stardiving | IC Inbox (Victory Road)

[He's carried your ass around enough for one day!!!

He doesn't really have much else to be doing, and the motion is relaxing enough that he's actually...fallen into a light doze.

What, he had to run back here and haul your ass across town, he's allowed to be a little tired. You're heavy and he's done a lot of walking today.

So he'd noticed when Solus cut his hair--there's the sensation of it being gathered, and a bit of the scissors going through it--but not how much of it he'd removed. Solus is right that he doesn't really care, though, so much as it's not all cut off--his hair grows quickly, a few moons will see whatever was removed back and then some.

But then he feels the light touch on his arm, and he almost flinches--not expecting it--and the tension comes back.]

...are you finished fussing?

Ah—not quite.

[He removes his hand at that, Estinien's stirring and his question bringing him back to what he's doing.]

After all, you still have that fringe in yours eyes. Won't be too terribly long, now.

[He sets back to work, trimming that side as he was supposed to from the start, instead of gawping at Estinien's bicep. Truly, what is the matter with him? As if he's never seen a man chiseled from the life of a soldier before...he must be losing his mind. However, as he goes to finish up the other side, he looks to Estinien's forearm—scarred like that shoulder—and finds himself touching the marred skin.]

This is from Nidhogg, is it not?

[You're high as a kite, that's what the matter is with you. Look at you, getting all these experiences in.

The moment's gone, and Estinien is starting to shift a little uncomfortably, like there's too much energy pent up under his skin. Iceheart lifts her head and pokes his hand with her nose, so he starts letting out that nervous energy by scratching her ears.]

...aye. Tis where the wyrm's eyes sat.

Mm. A pity.

[He doesn't move his hand immediately, as he feels the skin and looks it over. The grooves from the burns, the scarring that's warped the skin...it's awful ugly, but just as pitiable. His mind wonders to that conversation they had, where Estinien, robbed of breath from panic, told him of such possession. Of such tragedy not only for him, but for Nidhogg too. A piteous fate and a piteous sight—if Estinien were any less noble he would not allow himself to think on it overmuch, yet he has proven himself several times now.

Finally he removes his hand, focusing back on Estinien's hair, finishing the side and measuring it with the rest. Lastly are his bangs, which puts Solus and Estinien face to face, Solus offering him a disarming (and quite obviously high and exhausted) smile.]

My, once I have finished, you might look passable for civilized. You do clean up nicely.

[And as if he wasn't pushing his luck already, he curls his forefinger under Estinien's chin to attempt to turn his head as he eyes those sheepdog-like bangs of his, trying to decide what to do with them.]

[The hand on his shoulder doesn't move, and his discomfort just starts ratcheting up accordingly. During his childhood, he remembers freer touch, his parents and their affection, his little brother being glued to his side, but after...Estinien had already well pulled away from most of the Temple Knights before he even started his dragoon training in earnest, and friendly claps on the back or hands on his arms were few and far between.

And dragoon training, especially for those such as him, is tailored to reinforce their anger, aggression, and fear.

Where Solus looks tired, and disarming, Estinien looks nervous and jittery, and trying very desperately not to bolt or bite.

So, really, it's not much of a surprise that Estinien jerks his head back before Solus can touch him with a warning growl rumbling deep in his throat, flashing his teeth in a display that's not so much intentional, or even human, as pure draconic instinct, a warning that he has fangs and if you persist in your course, you may yet feel them.]

[The nervousness certainly did not dissuade that hands approach, but he stills and hangs in the air at Estinien's backward jerk and growl. His eyes wide, eyebrows raise at the display, and he's left wondering exactly the cause. This is not the typical reaction to one invading another's space, it's not even typical of a man—no, this is something more...dravanian in nature.

Settling his hand back in his lap, as he likewise leans back in his own chair, his expression returns to that disarming and gentle smile it was a moment ago, perhaps fringing on concern.]

Estinien, you need not react so. I do not aim to harm, you realize yes? What has you so afraid of my touch, I must wonder.

[His eyes narrow, but not with malice, rather with curiosity as he looks the man over, scrutinizing his face, his posture.]

Is it intimacy you fear?

[Well, perhaps not, but Estinien sure as seven hells can't tell you how his own brain perceives threat sometimes, or why his already limited words sometimes leave him entirely, like they have now.

Sensing his mood, Iceheart shifts and gets up from his lap, turning around to lean up and put her front paws on his shoulders and butt the top of her head against the bottom of his chin, with the soft crunch of the ice crystals in her fur.

The contact makes him visibly jolt out of the reverie with a shudder, but it's cold fur and not someone's hand, so it doesn't come with the same sort of threat to a mind trained to see them everywhere.

He ducks his head down to press his forehead against the little puff of fur on the top of hers, burying his face in the fluff and the grounding cold.]

...need to stop.

[...he'd probably be more discernible if he wasn't speaking into the top of a Vulpix's head, but...]

[Fortunately with Solus' attention fully on Estinien...or as much as it can be with his state, he does hear him. At least the important part. He frowns for a moment, because he isn't done, but it's not exactly advisable to try to cut someone's hair when they're freaking out or against it. Especially with scissors so close to their face. Letting out a soft sigh, his eyes scan over the two for a moment...what a sorry pair they are.

What a pitiful mess he is.

Idly, his gaze wanders to the kitchen, to his fridge. He hadn't much in there, but...]

If you need a drink to calm you, I am glad to accommodate.

[A beat, his eyes flicking from his fridge to the pair once more.]

...My apologies, I had not meant to disturb you so. I suppose I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me.

[Look, he never said you couldn't pick it back up later if you insisted, but he's having a bit of a time right now okay.

After another breath or two, he straightens up, face tinted a bit red from the cold.]

No, just...a moment.

[Or...a few. Maybe a couple hours. He's never quite sure how long this lasts. He shifts Iceheart off his lap so he can get up and go back to the bathroom, and grabs his tunic and gloves, pulling the former over his head before tugging his gloves on and coming back out. Already, having his coverings back makes him feel better.]

[Listen, you never know how spooked people get! And how unwilling they are to resume something once they've been frightened. It's just more realistic to assume the worst!

Solus is still watching him as he takes his time, then goes to the bathroom. Once the door is closed, he sighs and rolls his eyes. Then he rolls himself over to the fridge to pull out a can of beer for himself and for Estinien. Not that he...needs to be drinking on his pain meds, but hey! Science!

With Estinien returning, and regrettably covered up, Solus holds up the can, shaking it lightly (not enough to shake it up) before putting it on the table for him. Turning his attention to his can as he goes to pop it open.]

Queer little cans they've got here, hm? 'Tis ale, in case you weren't sure.

[By Zodiark, Estinien stop him.]

[Yes, the gun show has closed for the day, how tragic.

Estinien reaches out to snatch the can before Solus gets it open and sets it on the table. He's been around the chirurgeons enough to know how bad of an idea this combination is, and has been tasked with keeping other knights out of their cups while drugged on poppy milk. (Shockingly, a lot of alcohol abuse among Temple Knights and the Knights Dragoon both.) He's not sure what you've been given but you're acting like them so he's not gonna let you take that chance.]

You cannot mix alcohol and painkillers of the sort you've been given. It could cause you to slip into a coma, possibly die.

[And he just dragged you to the Pokemon Center, you falling into a drugged stupor would negate all that work.]

[It really is incredible how much faster someone can move when they're both not injured nor drugged. Solus sits there for a moment, staring at his empty hands, before leveling that surprised look at Estinien. With that scolding, he smiles at him.]

Would that really be so bad?

[He says it with a clear edge of humor to his tone, but there's also...enough of a genuine look to his eye that leaves it questionable how much that was a tasteless joke. He's still running some theories off in his head about this mortal form, and whether or not one might truly be capable of dying...but maybe he shouldn't experiment with such while Estinien's here.

Or at all, really, but whatever.]

But very well, if you insist, I swear I won't touch a drop till the painkillers have run their course.

[Estinien just levels him with a flat look that says 'that really isn't funny'.]

I only just hauled you here, do try to keep yourself in one piece for more than a few hours.

[Seriously, how inconvenient, downright rude even.

He goes to put both drinks back, because he's not going to drink when he's not gonna let you do it either, and instead rattles around until he finds glasses for water for the both of them. Then he comes back and sets himself down back in the chair. Iceheart leans against his leg, and he takes a breath.

He doesn't look as grey, certainly.]

[And Solus just shrugs at his look. Clearly grim humor such as that is wasted on people who give a shit.]

I have no true designs to kill myself, worry not.

[Except he just nearly...and it's not like he didn't have some idea, he knows alchemy, but also he might have just forgotten with this hazy mind of his. Whatever... Raising an eyebrow at the glass of water, he sighs and resigns himself to taking a drink. He sorely needs it, as his parched throat makes such immediately apparent the moment water touches it...and sure enough he downs the whole glass.

Putting the glass on the table he glances at Estinien, watching him for a moment.]

You certainly look better. [He offers after a moment.] ...Is that why you were not so keen about dressing down at the beach? None too proud of the scars upon your body?

[Yeah he's used to that being a cry for help.

He just sighs and shakes his head. At least if he's a disaster, he's not also self-destructive ~~usually~~.]

I do not relish the piteous stares of strangers, no, and as you've seen--tis not like they are subtle.

[He takes a sip of water.]

People are wont to ask questions.

[It probably is, even if Solus himself doesn't think so.]

Is it so terrible that someone might take an interest in you?

[Solus certainly has, as if that isn't obvious by now.]

I can understand not wanting to be pitied, little is there aught more humiliating, but do you truly detest others so? I would not guess as such, with how willing you are to give even your enemy succor. Even save him from himself. A lesser, more hateful man would have let me drink myself to death.

Would have left me to rot in that stairwell.

[Being known is a horrifying ordeal. He much prefers being a weird cryptid.

But you've told him much and more today, so a small trade seems only fair.]

...I have been that hateful man. Little and less do I wish to be him again.

[He glances away, down at Iceheart sitting on the floor, looking back up at him.

It's not the first time he's come to see someone he's counted as an enemy in a different light.]

[There's a silence that falls after Estinien's admission, and Solus watches him for a moment. His eyes trailing down to Iceheart as well.]

...Her name is Iceheart. Seems a fitting name, all things considered, but I would wager it was not brought about by idle creativity.

[His words are deliberate and gentle, like he's trying to not spook a wild animal with his verbal approach.]

Would it have aught to do with that hateful man you once were?

[The silence continues for a few moments longer, as Estinien mulls over his words.]

...In part.

[There's another pause, before he continues--he rubs his left wrist idly with his other hand as the words start coming.]

There were a number of Coerthans who learned aught of the truth of the Dragonsong War afore the rest of us, and threw their lot in with the Dravanians. Their leader was a woman named Ysayle Dangoulain, the Lady Iceheart. She meant to end the war, to restore the peace that man and dragon had once shared--I thought it folly, of course, by that time I already knew well Nidhogg's unceasing fury, though I asked to accompany her, the Warrior of Light, and Alphinaud all the same to attempt to parley.

Tis not any kind of exaggeration to say that we loathed each other, but by the end of our travels we had...come to understand each other, somewhat.

[He shakes his head, it had been not so long ago after all, and so much had happened.]

...she gave her life to protect ours, in the end, when we flew to confront Thordan and put an end to his lies and ambitions. And whilst Nidhogg's eyes were being pulled from me, her spirit was watching still. Nidhogg would have killed us all, were she and another not there with us.

[Hers and Haurchefant's spirits both--their sacrifices had kept the hope of ending the war alive, and without them he would not be here, unworthy as he feels of it at times.]

[Silent and patient, he listens as Estinien surprisingly says...quite a lot. It's clear to him the hurt he feels recounting this, the mourning and grief. The guilt. The war in itself explains a lot of Estinien's...quirks, the tragedy and trauma that rides along with such atrocities against life. But this explains much more.

Gives depth, context.]

...Did you love her?

[The words are said before he can stop them, loose-lipped as he is normally, worse so when high and in pain, but he does not try to retract the question once he realizes that was not an idle thought in his head, but one spoken out loud.]

[He doesn't know how to answer that. He had been still so single-minded, thinking only of avenging his family, his people, and killing all the dragons he possibly could before his life was snuffed out himself. He hadn't expected to live to see the end of the war, scarce expected to see even the end of the year whenever a new one started. Love was certainly not a consideration.]

...Mayhap I could have, had our lives been different. I know not.

[He shrugs, looks away, looks tired. His hair is in his eyes again, the fringe in front still long enough to fall over his eyes, hide them when he doesn't want to see or be seen.]

But if aught else, she deserves to be remembered.

...All who we've lost deserve to be remembered.

[Again he speaks without thinking, but his gaze has drifted from Estinien, focusing on nothing in particular. They are kindred spirits, in a way. In their loss and pain. In their grief and wistfulness for those taken from them. Those who have sacrificed themselves, so that they may yet live.]

You have my condolences, truly. 'Tis never easy losing the ones we love, and to remember them is a burden most bittersweet—but it is the duty of those who survive to cherish the memories of the ones we have lost. To preserve them, in any way that we can, so they are never truly gone.

Edited 2020-05-30 07:36 (UTC)

[There are a lot to remember, and...it's hard to, sometimes. His mother's voice, his father's face, his brother's smile--all have faded over the years, he's lived his life longer without them than with. The rest of Ferndale--cousins, aunts, uncles, friends--were just as fogged in his mind.

When he's gone, there will be no one left to remember them.

Then there were others, fellow Knights and Dragoons, fallen in battle--some whose names he'd never even learned, but if he'd been faster or stronger, perhaps...

No, he cannot think like that, he'll go mad.

He's lost in his own thoughts for the moment, so he doesn't respond to Solus's condolences, just holds the glass of water in his hands and stares into it like it holds the secrets of the world.]

[The tragedy of the mortal mind, that such important, heartfelt things can become faded and forgotten. Where as for Solus...for Hades, he remembers it all. Every excruciating detail, every feeling, sound, sight. All of it has been etched into his very soul.

So when the silence falls from Estinien's end, Solus likewise stays silent as his mind is transfixed on the past. Thinking on that time of death and fear, of all those lives lost. Of the destruction of Amaurot—of the sacrifices made. Of the sundering. With a grimace, he brings his hand up to his forehead, rubbing at it with his thumb and forefingers.

What a sorry pair they make, piteous and damaged. Burdened by the weight of being survivors, both tormented and traumatized by their duty to their lost loved ones. After a long moment, his gaze returns to Estinien, beholding him with an expression of empathy. His chest hurts worse in this moment than any of those kicks Steven had laid into him, a deep, raw ache that never quite goes away. But at times, it gets worse, and now is certainly one of those times.

Without thinking, for his mind is much too busy to do anything of the sort, he attempts to stand. It's a wobbly endeavor, one that does not instill confidence, but with the pain meds at work, he's able to do so. For the moment, at least.]

'Twould seem we both well know this misery, hm? While we may not be allies back on The Source, we are here—through truce and understanding.

Should you ever need for succor, know I shall provide it.

[Aye, just two sad bastards being sad and tired. The memories being dragged back up ache as they always do, a sluggishly bleeding wound that he can't stop picking at, an old bruise that he sometimes hits without meaning to.

He sighs, looks up from the glass in his hands to Solus standing. Not sure if that's a good idea, but...]

So it would seem.

[He puts the glass up on the table.]

You should rest.

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cw: suicide joke...

therapy, emet...

What's that???

something you should consider looking into

Mmm. No. I think not.

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