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kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
onefellswoop) wrote in kingdomsofrain2026-01-17 02:26 pm
shitlords!
placeholder title above! hmmmm
1) Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery.
2) The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
3) Death House Pt. 1: Family, If You Wish It.
4) Death House Pt. 2: Onward and Downward.
5) Awich: The Dead All Know, The Dead All Go.
6) Awich: Investigations.
7) Awich: After the Battle.
8) Loch Bien: Complications, Concerns, Frogs.
1) Prelude: Ill-Natured Shrubbery.
2) The Party Gathers: If a Tree Burns in the Forest...
3) Death House Pt. 1: Family, If You Wish It.
4) Death House Pt. 2: Onward and Downward.
5) Awich: The Dead All Know, The Dead All Go.
6) Awich: Investigations.
7) Awich: After the Battle.
8) Loch Bien: Complications, Concerns, Frogs.
Awich: After the battle.
And then he looks toward Dima, his gaze briefly lighting on Liviana in passing. Sullenly, speaking from a deep well of hurt, he snaps, "I gave you a month. You couldn't make it a day. 'Please' nothing.”
Nerys, who is just brushing off his clothing as he clambers from the temple ruins, falters in his step; both he and Sen have similar looks of Not Wanting To Be Involved In This. Sen sees something across the little river to inspect because it isn't here, and Nerys mumbles something about checking on the mudmen before vanishing.
<.>
It takes several moments for Dima to move. He knows Faolan's presence nearby. He feels Liv's disapproval, as well as her understanding. He's becoming aware of his own dizziness and the ash-dusted remains beside him (Faolan did this) (beautiful, the way he wields his magic) (but the way he looks at Dima) (the way Dima brought that look upon himself; brought that hurt to Faolan).
Faolan speaks, and of course Dmitri meets his eyes. Looks down, eyes shutting hard in the silence after. Nodding once, as if to say 'Yes, I understand.'
And he does. What Dmitri did, the way he handled himself in the fight—
Well. He can't say it was without a plan. But there wasn't much self-preservation in his actions, and there's no good skirting the truth of that, or of Faolan's response.
When Dima looks up again, he's beginning to move toward Faolan. Motioning to Liviana as he passes, and now she does hop to his shoulder; now he can feel her own weariness stronger still. (It was dire, what they all just endured.) (Dire doesn't necessitate recklessness.)
When he reaches the platform, Dima pauses at its edge, watching Faolan with one hand flexing, a nerve-strung gesture, behind his back. He catches at the edge of a dozen things he could say, and what forms into speech is—
"It was a calculated risk.
"...Somewhat calculated." A tick of his lip, a jerk of his head to the side, and Dmitri shakes his head at himself. "I won't say it was a wise one.
"I thought— I believed—" Again, he shakes his head, exhales a sharp breath. "No; that isn't to the point."
After a moment, he moves forward, lowers himself to one knee before Faolan and will attempt to take the man's hand. "I'm not going anywhere, Faolan.
"I didn't."
Rin, meanwhile, hasn't precisely been paying attention to this interaction - it doesn't seem much like their business or their interest, and they're still worried about Sen - and they follow Sen more for the sake of their own curiosity, and for continuing to keep an eye on Sen, then to avoid a conversation they've already decided not to mind.
They are going to ask Sen how he's doing.
Like.
For real, Sen. For real.
<.>
Faolan doesn't pull away from Dmitri's touch, but he doesn't do anything to encourage it, either. He only regards the other man sadly, thinking of how this loss would be far different from any other. How final it would be.
Without answering right away, he clasps his hands around Dmitri's and casts Cure Wounds, healing (12 points) some of the damage he sustained.
Then slides his hands free and lets them hang limply between his knees.
"You didn't. You might have." He looks off, contemplating his words before continuing, "I've readied myself for the moment you turn on me. When we're north and you're among your own kind, when you remember you're one of them and I'm not."
He finds Dima's eyes again. "I didn't plan on having to mourn you, too."
Faolan purses his lips, then grasps Dima's hand again and lifts it to indicate the rings. "Nevermind me. Nevermind Liviana, either; we'll be fine - one way or another. But the next time you calculate a risk, remember it's not just your life on the line."
<.>
How that warmth courses through him; the sudden surge of healing energy. The gift from Faolan that sets Dima's breath steadier, eases the strain on his own body to mend itself, or regulate the substantial loss of blood.
(It's apt, he thinks, when this man could cure his every ailment.)
(...If Dima doesn't get himself killed first.
If Dima doesn't shatter what little hope this man retains.)
He shakes his head, settling a hand on Faolan's knee. Breathing, looking down, then finding Fae's eyes once more. "I am skilled with speaking, Faolan. What I lack in— Current acumen for the arcane, I hold in the practice of negotiation. Of finding where to needle; where to pry." He thought— It doesn't matter, really. Not just now.
He glances downward, presses his hand at Fae's knee. "I promise you: I'm a harder man to kill than I may seem.
"But I take your meaning. I feel it— I do. And it wasn't fair.
"To Rose; to Thorn. To Liviana. To you.
"Faolan.
"I have no wish to leave you. I want— I would like. And I would like to strive for. The very opposite of that."
His eyes are locked with Fae's now, and take on a plea - along with, yes, the ghost of a command, an ardent request - of their own. "I need you to understand— Whatever else I may be, whatever I may do, beyond my own family, I have no allegiance to 'my kind.'
"Or I mean to give you cause to understand. I don't expect your belief; not now. Not when you have words alone to go on.
"But you, Liviana, Rosavalda and Thornboldt— There is no one I hold in higher esteem. No one other for whom I would learn to... Broaden the scope of my calculations.
"Well. You will see, Faolan. And I— For what worth it may have. I am sorry."
<.>
Faolan thinks - or doesn't think. It's difficult to think clearly at the moment, because anger is so much less complicated an emotion than the terror he felt when he saw that sword swing down on Dmitri.
(He thinks - Dmitri is trying to convince him it was the right decision.) (He thinks Dmitri doesn't understand. That it never should have been a consideration at all. That words don't win out against swords.)
The sound he makes is at odds with the look of disbelief on his face: a little laugh that dies abruptly. "I'll see?”
He shakes his head and says softly, "Dmitri, I'm not giving you another chance."
Rising, he continues speaking, now more to himself than Dima. "I'm going north like I planned - and then I'm going home."
<.>
Dmitri doesn't think.
(He ought to think. Isn't that part of the point: That impulse alone can't end well? He should be smart about this.)
(He knows the incongruity in that laugh; sees unfathomed depths of pain beneath Faolan's gentleness, written in the man's (Fae's) conviction.
And, yes. (Yes, of course.) Dima is terrified.)
He reaches; perhaps catches hold of something, some scrap of fabric, some piece of Faolan's clothing.
Whether he catches anything or not, he speaks again (aware of how little weight his words can hold) (aware of vicious irony; how certain he was his speech might hold sway with Visento, and yet here, here there is so little chance): "Faolan.
"Look at me.
"Please."
Dima hasn't stopped looking upward. Hasn't ceased to see the world straining toward shatters, or ceased trying to focus, focus, set clarity of sight on Faolan. (But he can't will things right.) (Can't will things right that he's shoved out of place.)
"We could have something here. All of us. You and I—"
A click in his throat; a jarred breath. "You'll travel with us? It is— Please. If nothing else, it is safer.
"And I don't want to—" 'Lose you,' he thinks, he means, but the trouble with speaking those words is the very present, glass-edged awareness that he already has.
<.>
He feels the grasp of a hand at his clothing and grits his teeth. (But even as he wills himself to just pull away, he thinks: maybe Dmitri will say the right thing. Maybe this time, he'll hear he's wanted, he's worth staying for, keeping, living for -)
(Stupidly, he hopes for it.)
(Again.
Every godsdamned time.)
He doesn't realize it, but the hoping makes him hold his breath; it's there in how he pauses, how he doesn't quite look at Dmitri, but listens.
All of us.
Travel with us.
Safer.
Whatever else Dmitri means (what Fae waits for, wants so badly to hear), it doesn't come.
His shoulders sag slightly, the movement faint enough to be nothing. Faolan pulls free and answers flatly, "I'll hire a guard if I want safety. You should do the same."
<.>
For a moment—
For a moment, he thinks he felt it: An inclination to remain; an ear offered in... in mercy, to Dima's feeling, but perhaps more accurately an ear offered in wanting, in an opening toward what might be ((might have been?)). For a moment, Faolan remained.
For a moment, Faolan might have remained.
But something breaks, or something doesn't catch, and Dima doesn't have time to process where it was he misstepped (failed to step) (he'll realize later, when the night runs on too long and sleep won't take him). He only feels the moment slipping. Feels Faolan, now absent.
(Sees in Faolan's weariness a sense of loss.) (A disappointment.) (A wanting ground into the dust, and left to wither, and if Dmitri can't trace the scope of what he's inflicted, he knows what he's rendered is monstrous.)
He sinks to his heel, barely balanced, his hand suspended in the air (knowing where Faolan was, so recently, in his touch) (thinking (knowing?) he won't have that again).
He thinks, 'Perhaps that's wise of you.'
He thinks, 'It isn't as though I'm fit to protect you, or anyone in straits like this.'
He thinks, 'I want you to stay.'
He thinks, maybe, it would have been more merciful if Calabra's lackey had ended Dima. (He flinches at the thought, his free hand moving instinctively to cover, to rub the rings. No; that wouldn't have been merciful, at all. And Dima draws the hand to his chest, holds it there, near-cradled.)
Not looking at Faolan now, not looking at precisely anything, he speaks just above a whisper, "For companionship, then.
"I can't see you go."
<.>
Faolan stops as though frozen, the breath knocked out of him. (He knows Dmitri didn't mean it that way.) (He - doesn't actually know that at all.) (He should have known this was all he could ever expect from them.)
When he looks back, all the hurt and anger lies bare in his expression and he bites out, "There's that, then. You couldn't let me walk away without a reminder?"
(Later, he'll remember how broken Dmitri looked. How remorseful.) (It might not matter then, either.)
"I knew better. I knew. It's you and yours that humiliated me three years ago; of course you'd want companionship out of me now. What else am I good for?" He doesn't keep his voice low now; with each word, he grows louder, angrier (more wounded, unloading years of pain into a single moment born from fear.) "If you want companionship, go to a fucking brothel.”
<.>
He doesn't understand; not at first.
He can hardly process anything beyond Fae's (Faolan's) sudden stillness, or the anguish written in his eyes, through his being ahead of speech.
And then there's the cutting blade.
A lash Dmitri understands he's brought upon himself. (A lashing he can't help but feel - somewhere deep and buried; somewhere he'd closed off long ago - as inevitable repudiation, as something both deserved and senseless.) A lash whose origin turns clearly writ as Faolan continues speaking, as Dmitri hears the unintended meaning in the word he used, and how could he be so fucking careless? (Because he was grasping for straws, anything to keep Faolan near.) (Will he never fucked learn to guard his impulse?)
He opens his mouth to speak, to tell Faolan that he's worth everything, good for everything, but Faolan's speaking still and the last words—
Dmitri's eyes churn with stark confusion, with regret, with disbelief (because how, how could anyone see this man in such meager scope?) (because how could Dmitri not have seen this coming, how could he not have guarded Fae against this error, at least?). He finds he's standing; finds he's taken a step toward Faolan, wary but unwilling to keep such space between them.
Thinking he wants to mend this.
(Thinking that, given his recent track record, he's more likely to turn this error into total ruin, or further ruin.)
He stops himself mid-step; he tries to tell himself to think about this, breathe and think, but already he's reaching for Faolan's wrist, he's trying to wrap Faolan's wrist in both of his own hands, shaking his head and gods help him, but he's speaking again—
"I didn't mean that.
"You know I didn't mean that. Faolan—
"You're so much more than anything. You mean so much more than anything, and I don't—"
He's losing his point; he's losing the tension in his shoulders, feeling an onrush of exhaustion, of frustration with himself, inevitability of his own errors. But he finally, finally makes himself breathe, and tries once more: "I want to stay with you. To be near you. To talk, and know the grace of your presence. Of your soul.
"That's— Closer to what I meant.
"It's my own folly that I didn't say it."
<.>
no subject
He thinks that must be what's happening. Dmitri is trying to be sly with his words like every other man, and he is: didn't he nearly stop Visento in his tracks with a sudden, well-crafted speech? The problem is, Faolan knows better.
Yes. That's what it is. He knows better, so he isn't taken in, so what would have fooled him before only makes him ache. (Because he wanted so badly for Dmitri to be different.)
(He looks frightened.)
(Faolan feels frightened and he doesn't like that.) (He said, though. You mean so much more than anything.)
(What is 'anything' - and who does he mean it to?)
Again he begins to shake his head, he's saying the first thing that comes to mind. "There's no grace in my soul. Only rot."
Before he can fully pull his hand free, however, there's a shout from the bridge of, “Get out of me, you fucking leech!”
He turns, hand still held captive in both of Dmitri's, to see Sen grasping his head with both hands, then doubling over and dry-heaving.
Sort of.
Something does come out of him, but to Faolan's eyes, it looks more like spiderwebs pulled away from Sen's form, the shapeless thing falling into the water below with barely a ripple. Sen rights himself and backs up a step, then points at the water. "You fucking parasite -"
A small waterspout begins to form, then shapes itself until a humanoid head barely breaks the water's surface, peering up with overlarge, oval eyes. Long strands of kelp-like hair float about it, and the whole of the being has an insubstantial, transparent quality. Jellyfish-like. Squid-like. Still, not quite like anything.
Nerys is running up with the two mudmen trotting behind him, and Faolan, perplexed enough to still be held by Dmitri, likewise approaches. (Assuming Rin is also near.) They all stare at the thing in the water and Sen snaps, "There. There's your 'Moloch'. Do you want to tell them, or should I?"
The thing in the water lifts itself up to reveal an almost human mouth, slightly too wide, with far too many teeth. It makes a noise like angry buzzing, but when it sinks again to eye-level, the sound takes on a different, watery quality - a deep-ocean hum.
Sen pulls a disgusted face. "'Pact'. I had a pact with a demon, not a fucking Vodyan-“
The buzzing grows louder and Sen blanches, then reaches down to pick up the nearest thing he can find - a broken bit of plank - and throws it at the thing in the water. The creature floats easily aside and watches the wood bob harmlessly away. "Fuck off with you and your 'game'."
Nerys appears to be the only one who can comprehend what's being said, so he quirks a brow at Sen. "You tried to lie to a demon about who you were? That's ironic."
"I was drunk and I was twenty!” Sen's indignation rises and he points at Nerys. "Stay out of this -"
Nerys is clearly restraining his laughter; he speaks over Sen, who begins shouting at the water entity again. "Your bard here tried to engage a demon into a pact by lying about his identity. Moloch thought it was a game and decided to give it a whirl."
"Its name is Mykola,” Sen interrupts, "And it's a parasitic little opportunist -"
"It's a vodyan," Nerys corrects. “Your vodyan. Names don't matter to it.
"Picked it up in Mysos like sailors' pox, did you? Serves you right."
[NAT, d: 24
dm: Dima recognizes the word 'vodyan' as a water entity that lives in the rivers and lakes of Morovsk, but has been known to travel up the canal to Mysos. The vodyan are related to the cecaelia in the way squid and octopus are related: similar but different. The vodyan are humanoid and have a lower body composed of tentacles, but are translucent like jellyfish.
He would know they are capable of "riding along" with a host; generally benign, but able to take control or resist being removed. They're not particularly harmful or malevolent, but they are considered pests.
The vodyan here, Mykola, appears to be a juvenile, or at least not yet at full sexual maturity, and therefore genderless.
Ah and. He would know that they make pacts in a very Desmond like manner. You don't break a deal with a vodyan or you both grow frail and slowly sicken. Unless it kills you, which this one doesn't appear to want to do.
note: Dima is giving Sen even MORE of a look right now. While continuing to clutch Faolan's wrist for dear life.
Note also, the vodyan is speaking a sort of Infernal. Which makes it comprehensible to Rin and Nerys. Sen is understanding it, if not the language.
q: does Dima have any sense of the typical lifespan of a vodyan?
a: This one is going to die in the not too distant future without a host; without its host specifically. But they can live several centuries in ideal circumstances.
Dima would as a wizard also know that a pact with a vodyan is probably very advantageous if Sen can keep the thing under control or come to some kind of agreement about body usage. But also he's probably never heard of a warlock pact with one. What he does know is that gillmen and cecaelia are envied for their aquatic abilities, and vodyan are kind of up there, too.
Not that it matters, but Dima also would know this is a particularly pretty one.]
<.>
Dima - wanting to addressing Faolan's words, how ill-fitting they are; feeling like finally, finally he's approaching a grasp on his own speech - doesn't precisely want to move from this moment, or give so much as a glance in Sen's direction. (Whatever's happening, the elf brought it on himself, and Dmitri doubts it needs immediate attention.) (Dmitri, after all, wants to mend a shattering he brought upon himself, and more importantly, brought onto Faolan.)
The thing is, Faolan is moving toward the bridge, and Dima has no intention of letting him slip away. So Dima moves, as well. Keeping step and Messaging Faolan, [ I don't believe that.
And if I did— I am no stranger to rot, and not liable to shy from its cover. ]
He means to add more, but their approach has brought them to the sight of Moloch, the supposed-infernal being who has risen from the water and looks very much like—
There's a hissed breath from Dima, an exasperated, "For shit's sake."
Leave it to Sen to enter a - so far as Dmitri knows, previously unheard of - warlock's pact with a vodyan. He listens to the conversation, looking from Sen to the vodyan, and thinking.
Thinking that it might not be the *worst* thing for Sen to entertain Mykola's presence.
Knowing that unless they find a loophole in the original pact, cutting the pact any longer bodes no good for Sen's continued health.
[q: would dmitri have any sense of what nerys means when he said 'names don't matter to it.' or more particularly, would he know anything about how vodyan engage with names and how much names do or don't mean in their pacts?
a: He would know Vodyan don't name one another; they abandon their young, so a name is just a current label used to indicate 'self’. If Sen said he was Seddum, he was still the entity who is right now calling himself ‘Sen’.]
Dima has a question - many questions - to pose here, but before he can speak, Rin's voice cuts in, speaking the strange (not entirely strange) buzz of Infernal.
Rin's crouched beside the water, eyes narrowed, tail flicking in a fit of pique as they study the creature who they were told and apparently Sen was told is Moloch, but who is also Mykola, and they don't fault having two names but they do fault hounding Sen and being opportunistic with him!
(Well. But also. They don't not see why it might've seemed like a game. It makes sense to Rin, even if they don't very much like the situation.)
[ What do you want with Sen, anyway? He's his own elf, and he's a very GOOD one at that! And what's so bad about the water? It seems like an all right place to live. ]
They think so, anyway, though it occurs to Rin now that they really don't know.
[ Also how'd you even hear him in the first place? You AREN'T a demon, are you? ]
<.>
Mykola floats backward a foot or so, its eyes fixing on Rin; a sad sound follows this movement and briefly, it vanishes below the water before surfacing again.
[ You ARE a demon. ]
The mournful little sound follows this proclamation; clearly, it thinks Rin is Sen's new patron. (Replacing it, of course.)
Sen looks lost: while he can understand Mykola, he can't understand Rin, and so he has no idea where that statement came from.
The vodyan swims nearer, its large, strange eyes reflecting Rin's face. [ We have a compact. Our game became a vow of magic. He must allow me and I must give my magic to him. There is no water for me without Seddum. ]
It lifts a webbed, clawed hand from the river and points at Sen. [ We die together, apart. Look and see. We die more with every tide. See how he diminishes. Breathes shallows.
Together, we are strong. I have Seddum and Seddum has magic. ]
Sen doesn't answer this, either, but neither does he meet Rin's eyes. Mykola suddenly whips a splash of water at him and buzzes accusingly.
[ Tell your demon, Seddum. Tell them you are killing us. ]
<.>
Rin would like to try to assess sen's health or/and whether Mykola is telling the truth pls.
[MED, r: 19
INS, r: 13
Mykola is exceptionally hard to read and they can't tell whether or not it's lying; they CAN see how Sen was misled into thinking it was a demon, particularly if he was drunk, because Mykola has the world's best poker face, apparently. (With its natural 20 against Rin's insight check.)
As for Sen - at a perfunctory glance, he looks okay. However, now that Rin knows what to look for, Sen definitely isn't well. Someone who's known him longer - like Dmitri - would be able to tell he's thinner, that his skin's not quite the right color, that he's not as hardy as he was when they first met.
Both he and Mykola look like they're not breathing the right mixture of air / water.
In other words - Sen needs to be in the water occasionally. Mykola needs to breathe air occasionally. They've both become amphibious thanks to their pact.]
Rin doesn't want to believe it. It'd be easy to tell themself that Sen just looks a little unwell because they've all just been fighting and things have been stressful and— Come to think of it, when was the last time Sen got any sleep? (Or, wait, aren't elves supposed to not really sleep? That's getting into too many steps and Rin's mind's going to wandering if they don't shove back on track and—) So looking not so okay would be understandable - and after all, Sen's so vibrant! how could he be... not... well? - and it's possible Mykola's playing another game, because Rin knows games within games can be fun for the one playing at them.
But it's hard not to be worried.
It's hard not to look at Sen with a puzzled expression, a look of growing distress, or to hear 'we die together, apart' over and over again, or to speak in a voice that sounds very lost, "Sen?
"Sen, is it true? Sen, do you know?”
Dmitri, meanwhile - still gripping Faolan's wrist - can't track a word of the Infernal discussion, but is beginning to understand a few things about why Sen's looked increasingly, if subtly, less well with every encounter. And Dima is in fact going to speak, voice even, curiously toneless—
"'Have,' not had.
"You have a pact with this vodyan.
"Sen. How have you been feeling."
<.>
Sen's non-response - a folding of arms and a look down at his feet against the wood of the bridge - is answer enough. What he does say, after an uncomfortable moment has passed, is a bitter, "Its fucking pact. I didn't choose it; I was young and too stupid to know better. It's an opportunistic, pestilent little -"
“Hey!” Faolan snaps suddenly, taking a step or two forward and finding himself still held tightly by Dmitri. It doesn't stop him from pointing an emphatic finger at Sen and continuing sharply, “It's young. Look at it. It's still a juvenile, Sen."
This appears to be something Sen didn't know and never considered - but then, Sen has no experience with vodyan, having never lived in Morovsk like Dmitri or Faolan. He looks at Mykola, seeming to see it for the first time.
Petulantly, Mykola buzzes, [ I am grown enough. I have seen four rivers now. ]
Sen's shoulders hunch inward a little; now, he nods and replies, "Yes. It's true. Yes, I know, though I didn't when I - escaped it."
Then, darting a chagrined glance at Faolan, he amends, "Abandoned it."
<.>
Silence, following Sen's emendation. Silence in which Rin looks at Sen, then at Mykola, worried for both, thinking it's a shitty situation and not able to tell whether there's a good answer. It's not really anyone's fault, as far as they can tell, but faultlessness doesn't seem likely to make anything better. (Rin also thinks Mykola's remark about four rivers is kind of funny, but they're not going to laugh right now.)
In the silence, Dima slips his hold from Faolan's wrist to Faolan's hand (or tries to, at least), where he resettles his firm hold; where he presses, briefly, with extra tightness, feeling the jaggedness in Sen's 'abandoned it,' feeling it can't have struck Faolan well. (Thinking Fae deserves and likely needs a rest, in body in mind in heart. It's been such a trying godsdamned day.)
Finally, Dmitri looks at Sen, and there might, might be just a little worry when he asks, "What precisely is the nature of your pact?"
And, "Pacts made among the vodyan are notoriously inviolable. And inevitably, inextricably linked to the health of all involved parties.
"It might be wise for the two of you to talk. About what you expect; about what you might want from an... Association. A partnership, if you will."
And, via Message, [ I expect you know your life depends upon it. ]
<.>
no subject
An unspoken something he won't let himself read into. (You'll leave me somehow, he thinks - accusingly. Angrily. (With terror lining the thought's boundaries.)) He looks back at Dmitri and forgets he was thinking anything at all; his eyes sting with salt wetness.
He's tired. He's terribly tired and when he closes his eyes he knows he'll see that sword swinging down at Dmitri again and again, only a hundred yards from the docks where he called him My Dima and Dmitri called him My Fae. (How could everything go so quickly from perfect to nightmarish?)
He's tired and he wishes he'd never wandered into that clearing.
Dmitri is speaking to Sen, so he forces his focus that way. (But he doesn't withdraw his hand and feels craven for it.)
Sen, knowing well the things Dima says, if not the nuance, begins to bounce on the balls of his toes in agitation, then draws his hands up and back through his hair.
As the Message hits him, he retorts out loud, “Yes, I know my life depends on it."
He drops his hands and sighs. "I know."
Finally, he eases himself to the edge of the bridge, pulls off his boots, and lets his feet dangle in the water. Mykola swims nearer without hesitation and seems content to float close, one tentacle wrapping itself around Sen's calf. He watches it with a complicated expression, then looks up at Rin.
When he speaks again, it's low enough for only the tiefling and the vodyan to hear him. "Mykola, this is Rin. Rin, Mykola.
"If we're to talk, it will be the three of us. You see - "
He draws a breath and slumps forward, dangling his long forearms from his knees. "It's true: we die together, apart, you and I. But so it goes with Rin. I am their own, you see, in a way I am not yours -"
[ But mine another way. As it must be. Was promised. I was promised. ]
Forcing himself to be patient, reminding himself this is more youth than watery antagonist, Sen closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. "Yes. But I must be yours in a way that I am not theirs.
"If I am to keep both of my promises, you must agree to Rin."
[ You will die without them. ]
He hesitates, thinking he really hasn't known Rin well enough to start saying such things out loud. Clearing his throat and looking askance at them, he replies carefully, "I will wish it, because I would not wish for any life without them - which is very much the same. So, I suppose I would, yes. Little by little, without the life they bring."
Mykola stares, seeming to contemplate the tiefling; its tentacle winds and unwinds in a way reminiscent both of an octopus and, strangely, a child giving serious thought to a stranger.
[ You will die without them. We will die together, apart - from them. ] It speaks directly to Rin now. [ Stay together with us. ]
"Please," Sen corrects softly.
[ Why beg? If they wish it, there is no begging, and if they do not wish it, begging does not change them- ]
"Because courtesy matters. Just say 'please', for fuck's sake."
Bubbles break the water's surface as though the vodyan has blown out irritably, mirroring Sen's exasperation.
[ ’Please for fuck's sake.’ ]
<.>
Rin - wary, worried, and also just a little intrigued (Mykola doesn't seem like the worst not-demon, but also maybe it's messing with all of them, maybe Sen just doesn't want this, and it's all very tangled) - drops down cross-legged beside Sen, then cautiously, cautiously dips their tail into the water.
And, to Sen, "Is it okay with you?" Nodding toward Mykola, they then Message Sen, [ Does it hurt you? To be with them, however that means? ]
Out loud again, "I don't want to live without you, either." Which would be weird, if the thought didn't feel - if Sen didn't feel - right in a way no person or humanoid or place ever has. It isn't usual for Rin to want to stay around anyone, but that doesn't make any of this less fitting. Really, it only proves that they were right about everyone else being not worth time or trusting.
Flashing Sen a grin, blowing his a kiss, they add, "So I guess you're pretty much stuck with me."
Turning their focus to Mykola: "I'm not really a demon, by the way. Not much more than you are." And in Infernal, [ It's nice to share a language though. I don't run into a lot of people who know it, so mostly it's me talking to me, and that can get a little old. ]
A pause. A hum. And they look from the voydan to Sen, again, again. "Sen, I want you to be okay. And... Mykola, I don't really know you, but you seem all right, so I guess I don't want you getting hurt, either."
Again looking from one to the other, and back again, "How does it work? Do you share a body, or— I don't really know about any of this. Maybe these are rude questions to ask? I should be courteous, too; that's so." The nod, confirming this important fact! "Really, okay really, the point is if you two are okay with the... With this pact you have? It's okay with me.
"And in that case, I guess you're also stuck with me, Mykola."
And Rin's just going to blow Mykola a kiss now; much lighter, briefer than Sen's, more like a friendly greeting.
It doesn't not occur to Dmitri that the vodyan grasps Sen's ankle in much the same way he's gripping Faolan's hand.
He's not going to think about that. Whatever's occurring among Sen, Rin, and Mykola isn't his to touch just now. (Though it might be a relief, that Sen's at least willing to consider finding a way to accomodate the pact.)
What is his to touch is—
Well. Not Faolan's hand; that's a gift on Fae's part, that this contact's been permitted to remain.
Dmitri's purview is to manage the fracture he's caused, and as he and Faolan stand watching the scene at the water, he speaks softly, "The truth, Faolan, is that I feel for you what I have never felt for another."
Immediately, he shakes his head, huffs a breath; that wasn't as specific as it could have been. Fuck's sake, why is it so difficult to approach this man in words? He seeks Faolan's eyes, swallows, and: "What you are is astonishing; what you are stops my heart in its chest.
"What I mean is your being bathed in your own fire's light. Your hand wrapped in my own, or seeking mine out of your own volition. How your eyes reflect the stars; how your voice spilled reverberant across calm waters. How you allowed me— Welcomed me. To lie beside you, through til dawn.
"And Faolan. You may think yourself rotten; you may have been given infinite cause to wither. But your heart shines like no other. There is such tenderness in you— Twined, yes, with viciousness, equally to me taste." He attempts a crooked smile, nearly manages.
"There is no one and nothing like you, Faolan; this, I promise. And I should like to know your heart, and better offer you my own."
<.>
Mykola jerks backward from the kiss as though there might be something deadly about it. It sinks just below the water, its face distorted by the slow current as it stares unblinking at Rin. When nothing happens, it mimics the movement of lips, sending a bubble to break the water's surface.
Harmless.
Another of its tentacles finds Rin's tail and twines delicately, never taking any imposing hold.
After a while, Sen speaks again. "I'm not certain how it's meant to work. It needs a host, but it can exist on its own - obviously. I gather there's an element of protection in 'riding' - a symbiosis. Magic for me, safety and comfort for it. Experiences. It may feel what I feel, as well - we never really discussed it."
Raising his voice just a little to be certain the vodyan is listening, he continues, "The problem is boundaries, isn't it? It would take control of me while I slept, at first. Or while I was mid-fuck. Then it would steal entire days from me."
[ Borrowing. ]
"If you can't give them back, you aren't borrowing," he sighs, then leans shoulder-to-shoulder with Rin. "The other problem is it learned 'borrowing' from me - and lying. And gambling, as a matter of fact."
[ Cards-dice, ] Mykola bubbles, pleased to contribute to this recounting.
"Cards-dice. Yes, but you aren't very good at them, are you?" he replies without rancor. Mykola's response is another splash of water.
[ Played cards-dice as you play. ]
It's clear, despite Sen's grousing and the discomfort, the unpleasantness of the situation, there's a depth of relief for both himself and the vodyan - perhaps even dim fondness, relief at being together again.
"Broke and unable to recall entire weeks at a time? I puzzled out the culprit. It was joyriding, and that was not the deal, now was it?"
Mykola eyes Sen, then tilts itself back and summersaults slowly in the water.
"And this is generally how our conversations went. I talk, it -" He gestures to how the vodyan twists, seeming to chase its own tentacles. "I'm not sure whether it's ignoring me, but it seemed so, back then."
Sighing, he swings the foot being held by the tentacle and Mykola lets the movement carry it back and forth through the water. Bubbles float upward in bursts - laughter - and Sen smiles with something like nostalgia.
"But more to your question, Pretty Rin: yes, I would have to share. However, I think it's grasped the idea that even if it doesn't share with me, it will have to share with you. Which means it may only play cards-dice when I am aware, or when Rin is watching, yes?"
Mykola grasps Rin's tail and swings slowly between them, Sen's movements carrying it against the current, and the current carrying it back.
[ A sometimes-host for cards-dice, so it will be we three together? ]
"Ah. There was that." Sen snorts, then turns to look over his shoulder at Dima and Faolan. Turning back, he replies, "Perhaps if you ask Dima very nicely, he will find you a sometimes-host."
Looking to Rin, he mouths, Corpse.
<.>
"Oh, no." Words spoken below their breath as Sen talks about losing time. That is a serious problem, and the look Rin's giving Mykola says they really don't approve. Maybe Mykola didn't understand, but still, it can't have been okay for Sen, and Rin scoots closer to him, winding an arm around his waist. And softly, gently they sway their tail in the water, a way of showing Mykola that even if Rin doesn't look entirely happy about that 'borrowing,' it's all right for the vodyan to touch their tail like that.
They do like the idea of playing cards or dice or cards-dice all together sometime; that could be fun, right? But there's the other thing to address first—
"Mykola, you can't just borrow bodies like that, not even with pacts. It's really not fair, because— Okay, do you know dibs?" They do not wait to hear whether Mykola knows dibs; Rin is too focused on getting their point across right now. "Well, whoever's in the body in the first place has dibs, and you have to ask if you can join them. Like asking 'please for fuck's sake' and if they say yes, then you can hang around, and if they say no, you have to be okay with that.
"I'd like very much to play cards-dice, all three of us. There are all kinds of games we can play, and maybe we can all go for a swim, though I don't love water all the time, and— Did Sen teach you about pickpocketing?" They shake their head, give their tail a little flick, just at its end, so they don't shake off Mykola. "Pickpocketing's very different than taking over bodies. We need our bodies to live, right?
"I want all of us to play cards, but you have to promise not to borrow or get into Sen's body without his permission. You'll probably have more fun anyway if Sen's in on it with you.
"Besides, Sen needs to be able to remember things, because I never do, and none of us'll get anywhere if nobody remembers." Yes, that is a very good point they've made, and Rin nods emphatically.
<.>
Of all the things Rin says, the only thing that causes Mykola to still is this last: Sen needs to remember things.
Its hold tightens on tail and calf, not to cause harm, but to keep itself steady in the water so it can regard Rin very seriously. Abruptly, it releases them both and dives, vanishing into the murk of the water. A rippling trail evidences where it's gone: in a circle around them, under the bridge and back again.
"It's thinking," Sen comments approvingly. He looks down at Rin with an appreciative smile and thinks maybe if they'd been around all along, they might have been able to translate his sense to Mykola's...nonsense, really. Or at least simplify things he tried to overexplain to the vodyan, thus likely causing it to be inattentive.
He presses a kiss to one of their horns and, while Mykola continues its circuitous pondering, whispers, "You are stuck with me, as well. As long as you'll allow."
These words come punctuated by the wet return of tentacles; Mykola's eyes break the surface and it waits until both elf and tiefling are looking at it again.
[ No dibs. So Sen-Seddum may remember. ]
Sen hums as if to say, well, would you look at that, but the vodyan tugs. There's a 'but' coming.
[ Allow me. Dibs for you, allow for me, remember for Rin, and we live together, together. Apart only sometimes. We weaken together, apart, Seddum. ]
Sen considers this grimly; in the back of his mind, he wonders if maybe as Mykola ages, it will be able to remain outside his body for prolonged periods of time. If not, well. Any life is better than none at all.
"We'll discuss it again. How long and when you may have a turn at the reins. We agree only that right now, we are sick. Right now, we need to share."
[ You promised - ]
"I promised no specifics. You promised none. We need to deal better.”
[ …Unhappy with this, Seddum. ]
"Brilliant. Then you've learned to compromise."
Mykola's answer is another splash of water.
<.>
"Dibs, allow, remember," Rin muses, leaning their head against Sen's arm and nodding. "That seems all right to me." It's something, anyway, and Sen seems to think it's an acceptable something, and maybe all Sen and Mykola need is a way to start learning how existing together can working. And aloud, more like thinking out loud than making a precise point, "It's hard enough working out how to live in one body, so it takes time to figure out two, and sometimes sharing. That makes sense."
Against Sen's arm, they nuzzle a little bit, thinking how, really, how really nice it was to hear Sen say they're stuck with him, also. How that felt right. And how it's also kind of nice, just sitting on this bridge with Mykola holding on to both of them, then swimming around, then peering over the water jussst so.
Messaging Sen: [ Oh, I'll allow forever. I am VERY certain of you, you see. ] And there's a nudge of their horns against Sen's arm; there's a happy little grin.
Then speaking more directly to Mykola and Sen: "There's probably ways to make it happier for both of you. Between the three of us, I just bet we'll figure something out. Probably a lot of something."
And a thought, a cant of their head. "Mykola, where do you go when you're not sharing with Sen? Is there something we can get for you to make it easier? Like a way of travel or something, so you can be around with us even when it's not time for sharing?"
<.>
no subject
He has everything here that he could ask, including the possibility of finding a way to make it all work out right in the end, even if it's rocky along the way.
(He hadn't acknowledged how its absence was a hole within him. He hadn't wanted to think about it.) (Rin would leave a larger, more devastating hole. But Rin is so much more than he ever could have imagined, just as Mykola is, so much more than he bargained for.)
He winds his arm around Rin and Messages, [ Forever it is, then. ]
Mykola, meanwhile, responds to their question with a sloshing of water. Sen feels - it. The buzzing sensation in its translucent form like electrical currents, the sense of having spoken too much of such serious matters and the frustration that comes of just wanting to play.
Some things don't change.
He answers for it. "It can be in water alone - a tidepool, a pond. Somewhere it won't be preyed upon. Somewhere with space, though. Otherwise, we, ah, 'borrowed' some 'sometimes-hosts' for it. Those don't last long."
[ Water-rot. ]
"Water-rot." He nods and Mykola bobs in the water, seeming to nod, itself. "They bloated. Or, as with the flesh golems it seems to have inhabited here, developed mold. I suppose with time, I could sort out how to make something like Faolan's wolf -"
A protesting screech from the water and Sen reaches down a hand automatically, soothingly; Mykola grasps on and holds with several tentacles and one of its own hands, its face distraught.
"A water body, not fire."
[ Not fire. ]
"Not fire. I promise you, no fire." Cautiously, the vodyan releases him and slides back down into the water.
[ Promise Rin to remember. ]
Sen laughs his exasperation, then solemnly turns to Rin. "Rin, my darling not-demon, I promise to remember not to use fire to contain Mykola."
The vodyan stares up at Rin as if to say, We all heard it. In a buzzing whisper, it says again, [ Not fire. ]
<.>
Forever. Yes, that's very, very nice, and Rin nestles into Sen's embrace, still smiling; really, there isn't any reason not to smile, when Sen seems to be feeling better about all of this, and Mykola seems maybe okay with all three of them staying together. It could be nice—
It is and will be nice. Rin's certain of it, and they take Sen's hand, place a kiss upon it. A kiss to seal forever; yes, that feels right to them.
Nodding very seriously to Sen, to Mykola, they repeat, "Not fire.
"I'll keep all the fire for me, and make sure it never touches you. We'll both make sure: Not fire."
Then, flicking their tail to splash a little water at Mykola, grinning, laughing light, "Lots of water, though. There'll be a lot of water for you, and no rot, and never fire.
"It could be a lot of fun, having a water body to run around in. Something that's all for you, but made by Sen, so you'll always feel him there with you, and you can run around with us even if it's not time for allowing or sharing."
<.>
no subject
But he feels so cold, as though he walked a middle road between two extremes, and rather than drawing him into warmth, Dmitri simply joined him.
There's quietude, yes, and promise of peace, and there's gentleness, and those are all very fine things. But there's no fire. Dmitri is persistent, but Faolan thinks of the fury around him as he marched toward Visento and crafted a blade made from words. Where's that fervor? Why was Visento worth Dmitri's fire, but not Faolan?
He talks of wanting.
He thinks, whatever Dmitri wants from him, it isn't what Faolan is.
(He doesn't talk of incineration, of passage through flames together, because that's what Faolan wants. That's what he's always wanted: everything, even if it combusts. Even if the conflagration is destructive.) (Maybe that's what kept getting him in trouble. Maybe it didn't exist.) (Maybe he's not worth it.)
(He's not worth living for; why would he be worth burning for?)
After a moment of indecision, he draws Dmitri away, towards the ruins of the temple where they won't be heard. When he's certain they're distant enough to count it as privacy, he speaks. "I haven't been clear with you. Maybe I was wrong to allow a month to prove anything to me. I thought -"
He sighs, bowing his head briefly before pressing on, "I've had enough, don't you understand that? I've burned so brightly for so long, for so many who gave only dim light in return. I can't now. All these things you want from me -"
"You want a tender, quiet place in my heart? I'm not tender, Dima. I am tired. I am used up to emptiness. I decided to take the ruins of myself away from the people who discarded me; you're asking me to change my mind so you can claim the ashes.
"Do you know what I see in you right now?"
There's a note of pain in his voice, a distant cry for more, but it's weak. "I see a man who would rather die on a stranger's sword than live for me. Someone who takes his fire and stops a monster in its tracks with words alone, but tells me he wants this broken rot of myself -"
With a huff, he shrugs imploringly.
"I don't - want that. I don't want to be tenderly, quietly loved, Dima. You want to trade heart for heart. Do you want the coldness I am now, or the truth of it, when it burns, when I'm joyful and alive? And why - why - must I be the one to settle for what others offer? Why must I make the sacrifices and take the risks? Why must I burn and lose everything over and over, and be met only with cold?"
He knows he's bleeding poison from some wound that Dima didn't inflict alone (only prodded), but he sets his jaw and though his vision blurs wet, he goes on, "Do you know what I want? I want you to risk everything for me. Live for me. Breathe for me. Give up everything you have and follow me across the world. Stand at my side and claim me as your own in front of everyone who knows the name you gave up just to have me.
"Tell me I'm worth all of that - because that's what I would have done. That's what I would have given if I found a heart that burned as bright as mine."
He falters, then softly - tiredly - says, "I may not be worth any of it, but I won't take less anymore."
<.>
He hears, feels his own pulse pounding in his ears, and feels the fall of Faolan’s every word. (He’s approached this all wrong. He’s been too cautious, calculated using all of the wrong quantities.) (He sees that, now. He needn’t keep following this path— And isn’t that freeing, in a way all its own?)
Liviana’s fluttered to a nearby column, not out of earshot (she'd never be out of Dmitri's knowing, regardless), but far enough for some semblance of privacy. And Dima’s eyes are fixed on Faolan, a mingling of regret and hopefulness, of gratitude and red-sparked wanting. When Dmitri speaks, there’s little caution in his voice now. Yes, he jars upon his words from time to time, but there’s no loss of assuredness as he continues; no loss of ardor. He only speaks; lets himself speak more freely, with less guarding.
“Of course I want your fire.
“Faolan— You are flame in human form; a divinity, peerless elision of devastative potential and living soul. I should think—
“No. I ought to have said what I’ve known: That to desire you is to want your fury, your wildness, just as well as what is tender in you.”
A cant of his head, an emendatory hum. “If I have been mistaken in estimation of some tenderness, I beg your forgiveness. But I believe you can be both: The brilliant ferocity of a wildfire, and the sustaining glow of burning light.
“Do you think, Fae, that I could long for anyone or anything that would remain veiled in hush, or lacking fangs, lacking hazard?
“When we met, I watched as you bloomed fire in your hand, ready for attack, and I could fathom nothing else beside you.
“Today, when you snapped a bastard’s neck, I watched heart-stammered, hungry. You sang your sword to burning, and I felt the scramble all around us fade. I saw only you— So often, I see only you, and feel no need for any other image, any other world.
“When I say I see you in firelight, my Faolan, I mean I know you share its heart. “I mean I want you in your fervor; that I will adore you, require you when you roar combustive, as well as when your burn tends subtler, wraps soft around our hands.
“I won’t ask you to forgive my negligence in speaking only of what’s gentle. I have—“ There’s a sharp exhale, a sign of Dmitri’s frustration with himself, and he shakes his head. “I know you’ve endured viciousness, endured daggered words beyond reason.
“I feared that I might wound you.
“I am accustomed to my furies, to the damage I can wreck with words. With expression of my vehemence. I know how to speak with beings like Visento; creatures I set myself opposed to; those I mean to lacerate and render ruined.
“I don’t know the languages of love. Or I’ve had no cause to turn my words toward anything apart from damage and manipulation.
“And I can be overwhelming. In my full force, I can be vicious, demanding. A work of violence and terror.
“I believed— I ought to have asked. I ought to have trusted what I saw in you, but I wanted to take care with you, to take care of you. And I believed that with anything ungentle, I might ward you off.
“There is little in existence that scares me, Faolan, but to think that you might vanish, or that I might drive you away— It terrifies me.
“What I meant to say earlier, is that I don’t want to lose you. I can’t withstand the thought.
“I want you with me always; I want to be beside you always. I’d like to take you to Morovskgorod— If you can stand to reenter the city, with your hand in my own, your step always at my side. If you cannot, then the whole place can damn itself. There is far more to the world than Morovsk. There is— I believe there is all the world beside you, wherever we might go.”
There’s a small hum, a thought, and Dima shakes his head slightly. (Realizes as he does that his hand's found its way to Faolan's chest, settling, pressing, remaining.) “Some other time, perhaps, I’ll show you what rot means to me. It isn’t an ending, Faolan; it isn’t hopeless. What waits beneath rot is combustive. Is beautiful, when coaxed to show itself; when permitted once again to be.
“I tell you this now, so you might know that when I speak of rot, I speak as well of resurrection.
“And you, my Fae—
“There is so much life in you. So much wrath, waiting only for its call.
“There are worlds in you, cries in you I long to see.
“Sear me, Faolan; I welcome the agony, and will rejoice upon it.
“Walk with me, hand-in-hand, step for step wherever we may go. Know my voice in every corner of the world; let me hear your own, forever at my ear.
“Let all who pass by witness us, and know that I adore you. Let them know I’d tear their throats for you, gladly, in an instant.
“Let me stand with you in flame, and give you fuel for burning.
“Let me be yours.”
<.>
no subject
He speaks and Faolan sees him burning with shadows, shades that writhe about him and threaten to lash forward.
Faolan sees visions of cities fallen to dust, their destruction marks of Dmitri's passage.
He's barely breathing because the space between his heart and lungs feels compressed. Because he smells smoke and charred bodies. Because the man before him wouldn't only live for him, but die and return in perfect infinitude; he would kill and raise armies from the bones of Faolan's enemies.
(He sees a god in ascension or a man rising toward his own fall, toward corruption, and beckoning Faolan to walk in step with him no matter the outcome.)
He isn't barely breathing. He hears sharp breaths, shuddering, smiled, baffled (Where have you been all this time -) , and the problem isn't breathing. The problem is he's been suffocating all his life. The problem is, there was never anyone who could walk him back into a wall and hold him pinned there with a hand tented against his chest.
He's dizzy, but that isn't a problem at all.
There's fire pouring molten through him, rushing in his veins and burning his cheeks, agonizing him with need.
(Dmitri called him 'my Faolan'' and then 'my Fae' and he thinks he meant to nod or say something, but he got lost in consuming, burning blue, he started thinking that it wouldn't matter what Dmitri might say or do hand-in-hand with him in Morovsk because there's no one else. Dmitri sees him, wants him, wants to belong to him, and giving up everything isn't a sacrifice at all because the only 'everything' is Faolan.)
He believes every word not because of the conviction behind them, but because it's dangerous not to believe. Because he's pressed against a wall and feels unearthed, long-banked fires flaring to life. Because Dmitri speaks softly and the world burns.
This isn't tentative imploring. He doesn't ask to claim Faolan. He doesn't request to belong, in turn. He takes and gives, speaks the world, shapes it to his truth.
Shapes Faolan's place beside him.
It's terrifying. The thrill of that terror squirms in his stomach and sends static down his arms and thighs. Without the hand pinning him, he might fall weak-kneed to the ground.
Whatever condemnation he braced himself to unleash, he forgets it now; all he can manage when he parts his lips is an unsteady, “Oh.”
Oh, he sees.
Oh, he didn't understand, but now all is clear.
Oh, was this there all along?
Oh, Dima. (My Dima, yes, that too, and it's worth everything because Dima could be everything.)
"My Dima."
His words become a delighted smile around his lower lip, caught between his teeth as though he can taste the last two syllables. As though he can keep 'Dima' on his tongue.
<.>
He would raze the world for that smile. Gladly. He could (will?!) live upon that smile.
And on the unsteadiness of Faolan’s breath, the catch of a lip between (perfect) (oh, how they could sink into his skin) teeth. That breath of an ‘oh,’ and though Dima holds himself straight-backed and steady, he knows the cascading shiver in his heart, knows fire turning bright and brighter in his veins.
He didn’t know a god could speak love; he didn’t know he could be both— Himself in riotous, continual ascension, and himself in this new love. Didn’t know that anyone could wish his uproar, or that he might inspire, might encourage someone’s own. He didn’t need to curb his speech, and though care is needed - oh, Faolan should have, will have Dmitri’s attentiveness just as well as his mad-swirling tempest - there was no need to contain himself to quiet, to caution. (He ought to have trusted Faolan to welcome wildness.) (Dmitri knows now, and he’s lucky - or it’s a grace of fate - that he’s found a fire to meet his own.)
They could burn together; burn the world together, and remake what stands around them. Turn ruin into rapture; turn what’s broken into something more than whole.
One hand holds yet against Faolan’s chest, tented upon his heart; the other moves to Fae’s cheek, a tender settling, an unyielding hold. His fingertip brushing precisely, precisely, a promise of collision and vicious care.
And Dmitri speaks, leaning inward, chin tilting up, his smile a sharp, omnific thing. (Omnific because he knows now he can love this man in his own wholeness, can give him all.) (Omnific because his Faolan said ‘’My Dima,’ as if the words held all the world.)
“Yes. Your Dima.”
His smile turns sly, crooked; his palm shifts to cup Fae’s cheek, and his thumb brushes the curve of Faolan’s lip. “Say it again for me, won’t you?
“Speak my name, and call me yours.”
And, lingering upon the name, tasting the draw of every syllable and speaking this luxuriating pleasure as an offering to Fae—
“Faolan.
“Fae.
“My own; there’s no mistaking.
“Place your hand on my heart. Settle your palm to my chest, and feel it—“
A caught breath as Faolan’s hand takes its place; a pleased flash of teeth from Dima, and a toss of his hair.
“Yes. There. Well done; that's very good
“Feel the staggered racing of my heart. The rush of blood rejoicing.
“Feel what you do to me, my Fae. Who eases and rouses me in equal measure. Who holds the whole span of existence, of its wild span of feelings, in his soul.
“No more hiding, Faolan; if what I am won’t wound you, then your Dima won’t shy from sharing with you everything I am.”
At Faolan’s cheek, his hand tents once again, to brush with fingers, to know the warmth of Fae’s skin. “Show me your fury, my Fae; let me always knows your smile, and know your burn upon my skin.”
And Dima leans upward, leans in to kiss this man.
<.>
Someone calls for Dmitri. Faolan hears it distantly, but the beating of Dima's heart under his hand is so much more than anything the world's ever offered him.
He talked of love. He didn't say the words, but he spoke of it, of loving, and of 'yours' and 'mine', and everything starving inside of Faolan wants it to be true. What would life be like to walk the world beside Dmitri, to belong to one another? (What would it be like to live together with Rose and Thorn, with the wolf and Liviana, and be called 'Fae'? Somewhere and some time far away from Faolan Rhys and all the beds he's known, where 'Fae' only knows the bed he shares with Dima?)
(In Morovsk?)
(Wherever they want. Wherever they choose and please.)
(Dima would shun Morovsk, but what about Dmitri?)
He leans into Dima's touch, his own free hand echoing the caress, each of them touching heart and heart and cheek and cheek. The brush of Dima's thumb along his lip draws a sigh from him, shuddering with relief and want and the words my Dima.
(Dmitri Voronin.)
(Maybe also his?)
Someone calls again, shouting both of their names joined together, and it's beautiful to his ears. Dima and Fae, known to be together and off somewhere, alone.
Dima knows the depths of him. The aching places in his soul where fires turned to embers. Dima knows how to resurrect, how to control fire, how to reach inside Faolan and not only ignite, but incinerate, and all it'll take is a kiss. (Existence could end and begin anew on a kiss; he won't be Faolan Rhys ever again.)
It almost comes.
But several someones are shouting now and Faolan realizes there's a risk here. (There are...a lot of risks here.) That possible first kiss might be interrupted; that's the immediate hazard. He stops Dima with a gentle thumb against his lower lip and a melancholy little frown. A tilt of his head indicates someone's approaching.
His hand presses against Dima's heart as though Faolan means to remind himself of how wildly it beat.
He feels as though the fires that sprung to life a moment ago are burning lower again, making room for all the chaos around them, the unfinished tasks, the worries. (The reason and rationality.) In a tired, low voice, he says, "Another time and place. Not today, not standing so close to where I saw a sword swing down on you. Not with so much left undone."
Faolan pauses, then smiles ruefully. "Not with Sen shouting his head off."
A brush of his fingertips learns the angle of Dmitri's cheekbone, of his jaw. "Take time to think about it, not just as a wish. Think of it knowing who I am and what I'm saying now.
"You'll be my last - oh, Dima, I'll put all my faith in you. I won't survive you if you turn on me," Faolan warns, his eyes imploring, pleading for something more than understanding. He closes the space left by an unshared kiss and brushes cheek to cheek, speaking low - lover's tones - in Dima's ear, "You won't survive me, either. If I'm yours, I'm either your last and only - or I'm your end."
He draws back with a warming smile just as Sen rounds the corner and calls back across the ruins, "They're over here!"
<.>
It almost, almost happened.
(Sen, your fucking timing.)
But suspension isn't an end, and kiss or no, what's happened between Dmitri and Faolan writes itself momentous into time, into the core of Dima's bones, his racing blood. It's already more than he could have thought to ask (it's worlds, rejuvenating and revelatory) (the chance to have, the truth of possibility in someday having both godhood and this man; to walk the path of divinity, of devastation with this man) (gods, it's delicious) (gods, he aches to linger here, sing fire here with Fae), and Dmitri's existence will be something new from this day forth.
Ah, but; ah, and: His existence was altered in the light of a campfire, the lifting of an unknown (awaited) face and honeyed eyes, the spark of fire at a not-quite-stranger's palm.
He tilts his head into the brush of Faolan's touch; feels that touch again, again in echoed knowing. And though he knows what he wants, though he feels no need to take his time, he also knows there needn't be a rush: They've written their fate together here, today. And Faolan's words—
O h. Faolan's profession (his plea, and Dmitri wants to tear out the lungs of every man who gave Fae cause for wariness), his offering of vulnerability, and then his not-only-a-threat, a vow spoken soft, like velvet, tingled and caressing through Dima's soul. (Ah, Fae. Vicious, astonishing man. The fire burning at the forest's heart.)
There's coiled exhilaration at those words, a pinprick networking of breathless fear and ice-hot shivers in his chest, at the base of his spine. Because this man could kill him; this man would, were Dima to bring him to betrayal. It won't happen; Dmitri's certain of himself in this regard. But gods, it's a beautiful sight, the way Faolan brings death to living bodies. It's enthralling, electric, to think just how he would usher Dima to a violent end.
(It's a fantasy. It isn't what Dima wants, not when he desires the alternative with such fervor, such— Such love.
And anyway. Oh, anyway, he's certain Faolan could, will carry him through rush and wildness without needed to reach an end.)
There's a soft-huffed breath from Dima, a nudge of his nose to Fae's cheek before the man can draw away. And speaking low, between them, he speaks: "I understand your meaning perfectly, my Fae— And I would expect no less.
"Be my life's match or be my ruin.
"Though really, there's only one answer. I know what I mean to do with you—" There's a little smirk, a punctuated brush of his thumb down Fae's arm. "—What I mean to do for you, and at your side.
"I'll have that kiss, Fae. And you will have my own.
"You'll see, my Fae. I'll show you."
And Dima lingers in gazing upon Faolan, reluctant to rescind his sight or touch, unwilling yet to let the sight of others enter in.
<.>
no subject
There isn't much more to be done today; the night ahead is needed for rest and, if they wish, some time spent at the Nightmare Market before they continue north.
Nerys shows the group to a circle of caravans, their interiors containing coffins which, Nerys explains, are no longer occupied. It's a place to have their long rest, safe under the wards and protections used by the undead.
Faolan chooses to string up some canvas as a hammock outside the caravans. Sen is perfectly happy to enter his trance in one of the wagons.
When the party wakes, they find Nerys has sent for their things from the inn, and these each are carefully packed and waiting. Likewise, they find the NIghtmare Market is in full swing; Nerys has left a promissory note for Dmitri for his rewards for finding 'Seddum', as well as a sealed scroll with a new contract.
Faolan's suggestion is that they start making their way towards Loch Bien at first light; the sooner they catch up with Calabra, the sooner they can find Manon.
Sen's suggestion is they avoid Payl's shop until they have some good news they can deliver.
<.>
Dima would be eager to look over the items gathered from the major shitheads of the fight, at least to give them a quick check for magic.
[q: is this a thing he can do before zzz, or better to wait until after?
a: He can spend one hour studying specific items to learn their properties, or he can cast Identify if he has it. And he can identify that something IS magic with an arcana check
dm: Sen traces for four hours and could potentially just. Study everything and let him know in the morning. (Note: Sen's trances look suspiciously like being a passed out teenager.) ]
…Dima will begrudgingly. Go to Sen. And request that he examine everything overnight. :/
<.>
Sen examines his nails. "What did you call me?"
<.>
Rin, ps, is sleeping curled up very nearby with Curio.
Dima: "You'll need to be a bit more specific. Certainly nothing you didn't earn.”
Dima is already becoming impatient.
<.>
Sen raises an eyebrow, then stretches and yawns goodness he is so tired maybe he should sleep, after all.
<.>
Dima taking a deep breath.
Letting it out slowly.
"Sen. This will be to your benefit, as well.
"If there's no information to be gleaned from these items, there might at least be gold in them."
<.>
Sen pretends to consider this, then shrugs and smiles. "There might be. I suppose we'll never know, wuh -"
He seems to lurch forward a little, then speaks in the same halting manner as the flesh golem Mykola inhabited previously. "We will help. You help us. A return tide.
"A favor. Kept in our pocket."
And then, with another lurch, he hisses, "Dibs, for fuck's sake. Dibs!"
<.>
Rin, from the depths of sleep, mutters "Dibs!"
Dmitri just stares, blinks. "I would like very much to know who I'm dealing with at any point in time.
"I don't particularly see the use in signing over an unspecified favor for this particular task, nor do I comprehend the cause for your reluctance, save your usual recalcitrance."
He shakes his head, rubs at his temple. "You may keep whatever gold you salvaged from the ruins; is that enough for the time being?"
[q: how much time iS there between Nerys showing them to the caravans and next morning's first light?
a: probably a good 12 hours or so. Enough time to long rest, do whatever trade they need at the more mundane Market shops, have a meal]
Dima is running the calculations on how much time he can spare for examining these items, and realizing he is not likely to be able to manage more than maybe one. Which. He is not pleased with.
So after a moment, he'll offer 100gp for examination of the lot.
<.>
Sen considers this, weighs it against the likelihood that Dima will take back the name calling, and accepts.
And - "Mykola wants the die."
<.>
Dmitri looking very, very confused for a moment, and then, with a wave of his hand, "If we can find no use for it, Mykola can have the damned thing.
"Now if you'll excuse me, some of us do require sleep."
And, as he turns to leave, "Thank you, Sen."
He thinks it was very good of him to noT add 'you shithead.'
And Dima will at this point go get his own sleep in another caravan, 100% hanging out in a coffin.
<.>
[loot review!
light crossbow: +1 (goes to rin)
key: Sen determines that the key does something, but he can't figure out what. It appears to be a skeleton key, but it fails to unlock anything he attempts it on. Whenever Rin would like to attempt to use it, there will be a die check. (goes to rin)
die: The die is, Sen discovers, loaded. He (or Mykola) can control which number it lands on. (goes to sen)
stone: The ruby is a Ruby of the War Mage. (goes to sen, after fae decides he has no use for it)
potions: two potions of healing
ring: it’s just a ring.
There was also 54gp so Dima owes Sen and Rin 46 gp.]
<.>
Dima will hand it over there u go.
<.>
Fae teasingly holds out a hand since Dima's handing out money.
<.>
Dima absolutely looking at Fae with a lip-bite smile. And puts his hand in Fae's.
<.>
Fae to Sen: “Ooo I got the better deal.” And pulls Dima into his lap.
<.>
Dima wraps his arms around Faolan's shoulders. "And I am the most fortunate of all."
Now that the gold has been handed over, Dima will also ask if Sen minds terriblY if he takes the crossbow. Since there are plenty of others weapons and yoU have that lovely die.
<.>
Sen shrugs and says it's up to Rin.
<.>
Rin is very busy studying their key. "Pardon, what?"
They think, they put the pieces together, and, "The thing is. I'll get more use out of it. Is the thing." Rin has decided they woulD in fact like the crossbow. "And anyway you can buY one."
To Sen: [ Moneybags. ]
Dima is entirely too pleased to be sitting on Fae's lap to continue with this.
So. He will concede: Rin gets it.
<.>
Fae watching all of this with a baffled expression. "Maybe you can switch off."
<.>
Rin looks Not So Sure about this... But it doesn't hurt to be open to the idea, and anyway they might forget and that'd probably make the whole deal void so! They nod. "Okay."
Dima offers a half-shrug, and determines to search out a crossbow of his own, because it woulD be useful.
[note: on waking, dima examined the new contract scroll from nerys.
dm: And the scroll is a request to find an item last seen near Loch Bien; seeing as the party was heading that way, Nerys thinks Dmitri could just. Work that in.
The 'item' is a dagger someone rather rudely crafted from a guard's humerus.
The guard is sick of the jokes.
q: does the contract say who the guard in question is?
a: It does nOT. However, Nerys has provided the radius bone that connects, with instructions that it will help them find the dagger. He did not explain how.
note also: nerys did pay out the gold for the completion of the first contract, and dima gives 100gp of the reward each to Fae, Sen, and Rin.]
Dima will acknowledge Sen's earlier suggestion to not speak with Gower until they have good news, but wonders out loud whether it might be worth asking Gower what Calabra or Calabra's fuckhead friends might know or have asked about his daughter and sister.
<.>
Faolan suggests sending Nerys to ask him. It'll be less loaded and Payl needn't know they're there.
[note: Dima and Rin say yes to this.]
<.>
[note: also a thing: Before they left the ruins, Dima would have suggested burning the remainder of Calabra's close cronies, cutting them up if time allowed (which tbh idk that it would and everyone waS tire), and dumping them in the river. Did not want those bodies easily accessible.
Mykola has Issues with dumping them in the river; therefore, so does Sen. But hey. Fae and Dima can burn them, nbd.
VERY nice bonding activity!]
Well with thaT.
Dima would like to find Nerys and see about asking him to speak with Gower. And Dima would like to invite Faolan to accompany him and Liviana through the Market.
<.>
Nerys agrees to speak with Gower to find out what he can, but makes no promises.
Faolan of COURSE goes along, keeps looking at Dima as though he's not quite real, and holds on tightly to his hand.
<.>
Nerys your effort is appreciated.
Dima holding equally tight to Fae's hand, smiling over at him; often with the warm and just a little daft smile; sometimes with that hint of sharpness, hint of teeth and Knowing.
Rin is going to tell Sen and Mykola they should find the friend golem who fought with them and see how said golem is doing!
<.>
They'll find the golem in the fighting pits, its arm reattached. It flips the bird at them as a greeting right before another golem slams bodily into it.
Is there anything specific Dima would like to look for in the market, things that might have caught his eye or that would catch his eye now?
<.>
Rin flips the bird right back before shouting "It's RUDE to interrupt a greeting like that!!"
And Dima! Is on the lookout for other sparkly things that Liv might take a shine to, and writing in Deep Speech or Abyssal, or anything made of particularly odd-looking bone. While keeping far out of sight of Gower's mirror world ofc ofc.
<.>
Fae, hearing he's looking for a sparkly thing for Liv, produces the ring that was taken from Visento; the stone is a tourmaline, refined to a high shine. It would be easy, he says, to pop the stone out so she can keep it however she likes.
<.>
Liv flutters her wings and 'toks' and very pleased 'tok,' and will in fact hop over to Faolan's shoulder for a minute or two in a show of approval! And will in fact also send Fae a telepathic image composed of a sky full of shining stars, all of them the blue of the tourmaline.
She keeps happily rustling her feathers.
<.>
Fae looks quite pleased with himself and Liv's reaction; he assures her quietly that he'll find someone here to do it, or a clever enough jeweler who won't harm the stone in removing it.
<.>
He gets a little nudge from Liv's beak.
And Dima is looking at him with absolute admiration. Dima is in fact also very happy.
<.>
no subject
<.>
Dima would like to take a look at the books in Deep Speech and try to determine whether they're genuine and potentially of interest. And ask the shopkeep how he came into possession of them.
<.>
One of the books appears to be a naturalist's guide to the Underdark. The other is, apparently, a book of Dwarven poetry.
The shopkeeper just stares at Dima. This is probably an impolite question, as "came into possession" usually involves an untimely end.
<.>
Dima begs the shopkeeper's forgiveness, and says he appreciates the chance to have encountered these books and will keep them very much in mind.
He will aLso, though, head to the shop of oddities and look at the books for the Abyssal Plain, suggesting that Faolan see whether there's anything that catches his interest around the shop.
<.>
Faolan lingers behind a moment or two, eyeing the naturalist's guide.
<.>
Liviana is going to stay with Fae for now, which makes Dima a little less reluctant to move on to the books.
<.>
Fae KNEW he'd kept something from the Durst house: after a moment of searching, he produces the iron pendant with the devil's face that Rin didn't want. The shopkeeper examines it thoughtfully, then makes the trade for the book.
Fae trots back over to Dima and holds it out. "You'll be around long enough, won't you? To read this to me?"
He doesn't speak Deep Speech.
<.>
Dima touches the book cover, letting his touch linger, then smiling up at Faolan. "Oh, yes. And it would be my pleasure, Fae.
"In fact. If you'd like, I might teach you some measure of the language? So we can read it together, of course."
<.>
Fae holds the book close for a while, smiling to himself and not quite trusting any of this - but it feels nice nevertheless.
And as for the Abyssal Plain, the book is a deeply boring treatise on planar doors.
<.>
Does it seem like particularly rare knowledge at all? If non, Dima would like to look around the rest of the shop for any items either containing magical properties or usual in the casting of spells.
<.>
The book looks like it's not useful at all.
[note: Dima will pass on this one.]
However, while they're wandering, Fae finds something...else.
He almost misses it, in fact: it's thin, coptic bound, with water damage to its cover and some of the pages. However, the title is barely visible - just enough that he picks it up curiously and holds it out.
In faded gothic text are the words, "Book of the Raven".
<.>
Dima is going to stare at it, smile slightly, and move to Faolan's side as he takes the book, so that Fae and Liv can also see.
Also Dima absolutely saying, "Oh, beautifully done," to Fae as he reads the cover.
[q: is this anything Dima (or tbh Liv) might have heard of? and/or what is it :O!
dm: This is nothing either of them have ever encountered; however, there are familiar contents within.]
And he does open the book.
<.>
The first thing Dima will notice is that the cover is made from thin, unvarnished sheets of black oak covered with bird scratches and indentations from beaks. Within the covers are thirty-three pages bearing tiny, blotchy brown script written in an unsteady hand by an unidentified author.
It appears to be a firsthand account written in Common. The author, after falling off her horse and breaking her leg, was rescued and befriended by Vistani travelers who graciously nursed her back to health. The account details her three-month travels with the Vistani.
Though richly detailed in description of the Vistani, the book only names two: Drasha, a teenaged girl who applied the author's bandages, and Darzin, a one-armed boy with a terrible fear of wolves, who sang beautiful songs to take the author's mind off the pain from her leg.
All told, the book seems to be an anthropological study of the Vistani way of life.
The ending is abrupt, with the troupe approaching a the gates of a tall, winding castle and a description of its dreadful countenance. There are four blank pages following the ending, which comes mid-sentence.
Most intriguing, however, is a piece of parchment that has been folded and slipped between two pages. The map doesn't seem to have been a part of the book to begin with.
[q: Would Dima know anything particular or general about the Vistani?
a: Dima would probably know quite a bit about them. (+includes screenshot of info)]
<.>
Dima is very, very intrigued by and drawn to this. He tells Fae and Liv his intention to see about securing the book, and if there are no objections, he's going to speak with the shopkeeper to see whether he might have the book as the final bit of contract payment.
[note: The shopkeeper seems only too happy to part with the book.]
Dima is pretty hype to give this a thorough read and study. And he'll be examining that map, trying to determine where it might be.
[dm: Dima will recognize some of the map locations as older landmarks in Morovsk. The names aren't the same, but Scorch of the Red Wyrm is an active volcano he would be aware of.
q: how old do the book and map appear to be?
a: it's at least seventy or eighty years old]
And Dima will not be examining this especially far right now, since there is not a whole whole lot of time in the night, but he'll keep glancing at and through it as he continues to walk with Fae, and yes he is just going to slip his arm through Faolan's, and tell him this just might be a future adventure to share.
<.>
Faolan smiles, pleased to have found something for Dima that takes his interest so thoroughly. "I'm sure we'll have plenty of adventures besides."
"So we will. Plenty of adventures, and a life's worth of time to share between our wanderings. In peace, in fury, and in our own rejoicing." His eyes travel once more from the book to Faolan, catching on that smile, his heart hitching its bear upon the sight. And, voice softer, "You'll be very happy, Faolan. We both will be.
"When we rest, and when we burn the world just as we please."
<.>
no subject
They can also here make the decision to either walk the three or four day trek to Loch Bien or to take Awich's river to the coast and journey a half day from there. While the latter is considerably shorter an option even going against the current, it is known to be more perilous.
So begins some shopping and housekeeping!
q: Did Nerys have any info from Gower?
a: Nerys will talk to Gower on the road between markets, so as not to hassle him while he's "working.”
q: if they take the river to the coast, would they be traveling by boat to Loch Bien?
a: They can take either boat or walk the coast road.
q: when is The Gathering Of Nobles supposed to begin?
a: The gathering of nobles is meant to begin in about a week or so; everyone was arriving with ample time to enjoy the hospitality of Alfrig.
q: would the goblin's hand have found someone to stay with at the market? or does rin still have it?
a: The hand will be staying with Nerys for a while.
note: Rin gave friend golem a pouch containing ten ball bearings
dm: The golem friend appreciates the gift as it has never been given one before, and will cherish it greatly.
Rin proposes selling off the weapons they pulled from the ruin corpses unless anybody wanted to keep any of them. Dima and Rin both agree it'd be wise to buy rations and potions; Dima would also like to look into a light crossbow.
dm: For selling the weapons, probably everything prices out to about 300gp, more or less. A lot of it was damaged by golems or fire.
Dima pays 25gp for a light crossbow, then 50gp for powdered silver and iron. Fae sells a quarterstaff and scimitar for 15gp. Other items are sold and bought, money is divvied up. Sen ends up with the Ruby of the War Mage and the hand crossbow from the party’s collective inventory.
Rin has put everything they stole from Calabra (except the money and the whetstone/cloth taken from Torrio's nightstand) in the Bag of Holding, unless anyone wants to keep any of it in-hand. Dima does take the correspondence.
dm: I will allow people in the party (apart from Rin, who has no focus (lmao in multiple ways)) to work together while traveling upriver to cast an enchantment on Dima's light crossbow. I’ll say 3 days - the entirety of the journey to Loch Bien plus some time in an inn room - and no cost, as all of them are either magical or using a focus, and they're not crafting an item, just enchanting.
Rin, not having a focus, isn’t included in the enchanting work and is free to pick pockets and talk to Curio and do what Rins do. Rin can handle food prep! Maybe do some scouting around wherever they camp and practice their Elvish.
And since Dima is reading the book on the Underdark to Fae at night, roll a d20.
(Dima rolls a 5. Thankfully, Fae rolls higher.)
Dima and Fae both learn a piece of lore from the book that gives them advantage in a specific Underdark scenario: They gain advantage in attack rolls against Drow Mages.
After the first night of travel to Loch Bien, Dima would have contacted Derzhena via sending to let her know that Something Is Up with Calabra, and that Dima found 'Her' aka Liv.
Thus ends the housekeeping! And the party advances to Loch Bien.
<.>