❪ event ❫ hour of ruin

[natha]

HOUR OF RUIN     Sometime after midnight, after preparations have been put aside in favor of drinks and rest, a thunderous beating of wings shatters the air — the High Dragon Ysverai, once again risen. The sound echoes high off Namarak Mountain, but travels easily to both Wyver and Olympia: scream after scream rends the still night, as though a creature were dying rather than being born again. Having only had days to plan their defense against the creature, Olympia and Wyver snatch up their arms. The Royal Guard and the Knightryders can be seen on their steeds hurrying through the cities, because Ysverai doesn't remain isolated at the mountain's peak for long. There are pictures of Ysverai in abundance throughout both cities, but the creature that circles in the sky looks nothing like the majestic creature spoken of in history books. Even from far below, wounds and lacerations can be seen marring what should be smooth scales, and blood falls with every beat of the dragon's wings. The damage becomes more clear when moonlight illuminates Ysverai, revealing the rotting dragon for all to see. The sight of flesh peeling away and thick blood where it oozes from his cracked, greyish hide is as frightening as the power he possesses. REASON'S TRANSCENDENCE     Mad from the anguish of his forced revival, Ysverai will show none of his renowned wisdom or compassion, mindless and seeking to inflict his pain onto whatever emerges in his path. His very presence creates chaos: animals (Olympia | Wyver) domesticated and wild, flee from the merest hint of his approach, panicked and stampeding in wild droves. The reason is obvious: organic matter exposed too long to his presence begins to rot and decay. A field he lands in rots and lies fallow. Buildings crack and crumble, their supports pitted and corroded as though they've been left in disrepair for years. Even the ground that Ysverai walks upon is tainted; a corrosive sludge bubbles up in his massive, clawed footsteps, the ground beneath him putrefied and toxic, oozing corruption. This sludge can be tar-like, poisonous and sucking people in like quicksand; panic, and you'll only sink faster. Prolonged exposure to Ysverai takes a mental toll on anyone in his proximity as well. Effects similar to those from being near his heart — selfish desires and lowered inhibitions — will begin to fester in those around him. Every time Ysverai roars, pain will run through all those that hear him — a pain not just physical, but of true, anguished heartbreak. Those who hear Ysverai will feel (to a degree of your choosing) a sharing of his pain, the agony of flesh rotting from their bodies, blood oozing from under their skin, and a terrible, incandescent fury — and beneath that, a gut-wrenching sadness. This effect is further enhanced by any exposure to Ysverai's blood, and being drenched in greater quantities will cause one to become more in sync with the dragon. Finally, Ysverai is aggressive, attacking anyone and anything that approaches. He starts by breathing out a smog, acidic and putrefying — characters caught directly by this attack will find that medicine and healing magic of any kind hurts them for hours after exposure. The dragon will ignite the smog to breathe fire, if sparingly. IN WYVER     Ysverai's shadow falls over the near reaches of Wyver first. Upon hearing Ysverai's cry, the dragons in Wyver become completely frenzied, turning against their partners among the Knightryders without the slightest resistance. Those familiar with dragons might deduce that they're in pain, though they don't show any sign of injury. The dragons knock their riders off their backs in midair and dive at citizens, jaws wide. Any attempts to soothe them will be long fought, achieved with great difficulty, and will see them retreat into a cowering state. It's not just the airborne Knightryders taking to the defense of the city however, and people on the ground are mobilizing as well. On rooftops across the city are cannons set to fire harpoons. And if the spearheads alone aren't enough to injure the beast, they're coated with a paralyzing poison as well. Unfortunately, the soldiers stationed on the rooftops are prime targets to the frenzied dragons populating Wyver's skies, leaving the cannons open for ordinary citizens to use should they choose. Left alone too long, and cannons may fall under the control of the few remaining radicals that had opted not to flee the cities to join up with their leader Raysc, choosing instead to wait for an opportune moment to unleash their anger on the people of Wyver. These radicals will need to be dealt with before they can turn the cannons upon Wyver's defenders. IN OLYMPIA     In Olympia, the gryphon partners of the Royal Guard react with immediate hostility to anyone showing signs of Ysverai's influence. Their keen senses allow them to pick up the smell of Ysverai's blood and they attack anyone with so much as a drop of tainted blood on them. Those who bear lingering effects of Ysverai's mental attack and who remain in sync with the dragon after hearing Ysverai's cry are also targeted and must face the gryphons' wrath without mercy or restraint. The gryphons must be disabled, for Olympia will not look upon any injury to their prized steeds lightly. However, the gryphons also show some resistance to Ysverai's cry, which is a great boon in battle against the dragon — gryphons that have lost their riders will be available for use, able to carry two passengers at a time. The people of Olympia aren't planning to restrict their offense to pure brute force, and the mages of the city can be seen across Olympia wielding enchanted chains, using telekinesis in the hopes of restraining Ysverai and assisting in the airborne troops. But like the decaying buildings and wildlife, Ysverai is warping the magic around him, the chains faltering as they approach him, whipping back toward the city instead to cage whoever happens to be closest. It's not just the enchanted chains either, but other magic might behave erratically in his presence, as if the very essence of the spells have been corrupted. VIRTUOUS VERSE     Both cities realize they need to seek survival rather than victory against Ysverai, switching gears to carry out diversion efforts and evacuation plans. It falls to refugees to continue the offensive while the Royal Guard and the Knightryders devote their attention to ensuring the safety of the citizens as they flee. With official forces stretched thin, civilians and refugees alike will also need to step up to help herd citizens toward safety among a maze of collapsing buildings. Others will need to see to gathering resources for the evacuation, and while gathering non perishables is easy enough, it's considerably harder to wrangle livestock into cooperating amidst such chaos. Those fighting may be asked to act as bait for Ysverai. Chatter through official troops speaks of a switch in strategy: the objective now is capture the dragon's attention and draw him away from the populous cities and towards the South Outpost. Whether or not it's possible to defeat the dragon remains uncertain, but there's no question that it will be easier to battle him without worrying about civilians. THE RAGE     Luckily, the dragon is indiscriminate in his rage, and easily lured so long as a suitably infuriating target is before him. It doesn't take long to draw him to the South Outpost, but the trail of destruction he leaves in his wake is vast. Once there, the combined forces are greeted not just by Ysverai, but also by the appearance of Ysverai's master. How bravely you've all come to meet your doom! Great heroes, one and all, ha! I welcome you, bring your best. Show me the power that's protected Olympia and Wyver, all that you have to offer me, whatever pitiful excuse for valor you seek to cling to when the fear has you cowering in your beds. All will be for naught in the face of Ysverai's might! Let history witness the day the glory of war is reignited — the day that Wyver remembers its fangs once more! Come, Ysverai, last and greatest of the High Dragons! Come, and restore Wyver to its rightful place! Come, fulfill the promise as our protector that you could not in life! Raysc lifts a gleaming device as he issues his command. Red lights blink and blood, the same oozing liquid that drips from Ysverai's many wounds, runs in clear tubes through the device. Ysverai rears back as Raysc makes adjustments to a control panel — and then lunges forward, mouth agape. With a single swallow, Raysc meets his end. Raysc's attempt to control the dragon has only enraged him further, spurring Ysverai on to new heights of fury. It's become more vital than ever to face the dragon and take him down here and now. A few effective strategies are learned from research efforts and observed while defending Olympia and Wyver: goading the dragon into breathing fire will hurt him, burning him from the inside out, and attacks to his joints, eyes, wings, and exposed bone are effective. Ice is a natural repellent to dragons and can be used defensively or to weaken the dragon's hide. Healing spells will also react unnaturally to Ysverai's flesh, hastening his decay. However, while concentrated efforts will lock him down, Ysverai cannot be permanently killed in this state — his flesh constantly rots and spawns anew. Attacking him here is to protect civilians, keeping him busy to avoid mass destruction elsewhere. Therefore, the battle is one of attrition, a matter of a race against time. You must destroy his flesh faster than it is able to regenerate to have any hope of victory. Finally, when Ysverai is weakening, little more than bones with a few last vestiges of rotten meat hanging from a skeleton, the pathetic remnants of the last High Dragon takes to the skies. His wings are barely intact enough to carry him, yet desperation lifts him, higher and higher, until he lets out one great, earth-shaking roar. A roar that carries across the battlefield, sending all who hear it to their knees. A roar that shatters the swords in soldiers' hands, that rends apart the very air itself — Ysverai's last act, a great curse upon El Nysa, to bring down the sky. AND THE WORLD STOOD STILL     The terror of Ysverai's destruction hangs overhead — a tear in the sky, darkness pouring through, tendrils reaching down towards El Nysa to swallow up the planet in the dragon's final act of revenge. And yet nothing moves. A halo of brilliant light surrounds the rift in the sky, holding the grasping, hungry tendrils in check. And on the planet, not a creature moves. Not a blade of grass stirs. You're not able to even draw a breath. No matter where you are, not even the heart in your chest is beating. Everything has stopped — time has come to a standstill. In a wash of light, an aurora of transport, you find yourself delivered to Thesa Station. Darma stands before you, her expression solemn, perhaps even grim, though that may just be a trick of the station's harsh lighting. She explains what has happened in short order: planetside, time has been completely frozen. We have seen the birth and end of worlds. The rise and fall of civilizations infinite times over. We have seen all threads of possibilities that could have lead to this very moment... Or should have. Perhaps you might doubt our sincerity when we say this comes as a surprise to us, as well... Special technology has been used to blind us. To this day, we only know of one region capable of creating and utilizing such technology... you will find this technology in a city known as Nadril. We understand that you have created a life down in Wyver and Olympia, but now we must ask that you put that life on pause. We ask you to travel to Nadril and find the original Refugee, and with him, answers. As you will discover, he does not wish to speak to us. It is no matter. By now it is too late to keep the Nysan public unaware of our existence. We commend the efforts of those who wish to protect their comrades on the battlefield below, but a creature like poor Ysverai, twisted and warped, given unnatural life with terrible magic and technology, does not simply go down with manpower. Please, leave Ysverai to us. Time on the planet will remain stopped while we determine how to deal with the dragon. For now, rest and recover your strength. We have returned, and soon, there will be new refugees awakening. Perhaps you might like to prepare yourselves to greet them? I'm sorry that I can't answer more questions, but for now, all our attention must turn to finding a way to stop what Ysverai has wrought. A bank of monitors behind Darma displays the battlefield below: Ysverai's frozen, looming figure and the breach in the sky, and the Natha's halo, holding the destruction back. Though time passes normally on Thesa Station, El Nysa remains frozen, and all Refugees are unable to return to the planet until Ysverai's menace is dealt with. Luckily, with the Natha's return, full functionality has also returned to the station. The lights and environmentals are back to full power, access to all areas has been restored, the cafeteria is serving its normal offerings, and there's no evidence of any glitching or malfunctions. Doubtless, the period of rest is much needed after the hard-fought battle. For now, with time on El Nysa at a standstill, there's little else to be done but enjoy the reprieve aboard Thesa Station. FINAL OOC NOTE     Characters that reach an AC length action thread in this event will receive 2 rep for all factions, including Natha. Note that while these are split up for ease of processing, players may submit for all three. OLYMPIA | WYVER | NATHA Players can expect this event to run three days ICly before everyone is teleported to Thesa Station! From thereon, all characters will be grounded at the Station until the Test Drive Meme later this month. QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs ● bestiary taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp ● quest bulletin calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

Natha.

[cassus]

[ Linneus' voice is unmistakable even among the droning buzz of innumerable voices weaving in and out of focus. But the person he's fawning over isn't Dazai, who somehow still manages to be invisible no matter who may look his way. Maybe it's the wall that he's propped up and leaning against for support, his back to Linneus in such a way that suggests he doesn't need to continuously see what's happening to comprehend it. Or perhaps it's just one of those die-hard habits of blending in with a crowd that he's slipped back into after so much trauma shook loose the things that weren't that well-rooted.

Either way he listens to the other man search for an element to busy himself with, grasping at straws and his composure, when the tremble in his touch can be seen from here.

Part of Dazai wants to just walk away, to stop trying or caring either so much or perhaps at all. That little voice tells him to leave Linneus to whatever ultimate sense of catharsis he'll surely find with time. After all, Dazai is tired too, but in a way that isn't forged from physical exhaustion. The majority of his life has already been routinely sleepless; he already expects that, however long the rest might be, his remaining time will follow that pattern to the end.

But his companion doesn't stop, and he watches as Linneus refuses to even slow down as he breezes through his efforts to aid the other refuges, one after another. Dazai hunkers down long enough that anyone else would be ashamed at avoiding someone perceived as a close companion. And in that time he realizes that there's no closure to be found this way, not by Linneus' lonesome. So he unfolds himself from where he'd seamlessly melded in with the crowd, stretches out joints that have long since gone stiff, and turns to approach someone who is well on their way to burnout. ]

Well, well. Someone looks all patched up! [ He nods towards a 'patient'. ] Seems like you've done a good job, Linn.

[ Dazai makes an effort to interrupt only after Linneus has finished wrapping up looking over someone's minor injuries, at best requiring low dose pain-killers. But that's where his patience draws the line, made clear when he catches hold of Linneus' trembling hands, preventing them from darting to aid another body in need. ]

We're stopping now. You're going to walk out of here with me and take a break...

[ Dazai's smile is forced, but not due to struggling through a layer of irritation or anger over Linneus' escapades. It simply feels paper-thin, like a memory of how a smile is supposed to look, but stretched across the expanse of years that have dimmed the recollection. In the past Dazai was always an expert at this, faking it till he convinced himself and everyone else around him that the feelings on his face were real. But he doesn't even remember how to care, about the facade or whether the current expression on his face looks amused or devoid of anything real beyond exhaustion. ]

Or I'm carrying you. [ He'll let a moment pass for that to sink in. ] Your choice!

[inaurare]

[His hands are still shaky; cleaned up to the elbow, to his pushed up sleeves. His clothes, beneath an overall almost like a surgical gown, are torn and dusty, but the clinging cover-up at least makes it possible to get to work.

He doesn’t pull away, but his eyes dart around the room-]

But...

[But... He could say so much - too much. He has to keep going, he is needed here, he needs...

He might have said it all; anything he could to brush off the concern, convince that he was fine burning himself out this way. Had it been someone who knew less of him, he might have.

Dazai has too much of an insight into him to let him get away with any of that, and the knowledge of that makes him say slightly]

...all right. There’s no need to carry me, I... I’ll come.

[cassus]

[ Thumbs rub circles into the pale skin of knuckles he expects will be red and sore, come morning. He knows that the tremble rattling itself through Linneus isn't a mere chill he might ward off with the continuous sort of contact that small touches provide. Emotions don't quell without being soothed by the very same; affection besting hurts that go all the way heart-deep.

If that's the case then it's all the better to relocate elsewhere, to a seclusion where Dazai might offer a more effective salve than a little hand-holding. ]

Come on, then. I'll lead the way.

[ Only one of Linneus' hands winds up released from his hold, once he's agreed to follow without protest. However the other remains kept tight as his captive even as Dazai turns to draw him away from any further would-be patients. There's no lingering, or time to gather up supplies that Linneus might have strewn about. Collecting those will come later, when priorities can shift from healing each other's unseen wounds to something less dire.

A short trip down a corridor leads them into one of the station's many rooms set aside for temporary housing. It's secluded from the more occupied sector, intended to give him a sense of distance from the milling crowd that he presently wants no further part of.

Linneus is a mess, perhaps locked within some stage of shock that he's not entirely aware of or willing to accept, despite how his personal appearance says everything for him. It's more than apparent that he needs to take care of himself before he thinks of putting anyone else first for a good long while, and that includes resting until he can't anymore.

But not in his current state. ]

There's a change of clothes on the bed. [ Once it shuts behind them, Dazai leans back against the door. ] But you're cleaning up first.

[inaurare]

[He is obedient, at least, now that Dazai has a hand on him. His free hand goes to tear off the covering apron he has on, bundling it up inside out and disposing of it in a bin on the way out. His pack was stowed somewhere in the infirmary, but it will be there when he comes back for it, he's sure. It's all he has left, really; all that is material. A few extra clothes, one of his sketchbooks and paints - as if there would be time for painting...

He feels a little numb as he follows Dazai out, almost drifting along behind the other man in silence until he finds him a place and the hubbub is shut out, behind Dazai's back. It's too quiet behind closed doors - the noise was more comfortable and helped draw his attention out rather than in at himself too much. It has always been easier for him to turn his attention outward than in, to reach out for others as if to distract from something inside.

Ah. He knows well the strange clothes the Orbiters provide them with.]

...I suppose I should.

[one hand rubs across his forehead, smearing a little grime]

Is there a place?


(([screams quietly] I saw this late, I'm sorry D8))

[cassus]

[ Where once before Dazai had sensed Odsaku's wisdom looking back at him from Linneus' eyes, now he only sees a reflection of his own feelings, scooped-out and hollowed away for the deluge of nothingness which seems to fill them both to the brim. It's numb inside his chest when it doesn't ache of the kind of loss unspeakable through words, when the agony feels like heartbreak and loss, a sickness of the heart that goes on and on without healing the way wounds can scab over.

It's a mistake to meet Linneus' gaze when he has nothing left to give anymore, let alone smiles that don't meet his eyes. But maybe the other man is too lost within himself to notice or bother with Dazai.

He'll keep it that way, reaching to wipe at a forehead streaked with dirt that should have been cleaned upon arrival to the station, not so very long after. It's neglect written all over Linneus, but Dazai can't cast the first stone when he's no better.

An empty stomach and bed match his heart; and that clear sort of nothingness they provide is grounding in the place of the nausea and the heartache. He'd rather be empty than hurt. It's easier to work through when going through the motions, instead of making the smallest task brutal. ]

We've gotten ourselves into such a mess- [ The world, their present state - everything feels in shambles now. ] ...Haven't we?

[ The prompting of an otherwise benign question shouldn't feel impossible to handle, but the act of striking up conversation feels like torture when he hasn't anything left to say. Dazai can't even fake that much anymore, so instead he chooses to make good on his earlier threat. ]

Hold onto to me, and I'll take you there.

[ Light as he is, Linneus is no trouble to lift and cart away towards the bathing area set up with chilled tile floors and a bathroom which sports a combination shower with soaking tub. Bright overhead lights are dimmed with an elbow, too sharp and needle-like for how Dazai's every nerve feels right now. The lower lights are more soothing, fitting for what feels like the late hour and a bath meant more for lingering in to chase away the aches, inside and out, than a quick scrub.

Without a glass door or any other obstacle, Dazai can get the shower going without so much as letting his traveling companion down. Which seems like something he should do before pulling them both in underneath the warm downpour, and yet he foregoes that completely. Dazai's back takes the brunt of the spray at first, but when his head settles heavily upon Linneus' shoulder, the water cascading down dark hair is bound to spread out onto Linneus soon enough. ]

[inaurare]

Was it our fault?

[near-whispered, the question tastes strange. No, of course the dragon wasn't their fault, the damage it caused, but the way they are feeling now - he is feeling now... did he bring it down on himself? Was this the punishment for a servant daring to think he might belong to something; that something might belong to him?

He barely even protests as the other man lifts him; a sound of surprise is all as the other man swoops him into his arms and brings him through. The lower light helps, the sound of the water helps even more, to alleviate the heaviness of the silence, though he belatedly realises what it means, their standing in the tub with the water running.

Softly, even as one hand comes to brace the back of Dazai's head-]

Dazai, your clothes...

[cassus]

[ Linneus' hand comes over him soft but secure in it's hold, like one does to soothe a creature suffering some inner turmoil that slithers out in jittery unease. The weight of that press works at a coil of tension in him, beginning to unwind the endless knots inside his chest. It's intimate, more so than the held hands and fleeting touches shared from the start of the slow-burning bond they've gingerly worked at. And something in him aches to seek it out, as if he could bury himself within the feeling and never pull away.

So his head tilts back, pressing further into the slender fingers cradling him lightly, and with that means drawing his face from the sanctuary of Linneus' shoulder. As if he needs to brace himself, Dazai gradually pulls back and without ever breaking contact. His forehead may leave a shoulder, but soon enough they rest cheek to cheek, or with his features pressed into Linneus' hair and a mouth close enough to one ear that even a command breathed into that space, harsh and gravelly-deep among the white noise of running water, is easily heard. ]

Take them off...

[ There's no practicality in their current embrace, so Dazai is forced to slowly let gravity do it's job in pulling Linneus to the tub's porcelain center. But they come apart slowly, inches slipping through fingers that still hold on tight. And all the while he leans down, refusing to break the contact where faces draw in close but eyes aren't forced to meet.

Hands can't stand to lose the contact between them, not when so much as an inch of distance tastes like loss, as if he might finally lose Linneus too atop everything else he's ever had taken from him on Nysa. It's unbearable even in thought, threatening to remind of how utterly alone he feels in the entire Universe, now that everything else has been burned to ashes.

So he holds on. This time it's Linneus' free hand, covered solidly by the larger shape of his own, as it's guided to settle atop a clothed chest drenched in bathwater, laden down and heavy with more than just the layers worn atop skin. For as much clothing as he still has on, Dazai isn't wearing any facades tonight. ]

Undress me.

[ There's no coldness there, nothing cruel or unkind, but the order touches upon a side of Dazai that Linneus hasn't yet seen. More darkness than the light he's constantly aimed his companion's way, and the barest hint to an edge of something commanding. ]

[inaurare]

[his hands still shake, but his fingers do not fumble. Undressing a man - undressing anyone - holds little shame or stigma for Linneus when it is nothing he hasn't done or seen hundreds of times before. But the difference now is how much Dazai has seen of him already, without him ever having to remove his clothes. How much he has seen of Dazai, compared to all the other men who have trampled their way in and out of Linneus' life, his heart, without even the decency of removing their shoes.

If there had been anything left in him to be shake, perhaps this might have done.

Soft, he asks for permission with each layer, each dampened item his hands are set to, head still leaned close enough to Dazai's that he hardly has to raise his voice.]

May I take this...? This...?

[barely drawing apart any more than necessary, his eyes flickering between his work and Dazai's cheek, the hinge of his jaw. Each item put carefully aside as he can, even if it is only draped over the sink, working hand over hand and careful not to let both leave him.]

cw: self-harm / injuries

[cassus]

[ Had this been another time or place, with all the world different and not so much agony behind them, perhaps the feeling of the moment they're sharing would be different - lighter and without burden. Except that Dazai can't recall ever once feeling heavier. Losing a world once is hard enough, Odasaku harder still, but to go through being stripped of all he's ever laid claim to a second time around - If not for Linneus, Dazai doesn't know what he would do.

The heat dragging down in beads against his cheek, passed and then pressed to Linneus' own in their closeness are no warmer than the water spraying over them both. The two are almost imperceptibly alike within the candle-low light. But each are salty on his tongue when they trail too close to lips that have to be breathed through to steady himself. ]

Yes. ...Keep going.

[ From his trench-coat to vest and the shirt then bandages beneath- the many layers he wears are a fitting parallel to himself. Dazai at his core, beneath the flirtations and rumored playboy lifestyle and even beyond his act as the lighthearted prankster, lies someone entirely different than what people know. At the heart of him, the real Dazai feels things so deeply that often times those emotions force their way into his flesh.

The inclination to escape all that he feels or the release those things with spilled blood haunts him now more than ever, lingering like creeping shadows seen only in the corner of his eye. Linneus' constant presence is all that stifles them, his busy hands shushing away every prickle of dread and Dazai's own reassuring himself as they wander here and there.

Whenever they can arms stay firm around Linneus' back, his hands not dragging or trailing but holding onto him tight, as if the deeper the press the more likely Dazai could usher Linneus within the cage of his ribs, take the place of his long broken heart and fill up the all consuming void there.

It's some comfort, until everything from the waist up comes away but his bandages, leaving only what's beneath to be discovered. It's no pretty sight, so he tries to buffer Linneus' discovery by unraveling the gauze against his throat, bit by slowly shown bit. ]

It gets worse from here. [ Wounds from guns and knives alike lurk further on. ] Does that frighten you?

[ This isn't a conversation they can have while he's hiding, so Dazai straightens and meets Linneus' gaze with his own; searching blue eyes so familiar yet unlike any other, not quite the same shade as others in his past. He won't sugarcoat things nor smile and pretend that any part of this isn't worth bracing for. To do so would be a disservice to both themselves and how deeply past his defenses that he's allowing Linneus in. ]

[inaurare]

[There is still no harm in checking as he peels back layers, the circle of Dazai's arms slowing him somewhat as each one joins the last - some of them salvageable, at least. Linneus' own, clinging to him, would certainly not do him for another wearing, and are probably be better off disposed of.

He knew the bandages were coming. He hadn't known they were quite so extensive as all this.

Damp hands reach up, smoothing wet locks away to cup Dazai's face. Popping up a moment on the balls of his feet to counter their slight height difference and press a kiss to his forehead]

No.

[not frighten. It tugs at his heart more than a little, that it might be worse under the bandages, but it doesn't frighten him, even as he gently stays the other man's hands a moment]

I'm here.

[he can be here, though a talk, if one is coming, might be better had later. Linneus might not understand right now, might not be the most talkative right now, but he can listen. He can accept. He can be here.

Heaven knows neither of them have it entirely together.]

You won't frighten me, Dazai.

[cassus]

[ The life changing trials and tribulations undertaken in the last few days linger on them both like a grimy second skin. Dazai wants to scrub his own flesh until it's raw as if to scrape away every last memory of what's happened to practically wrench his heart out from his very chest. Yet Linneus' constant presence combats his urge towards self destruction, preventing it from blooming into action. It's inexplicable, but having this kind of companionship keeps at bay the kind of chilly detached cruelty Dazai is capable of when he's broken down into his basest sense of self.

A world destroyed can easily break a man, and Dazai knows he's teetering on that razor's edge. Logic tries to remind that he's not alone, that many have suffered over and over again yet remain steadfastly strong. Linneus is the perfect example, refusing to lash out or collapse in defeat. Not even when Linneus' faithful companion's absence echos loudly in a silence where the trotting of a certain little llama can no longer be heard.

He's being selfish, wallowing in a grief that could consume him in a short space of time and destroy the bond he's worked so very hard to nurture with Linneus. It's tempting, to be driven into pushing the other man away, running from his kindness and the all consuming dread of yet again feeling that soul-shattering sense of loss that always comes with caring for someone else. But as fearful as he is of getting close to anyone ever again, Dazai can't bear to cut off their contact as though none of it had mattered.

Dazai feels torn in two, between isolating himself and seeking comfort in someone who has been his rock from the start of their interaction. And in that frustration a hand slips free to cover eyes that feel raw as the rest of him does.

It's the soft presses to his skin, which his eyes shut beneath to soak up and draw strength from, that finally begin to pull him from the darkness. A sigh expels some of his anxieties, setting broad shoulders into straightening and his gaze less steely than a moment before. ]

Funny, wasn't I the one who was supposed to be looking after you?

[ There's a playful tug upon one tattered inch of Linneus' sleeve, noting beyond it's decrepit and dirty condition that it should come away along with Dazai's clothes. ]

Here. [ A touch to the hem, suggesting it should be lifted. ] Let me help you, as you've done for me?

[inaurare]

[he could be pushed away - easily so - but if that were to happen, what then? The people he has met here, the relationships he has nurtured here, they're all that he has left, really, and Linneus is someone who has thrived off his connections, always, even when he shouldn't have. He had been a demonstrative child, approached the world with a heart wide open. But that child, that open heart, had had to be shut away once he started work at the Teahouse. It was hard. He still got hurt, was still burned, because his heart would reach out despite is efforts, despite knowing he was only being used so long as he was wanted. As long as he was desirable.

He had tried building walls, hiding his heart away, and that hadn't worked. So instead he learned to brace himself for the hurt. Learned that there were ways to keep going, however patched and broken that poor heart became. After years of that, opening himself up again was harder still. But it had happened, somehow, and the patches in his heart began to fill as he allowed them to. He had connections here, friendships, and perhaps friendships that could grow into something more, with some careful tending.

The things he thought himself most likely to lose are all that he has left, after all of this. The loss of them just leave him raw.]

You were. But I don't mind.

[for all that, he cannot lay claim to anyone's attention, anyone's time. But he lifts his arms obediently to let Dazai remove the shirt, a slight twinge in his left shoulder. Bruised and scraped in a lot of places beneath his clothes, and his skin is still a slight patchwork on his sides and torso, places his clothing can hide.]

[cassus]

[ When Dazai draws off the shirt that had once been clinging to Linneus' form, he takes care to be mindful of any potential wounds that may reside beneath it. The tattered garment settles beside his own pile of discarded clothing, quickly forgotten soon after it's freed from skin. What he doesn't miss is the hitch of a shoulder as clothing falls away, followed by a marred patchwork of flesh poorly knitted together. Scars speak of a slow healing process, one that took so much time to mend damaged flesh that the tissue will never be the same again.

It's one thing to hear of traumas endured in the past, but something else entirely to face things that obviously were once a gruesome sight and surely horrific to endure. Imagining Linneus suffering that kind of pain seizes Dazai's heart with a pang of his own, aching over the thought. ]

We're more alike than I'd thought.

[ Scarred inside and out, the both of them have gone through unimaginable traumas, atrocities of such magnitude that only their flesh can describe. He knows Linneus must feel exposed like this, bearing his scars in the open to more than the mirror's reflection and his own eyes. Dazai understands that all too well. His bandages aren't so much decorative as a second skin; an effort to bury things below the surface when his own flesh can't cover them.

There's a compulsion to touch them, putting his hands on scars that surely reach all the way down to Linneus' soul. But instead his fingers end up against petal-pink hair, combing it back as tendrils of water slide from Dazai's arm to leave silky strands damp in the process. ]

I'm sorry for that.

[ Nobody should mirror Dazai this way, least of all someone so delicate and soft as Linneus. The other man has deserved more good in his life than he has ever been the recipient of. And though it's some small consolation in the face of everything, Dazai tries to provide a little kindness here and now. He works the fingers of both hands slowly through hair that needs tending to after all the dust and debris it's been through. There's all manner of bathing products on a rack nearby, but his aim is more comforting than practical for the time being. ]

[inaurare]

[He shakes his head - at the apology, not the comparison. Scars in others had always held a certain fascination - scars and tattoos. The one told tales of a life lived and an injury overcome; the other a story inked into the skin through the bearer's choice. Gilder had had so many of both he couldn't help but trace them out, fingertips light, cautious but curious over healed and dyed skin, because they were not for him. What fascinated Linneus in others terrified him for himself, but out of practicality, rather than vanity. The brand on the sole of his foot had been enough - any other small scar, or even an imperfection, could put a massive dent in his value, and his value meant everything in the life Linneus had come from.

The injuries he had sustained three months ago had terrified him for that reason. As much as he had come to learn, his mind still returned to Ivore, to the thought that such injuries were not only going to physically scar him forever, but render him worthless in the eyes of others - he would never be looked at the same way again; and the possibility of being valued or treasured was growing all the more distant.

Who would want him in the first place, with his history? Who would want him now that he was scarred?

Such thoughts near consumed him in his captivity, amplifying his fear and his worry and his pain, and even when he was told he could be healed... of course he was afraid to believe, and painfully aware that even if possible, letting his body heal faster than his mind might be awful for him. So it was slow; necessarily so, for his own sake, starting with what was visible and working through.

It was hard to look in the mirror for a long time; but Linneus had had that before, and while it was slow, it was getting better. He was mending; or at least he had been, though at the moment he feels stretched taut and brittle, some how. There's a shaky breath at the hand in his hair and he lets his head roll forward, leaning it against Dazai's shoulder.]

[cassus]

[ The silence is so very fitting, suitable to make way for the white-noise of a shower's spray that drowns out an endless stream of troubled thoughts. And what good is talking anyway? Nothing in terms of words, be it the deepest promises or kind and inspirational advice, can patch all the holes punched within both their hearts.

'Anything I would never want to lose is always lost.'

He feels adrift, like an unmoored boat in the middle of the sea or a child who can't find their way back to where they belong. And how can he not, when all the normalcy he's finally grasped is gone? A home, a life on Nysa and the memorable places those were built upon are lost, perhaps forever frozen in time.

Dazai wonders how many times he'll let Odasaku down, breaking promises to be a good man and build a life on the right path, when twice now that life has been uprooted and destroyed. He doesn't even know if he can start down that road again, if there's strength enough in him to keep going when all of it always ends.

'It is a given that everything that is worth wanting will be lost the moment I obtain it.'

No matter how much Dazai shouldn't burden the other man, he still gravitates to Linneus, for solace and comfort and a sense of coming home that is unfair to ask of someone with whom he has hardly enough history to excuse the depth of this attachment. ]

...This hurts, doesn't it?

[ He imagines all of it does. Everything hurts, so much that there's a strong desire to hide away within this shower for days in place of dealing with any of it. He doesn't want to face anything or anyone nor the situations unfolding beyond the steady sounds of their breathing and the shower's spray.

Still, what he's referring to is the left of Linn's shoulders, which Dazai is careful in handling when a broad hand slides atop bare skin. It skims against muscles that must be sore, twisted or aching, without adding the kind of pressure that will smart if it's recently injured.

Beyond that steady brush of fingers he doesn't try to press the issue or force a conversation. Not when this is more than he should be asking for, more than he should be taking- Both the closeness and Linneus tucked away against the front of his chest. He's so near that Dazai can't resist the need to shut both eyes and rest his head atop the other's man's, curling around him in a mutual search for something to steel one's soul against the emptiness felt in the aftermath of so much tragedy. ]

[inaurare]

It's fine...

[it's not fine, but his injured shoulder isn't hurting him the most, right now. If anything Dazai's hand is soothing, but that feeling is confusingly at odds with the rest of him, with hurts that are far deeper than just physical. The touch draws his attention into his body, though, the ache of his limbs, the weight of exhaustion set into his bones. He hadn't had to feel it before, not while he was moving...

A little shake runs through him, and for a moment Dazai might feel the knit of Linneus' brow, the twist of an expression hidden away. It's a moment more before he can steady himself, pulling back but only enough so that he isn't mumbling into Dazai's shoulder, his forehead still rested there.]

May we just...

[...not sure how to finish the question. They can't stay here, though they may want to, and the sound of the water, and the low light, it's all so much softer. But he needs to take his weight from his body, if only for a little while, even if sleep didn't come...]

...I'm tired.

[and even in this state, it registers he's never spoken in such a plaintive voice in all his life]

[cassus]

[ In answer the shower goes silent and a towel finds it's way upon Linneus' skin, draped around him like a veil, with no further prompting or explanation needed. He understands in such a way that there's no point in saying so nor a need for either of them to acknowledge it.

Dazai has his own settled over one shoulder, plenty large enough to dry himself off. But that's hardly a concern when he can feel Linneus begin to break, like a glass that he's always known has been held too tightly, splintering in his grip in warning before the final shatter comes. ]

Should I carry you?

[ Arms are already around him, steadying and present without the slightest hint that they expect anything, one way or another. Dazai is merely here, as Linneus has been for him- time and time again, without question or demands.

It's not fair and it's not balanced how he reciprocates all that care. But it isn't nothing, and Dazai refuses to leave him, no matter the outcome. ]

[inaurare]

[but already so much more than he’s had - more than he deserves.

The silence after the water is cut off is jarring; but the towel draped over him provides a different sort of hush that has him closing his eyes and nodding a little]

..would you?

[his words a little bit disconnected from his body language, as if he hasn’t agreed already, as if it’s still an offer that can be retracted. But Dazai’s arms are still around him, and they haven’t left yet.]

Please, yes.

[cassus]

[ By now anything startling about having Linneus in his arms, one way or another, has melded into a sense of familiarity. He fits there, secure and safe in as much as Dazai embraces him like this is downright routine, when in actuality it's new enough to be worth the shock that never comes.

Instead they're left without that jarring sense of strangeness, and only Dazai mirroring back the gradual acceptance with a nod that touches their foreheads together while he permits Linneus to take his time in solidifying his decision. ]

All right...

[ Talk is cheap, worth even less so when a man like Dazai has spent too many years putting nothing behind his words- neither effort nor truth and least of all feelings. So he'll let his actions speak for him instead, with arms drawing around and underneath the other man in order to pick him up bridal-style before exiting the shower.

Soaked clothes won't matter soon enough, with spares set out for both of them. But he is sure to set Linneus upon the bed with his towel drawn around him as a barrier, so that nothing soaks the sheets or mattress below.

Still, after setting him upon the sheets Dazai is slow to draw away. Impossible as it might be, it feels like Linneus is the only thing keeping the hastily stitched together pieces of his heart from unraveling at the seams. So he stays, the hand once holding him up along the length of spine unmoving as the rest of him. ]

[inaurare]

[It should be possible for him to take some strength from the hold, but right now, it's just enough that it's holding him together. It will make it hard to get anything done, but for now... surely there is no harm in prolonging this, letting an arm hook around Dazai's waist, his fingers tangling wherever they can.

Under any other circumstances it might seem lazy or needy - they're a mess of half-removed clothes and damp hair and they should probably dry off properly. But there is no harm in this, just for a few moments]

Thank you.

[his head has found a comfortable place in the crook of Dazai's shoulder, sheltering there, and he barely bothers to lift it as he murmurs]

Thank you, Dazai.

[cassus]

[ Below the belt Dazai still retains his everyday attire. However, above the waist there's nothing but bandages that engulf the whole of his chest and the arms drawn loosely around Linneus' body. Which means the landing of that hand atop such a thin barrier is felt more than he's accustomed to. Less like his skin is being touched, he perceives the contact deeper, down past the superficial and into his soul. Both too much and yet barely there, Dazai's shoulders rise with a shallow breath that braces against the feeling that he can barely grasp at.

Because when he's touched like this, really and truly almost upon bare skin, it's not enough. It doesn't harbor the finality of a punch or the twist of a knife. Just the kind of softness that he can't begin to know what to do with, or how a liar like himself can reciprocate in kind.

He's out of his depth like this.

Rubbed raw down to the bone Dazai aches like something wild left badly wounded, waiting for the final blow to finish things once and for all. But that end never came. Not for their world or for him. Time stretches out, going on and on, and it's the excruciating wait that he thinks is the very worst of it all. Lingering on and hoping that there's a way to start anew, while holding all the loss he's been carrying for days now. The itch of it drives him to bite the inside of mouth hard, not satisfied until a copper tang hits his tongue.

And in the here and now there's no destructive outlet to distract from a world now lost; frozen within a moment in time. There's no drink here to numb the senses or any hope of a blissful sleep where forgetting is possible just for a while. That leaves something more personally detrimental that he can't do while Linneus is watching him and wanting to save him from himself.

So Dazai deflects it outward.

The mounting frustrations come to light, but not until Dazai has leaned in and over the man in his arms, pushing them both back into the bed. Where he'd once needed to carve out his own heart and tuck Linneus inside the cage of his ribs, now he doubts that would placate him.

His is a heart that's too selfish to leave.

Instead it just wants to take, to consume everything endlessly until the void within it is filled or to drown itself in such indulgence that it never feels again. And maybe that's where the compulsion lies to put his hands and teeth upon the other man, to mark him up and leave him bearing the weight of Dazai's pain, as if inflicting it upon another splits the burden in two.

Some part of him thinks it cruel. And that's exactly what he is. ]

...Don't thank me.

[ Even though their foreheads touch, it's not for the sake of any softness that Linneus is more than worth receiving. Instead it's meant to hold Dazai back, to shackle him to something he can focus upon, before he does worse than merely think. ]

I don't deserve it.

[ He proves that, punctuates his selfishness with fingers that drag possessively over Linneus' skin. Hands move over him in places known to harbor no wounds in a way meant to press the other man ever closer to him, till they're chest to chest. ]

[inaurare]

You do.

[he's too tired to protest, really, but he's also too tired to be anything but strictly honest. Perhaps it's strange, or even contradictory after the life he's had, that he can still somehow believe the best. Perhaps it's out of the hope that maybe someone, someday, might think the same for him one day. Perhaps it's a little of both, and the knowledge that such acceptance is one of the only ways to help people really heal.

He feels as though his mind is growing sluggish, and Dazai pulling him further in, and into the bed is not helping. He clutches for some... sense, even as he's settled against the other man, his hair damp and curling, without the effort to straighten it.]

We should-- dress. Rest - will you rest?

[cassus]

I don't know if I can.

[ His die-hard insomnia isn't the only threat to falling asleep tonight, what with the events of the last few days still fresh within everyone's minds. Those alone are enough to invade a person's waking thoughts at every corner, and trouble them into sleeplessness.

But Linneus is here, solid and secure within his arms, anchoring Dazai in a way that's meant to bring calm. He isn't be sure how successful any attempt at rest will be, but he can try.

The matter of slipping free of their sopping wet attire is solved easily enough as he leans over Linneus, hauling the pile of Natha-supplied clothing nearer. His bandages pose a secondary complication and will take much more time, compared to the pants the other man is wearing. Linneus makes for a quicker change, so he's Dazai's first choice in who gets to slip into something decidedly more comfortable than what they're wearing now. ]

Lift your hips. [ A tug at his waistband. ] I'll help you get these off.

[ If there's no sound of protest then he's moving onto pulling the zipper down before gingerly tugging off everything beneath until it lands on the floor. Dazai's towel is close enough that he can use it to begin working the material over thin shoulders, chest and hips, aiming to chase away the damp chill settling over his companion's skin. Soon enough it's drawn over Linn's waist, giving him some privacy and the ability to dry himself and dress, unless he'd prefer that Dazai continues looking after him. ]

[inaurare]

Mmhm.

[he nods, indicating his understanding, and obeys to get them off him - he was probably going to chill if they left it much longer, and the dampened fabric hits the floor with a wet sound, ruined too, holes in the knees. No objection to being undressed, never mind naked in Dazai's lap, though the towel is welcome and it's strange to be dried off only in that he hasn't before. He can enjoy the moment, though, the other man's hands moving over him with care.

Left to him, the towel all pooled around his waist, he manages the bare minimum, partly out of tiredness, partly out of unwillingness to move his arms. They were hooked so comfortably around Dazai, but at least the man will have a little freedom to move without Linneus clinging to him like a limpet.]

There were clothes...?

[cassus]

I managed to get a spare set, just in case.

[ It wouldn't be entirely accurate to say that Dazai had planned for Linneus to be sleeping over, all from the very moment he'd selected the additional pair of garments along with his own. There were practical uses to a spare in any situation, certainly all the more so when it came to clothes. But perhaps some small part of him hadn't hoped to room here all alone. ]

Here, lift your arms.

[ There's a soft shirt held between his hands, readied for Linneus to draw his limbs through the sleeves. Linn's torso is the driest portion of him yet, so everything else will have to come after Dazai redoubles his efforts to dry him off with the soft white towel at his disposal. Undergarments, slacks and Dazai's items are draped upon the bed near Linn's side. They're close enough for him to notice or even take ownership of himself, while Dazai busies his hands with the task of helping Linn don cleaner clothes than he's been wearing. ]