowing him to remain unencumbered. She gives a little nod.

"―yes," She replies warmly, smiling, though it dims a few tones at his question. "but very fatigued, and very... affected, ser. To see it weep like I did pains me."

Closing her eyes, two downy, white ears slope languidly on either side of her head as a touch of excitable tension melts off of her shoulders. Caring for them is no burden on her heart― she is glad to do so― but it's clearly burdening her body, hues of sleeplessness replacing a usual rosy countenance.

"I'm sorry― I don't know very much. When I arrived to find you both, there was nobody who might answer my questions... and with the SQUIP so out of sorts, I daren't pry to what placed it there." After a moment of respite, she sits up, looking a bit more alert. "I was just about to re-dress your wounds and clean you up a little bit. I've been doing so for the last few days, in the morning and evening."

[She's so eager to help; L knows this about Ada, has known it in fact for a very long time, but it's always a little jarring to see just how naturally these small helpful, thoughtful gestures come to her, when someone like L would have to think about it for a very long time if it occurred to him at all.

He's about to press her for more information about the SQUIP, but he realize as she continues speaking that she has been kept in the dark. Maybe through luck, and maybe through careful reigning back of key and crucial information. Maybe, like him, she's just come to care so much about the SQUIP that none of it would even matter to her, but he still opts to play it safe.]

Thank you for your care, on his behalf and... mine.

[Such an awkward thing to have to phrase.]

Could you tell me what you mean by "affected?" As well as you're able?

[She looks absolutely exhausted. He knows that both common decency and simple practicality can't keep her by his bedside indefinitely, and he is anxious to see for himself what Ada means, but... whatever she can tell him would certainly be useful. The Bond feels like an alien planet at this moment, more than home.]

"It is not... itself, if you might imagine that. Even so much as speaking seems to bring difficulty― after whatever that happened to you occurred, just waking up in the morning seems to exhaust it entirely."

Saying it so frankly pains her rather visibly; the normally welcome eye-contact she finds with L is replaced with a kind of distance, finding comfort in instead looking out the nearby window. "I have done my best to cheer it through helping it maintain its appearances by my own hand― shaving and the like― but it brings little comfort, so it seems."

Adeline folds her hands in her lap, a purging sigh loosening some of the forlorn air she had taken on. Now, she can look at him― now she can smile, recomposing herself with usual ease after a momentary blip in her appearances.

"―there's no need to thank me," Adeline insists, smiling― softening. "but it means a great deal from you, and from your Bonded."

L is not the kind to make a habit of thanking others; the SQUIP does so often, and she can't fathom the difference, but something in how it thanked her just days prior felt incredibly different. Naivete causes her to attribute it to simple contrast. Neither of them are easy to read in any scope, even for someone as seasoned as she might be, but she can grasp the offered earnestness.

[L might imagine it. L might be horrified at the thought. He pales as Ada speaks, disliking every implication and realizing that Ada is gentle and likely softening it to avoid shocking him too much. In short? It's probably worse than it sounds. Though L tends to treat eye contact more like an animal might, as a sign of aggression or challenge, it's always been comfortably enough initiated by Ada, but now he follows her gaze toward the window, trying to catch it with his own. He's frustrated that there's so little he doesn't know. Is he actually the last?

What is wrong with it? Did they...?

It's a relief when she actually looks at him again, connection he clings to, but it's only temporary. There are too many questions, too much secondhand distress over a very fractured and damaged Bond. L struggles to catch shreds of what the SQUIP is thinking or feeling at this time.]

I should see it. Is it here?

[Suddenly, that seems very important.]

Her light-coloured brow knits in gentle, however expected, disquiet. Of course they might like to see eachother, to reconcile the all but broken bond, but such is most likely not to be a happy meeting.

"It is," Adeline answers quietly, giving a curt bob of her head. That expression doesn't leave her features― it brings her no relief to tell him so. "but― perhaps you might rest a bit more, Linden."

And― again, unknowingly― she is robbing him of that connection, looking with a sigh at the hands folded in her lap. When she offers her eyes to his own, it's fleeting, and frustrating, but such is not done out of any malcontent.

"―I would not keep you from your Bonded but for any sake save your own. It will upset you," Her tone is softly pleading, that troubled tenseness still tightening her normally plush features. "and your constitution. Notwithstanding its own, Linden."

[L fully expects it to be a meeting that is excruciating, and perhaps that's why he's determined. There's a masochistic sense that if it is difficult or painful, he deserves it, because it was all on his account that the SQUIP descended and was stricken down, wasn't it?]

Perhaps it needs its Bonded.

[He's frustrated, too. He understands what she's trying to help them with, even as he's impatient, even as he resents it.]

Is it really so fragile, at this time?

[Because in spite of being the last one to wake and mend, the physically weakest of everyone involved in the SQUIP's Bond sphere, L is strangely determined to prove that he himself is not frail.]

My constitution is not easily upset.

"Shall I remind you how long you have slept?"

The words sting, but they could be a great deal more cutting than they are. Adeline's expression is exhausted and thoroughly unimpressed. "―or shall I prod at your broken ribs? Shall I press my thumbs against the bandage wrapped around your skull, ser? Your constitution is not only upset, but fractured."

She straightens her backbone, sighing― reclaiming herself from her momentary frustration. The gaze she gives him is more even, but lacks the prior warmth. She's not going to allow him to consider himself indestructible; it could kill him, at this rate.

"You are a man of keen intelligence, Linden." Ada continues, keeping his gaze. Her words don't cut, but they're much more forward than she might usually be― putting honesty ahead of offense in a rare shift of priority. "―but you are foolish if you intend to deny your vulnerability so."

She gestures, but it's not without limit― stopping short in her movement.

"I will not stop you, but be aware that neither of you are in any condition to care for one another. I expect you to keep that in mind."

[Adeline is, of course, not wrong about any of this. L knows it through his stinging pride, which is ultimately more debilitating than any pain hypothetically inflicted on his ribs or his head. L sets his jaw, sulking darkly for a few silent moments while he rethinks his approach. The bunny, it seems, will not be bullied when it comes to matters of health and wellness and the protection of charges she has taken on willingly. The only appropriate reaction is one of gratitude and deference, and unfortunately, all L can currently feel is impatience and frustration.

He does not have time to be injured, and the SQUIP is somewhere without him, damaged and angry and swallowed in a blackness that L can feel through a Bond that has warped and faded right along with whatever they did to it.]

Sorry. I know... you're right.

[Mumbled. Apologizing is one of the things he finds the most difficult in all the world.]

I'll wait if you think it's best. I'll do whatever you think is best if it helps me get back on my feet faster.

[He has every intention of staying there, once it's been managed.]

She sighs, keeping her gaze along side her, finding the folds in the curtain suddenly enthralling. His apology, however, pulls her attention back to him. It certainly isn't something she expected.

"―it's strange, to see you humbled like that," She replies, her tone quietly curious. "forgive my surprise. We're rather different as people, that's all."

She leans forward somewhat, the presence of her palm over Linden's wrist-bones warm, new. "I'm certain the SQUIP will come and see you as soon as it feels ready to do so. Your Bond is not to go reconciled, ser, I'm certain of it."

Her face brighten several hues, seeming to find her normal rosiness amidst her newfound, sleepless pale.

"―a bath might relax you, if you'd like me to draw you one."

[L's expression is sullen, largely unreadable. It is strange to be humbled, because while he often plays the fool, there's no threat to his ego when it's just a game. Now his feelings of helplessness and the roaming, uncomfortable realization that he's been lying prone and vulnerable while others tended to him is setting in, in earnest.]

We... are. Rather different.

[Quiet concession. There's no fight there, just a truth that makes so many pieces fit more logically together.]

And your certainty on the matter is actually very helpful.

[His gaze has fallen toward the covers, and when she asks about a bath, it raises again to meet Adeline's.]

...I think that might help. If you could.

[Nothing makes things seem clearer like being clean. It's long been a habit of L's to seek the calm peace of a bath or shower in times or stress or turmoil.]

"―oh, good!" And the matter is settled; soon she's gathering herself up from where she sat, dusting herself off, as if she might shake the strange, strained mood from her person altogether. The little rabbit-woman then offers her hands, gloved but palm-up, smiling back at the resident of the room― his wakefulness quiets a bit of her hidden anxiety. "Come, come― I'll help you there."

Her touch is a gentle, guiding presence. First she helps him stand, then braces about his waist to allow him to lean on her― even slouching, he's fairly taller than her, so it isn't difficult for him to. It isn't far to the washroom of their cottage, but it still takes them a moment longer than it might if Linden's health weren't still so weak.

After helping him settle, Adeline finds her way to the edge of the wide, porcelain basin, turning the knobs and allowing the water to warm while she doffs both gloves― letting heat flow over her palms, adjusting accordingly.

Out of habit, she uncorks a nearby bottle and allows the liquid within it to give rise to bubbles beneath the stream― idly humming, daintily brushing the water from her palms on the frill of her apron.

[There's something absolutely and undeniably comforting about someone taking charge when L himself is at a loss. And right now, he's certain this counts as feeling adrift and desperate for some kind of guidance from a gentler place, and that's exactly what Ada seems to be offering. She's simple and consistent, that way; it's the kind of thing that L dismisses as boring on most days, but couldn't possibly place a price on it now that he's in need and values this kind of help so very highly.

He doesn't even have shame in these moments. He's far from pride. He's nothing but a child whose sweat is coating him in a film he wants to shed immediately, and she is the tender figure helping him to the washroom, holding a cloth, running a bath, even adding fragrant bubbles.

He sits nearby as she does so, surprised by how even the short walk from his bed has exhausted him. If she senses that he's staring at her in a way akin to studying a subject, she's not mistaken; it's really not far off from the truth.]

―as cloudlike clusters of bubbles spring up from where the faucet-stream meets the water, Adeline tucks her gloves into the frill of her apron and turns to rest against the basin of the bath; his gaze goes unnoticed as she pulls the ribbon from her blouse, spilling golden hair over her features to gather it into a ponytail, to tie it. There's something markedly different about how she looks now― something comfortably feminine, as opposed to the tight and perfect laces that come together before she leaves their cottage. Something about her seems much more earnest, but it isn't purposeful. She's unaware of it.

She lifts her head, perking as she notices his eyes on her, her collar having fallen open beneath her throat to offer a glimpse of her skin and a gilded chain. Ada smiles and lifts her head a little, like she was posing for a portrait he might be painting. "―is something the matter? I can't tell if you might like me to leave, or come over, or if you're just looking at me."

There's no point in veiling what she might be thinking― not to her, at least. She hopes her honesty can help them understand eachother, to sate the curiosity his stare pulls on in her. In the meantime, she starts to roll up a sleeve in evenly spaced sections.

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[OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

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