Sylvain Jose Gautier (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heir_to_ruin) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
cancry2021-01-19 08:56 pm
heir_to_ruin) wrote in cancry2021-01-19 08:56 pm
Now and again, we try to just stay alive
It's cold. It's wet. He's miserable and he doesn't like it but he knows he can help a lot more by gathering info and trying to pull in as much cash as he can. It's an acceptable trade. Never mind the time he gets to spend flirting with all these pretty ladies. It's inevitable that the drama will start, though. Strolling along with one girl on his arm and another he'd gone home with not two days prior happens by.
It's quite a ruckus if anyone happens to be near the fountain. One sharp slap, then another, each of them getting their turn before one of the girls shoves him hard enough to go toppling into the fountain itself. The water isn't terribly deep but it's enough for the chill water to swallow him up, falling backwards, gasping despite himself when his back hits the water.
For a moment, one that seems to stretch into eternity, he feels like he's frozen. Unable to move, to struggle against the weight of the water. When he finally resurfaces in the fountain the women are both gone and he's panting, desperate and distressed in a way a short dip into the water should not cause.
He scrambles back out onto the road, tries to keep his feet, crashes down to his hands and knees, scraping his palms and tearing his slacks.
When he staggers back to his feet he's unsteady, off balance and struggling to walk. His steps are all measured poorly and he has to stare down at his feet for a long, long time before he's able to really comprehend the disconnect between what he's seeing and feeling. Even once he tucks himself out of the way and tugs off the well polished dress shoes he's been wearing it's hard to understand. As though the chill of the mountain had followed him even here into the underworld. Is that how he had died? On the mountain? Alone and in the snow, lead to his fate by his own brother?
"Why... can't I feel-"
It takes a good long while for him to stumble his way back to the stairs, shoes still in hand so he can carefully watch his feet as he tries to take a few steps. In the end he gives up pretty quickly, redirecting to the train so he can head back to Limbo, back to the closest thing to a home any of them have now. He's drenched and shaking and anyone at home might hear the bathroom door slam before... well it's just too bad if anyone else wanted in there because he's going to curl up under the spray, water as hot as he can bear it, too hot if the vibrant angry flush to his skin when he finally comes out hours later is anything to go by.
Even after that he might be found huddled under every blanket he can find or, still wet from the shower, in one of the bedrooms, towel around his waist, staring listlessly into the large mirror on the closet door, gradually reaching out to touch one scar after another after another... after another. So many scars and so very many of them dull and white, old scars stretched and distorted by his growth. If you know what to look for it's clear they're from when he was a child.
It's quite a ruckus if anyone happens to be near the fountain. One sharp slap, then another, each of them getting their turn before one of the girls shoves him hard enough to go toppling into the fountain itself. The water isn't terribly deep but it's enough for the chill water to swallow him up, falling backwards, gasping despite himself when his back hits the water.
Let's see your crest get you out of this one.
[It's snow falling around him, not rain in the memory. He's small, so small, too small really. Shouldn't he be bigger than this? Not a slap but a punch, hard, heavy. He can feel his lip split under the impact as he falls back. But he keeps falling. Keeps falling down and down and the frigid sky grows smaller and more distant and then suddenly there's dark water closing over his head and the shock of the cold has it filling his mouth, his nose. But he scrambles his way back up to the surface, so small, small enough that he can touch the wall on one side and reach out to stand against the other side.]
Miklan!!
[His voice echoes strangely off the walls, distorted and warped, just like the laughter that echoes back to him as the wooden lid of the well slams shut above him, plunging him into darkness.]
For a moment, one that seems to stretch into eternity, he feels like he's frozen. Unable to move, to struggle against the weight of the water. When he finally resurfaces in the fountain the women are both gone and he's panting, desperate and distressed in a way a short dip into the water should not cause.
He scrambles back out onto the road, tries to keep his feet, crashes down to his hands and knees, scraping his palms and tearing his slacks.
[His hands are pale when he staggers into the snow and somehow he knows that's not good. His clothes are still soaked, the fire that had been burning when he'd fallen asleep long since smothered. The wind howls and he can hardly see three feet in front of him. The snow is too heavy, the wind too strong.]
Mi... klan?
[A strangled whimper between chattering teeth, even though he knows it's useless. Of course he couldn't have just left. Of course he had to take one last shot. He can't help thinking this might be the one time it works out. For a moment he stays there, watching the white of his fingertips beginning to tint closer and closer to violet. He could... He could just lay down right here. Go to sleep and never wake up and it would solve so so many things. What was the point of struggling so hard for so little? What were the odds of making it down the mountain even if he did fight?]
When he staggers back to his feet he's unsteady, off balance and struggling to walk. His steps are all measured poorly and he has to stare down at his feet for a long, long time before he's able to really comprehend the disconnect between what he's seeing and feeling. Even once he tucks himself out of the way and tugs off the well polished dress shoes he's been wearing it's hard to understand. As though the chill of the mountain had followed him even here into the underworld. Is that how he had died? On the mountain? Alone and in the snow, lead to his fate by his own brother?
"Why... can't I feel-"
It takes a good long while for him to stumble his way back to the stairs, shoes still in hand so he can carefully watch his feet as he tries to take a few steps. In the end he gives up pretty quickly, redirecting to the train so he can head back to Limbo, back to the closest thing to a home any of them have now. He's drenched and shaking and anyone at home might hear the bathroom door slam before... well it's just too bad if anyone else wanted in there because he's going to curl up under the spray, water as hot as he can bear it, too hot if the vibrant angry flush to his skin when he finally comes out hours later is anything to go by.
Even after that he might be found huddled under every blanket he can find or, still wet from the shower, in one of the bedrooms, towel around his waist, staring listlessly into the large mirror on the closet door, gradually reaching out to touch one scar after another after another... after another. So many scars and so very many of them dull and white, old scars stretched and distorted by his growth. If you know what to look for it's clear they're from when he was a child.
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[And he is very pointedly not looking at her anymore. There's nothing to be done so he just has to learn how to manage it. Whatever. It's fine!!!]
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Even an unchangeable condition can be managed for better quality of life- or death! Just because you might have to break a few laws of nature to improve the situation is no reason not to give it a try.
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[He scowls down at her. It's not fair hovering when he can't move fast enough to escape. How dare.]
Goddess, just leave it, Medic!
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[All's fair in love, war, and science. You can't outrun aggressive medical intervention.]
That would be more convincing if you explained what "it" even is- or at least just let me do some healing. I can heal and not ask questions, that is a thing I'm capable of! Doctor-patient confidentiality is still legally binding, even in the afterlife.
[...Honestly, it probably isn't, but please don't tell her that. She has so few ethical standards as it is.]
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It's too old for healing...
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[Not looming over him, not pressing herself into his space- just beside him, on his level, one hand resting on the floor between them. There for him to reach out and accept the healing, if he wants.]
How do you know unless we try?
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He doesn't have the willpower to keep pushing her away over and over.]
I was your age when it happened. [And it was never able to be fixed, it took too long to be treated, really it's a miracle he has all of his toes. Someone had helped him with that but he only vaguely remembers it.]
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And you got the memory of it back today? [It's a guess, but a pretty likely one, considering how he's acting.]
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[He just leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at his feet wiggling his toes clumsily and shaking his head, clearly unnerved.]
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[Sometimes, even if it won't fix everything, it's just nice to hear someone say "damn, that does suck".]
...If it helps, I don't think things that happened in your memories are likely to cause any physical damage? There's not really enough of a sample size to be sure, but considering Lion and Phoenix as examples, I think if whatever happened caused you lasting injuries, you probably would have already had it when you woke up here.
At least for the bodily kind of injuries. [There are other kinds. She knows.]
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There was- [No, it wasn't an accident. He can't even try to follow through with that lie.] Something happened... I got caught in a blizzard... the frostbite...
[A halfhearted shrug, gesturing to his toes. There's no real difference visually, little bits here and there where the nail didn't quite adhere to the nailbed properly from the old tissue damage. But if you didn't know what you were looking for it'd be impossible to tell there was anything wrong.]
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That means the cold didn't follow you, not like it could have. No hypothermia for you today, nope! But... [She pauses, looking gentler than her usual manic cheer.] I think you should still drink something warm. Get fancy hot chocolate soon, doctor's orders.
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[Another clumsy little wiggle of said toes.
The suggestion of hot chocolate makes his brow furrow, something sad and strained in his expression but he doesn't say anything about it. Right... that's what people do when they're cold and sick isn't it? Other people, anyway. In all the many times he had been left to die from exposure he can't remember anyone making him chocolate. Who would there even have been to do it? One of the kitchen maids?]
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You know... I think we had some cocoa mix in the kitchen. [She smiles at him, still gentler than normal but not strained, not acting like he's broken.] I kind of want some, too. Want to see if we can make some? I'm pretty sure I remember how!
[You know, mostly. ...It will probably be fine.]
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Hell... I don't know if I've ever made it? But I'm sure we can manage.
[Famous last words. Ah... wait... hold on. Getting up from the floor is a lot harder suddenly, unable to trust his feet as he is. Just let him fumble for a minute to figure it out.]
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[This may end up with them just eating the marshmallows directly from the bag and skipping the hot chocolate entirely- and honestly, that's valid.]
Here. [She reaches out and puts a hand on his arm- not grabbing or hauling, just putting it there so he can grab onto her if he needs to steady his balance. She might be a tiny thing, but she's got the unnatural strength that all Executors have, the little bit of extra sturdiness designed to let them take a hit without crumpling.]
[...unless you're Lion, in which case it's a lot more than a little bit.]
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Marsh... mallows?
[He might have spent his unlife in Invidia so he knew a lot of technical things he shouldn't have but he is still a ye olde boy at his core and he has no idea what she's talking about.
So this is definitely going to turn into just eating marshmallows]
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[She's just going to gently lead him into the kitchen. Not dragging him, but leading the way since he seems like he's not really up to setting his own course right at the moment.]
Imagine something kind of squishy and fluffy, but it's absolutely covered in powdered sugar. That's a marshmallow!
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Sort of... like a meringue?
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[Holding out the bag for Ruin.] Try one, they're pretty good by themselves, too.
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A tentative sniff? But really it just smells like sugar so.... a careful nibble...
And he blinks, looking startled.]
It hardly has a taste? [This time he bites it in half, a whole serious of emotions flickering across his face. Confusion, surprise, enjoyment, distaste, he's absolutely not sure how to feel about this.] It's so sweet, holy shit.
But... it... feels cool?
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[Reaching over to snatch a marshmallow for herself, she adds:] You can toast them, so they get all nice and crunchy on the outside and gooey on the inside. It's really good! That's why people like putting them in hot drinks and things.
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So.... like cheese?
[You can bake some soft rind cheeses, toast the edges of it as a topping for casseroles, melt it into any number of foods.
The taste is absolutely unlike any cheese ever but texturally it's not too far off a whipped creamy cheese... why the hell did he think of cheese first?]
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I guess it's not not like cheese? [Kind of??]
[...you know what, she's just going to keep making the hot chocolate and not get too far down that rabbit hole.]
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But he doesn't seem to realize the gravity of the moral quandary he has posed to her, instead he just draws a spark of fire to his fingers, curious what the sweet will do. He doesn't expect it to literally explode into flames... y'know as sugar is wont to do. Sugar is quite the commodity in Fodlan alright, he's never really baked or anything.
But the moment he goes from holding a small squishy blob of sugar to a flaming glob of it he curses loudly, jerking his hand back and dropping it to splat messily on the floor. At least it'll just char the rest of the sugar before it burns out.]
guess who missed a notiiiiiif~ ...for five days
oh no!!
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