Event Log: January, Return to Dorchacht

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Return to Dorchacht

I. A Tarnished Reality The teleporter to Dorchacht becomes operational by the 4th and the ambassadors return to their city with the first open, ceremonial operation of the device - along with any Mirrorbound who wish to join them, and Theodore Rosethorne and Sowilo, who make the trip as representatives of the Coven to ensure that all is well. Those who missed the first teleportation, never fear! Now that both waypoints are functional, Mirrorbound and others may travel freely between Aefenglom and Dorchacht at any point they choose to. Notably absent from the group, though - most of the Dorchacht refugees originally smuggled into Aefenglom. Only three or four are going back with the ambassadors, and they're primarily Witches. The rest have chosen to stay. Upon return to Dorchacht, it's obvious that some major changes have been made with the new regime. The sky is overcast, but it's merely fault of the weather at this time of year - the oppressive fog that used to hang over the Black City is gone, along with its effects on the natural lunar cycle. The auction blocks, damaged in the fires of the event the locals now call "The Rising", have been fully torn down, not a trace of them left to sully the streets. Where the triple stars of the Resistance used to be worn in secret, a majority of citizens now bear them openly (and in many cases, proudly) on pins and on clothing. In fact, any Witches who do not display the triple stars on their person somewhere, are generally regarded with suspicion, disgust, or fear unless they're recognized as Mirrorbound Witches - careful not to be mistaken for a Drummond sympathizer. The Monster citizens won't be outwardly cruel to any Witches, but will be somewhat fearful, hurrying their children along or crossing the street to get away. Recognizable Mirrorbound, those who were there during The Rising and before, are treated a bit like celebrities on the streets, though any Mirrorbound are given a warm welcome, albeit a little less warm for Witches. Storytellers share tales of how diplomats treating one another, Witches and Monsters alike, as equals so publicly and openly within Dorchacht gave them hope that such a life is attainable, or how a band of Mirrorbound snuck into the city under the cover of darkness and helped give their Resistance a leg up in the good fight against Drummond's extremists. Others share stories of being rescued from burning buildings or cruel Witches during The Rising by brave heroes. Many of these tales are shared in the form of song, as homage to those Mirrorbound who brought hopeful music to Dorchacht through the radio, which is still operational and playing a selection of music with a little more variety. Still a bit soft, their speakers and songs are, but as time passes, they grow a little more experimental, branching out from the lullabies that used to be played. Overall, the Black City is much less black these days, a little greener and brighter from the plants left by Mirrorbound before. Where the old Dorchacht could take your breath away with its feeling of barred oppression, many of those barricaded windows have been opened, reinforcements on the doors broken down. Though things are never perfect after a revolution, and it's clear that the work continues. Armed Resistance guards patrol the streets in trios, normally two Monsters and a Witch, to keep the peace. Their first priority is the protection of Monsters, many of whom still seem anxious and scared as they go about their days - not of the guards themselves, who they often greet with smiles, but of the Witches and humans they pass on the streets. In some cases, keeping the peace means breaking up fights between their own and those humans and Witches who do not want to accept Monsters as their equals, and in some cases it means putting Drummond sympathizers in their places with intimidation and force. While they do their best to keep skirmishes out of Mirrorbound sight, it's clear that despite the improvements, Dorchacht is still no utopia, and the road to a true peace is fraught with speedbumps. As noted, characters are free to travel between Aefenglom and Dorchacht by teleporter as often as they'd like! The waypoints will remain open even after this month and travel will be unrestricted; we will note if this situation changes in the future. Dorchacht quests are also now available ICly!

II. A Few Alterations a. The Coven Major changes are still underway. One of the biggest that Mirrorbound will notice is that the new administration of Dorchacht have moved the Coven. The old building is in a state of disrepair right now, doors and windows wide open, the interior stripped of trappings. The library has shed its books to somewhere else. The basement where so many horrors took place is abandoned. Instead, a sign has been erected outside it, stating that this center of Drummond's operations will be turned into a museum to remember their unpleasant history, and to memorialize those who lost their lives fighting for freedom. It's still a work in progress, and not high on the priority list when survival and care of the citizens have to take precedence, but inside, characters may still find small shrines set up in various places to Resistance members who died there. Instead, Dorchacht's new Coven is currently based inside an old manor located just a handful of blocks from the town square, and it's a much more informal affair. Magic lessons have continued with Resistance Witches, though the subject matter has changed instead. They experiment with different types of magic based on their own interests, but many are studying plant magic, medicine, and defensive spells that can be used out in the Wilde. Anything that will prove to be practical going forward. Lessons are also open to Monsters now, so they can see what their magical brethren are learning (and know that the compulsion and control spells that Morgana loved so much are no longer being taught). With the Coven being moved, visitors from Aefenglom are offered places to stay either within the manor of the new Coven, or in various empty houses around the city. Stay as long as you'd like, they say, and apologize that the accommodations aren't nicer - reconstruction is still obviously ongoing all over the city, repairing damages from The Rising and the fighting that happened afterward. They don't really have anywhere as nice as the rooms their ambassadors were given in Aefenglom. b. The Walls One of the biggest on-going projects in Dorchacht right now is removing the Monster control spells from the set of enchantments on their city walls. High on the list of priorities is making sure that Monsters can feel safe again, secure in their own minds and bodies. As the spells are made visible, particular sets of runes have to be ground down and smoothed over. A spell is either cast or provided to soften the stone temporarily, and then it's basically going at it with magitech-powered sanders created by Hilda. The particular runes that need to be gotten rid of will be provided on reference sheets - please don't touch the others, they chide! Those are to protect from the Cwyld, and are still very important. While help is welcomed with open arms and enthusiasm at most sections of the walls, those guards posted at one particular small district, guarded with trios of Resistance members at each entrance and warded with alarm magic to warn of escape, turn Mirrorbound away; these runes are being altered, not removed, to help contain unruly Drummond loyalists, they say. The people who now live in that guarded district are all human, whether they're Witches or no, and all refuse to bear the triple stars. "Troublemakers," the guards will explain grimly. "We have to contain them for now. It isn't a perfect solution, but they've hurt people, or tried to hurt people, since Drummond was run out of town." c. Bond Lessons Bonding is a bit of a tricky subject in the new Dorchacht. Many Monsters are afraid of the idea, as it was once used as one of the collars around their necks, but the Circle of Three recognize it as an important way to wean citizens off the lullabies and calming draughts that prevent going feral during full moons. As part of encouraging others to form Bonds, partnerships at the very least the way most Resistance members describe theirs, there are demonstrations and public seminars that pop up around Dorchacht on the regular. They may be as informal as a circle in what's going to be a park or as official-seeming as a talk held inside a shop or lecture hall, but they have one thing in common. Many of the citizens are keen on getting Mirrorbound in on it -- mostly by dragging them in, asking if they have a Bonded, and if they do, they tell the Mirrorbound to talk about their Bonded. They're interested in the ups and downs (but mostly ups) of having one in order to show that if the Mirrorbound are into it, you should be too! They accept all stories but prefer the happy ones - the aim is to encourage their Monster citizens and help them be less afraid of taking that step with Witches. And for those who aren't in a Bond, or decline to talk -- well, they get what amounts to a "flour sack baby" in the form of a Dorchacht citizen of the opposite role of their own (a Monster would receive a human/Witch, a Witch would receive a Monster) that they must hang with for a day, ensuring no harm comes to them, bound by one of the temporary Bonding potions so popular in the Wilders' ranks. (As a note, for the second option, you have free reign of the NPC; do the personalities you find fun, be they cooperative or mischievous, shy or loud, abrasive to your character or someone they can genuinely get along with. They are all willing - no one is being forced into this. No Fae or Dragons allowed for Monster NPCs, unfortunately, as they are still very much not about.)

III. Ahoy Mateys! With Dorchacht opening up again after the last few months of closed off internal fighting, plenty of trading ships' Captains are ready and raring to go build business relations with the new regime and find a new market for some of their wares. There has been increased interest in finding a shorter route to Dorchacht by sea - the teleporter is useful for small groups of people, sure, but it can't handle much cargo. The only problem? Ships are being turned back, barely halfway there, with significant damage to their hulls. Brave individuals looking for a seafaring adventure are asked to come aboard and help the crew navigate tumultuous waters, hopefully figuring out along the way what's causing the damage to previous ships. It's a three day trip to Dorchacht if the waters are kind, and characters can simply teleport back home once there. On board the various ships brave enough to return to the sea, Mirrorbound find the problem halfway through the trip: a colossal squid that's made it home at this point, thrashing ships that come too close to its den. While uninfected, it does have injuries on its body, which may be the source of its lashing out. The ships are able to bring themselves close enough for longer ranged attacks, and the Harpy on board are careful not to be captured by the churning waves caused by the thrashing, but there's others who want to seek a less violent mean to end this surf and turf conflict. Killing, healing, subduing, or relocating it are all valid options, but getting in close to do any of those will be difficult, as it has a tendency to ink up the waters around it and reduce visibility to nothing. Be careful of any creatures swimming around that are interested in the weakened squid as well, such as various carnivorous fish, sea-plants, and things that appear alike to Merrow, but rely only on instinct. The Merrow cannot be spoken to, nor are they infected; the Captains of the ships will explain that they're "wild", and refer to them as distant cousins to the Merrow that sparsely populate Aefenglom itself.

IV. Back At Home Back in Aefenglom, the stir caused by the Circle of Three's arrival takes time to calm. It's the talk of the town for days - many seem happy about Morgana Drummond's apparent demise. "Good for them," is the general sentiment in the residential areas more populated by Monsters and the Harbor District. They're glad to know that things are on the way up there. Others think this is a boon; should anything happen, now Aefenglom has an ally city to stand with them, one in their debt. Others still don't really care either way, and go about their lives as if nothing's happened. The refugees, in their neighborhoods on the far reaches of the Haven, seem happy to hear news from home and find The Dragon/Starlight/Fafnir freed, and while a few of them choose to return to Dorchacht, having never put down roots in Aefenglom, more still don't wish to leave the homes and families they've formed here, or the Mirrorbound who have helped them so much over the months. Some even doubt that things are as good as they say, and choose to remain for that reason - slavery and ill treatment from the upper class in Aefenglom instilled in them a sense of (well-earned) paranoia regarding the intentions of Witches, especially those back home. They hear that things have changed, but don't necessarily want to find out for themselves. Even still, the mood is upbeat, with a general consensus that if Morgana is really gone, that's at least a solid step in the right direction. In the Aristocratic District, though, the atmosphere is sour. The general sentiment is that they wish the refugees would have left with those ambassadors. The kinder ones think Aefenglom should focus on its own citizens - the people from the Outer City brought in to weather the blizzard have never left, after all, still living in the neighborhoods with the refugees. Those who are more vocally outspoken about the Mirrorbounds' presence in the city think they should have all left to Dorchacht. Let another city shoulder all the misfortune they bring with them! Many of the people grumbling about that are ones who were directly affected by the Mists back in October, either through temporary changes themselves or through being attacked by ferals. Some of the more hot-headed young people try to spread this message - through graffiti, on homes and businesses in the Haven and the refugees' district, though if caught, they're quick to run away and not willing to enter into a confrontation. The graffiti is wholly mundane and not particularly difficult to remove, just unpleasant, telling Mirrorbound and refugees alike to "go home" or "go back to Dorchacht", in so much colorful language. Seems there's still some work to do at home, as well.

Welcome to your establishing post for the current situation in Dorchacht! This log takes place through the entire month; characters can come and go as they please. As always, you can direct all your questions HERE. This month we're also putting up a City Tracker for PC actions, both in Aefenglom's plot later on and Dorchacht's log here. Let us know what your character is doing, good or bad! The cut-off for the tracker is February 3rd.

Comments

[cyclopticsadist]

[At Linden's words Niles merely gives a single hmph that doesn't quite count as a laugh. He'd already explained himself. Beating Linden like this, kicking him while he was down, wouldn't cut it. He'd earned so much more than a coup de grace.]

Myr. [Niles hefts Linden off his shoulder, returning the man's feet to the ground, but keeping his arm securely around his waist in the likely case that he still needed the support.]

I do believe this is yours?

[hearthebell]

[There's that icy, gutted feeling that L hates, actively tries to avoid, sitting like a leaden toad in his stomach. Disappointment, disapproval? He could search for it in Myr's face, but only the tone is available to him to analyze, because he's finding it surprisingly difficult to actually direct his gaze that way.

It's ridiculous, isn't it? Myr can't even see him not looking. If he could, L might blame it on his shaky posture now that Niles's put him back on his feet. There's trembling weakness in his limbs, none of which Niles put there.]

This is utterly ridiculous.

[He tries to distance himself from Niles; while the other man's arm and flank are certainly solid and supportive, his contact with them are growing more hateful and claustrophobic by the second.]

I'm sorry to have disturbed your day.

[He has some common decency and courtesy, or at least that's the pretty lie he's dressed it in to rationalize his own regularly scheduled self-destruction. He even believes it.]

[faithlikeaseed]

No need to be, [intimus.

A part of Myr longs sincerely to soften the words openly, express the exact degree of his relief that L's whole if not hale. The rest of him, Circle-bred, Circle-cautious--and furious--won't allow it.

Let it maybe be inferred in how he nudges the door open behind him before stepping off the stoop with a click of hooves--in how he extends a hand toward his shaking, overtaxed Bonded. (There's dirt still under the nails, forgotten in his distress.)]

He is mine, [he affirms to Niles,] and I thank you for what care you've taken with him.

[Where did you find him, in what condition, and why, he wants to ask and does not. L's dignity doesn't need the bruising.] Will you come in, Linden? And Serah Niles, have you plans to stay?

[That bit of politesse could certainly sound less welcoming, in the mouth of someone accustomed to such double-talk...but it could also sound a great deal more.]

[cyclopticsadist]

I do not. He's your burden to carry now. [Niles hands Linden off to Myr with a strange sort of tenderness. He makes sure the faun is supporting his weight before removing his own hands. As if he'd read Myr's mind he continues.]

I found him passed out under a table in the library. [But there's no telepathy or magic here, he just wants Myr to know the real extent of Linden's condition. Wants to see him realize just how far his bonded had fallen.] He'd crawled under there after being kicked out of a bar the night before.

[hearthebell]

[There's an odd dynamic at play, here. L can piece together snatches of it, even though he'd rather not be asked to piece together anything at this particular moment. The fragments are poignant and painful; Myr confirming that L is his, Niles confirming that he is a burden, the little song and dance on a knife's edge they're both performing as they pretend for surface etiquette's sake.

Myr at least cares to try to preserve L's dignity. Niles has no such ideals, and makes it clear very quickly even as L clasps Myr's forearm to brace against.

Just go ahead and tell that part of the story, why don't you? What a waste of blackmail potential.]

Falling asleep in the library isn't unusual among academics. Not a world you know much about, I'm aware.

[Screw you.]

[faithlikeaseed]

["He'd crawled under there after being kicked out of a bar the night before."

And there is the moment Myr's composure cracks, for just an instant, with all the suddenness of a fire-gutted house falling in on itself. The look on his face is wretched with grief as he draws L to him.

Then it's not, and he's tucking his Bonded against his side with an arm firmly around L's waist. His. The smell of a barroom floor is hardly a deterrent to a faun.]

Hardly that, [Hardly a burden, because right now to concede the weight on his shoulders is also to open up the possibility he may fail and collapse beneath it, and he will not.] But hearing that I appreciate your restraint as well--

Linden. [Don't. He makes to turn them both around, head back for the door and inside. To relative safety.] Let's find you somewhere dark to lie down.

[hearthebell]

[Much seems to fade into the background as Myr steers L away from the door. The detective is aware of it closing, along with the musky smell of his Bonded's fur so close to him, the clean and cozy abode where he makes his dwelling... but only vaguely, because his focus is drawn to the care in spite of the disappointment... and of course, to the disappointment, itself.]

That's not necessary...

[Spoken quickly as the world seems to stutter and slow, only to catch up again in a jarring rush. It's dimmer indoors and while it helps his head, his dizziness is another story entirely. Now that it's harder to see, it follows that it would be more difficult for him to gain his bearings even with Myr's support.]

I screwed up. I know that, and I'll apologize if you want me to. I'll fix it in all the ways I can...

[With money, or labor, or clever elaborate solutions. Anything, the whole world, even, since all of it is ultimately easier than just... changing. Parsing Myr's complicated, intense emotions at this juncture is difficult, so he continues to speak, the effect uncharacteristically rambling for the typically concise man.]

If you want me away from you at this time, I'd rather take my chances out there than lie in a dark room [near you, but separated] and think about what I've done.

[From the moment Myr even mentioned it, L's mind fractured and framed it as a punishment.]

[faithlikeaseed]

What?

[Myr wasn't expecting--any of this, his own thoughts focused tightly on the next few minutes' action to avoid an anxious spiral into the future (how can I protect him, what if this happens again, where did I fall short). The dislocation is such he nearly stumbles, reaching to catch himself (catch them both) on the nearest wall. At least here, in a fixed space he knows to the bone, he can act as confidently as if he were sighted, and a near-stumble has no more significance than that.

Now that they're touching, though, now that he can feel the physical aftermath--like a well-deserved punishment--of what L had done to himself, the next one might not go so easily. Now is definitely not the time to linger in a hallway clarifying what it is he intends--

But he can't do otherwise, now that he's been knocked far enough out of his own roiling mind to truly experience what the Bond's telling him.]

Intimus-- Linden, [L,] no--this isn't--you don't need to fix this. You don't need to make it up to me--I failed you.

[I knew he was after you. I knew you were in pain. I didn't stay at my post.] I'm sorry.

[hearthebell]

[There's a sharp intake of breath at Myr's stumble, and L's careful to avoid Myr's hooves, but any kind of nimbleness on his part takes too much energy, makes him tremble at the joints as he fights to retain his own balance. Myr is his support; he catches them against a nearby wall, but God, the strain is impossible to miss.

Mello would incinerate everything around him. Near would freeze it all in brittle spires. Put them together, L's heirs and halves, and what would remain, aside from dead water and cold silence?

He exhales, crushing the air from his lungs and shrink-wrapping his ribs in his oft-tapped arms to further minimize the space he occupies. It's not much to begin with.

This was a bad idea-

I think we can reverse this-

Such an inconvenience.

L rubs at one of his eyes with the heel of his hand, a broad and childish expression. Frustration, exhaustion, some deep ache that he can't quite massage away through his orbital bone.]

OK... so, if I don't need to fix it, then... why do you?

[He moves to pull away, shoulders curled and tense. Fight, flight, panic; all instincts that whirl and blur together behind darting eyes and at the center of a racing heart.]

We don't have a contract. I never outsourced responsibility for my actions to you... and you can't steal it. It's not convincing when you try.

[Myr's too good for anyone to believe that. L included.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[It's a struggle not to take the withdrawal as a rebuke, a struggle Myr nearly loses when the Bond's sloshing over with things he can't name that nevertheless fit all too neatly into the space of his own fears. Instinct, his usual guide in these things, does not tell him what to do--whether to let L go or clutch him close, and so Myr is still as a faun can be, and he listens.

We don't have a contract. ] We have a Bond--

[He begins, on an upwelling of all that means to him; all he's implicitly taken on himself on top of what he'd made tacit during their abbreviated ceremony. Except nowhere in there did he say he'd take command of L's life--what a horrid thing that would be--which isn't what he's doing, isn't at all--

He doesn't finish the sentence. (The dizziness, second-hand, must not be so bad as L is feeling it but without vision to fix on some distant point until his disordered sense of the world stabilizes, it's damned hard to right himself.)]

This is-- [Breath in, breath out. Gather your thoughts, mage, because thoughts seed intention and intention bends the Fade for good or ill.

There's something here Myr needs to grasp, but he can't hold on tight as he needs when he's reeling.] --a conversation we need to have, but it will be better done when we can both think straight.

Will you give me till then to answer? [Not pleading, not exactly, but with something like it all the same because he can feel the edge of the abyss as it crumbles the soil from beneath his hooves.

He has not pulled away from L. But nor does he tighten his grip--goes so far as to turn his free hand palm-up in a mute offer.]

[hearthebell]

[L is a shifting and erratic thing in these moments. The detective isn’t often ruled by his emotions, but whether this punishing week has worn his veneer thin or it’s simply in his nature to house a slumbering caldera, he is motivated less by logic and more by paranoid and disorganized thoughts.

It’s unfair to Myr, even as it feels hopelessly unavoidable and beyond true control. L simply doesn’t breathe for several tense ticks, before exhaling, intentionally relaxing hands that have balled tightly at his sides.

We have a Bond.

[Spoken softly as any apology. A confirmation, assurance of its powerful and valued nature.]

I just meant that I don’t employ you. You’re not on a payroll as a caretaker for me.

[Even if, bafflingly, he sometimes behaves as though he is. L rests his palm against Myr’s offered one, light in direct contrast with the heaviness off his thoughts.]

Of course.

[Just how much time might it take to screw their heads on straight again, though?]

[faithlikeaseed]

[There was that idea again, that service rendered to his Bonded somehow meant servitude. A frown--confusion, dismay--crosses Myr's face, but he hasn't the wherewithal to chase that idea in the moment. Not when there is so much else about their present situation that requires repair; unpacking the assumptions of their so-similar, so-different upbringings can wait. Maybe wait a very long time, if it must.

(How much time would it take, indeed.)

He clasps L's hand with his own.]

No, [he agrees,] I'm not that. But you're a mess and we'll both feel better if I help you through this. Will you let me?

[hearthebell]

[Vulnerability is both a status quo and an utter taboo for L. What he possesses and what he lacks are at times extremely obvious, but what he needs can be more elusive by far, even and perhaps especially to him. It was a relief when someone else knew, or even tried to guess, lifting the heaviest burden away from narrow shoulders that already carried so much.

Something Myr knows about, doubtless... for all that he struggles in these moments not to collapse, L knows he's carried burdens to rival or surpass this one, and done so without complaining. Is this just another duty? Something that any well-meaning samaritan might shoulder uncomplainingly?

Pride and reality fight a battle, but it would accomplish precisely nothing to refuse Myr's offer, and perhaps cause greater damage in the long term to both of them. He holds his silence just long enough for Myr to know that he's thought about what he's said, and has reached his decision with no regret or further hesitation.]

I'll let you.

[And, after one more pause]

Thank you.

[faithlikeaseed]

[It's a breed of pride Myr knows all too well from the inside; finding the boundaries of his own competence abruptly redrawn smaller around him had taught him he was not nearly so humble as he presumed himself to be. He knows fighting off help he sorely needed; he knows needing the imminent threat of self-destruction to break down his own walls to admit others.

It had not been the habit of a lifetime for him; it had left deep thumbprints but had not bent him entirely to a new shape. Yet it echoes familiar, and perhaps that's why--despite Myr's own instincts, despite Niles stalking L, despite the yawning hole of a snapped Bond eating the detective hollow--the faun had not been spending every waking moment at his Witch's side.

Maybe you should have.

And maybe that is self-recrimination better left for later, or never. As with peering deep enough into the mirror of their Bond to make conscious a recognizance of the blacker threads binding them together, those shared habits of mind and manner that had even at the first caught Myr's attention. For now, there is an immediate need--several immediate needs--that want addressing and Myr is ever more steady with someone to care for.

He dips his head to the thanks, a gesture made oddly regal by the antlers.]

Always, intimus. [And thank you.

He gestures then--with the rare accuracy he's allowed in spaces he's memorized thoroughly--toward a door to their left, the movement of his hand necessarily and gladly constrained by still having an arm around L.]

My room. [To make it clear somewhere dark to lie down wasn't an exile but an invitation.] You remember it?

[Strange to think it had been scant months since he'd first brought L there, under contract, for the illusion of a candle that's the sole light in a room left otherwise dark and shuttered.]

[hearthebell]

[And just like that, it's done. Surprisingly painless, mercifully swift, and Myr even has the grace and kindness to ensure that L doesn't feel foolish or lacking for accepting his help. It's a new feeling, and somewhat alarming for how open it leaves him, but the faun's arm is warm and supportive around his filthy, scrawny frame, and though limited by their proximity, the gesture is clear.

He nods against Myr's side; he remembers. He's actually interested to see how his work has held up after all this time, and it is a testament to L's particular nature that he thinks of this before considering the implications of approaching his affectionate Bonded's bed for the first time.]

Of course... it was my best work at the time, but I'll look at it again to make sure it's still going strong, with what I've learned since...

[He pulls away from Myr, the impulse to be uniquely and virtuosically useful drawing him toward the room with the candle. Hasn't it always been how he's earned his keep and his affection? As long as he has a job to do, he can play at indispensability and perform worth and value and confidence.

Myr's been too kind to him, already. L's debt is mounting and soon, he'll be buried and owe more than he can pay. Maybe he can make it brighter at the core, cast the shadows deeper, add color to the flickers cast against the wall framing it, all for someone who will never actually view the exquisite masterpiece with his own eyes.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Maker's breath--

There's something both unutterably humorous and unutterably tragic in L's response (though of course, unutterable tragedy has always carried an edge of humor for Myr; there is something in him that's at an angle to the world around him, and always has been) to immediately think of the candle.]

After, [the faun calls as he strides after his Bonded,] you've had a bath and rested. And eaten something. You do brilliant work whatever condition you're in, I know-- [...hold on, that.

That may not be the best way to go about this.] --but believe me, I'd rather you healthy than my shrine a masterpiece.

[Not that he doesn't take the kind of care of it that a masterpiece warrants, even if both his copies of the Chant are the cheaper sort suitable for a Circle mage to keep as his own; even if the icon of Andraste was painted by an Aefenglomish painter who did not know Her to love Her. (He can't know how little it matches the worn images in his Reader's Edition; he had not thought to ask, only been glad someone had done the work at all.)

Fruit and wreathes of branches and dried flowers dress the little altar alongside L's handiwork, a faun's sacred impulses syncretized with an Andrastian's.]

[hearthebell]

[L's strides are equal parts enthusiastic and desperate as he moves toward the shrine; it's held up remarkably, actually, the light as unwavering as Myr's faith in things that perhaps are not worthy of it. This is something L can reach for and access, and certainly improve; there is no risk that he will leave this worse than he found it.

It's such a relief, to see the familiar runes that he himself etched with meticulous care. They make sense. The syntax aligns with pleasant logic and elegant, thoughtful symmetry, but it can always be more perfect.

He glances over his shoulder at the sound of Myr's voice, hand extended toward the runes etched near the illusion and frozen in motion. His voice is sheepish, even plaintive when he responds.]

It can be a masterpiece. Do you know how rare that is, in any world?

[He's reluctant to walk away from it, even with the promise of being able to return later. But when he rejoins Myr's side, he slips his hand into his Bonded's and clasps it.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Edges of images and recollection flicker around their Bond; a masterpiece of a shrine recalls the Eternal Flame at Val Royeaux, something loftier than any elven mage dredged from an alienage could aspire to.

And yet Myr knows without even asking that given the right impetus, L could give him a miracle to rival that.

Do you know how rare that is, in any world?

Left wordless a moment, he falls to gesture instead, lifting their clasped hands to brush lips against L's knuckles.]

Why else fight to protect it?

[From threats within or without.

He isn't talking about the candle.

But the moment of overwhelming sentiment, that romantic impulse bubbling up out of him like water from a cleft rock, passes; reality's a heavy weight. He doesn't let go of L's hand, though, shamelessly taking advantage of the point of contact to lean (gently!) into his Bonded and turn him toward the bathroom.]

C'mon. We can talk more about its, [your,] potential while you have a bath.

[If L doesn't end up falling back asleep through the process, which Myr will like just as well, though it will delay getting any answers. (And intensify his worrying.)]

[hearthebell]

[When a certain amount of strength and trust has been established over a Bond, images real or representative can come through with intense power and even clarity. With only the memory of sight, perhaps it's aggrandized beyond what he truly witnessed... or maybe it really was that astonishing. Will the things they share only continue to deepen in detail and beauty?

L accepts almost before he understands, watching in silence as Myr engages with his hand in such a gentle, tender way. He'd never ask for it or expect it, and yet these gestures have sort of become commonplace between them. It's no longer a shock to experience some soft touch or kiss, and L has grown to never doubt their sincerity. Nevertheless... it seems like a radical and dangerous idea to entertain the notion that another living creature could care about him beyond what he can do, alone. It could prove to be addictive; it could prove unbearable to survive without, when it inevitably unravels, but... Myr is running out of new things that could drive him away, and he's remained so far, hasn't he? In spite of what he perhaps should have done?

Is it really possible that Myr's seen potential that no one else has, in places that simply weren't worth the time or trouble to address before?

He is easy enough to steer, and not impossible to form and mold and shape. Age has hardened some of his habits and tendencies, but one of his foremost ones is seeking guidance in the myriad personal arenas he struggles to navigate alone. As they enter the bathroom and he starts to peel off layers of clothes containing a week's worth of sweat and sorrow, it occurs to him that his relative comfort level is raised partly due to the strength of their Bond, and partly due to the fact that Myr cannot see the sharp and fragile contours of his naked body, or the marks in various stages of healing that practicing blood magic in excess have left on his limbs in haphazard, careless lines.]

I'd like to talk. But beginning is the most difficult part.

[He drapes his soiled shirt on a towel rack, careful to avoid the clean linens. No sense corrupting what didn't agree to it.]

excuse me, ma'am, *that last line*

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr has remained, and so far as he knows--as he's concerned--he will remain, so long as he and L are alive; so long they are not recalled through the mirrors in that capricious way the world has of dispensing of its surprise guests. Stubborn and hard-headed as any faun (and there's a clue, maybe, why he's come out as he has), once he has set his mind to something there's not much that will dissuade him from it.

(And the potential reward, ah--the rescue of a sufferer who's become so quickly, so deeply dear to him in the brief time they've known each other-- That is worth every price that is Myr's to pay, even if he has no guarantee beyond his own indomitable hopes for success. Some things were worth doing, worth trying, even though there was no knowing how they'd end.)

The deepening Bond has made it easier to express a part of that without need for words at all, but the true proof of that conviction to stay lay in his actions. Which is another heartbreaking piece of this: By any lights he'd failed in a part of his charge, and yet L's trust in him remains. What could conspire to leave someone so brilliant, so wary, in such a state?

He does not know how to ask, or if he should ask, and indeed, beginning is the most difficult part. That L's given voice to Myr's own thoughts there prompts a huff of noise, an almost-laugh, as the faun eases past his Witch to open the taps.

(L's frailty, Myr's got some idea of; but it's a very good thing he cannot see those marks. They would break his overlarge heart.)]

It is, isn't it? I can start us off with a question-- [This may hurt.] Why did he bring you to me?

[He's not looking for the obvious answer; why is facile that way, allowing proximate and ultimate causes to nest together in the space of one word, a world of questions packed side-by-side: What do you think his motive was in doing it? How did you come to be where he could find you? Where were you for him to find?

Why, oh dear friend, did you leave yourself in that state to be found?]

[hearthebell]

[Myr navigates so easily and gracefully within his home that it's almost easy to forget that he can't see, to the point where L grows subconsciously a little slower about removing his clothing. His reticence isn't relegated to self-consciousness alone, however; nakedness is a kind of vulnerability, too, and the chill that nips and needles at his exposed skin is a reminder that "talking" means difficult questions with corresponding difficult answers.

He listens to the ambient, static rush of water for a few minutes, and his mind is troublingly blank as he attempts to process what Myr is asking. If he remembered in any great detail the events leading up to what had happened, he probably would have had enough of a handle on the situation to keep it from progressing the way it had. But there have been other nights and other incidents; specifically, the night of his birthday stands out. So does his failure to safeguard himself and get a necessary monster Bond when his life was stretched so incendiary and thin against the haunting ache of infinite stars.

Niles' recent words drift across his thoughts. That is what you want right? To die? You want an angry drunk to send you through a window and crack your skull. Failing that you want me to find you and finish you off. You want that pastry to be poisoned because you want an easy way out... But what I'm saying is that I don't want to watch your pain. I want to cause it.

And then, of course, the answer in L's own voice.

One person causes my suffering. He's a joyless master of the craft...

L is joyless; L is a master of so many crafts, and an architect of so much that is pointless evasion of pain, and then boredom, coming full circle once they prove to be their own temporary remedies in a torturous cycle.

He knows what Myr is really asking. He doesn't begin to know how to answer it.]

Because I'm a gambler.

[A supreme aristocrat, in the words of an author. Dostoevsky was dead; most of the men L admired were.]

I knew that I could win or lose against Niles, and that there would come a point where I'd have no control over something. He was determined enough to catch me unawares eventually, and I was getting tired... so I let go of control, and accepted the outcome on my own terms.

[He won because I let him, which is not the same as a true win. It's scored differently; it matters.]

When you have a committed stalker, everywhere is dangerous. When you have an absent lover, everywhere is sad, and so... leaving yourself is the logical way to separate yourself from all of it. The danger and sadness remain, when you come back, but... just knowing the option to leave exists, that you can always do it again, is something like a refuge.

[faithlikeaseed]

[As always, Myr listens to the answer he's asked for, and what lies beneath it, with focused attention. But for the tapping of his fingers against one haunch--deliberate, to the rhythm of the Canticle of Transfigurations, as he counts down the time the bath's got to run--he is still; his side of the Bond briefly limpid and quiet as a forest pool.

Beyond listening, he is understanding what he's being told--and that's no passive thing.

There are parts of L that stand out to him with the sparkling clarity of Serault glass, cut and etched and fine as gemstones. Then there is this, at once familiar and deeply alien in the same way spirits were. Myr had never much been one for fraternizing with the Maker's first children--had even, in his heart of hearts, feared them a little--but he knew as much as all mages knew that their lens in the world was much different from mortality's. The Realm of Opposition bewildered and twisted them, contorted solutions appropriate to the Fade into the stereotypy of madness. So it felt here, with L's talk of gambling.

Though maybe--the more Myr listens, the more is revealed--it's only the description he's given that's odd; the reasoning and emotional weight behind L's words have a blackness to them Myr knows far better than he'd like. Maker's breath--he knew his own odds against the threat Niles posed, and could read the helplessness in that knowing; even now he's struggling not to hate the chimera for reaching so effortlessly into his life and ruining any illusion he had of giving L safety.

(Nothing to it but to fight the harder.)]

I-- [A sigh escapes Myr. What will I do when you don't come back? he wants to ask, agonized; but does not.] Wish dearly you'd chosen another avenue for that retreat. We aren't meant to bear such things forever, but we're also not meant to bear them alone.

[He reaches to turn off the tap, judging the tub full enough.] I've believed since I was a boy we're given danger and sadness and all hardship in order to forge something better from them. All of us mortals, together.

[It's the core and heart of his theology laid bare, the faith that made him seek bare-faced those things he knew would hurt and haunt him.

Because they could be redeemed. Because knowing them was the first step on that path.]

Provoking him further--that's part of the gamble?

[He steps back from the side of the tub as he asks, gesturing L toward it. Go on, you don't have fur or even much body fat; he can feel how the chill of the air bites.]

[hearthebell]

[There are odd dichotomies at work here. Because while L has to uncomfortably admit, privately at first, that the thought of asking for help continues to feel unacceptable to him, he's watching the tub, too, and wouldn't permit it to overflow with or without Myr's counting. Giving all of himself to one way of life for so long meant that L felt justified in his selfishness, which extended to the problems and enemies that he guarded jealously. Whether or not they were damaging or dangerous, they were his, and wasn't he entitled to something of his own after giving away his name, his face, any chance for a normal life?

Debts are cleaner when he holds the reins, controls every possible way he could ever be asked to give away even more. Even a gambler decides what he is betting, and when it is time to walk away to nurse his personal losses in face-saving privacy.

If I bear it alone, and win or lose, it can still be mine.]

It's in the nature of all sentient, reasoning beings to try to make the best of a bad situation. Otherwise... there wouldn't be a will to struggle or survive. You'd see a response to stress similar to what any prey animal feels when they've been injured or captured.

[This is what I was made for. This is the end, and that's OK.]

I'm convinced that we still have that response, even if the threats aren't the same. In some way, we're all trying to escape stress, which is pressure that has the potential to break what isn't strong enough. We haven't evolved to the point where we're indestructible just because we're clever and capable of building weapons or wielding magic to fend off our predators.

[He follows Myr's gesture, moving toward the tub, stepping carefully into it. He is shivering, and it's apparent in his voice. Should Myr reach out to steady him, the hairs on L's shuddering body are raised on puckered gooseflesh.]

No... it wasn't part of the gamble. Or if it was, it was a safe bet. He wouldn't have hurt me, today, no matter what I said.

[L is as certain of this as he is of the fact that Myr wouldn't. Absolutely no doubt stalls or shadows his tone, even if "today" is a notable qualifier.

Because Niles fully intends to hurt him in the future... no matter what he said.]

[faithlikeaseed]

Yet we're still more than the sum of our animal parts. [It's said patiently, with the academic cadence of all their debates; and yet there is a deep sorrow beneath it, a thing that resounds with echoes of L's conclusions. His philosophy isn't wrong but it is incomplete in its scope, and see where those unfinished edges have made an awful ruin of what should have been (will still be) a man fine as he is brilliant.

Myr does reach out to steady his Bonded, glorying a little in that he can even without sight-- And wincing at the cold flesh beneath his fingers. He should have drawn the bath hotter.]

We can and do rise beyond what's expected of us--we know we'll not reach our full potential without being put to challenges that might kill us on the way. [Once L's safely in the tub, he shucks out of his own shirt--his voice a little muffled and a wan smile hidden as he pulls it up over his head,] You've especially got a taste for stress--and if not a delusion you're already invincible, a conviction you should be.

[It breaks Myr's heart even in the admiring of it.

He folds the shirt, lays it aside where he might find it again later, and perches on the edge of the tub clad only in the kind of split kilt most accommodating for his sort of faun. What a pair they make: One dark and one pale, a gangling bird-boned Witch and a Monster with muscle more suited to the front lines than a library.]

What would you say motivates him in that? [A question asked with intent, as Myr takes up a lump of soap and holds it out to L.]

[hearthebell]

[L appreciates and likely needs that added steadiness that Myr provides, leaning against the support as he sinks to submerge himself to his shoulders. He craves heat, and could absolutely stand more of it, but he's also ravenously hungry, exhausted beyond measure, faded and wilting after a long stretch of self-abuse. Not that it seems to impact his ability to converse to a devastating degree; L is accustomed to engaging in conversation and debate when the stakes, pressure and stress are actually higher. Although... this level of emotional introspection and examination are admittedly new and strange enough to perhaps balance out the difference.

Is this a challenge that can kill him? He wonders, as Myr willingly comes even closer, strong and handsome and committed to making things whole in spite of the twin holes in his face. L doesn't want to break anything about him, even as he begins to pick apart the ways he knows he could. He wishes he didn't know; maybe, then, it wouldn't seem prophetic and inevitable that he will break Myr and leave nothing but dust in his wake. Is genuine care just another term for deciding who gets to be the unstained meek one, surviving to inherit while the other swallows all the evil for their sake?

L does have a taste for stress. Also, perhaps, for evil. He's always been willing to confront it, but is it really to spare the good in the world, or to feed his own corrupted appetite to enact viciousness toward a societally acceptable direction?

He takes the soap, cradling it for a few moments in his long fingers as though gradually remembering the sweet-scented cake's purpose. Then there's an audible dip and murmur of the bathwater as he wets it and begins to form a biding lather. It does help, immensely, to have something to do with his hands while they have a serious conversation; he's grateful that Myr seems to have anticipated this, whether or not it was just a side-effect of a practical gesture.]

Isn't he a predator? One of the feline persuasion, even?

[He moves the soap toward his curved and knotted back, winces at the bundles of aches buried there. His wrist is still bandaged from his ironically damaging attempt at self defense, and he makes a conscious effort not to wet the hasty dressing. Torn from L's garment, he doubts that it's exactly sanitary, but his own healing magic leaves much to be desired, and he'd prefer not to even look at it, yet. He'll stitch it later when he's alone with the pain that is his.]

It's the reason I felt an allusion to the wild world was appropriate. To hurt me today wouldn't have been any fun, because I wasn't up for a fight. It wouldn't mean the same thing; it would be scored differently. His pride won't let him take out someone who's weaker than he is, so... he's waiting for that to change.

[L doesn't sound enthused about that changing. If it's a guarantee of safety, it actually benefits him to exist in a wan, anemic state of ill health.]