❪ 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

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. ]

[inaurare]

Thank you.

[for dressing him, and the clothes. Dazai may not have been thinking of him necessarily, but Linneus still appreciates it. He raises his arms obediently - still that little catch of his shoulder; he'll probably be bruised there later. At least he's functionally clean - they didn't scrub under the water, but the worst is washed away, stirred out of his hair by Dazai's careful fingers.

In this moment he can't help but call to mind one of the things the housekeepers told him when he was a child - something like 'clean body, clean clothes, clean bed'. The provided clothes are comfortable, at least. It doesn't matter that they're not to Linneus personal taste.]

Your bandages are still wet...

[cassus]

[ Once arms are drawn through the sleeves, Dazai relinquishes his hold upon the shirt, setting his wander-prone hands free to do as they please. And explore they do, the nearest one pressing to that injured shoulder where fingers gently knead circles into the muscle. Thanks to Linneus shedding his clothes, Dazai has memorized the patchwork of his injuries and where each are. So steering clear of them is a job done without the need to see bare skin anymore.

The steady rub of a strong hand over skin continues as he resumes drying Linn, using his own towel to rub over damp hair that still retains traces of where they'd been moments ago. And the massage doesn't end until he's sure that gentle, steady pressure has worked at least some warmth into Linn's body to chase away the ache. ]

If you want them off...

[ Shoulder soothed to the extent Dazai can offer, his hands and attention switches gears. Catching hold of Linn's wrists he draws them forward until slender fingers can easily drag themselves over the shape of his broad chest. ]

All you need to do- [ His voice drops to a whisper in the space between them. ] ...is ask.

[ Dazai closes his fingers atop Linn's, shaping digits into curved forms, where blunt nails can rake wherever they drag. With a little nudge he guides curled hands to graze over the handful of the pale white gauze, leaving goosebumps behind in their wake. After that all it takes is a downward push of their joined hands to pull at everything beneath that touch, including the bandages which draw away in long ribbons. ]

[inaurare]

[there’s an initial hiss at the touch to his shoulder, but he knows Dazai’s intentions are good, and although he tensed up again for a moment the gentle touch soon has him unwinding again with a sigh. The warmth is helpful; Dazai taking the time to help massage it back into him, to dry off his hair.

He might call to mind a more cogent argument for the removal of Dazai’s bandages - theyre wet, he could catch a cold - but right now his own intentions are simple enough. He just wants them settled and ready for bed - the both of them. He had been careful before, not to say sleep, though he knows he will be soon enough. There is lingering concern, though - Dazai had mentioned before, that he struggled with sleep, and even like this Linneus knows well the storm he had glimpsed behind his eyes, just a moment. It was one that Linneus has held down himself for many years. Of the severity he can’t be sure, not without words put to it, but Linneus knows how it feels. He had been left alone to face his storms, to battle his demons and for a while the worst of them came at night, even when he was alone in his bed. He does so fear to leave Dazai in facing his.

But they can do but what they can do, and it is a familiar enough thing to have his hands guided, to let them follow and push the bandages away.]

[cassus]

[ All his bindings end up upon the floor, long forgotten in lieu of Linneus' hands. They're warm, attentive and so very present upon sensitive skin which rarely endures the sensation of contact. It's hard to restrain himself from suffering a shiver or hitch of shoulders when he's touched, but Dazai endures the whole of it without too much loss of decorum.

At least his breaths are even, not rushed or left to pour out at the sudden over stimulation. Because he feels too much all at once- vulnerable and open in ways that next to never happen. The knot of his brows, fixed with concentration as opposed to anger, says as much.

His body is a work of art, scarred throat to torso in a constellation of wounds. It conveys a story of violence eternally inscribed upon him by gutting knives and gunfire alike. Few places span more than several inches where the territory remains unmarred. More often than not the marks themselves interweave as if patterns in some strange language carved into living flesh instead of stone.

Some are small in their size, taking up scarcely any little room, though their impression likely ran towards greater depths than widths in their assault upon his flesh. ( Bullets tend to do so. ) Meanwhile others expand out across his body, the scar tissue mirroring gruesome flowers whose blooms remain marks forever fixed upon Dazai's body. ]

How's that? [ A steadying breath lifts his chest beneath Linn's hands. ] Better?

[inaurare]

Better.

[softly murmured, chasing the last of the wrappings off with his hands. He doesn't understand all of the marks - how, with what many of them were made; never came across guns before in his own world. There are so many of them, though, and his brow pinches into a frown for a moment not at the sight of them, but the extent coupled with knowledge they are all leftover reminders of things endured, things inflicted on Dazai.]

You're here.

[His words don't feel enough in this moment, but he is. After all of it - the events of the previous days, the past so intricately mapped across Dazai's own body... Dazai was still there.

One hand reaches up, slides into the man’s hair and brings him closer, secures a touch of foreheads and keeps it close with an arm around the man's waist]

…we’ll talk. In the morning when… [when he’s rested? When he’s better? He isn’t entirely sure of either of those things, or if it will even be morning, the next he wakes] …we’ll breakfast, and-- we’ll talk, maybe.

[They don't have to. Perhaps the morning might be no better, perhaps his words would still feel so little then, but it feels important to at least say. He won't go anywhere. They will still be here in the morning.]

[cassus]

I'm here.

[ Dazai allows himself to be drawn in close, nearer than people tend to be permitted to corral him. But this is Linneus, and the press of their foreheads isn't something forced by a commanding hand. If anything it gives and gives, supplying comfort in the way a drowning man is only kept afloat by the blessing of something selflessly willing to carry his weight.

Leaving their inevitable discussion for later seems to lift an unseen weight. It absolves him of solving anything on a night where he can barely find any words let alone feel anything positive stir in their wake. And it's that assurance which leaves him sighing, letting out his tension in a single breath as eyes shut against the feeling of relief. ]

Tomorrow, then...

[ Better still when he remembers that it quite nearly may have never come, had circumstances been different after the dragon's awakening. ]

That sounds like a better idea.

[ Not just good but better, more so than anything said or done which might try to force a faux resolution tonight. Linneus is wiser than him at times, certainly on matters of a human heart which needs time to heal no matter the illogical impracticality of leaving everything unsaid. Efficient as his mind his, with wants to push past his current state, there's no mending it's wounds with brute force. Only time and much needed rest can sow the seeds to recovery. ]

But for now, I think lying down would be the very best idea of all.

[ That will require that he finishes changing, but even so he loiters in Linn's hold for as long as he can. And in the place of keeping hands busy with either dismissing the rest of his attire all together or replacing it with new, his fingers card slowly through Linn's hair. ]

[inaurare]

[the way he relaxes is reassuring - the lightness, somehow, in Dazai’s weight against him. Linneus won’t judge, and won’t lay him down with meaningless platitudes. Wouldn’t, even if he had it in him to do so. They can talk about this later, or they can not. It seems so often they talk about everything else, but if there are topics they can’t manage... that’s all right, too.

Right now, simple is better. There is time for the rest - there is time.]

Clothes, then.

[Dazai still is not dressed for bed - they can at least do that. Not that Linneus is exactly dressed himself, with the hem of his shirt pooling about his mid-thighs - but it’s large; he can pass it off as a nightshirt. Perhaps not so much on Dazai but he frees up a hand to reach for the clothing set, a little tilt of his head once it’s pulled closer. Let him return the favour?]

[cassus]

[ That little gesture springs from his mouth a smile that grows and grows. It's tentative at first, while still fresh with the dawning realization of what such a subtle tilt implies. But then it's ages well, settles a little lopsided as it gets comfortable, until there's no doubt he's rather satisfied by this turn of events. He never has reason to find himself feeling smug around Linneus, of course. But had the man been anyone else, he'd surely proudly crow about how eager Linn must be to divest him from what remains of his still-soaked clothes. ]

You've taken off most of my clothes, already. So- [ A noise of consideration.] I suppose returning some to me is only fair~!

[ They can't do this with his hands in the other man's petal-pink hair, so he obediently lets go in order to hold them out for Linn. It places Dazai's scars on display in a way that should leave him self conscious or even shamed, deep down beneath all the facades he puts on. And yet, against all odds and even his own beliefs, there's none of that. Only an inner calm and comfort.

Linn knows him in ways Dazai never expected, and more so than that he accepts him, time and time again. Despite is mood swings and bad behavior or even the signs of something horrific, Linneus cares unequivocally. And he feels that in this simple little show of affection.

It's no wonder he can't stop smiling. ] Your turn, next. [ Back and forth, to and fro. Always as equals. ]

Unless you'd prefer we risk a scandal and have you sleep with me practically in the buff?

[ Okay, so he absolutely had to resort to teasing. At least it helps keep him from laughing at how absurdly pleasant the once heavy and somber moment now feels. ]