[ Something new flashes over his face. Entirely new, something that G'raha would never have seen all those years ago. Excitement. He has things he wants to share. Little anecdotes that he knows he could lay before G'raha that would delight him. About Azys Lla and the Warring Triad. About the allagan ruins beneath the Burn. About Doma and Ala Mhigo being free, now, with futures ahead of them.
But he doesn't share, not yet. Because he will only get the details wrong, and once they leave he can hear it from people better at telling people things. Instead he just waits while G'raha releases his arms. ]
[ Yes, he doesn't really know that look. Raha's never seen what excitement looks on Marcel's face. It almost makes him smile in return. Almost. G'raha can't quite bring himself to do that since the world is awfully confusing right now.
And maybe that's yet another reason why it would be better for this other G'raha to just take his place. He'd understand, would know what to do with himself. ]
Well I certainly didn't think you would be removing it.
[ A small attempt at being witty. G'raha is trying, if only so the other can't really pick up on his more self depreciating thoughts. Yet his hand he does give to Marcel. ]
[ He takes G'raha's hand carefully, cradling it in one hand and pressing a finger into the palm of it with the other. And then slowly, slowly, he begins to trace the shape of letters. R, A, Q, I, A. ]
You may not speak this word. Never. It is not yours to say. But now you know it. And he does not. So if you remember it, once you are done, I will know that it is still you.
[ It's quite embarrassing, really, how his stomach flutters at the way Marcel holds his hand. Like it is something quite precious. His eyes then narrow, trying to make out the letters that are being etched on his hand. Ears then move, perking as he opens his mouth to sound it out -
Good thing Marcel tells him not too. He looks up then at the Viera. Understanding begins to dawn on his features. ]
Why... Why tell me?
[ There is only one thing that a Viera would say never to utter. It's their name. Their birthname. ]
[ He pushes G'raha's fingers closed, curling them in over his palm as if to trap the letters there. ]
It is a secret. I do not have any other secrets. There is nothing else I can be certain he does not know.
[ With that, he finally lets go and fumbles around in inner pockets of his cloak. He retrieves it from where it was tucked against his chest. A splinter of white auracite, it's surface stained with blood. He sets the stone down between them, stoking his fingers adoringly over it's surface. ]
This is him. It would be. Better. Maybe. For you to return home before you remember. But I wanted you to see him.
[ And if it would be presumptuous to refer to the Rising Stones as G'raha's home, he doesn't seem to care. ]
[ Raha, in return, holds his arm to his own chest. He understand now. It's the only thing that the other version of himself wouldn't know. That means that there is so much that the other does. Secrets that this G'raha is not privy to. Things that make Marcel look at that crystal - the auracite - and touch it so fondly.
He sees the look in Marcel's eye too. How could he make a choice that would rob Marcel of someone that brings such gentleness from him? That truly knows him. ]
Ah. You are probably right, of course. Do you mind? If I have a moment, I mean. My legs seem to be quite stiff still.
[ All while reaching out to touch that auracite. ]
I do not mind this. It is- it will be good. To rest a moment.
[ He should have kept hold of G'raha's hand, of course. He should have kept offering his arms. He doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes and draws his knees up to his chest. He does not like this. He still does not like this, but it is good to have it out of his hands. They will return to the stones. And he can tell G'raha things as they go. About all the things he's missed. And then they will be safe at the stones, and people who understand the process better can guide G'raha through the process of the merging of souls. And he will only need to stand there and do as he is told.
His shoulders sink. He listens to the movement of water beneath the throne. To the sounds of the wilds of Mor Dhona and the distant thudding of giant footsteps. And he listens to G'raha's heartbeat - different in waking than in sleep - and dismisses the sound of movement as him trying to bring feeling back into his limbs. ]
The tea will be cold. When we return. This is acceptable. There will be more tea.
[ Oh... Marcel doesn't understand what the phrase means. G'raha would need to be more direct in telling him to leave him be for a moment. Though he has to wonder if that would even really work, given how he had come to be in the Tower in the first place. ]
You seem to be in more distress than I.
[ Why, though. It doesn't make any sense. Marcel had just admitting to having feelings for this other version of himself. Surely he would want him back instead of mourn, in all actuality. ]
[ G'raha doesn't know the half of it. he couldn't, of course, considering he had been asleep. Instead of being awake to be there for his companions, he had been asleep. Would continue to be asleep if not for the actions of another that had brought the Viera here. Yet, again, it had been by design rather than people coming together for the sole purpose of his release.
Yet Marcel seems to think that Raha should be the one to choose. Is it because he doesn't really want to make that sort of choice? Doesn't want to be responsible for the potential loss of one or the other?
Raha has so many question. He wishes he could be that perky thing. But this is much to take in. ]
Then rest here. It's not as though I am in any condition to leave just yet.
[ In truth, he's barely had a moment's rest since Elidibus led him through the streets of Amaurot. At first, there was no time. And then there was nothing but time, and he found himself filling everything moment of it with anything other than lingering on the memory of how easily a false Papalymo's bones broke under his fingers. Of the Exarch's voice growing fainter as his lungs harden into blue stone.
And then he was here, with a means to open the tower, and so he could not let G'raha remain here a moment longer. ]
I could carry you. But- [ And he pauses, nodding. He could carry G'raha. But it'd endanger him if he had to fight the fauna of Mor Dhona. ] You- You are kind to me. Thank you.
[ He relaxes again, as much as he is able. Which isn't a great deal, but it's better than nothing. He shouldn't need long. Just a moment, enough to calm himself. ]
[ G'raha only nods in response. Marcel is much changed since he had known him. It seems to be for the better, but it is hard telling. On the other hand, he truly does look exhausted. G'raha can only marvel at how he's been able to keep standing, keep moving. So many trials and tribulations. Has no one thought to...
Perhaps they have. Either way, is it really his place to comment on it? He hasn't been around. Nor. Nor will he be, given what he has just been told about the auracite in his hands.
Yet Marcel seems to relax, the burdens that had been piling up finally allow him to find some peace. G'raha almost hates to disturb it. Almost. ]
Kind? Oh... I am not sure that this is the word that I would use.
[ Nothing more than a whisper as he watches Marcel's breathing even out. Even if the other is to rest but for a moment, a moment is all he needs. A shaky hand reaches out, briefly, to rest between the Viera's ears. It's not something that he would normally do, he wouldn't have the courage to. But perhaps that is what this is all about, ultimately. G'raha simply doesn't have courage enough for a great many things, try as he might to put on a good show of overconfidence.
But he can allow himself this, briefly. After all. It might be the first and last time.
When he draws his hand back, it is to place it on the crystal in his hands. G'raha doesn't really need to be told what to do with it. Somehow he instinctively knows what to do, holding it to his chest and taking a deep breath.
And now his soul, broken as it is, will be in the hands of the star itself. A shame that Marcel will wake to find out that he had been fooled again. That's fine. It's always going to be fine, since this is probably better for everyone in the end. ]
[ It's a shame. His hair had been but recently washed - with soap and hot water, even - but the last frantic day has robbed all proof of it. It's matted with dried blood in places, and tangled with dust and dirt and pollen and leaves from every corner of Norvrandt. Tiny patches of fur are burned away from his good ear, like embers have caught against it. Even as unconcerned as he always is with his appearance, he finds himself suddenly and acutely aware that he cannot be pleasant to touch.
But he cannot bring himself to be so self-conscious that he doesn't lean into the contact like a man starved. His good ear falls forward in relaxation, the fur of it brushing against G'raha's arm as it does. It is good. It is good to rest, even if just for long enough to breathe and collect his thoughts. It is good to be touched - even if the fingers of G'raha's hand are warm and soft instead of cool and hard and smooth. It is good to know that for all the terrible price that had to be paid - this is victory. They have won, and in this moment everyone is as safe as they can be made. ]
Where-
[ It's barely a few minutes before he stirs, once the touch fades, uncurling his limbs and patting at the floor to feel for the auracite. Until now he's been carrying the stone close to his chest, a slight weight he's constantly aware of. It isn't there. His breath catches in his throat. He's lost him. He's lost him. He's left him alone. ] Where is he? Where-
[ Marcel needn't worry. Everything is... Well everything is present. If he looks around he won't find G'raha or the auracite on the throne. However if he leans over the arm? He'll notice that G'raha is there, as if trying to hide a little. Or at least not be in immediate sight.
The auracite? Well it's there, resting next to G'raha's hand where it's dropped. Rolled a small distance away, as if the Miqo'te had fallen asleep and his grip on it relinquished.
[ He reaches for the stone first, and it isn't until it's in his hands, dull and empty, that it occurs to him to feel even the slightest bit ashamed.
This isn't the Exarch. This isn't anyone, not anymore, just a lump of crystal and blood. ]
No. [ He says it softly but firmly, as if he expects someone to listen to him and make all of this untrue. ] No. Stop. Do not do this. Please. Thank you.
[ He paws at G'raha's sleeping form as he speaks, his too-calm tone doing very little to actually disguise the worry. ]
[ Fortunately or unfortunately, Marcel will be shaking him or touching G'raha for a couple of moments yet. During that time, it doesn't look as though he is going to wake. There would be no twitching of a tail or a finger. No brows pinching together or ears wiggling. The only thing that might make anyone think that there is still life in this body is the steady rising and falling of a chest.
But, when it looks as though maybe Marcel should give up on this endeavor, lashes flutter. A deep, sharp inhale is taken and ears begin to move once more. ]
But then, the scions were still breathing as well. All the empty shells of their bodies still and cold and breathing steadily even as their muscles atrophied away. And someone less familiar with the sounds of their breathing and heartbeat might have thought they were sleeping, but they weren't. If they were sleeping Alisaie would have snored quietly and Y'shtola would have chittered at whatever she saw in her dreams. Alphinaud would have occasionally mumbled nonsense phrases strung together from too-long words. Thancred's heartbeat would have gone distressingly slow and quiet. Urianger would have coiled himself up in blankets until the threads of them strained audibly taut.
And they are better now. He reminds himself of that to keep his heart from racing too hard. They are better now. But if G'raha is not in his own skin and the exarch is not inside the crystal - he doesn't know where either of them might be. He doesn't know if either of them can become better. And he should have known better by now than to rest while there is yet work undone. He should have known better than to trust-
-his face is so close to G'raha's when his eyes flutter open that the miqo'te will be lucky to see anything other than green or ash-grey. One hand hovers over his face, curled under his head, ghosting over his cheek but only touching accidentally when it trembles. The other is holding on to his aim so tightly that the bruise it leaves behind will be hideous. ]
I am being. Very angry with you. [ He says it quietly, and his voice cracks just a little. ] I will stop soon. And then I will like you again.
[ Unfortunately, unlike the other Scions, their souls had been reunited with their bodies. There isn't another soul to contend with. Such is the case with this particular body. Two souls coming together within one vessel made of flesh. One determined to continue living and the other uncertain about where he stands in the world that he is now being presented with.
That's the difficult part, isn't it? Knowing which one, if any, are actually starting to become dominant. If one is fading or if both are. There's not even an immediate response from G'raha either. No reaction to the firm grip nor the gentle, trembling touch to his face. Not even words seem to reach him in this moment, memories new and old all sort of blending together and making it difficult to sort out a response.
Disorienting. Is the world brighter or more dauting? Marcel... Is he a dear friend or a companion that hadn't uttered more than a few words? The Viera is both, but how should... How should he feel about it? Which is it...
[ He isn't responding. His eyes are open, ears moving a little, breath stuttering instead of even. But he isn't responding. Marcel waits, breath caught in his throat, for an answer that does not come. He bites his lip, glancing away.
Whatever is happening - and he could not begin to comprehend what is happening - the G'raha he found here is remembering. Remembering the long sleep and the waking and the world he woke to. Remembering the century of lonely, painful preparation. Remembering the fight against the lightwardens. The failure in the last moments. The depths of the Tempest. The victory and the work that came after. ]
I am here. With you, G'raha Tia. [ He tries to keep his voice steady. ] This time, I am here.
[ At the mention of his name, eyes snap up. They lock onto Marcel's. There's some clarity there, evidence that he's at least seeing the other now. That he knows who he is and isn't surprised to find him there. But the gaze is still... Lost, almost. Like the puzzle is right before him and all of the pieces are spread out. Yet he cannot know what the puzzle itself is - what shape and form it is to take. Where the pieces are supposed to go.
Yet at the same time he feels the worry radiating off of the other. Guilt. Concern. A little anger. And it doesn't matter if it is G'raha or the Exarch that sees it and recognizes that this cannot be allowed to continue. This needs to be fixed. ]
Ah... Apologies. [ A hand shakily finds itself on top of Marcel's, the one that is upon his person. ] T'was not my intention to make you worry, m -
[ Marcel? My friend? How had he been about to end it. Why is his hand in a location in such a familiar way. Too familiar? Not familiar enough?
He's pulling it away again. Not sure if he's overstepped or not. If he had, then why does it feel as though it should be there? ]
It is. Never your intention to make me worry. Never. I know this. No matter who you are.
[ The words are soft, careful and measured. Moreso than his words usually are. He lifts his hand from G'raha's cheek to chase the miqo'te's, catching it and curling his longer fingers around G'raha's smaller ones.
He cannot tell who this is. The apologies sound like the G'raha of this age, but the hand upon his own seems like the Exarch. Listening is no help at all - this is the heartbeat and breath of the G'raha from this tower, still, but of course it is. It is his body.
He doesn't know who he wants this to be. He doesn't know if he could live with himself for wanting this to be anyone at all. He does not want the Exarch to be a man willing to destroy another for a second chance at life. He does not want to see him gone forever, martyred one last time with every wish he had yet unfulfilled. He does not want G'raha Tia to bear the weight of failed expectations from not being the man who saved Norvrandt. And he does not want him to bear the weight of being the man who saved Norvrandt, either.
He does not like to make choices. But he is finding that he does not like having choices plucked from his hands, either. ]
I want to make this easier. I am here to make this easier. Tell me, please, thank you. How do I make this easier.
[ And he listens, hears, both with his ears and with the echo, for any answer that he might speak or think or hope. ]
[ "No matter who you are." Yes, that seems to be the ultimate problem here. The conundrum that doesn't quite have an answer as of yet. Even the Echo won't really be much help here.
What he does know is that Marcel has snatched up Raha's hand and the reactions are... Very different. Elation that the Viera would be so familiar with him - the very tip of his tail twitching in an attempt to swish. Dread because he cannot know which G'raha Tia Marcel is doing this for. Which one does he want this one to be; his ears folded back in dismay. Two distinct voices. Neither one seems to hold dominance over the other.
There is, however, one thing that the both of those voices can agree on: ]
'Tis nothing that you can do, I fear. Time He - I... We need time.
[ It's immediate. Almost defensive. How dare you not give him a quest objective. Or maybe it's resigned, tinged with shame in the same way his admission of tiredness was. Or denial. Or any number of things in between - he might have grown better with words, but putting recognisable emotions behind them is still a challenge. ]
I will wait. I would like to wait with you. Please. [ He looks down, like he wants to say more but needs a moment to find the words. His other hand is still keeping its bruising grip on G'raha's arm as he frowns in concentration. Trying to find something. Some thread that he can pull to draw the both of them closer to him, without pulling wither one any closer than the other. ] And. And you can tell me. Things that I do not need to know. About people who are dead and who I cannot prevent from doing things I do not like.
[ He knows that tone of voice. Rather, a part of him that he doesn't understand himself knows that voice. It's so, so hard to discern what is Exarch and what is G'raha. Where does one begin and end? He doesn't have an answer. They don't know the answer either. Regardless, the tone is recognized and while one panics, the other is... Concerned. It's that one that's squeezing Marcel's hand.
It's that one that's taking his free hand to place it upon the hand that's squeezing him so tightly. ]
No, your part is done. You have completed that which you have been tasked with.
[ Exarch. That is most assuredly the Crystal Exarch speaking at that moment. All the way to the sad little smile and the slope of the ears. Both have people that are long dead and that can be spoken about. Neither one of them are really able to wanting to discuss those matters. ]
[ This would be the moment, always, when someone intervened. The scions try to let him speak for himself as much as possible for some reason that he struggles to understand. They wait patiently while he fumbles his way through conversation, and only intervene when he starts tripping over his words. If not them, then someone else. There have been a lot of kind, patient people across both stars, all willing to guide him.
There is nobody to step in, here. He repeats himself a few more times, quieter each time, until he finally realises just how much force he's applying to poor G'raha's arm. His eyes go wide as he lets go completely, bringing both hands into his lap and looking down at them instead of at the Exarch. ]
Please. [ He is quiet, and the pauses between words from longer and longer. Every muscle in his body is bowstring-taut. ] Please tell me what is this thing. I will find more of it.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-09 01:10 am (UTC)[ Something new flashes over his face. Entirely new, something that G'raha would never have seen all those years ago. Excitement. He has things he wants to share. Little anecdotes that he knows he could lay before G'raha that would delight him. About Azys Lla and the Warring Triad. About the allagan ruins beneath the Burn. About Doma and Ala Mhigo being free, now, with futures ahead of them.
But he doesn't share, not yet. Because he will only get the details wrong, and once they leave he can hear it from people better at telling people things. Instead he just waits while G'raha releases his arms. ]
Please do not worry. I will return it as it was.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-09 01:54 am (UTC)And maybe that's yet another reason why it would be better for this other G'raha to just take his place. He'd understand, would know what to do with himself. ]
Well I certainly didn't think you would be removing it.
[ A small attempt at being witty. G'raha is trying, if only so the other can't really pick up on his more self depreciating thoughts. Yet his hand he does give to Marcel. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-09 02:15 am (UTC)[ He takes G'raha's hand carefully, cradling it in one hand and pressing a finger into the palm of it with the other. And then slowly, slowly, he begins to trace the shape of letters. R, A, Q, I, A. ]
You may not speak this word. Never. It is not yours to say. But now you know it. And he does not. So if you remember it, once you are done, I will know that it is still you.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-09 02:22 am (UTC)Good thing Marcel tells him not too. He looks up then at the Viera. Understanding begins to dawn on his features. ]
Why... Why tell me?
[ There is only one thing that a Viera would say never to utter. It's their name. Their birthname. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-09 02:50 am (UTC)It is a secret. I do not have any other secrets. There is nothing else I can be certain he does not know.
[ With that, he finally lets go and fumbles around in inner pockets of his cloak. He retrieves it from where it was tucked against his chest. A splinter of white auracite, it's surface stained with blood. He sets the stone down between them, stoking his fingers adoringly over it's surface. ]
This is him. It would be. Better. Maybe. For you to return home before you remember. But I wanted you to see him.
[ And if it would be presumptuous to refer to the Rising Stones as G'raha's home, he doesn't seem to care. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-09 03:04 am (UTC)He sees the look in Marcel's eye too. How could he make a choice that would rob Marcel of someone that brings such gentleness from him? That truly knows him. ]
Ah. You are probably right, of course. Do you mind? If I have a moment, I mean. My legs seem to be quite stiff still.
[ All while reaching out to touch that auracite. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-10 01:17 am (UTC)[ He should have kept hold of G'raha's hand, of course. He should have kept offering his arms. He doesn't. Instead, he closes his eyes and draws his knees up to his chest. He does not like this. He still does not like this, but it is good to have it out of his hands. They will return to the stones. And he can tell G'raha things as they go. About all the things he's missed. And then they will be safe at the stones, and people who understand the process better can guide G'raha through the process of the merging of souls. And he will only need to stand there and do as he is told.
His shoulders sink. He listens to the movement of water beneath the throne. To the sounds of the wilds of Mor Dhona and the distant thudding of giant footsteps. And he listens to G'raha's heartbeat - different in waking than in sleep - and dismisses the sound of movement as him trying to bring feeling back into his limbs. ]
The tea will be cold. When we return. This is acceptable. There will be more tea.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-10 01:34 am (UTC)You seem to be in more distress than I.
[ Why, though. It doesn't make any sense. Marcel had just admitting to having feelings for this other version of himself. Surely he would want him back instead of mourn, in all actuality. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-10 02:00 am (UTC)[ Is he distressed? It doesn't feel as if he has any right to be. He looks over at G'raha, blinking in confusion.
Is this what distress is meant to feel like? Like exhaustion and anger and fondness and terror, all of them tangled together? ]
-I am tired. I think. The last day has been. Long. Difficult. It will be good, when everyone is safe. To rest.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-10 02:12 am (UTC)Yet Marcel seems to think that Raha should be the one to choose. Is it because he doesn't really want to make that sort of choice? Doesn't want to be responsible for the potential loss of one or the other?
Raha has so many question. He wishes he could be that perky thing. But this is much to take in. ]
Then rest here. It's not as though I am in any condition to leave just yet.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-11 02:16 am (UTC)And then he was here, with a means to open the tower, and so he could not let G'raha remain here a moment longer. ]
I could carry you. But- [ And he pauses, nodding. He could carry G'raha. But it'd endanger him if he had to fight the fauna of Mor Dhona. ] You- You are kind to me. Thank you.
[ He relaxes again, as much as he is able. Which isn't a great deal, but it's better than nothing. He shouldn't need long. Just a moment, enough to calm himself. ]
finally! sorry
Date: 2023-01-22 09:10 pm (UTC)Perhaps they have. Either way, is it really his place to comment on it? He hasn't been around. Nor. Nor will he be, given what he has just been told about the auracite in his hands.
Yet Marcel seems to relax, the burdens that had been piling up finally allow him to find some peace. G'raha almost hates to disturb it. Almost. ]
Kind? Oh... I am not sure that this is the word that I would use.
[ Nothing more than a whisper as he watches Marcel's breathing even out. Even if the other is to rest but for a moment, a moment is all he needs. A shaky hand reaches out, briefly, to rest between the Viera's ears. It's not something that he would normally do, he wouldn't have the courage to. But perhaps that is what this is all about, ultimately. G'raha simply doesn't have courage enough for a great many things, try as he might to put on a good show of overconfidence.
But he can allow himself this, briefly. After all. It might be the first and last time.
When he draws his hand back, it is to place it on the crystal in his hands. G'raha doesn't really need to be told what to do with it. Somehow he instinctively knows what to do, holding it to his chest and taking a deep breath.
And now his soul, broken as it is, will be in the hands of the star itself. A shame that Marcel will wake to find out that he had been fooled again. That's fine. It's always going to be fine, since this is probably better for everyone in the end. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-23 01:23 am (UTC)But he cannot bring himself to be so self-conscious that he doesn't lean into the contact like a man starved. His good ear falls forward in relaxation, the fur of it brushing against G'raha's arm as it does. It is good. It is good to rest, even if just for long enough to breathe and collect his thoughts. It is good to be touched - even if the fingers of G'raha's hand are warm and soft instead of cool and hard and smooth. It is good to know that for all the terrible price that had to be paid - this is victory. They have won, and in this moment everyone is as safe as they can be made. ]
Where-
[ It's barely a few minutes before he stirs, once the touch fades, uncurling his limbs and patting at the floor to feel for the auracite. Until now he's been carrying the stone close to his chest, a slight weight he's constantly aware of. It isn't there. His breath catches in his throat. He's lost him. He's lost him. He's left him alone. ] Where is he? Where-
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-23 02:06 am (UTC)The auracite? Well it's there, resting next to G'raha's hand where it's dropped. Rolled a small distance away, as if the Miqo'te had fallen asleep and his grip on it relinquished.
But the glow is gone and G'raha unmoving. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-23 02:30 am (UTC)This isn't the Exarch. This isn't anyone, not anymore, just a lump of crystal and blood. ]
No. [ He says it softly but firmly, as if he expects someone to listen to him and make all of this untrue. ] No. Stop. Do not do this. Please. Thank you.
[ He paws at G'raha's sleeping form as he speaks, his too-calm tone doing very little to actually disguise the worry. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-23 02:56 am (UTC)But, when it looks as though maybe Marcel should give up on this endeavor, lashes flutter. A deep, sharp inhale is taken and ears begin to move once more. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-23 04:45 pm (UTC)But then, the scions were still breathing as well. All the empty shells of their bodies still and cold and breathing steadily even as their muscles atrophied away. And someone less familiar with the sounds of their breathing and heartbeat might have thought they were sleeping, but they weren't. If they were sleeping Alisaie would have snored quietly and Y'shtola would have chittered at whatever she saw in her dreams. Alphinaud would have occasionally mumbled nonsense phrases strung together from too-long words. Thancred's heartbeat would have gone distressingly slow and quiet. Urianger would have coiled himself up in blankets until the threads of them strained audibly taut.
And they are better now. He reminds himself of that to keep his heart from racing too hard. They are better now. But if G'raha is not in his own skin and the exarch is not inside the crystal - he doesn't know where either of them might be. He doesn't know if either of them can become better. And he should have known better by now than to rest while there is yet work undone. He should have known better than to trust-
-his face is so close to G'raha's when his eyes flutter open that the miqo'te will be lucky to see anything other than green or ash-grey. One hand hovers over his face, curled under his head, ghosting over his cheek but only touching accidentally when it trembles. The other is holding on to his aim so tightly that the bruise it leaves behind will be hideous. ]
I am being. Very angry with you. [ He says it quietly, and his voice cracks just a little. ] I will stop soon. And then I will like you again.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-24 12:15 am (UTC)That's the difficult part, isn't it? Knowing which one, if any, are actually starting to become dominant. If one is fading or if both are. There's not even an immediate response from G'raha either. No reaction to the firm grip nor the gentle, trembling touch to his face. Not even words seem to reach him in this moment, memories new and old all sort of blending together and making it difficult to sort out a response.
Disorienting. Is the world brighter or more dauting? Marcel... Is he a dear friend or a companion that hadn't uttered more than a few words? The Viera is both, but how should... How should he feel about it? Which is it...
Who is he? ]
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Date: 2023-01-24 01:33 am (UTC)Whatever is happening - and he could not begin to comprehend what is happening - the G'raha he found here is remembering. Remembering the long sleep and the waking and the world he woke to. Remembering the century of lonely, painful preparation. Remembering the fight against the lightwardens. The failure in the last moments. The depths of the Tempest. The victory and the work that came after. ]
I am here. With you, G'raha Tia. [ He tries to keep his voice steady. ] This time, I am here.
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Date: 2023-01-29 11:32 pm (UTC)Yet at the same time he feels the worry radiating off of the other. Guilt. Concern. A little anger. And it doesn't matter if it is G'raha or the Exarch that sees it and recognizes that this cannot be allowed to continue. This needs to be fixed. ]
Ah... Apologies. [ A hand shakily finds itself on top of Marcel's, the one that is upon his person. ] T'was not my intention to make you worry, m -
[ Marcel? My friend? How had he been about to end it. Why is his hand in a location in such a familiar way. Too familiar? Not familiar enough?
He's pulling it away again. Not sure if he's overstepped or not. If he had, then why does it feel as though it should be there? ]
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Date: 2023-01-30 08:08 pm (UTC)[ The words are soft, careful and measured. Moreso than his words usually are. He lifts his hand from G'raha's cheek to chase the miqo'te's, catching it and curling his longer fingers around G'raha's smaller ones.
He cannot tell who this is. The apologies sound like the G'raha of this age, but the hand upon his own seems like the Exarch. Listening is no help at all - this is the heartbeat and breath of the G'raha from this tower, still, but of course it is. It is his body.
He doesn't know who he wants this to be. He doesn't know if he could live with himself for wanting this to be anyone at all. He does not want the Exarch to be a man willing to destroy another for a second chance at life. He does not want to see him gone forever, martyred one last time with every wish he had yet unfulfilled. He does not want G'raha Tia to bear the weight of failed expectations from not being the man who saved Norvrandt. And he does not want him to bear the weight of being the man who saved Norvrandt, either.
He does not like to make choices. But he is finding that he does not like having choices plucked from his hands, either. ]
I want to make this easier. I am here to make this easier. Tell me, please, thank you. How do I make this easier.
[ And he listens, hears, both with his ears and with the echo, for any answer that he might speak or think or hope. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-30 10:50 pm (UTC)What he does know is that Marcel has snatched up Raha's hand and the reactions are... Very different. Elation that the Viera would be so familiar with him - the very tip of his tail twitching in an attempt to swish. Dread because he cannot know which G'raha Tia Marcel is doing this for. Which one does he want this one to be; his ears folded back in dismay. Two distinct voices. Neither one seems to hold dominance over the other.
There is, however, one thing that the both of those voices can agree on: ]
'Tis nothing that you can do, I fear. Time He - I... We need time.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-31 12:31 am (UTC)[ It's immediate. Almost defensive. How dare you not give him a quest objective. Or maybe it's resigned, tinged with shame in the same way his admission of tiredness was. Or denial. Or any number of things in between - he might have grown better with words, but putting recognisable emotions behind them is still a challenge. ]
I will wait. I would like to wait with you. Please. [ He looks down, like he wants to say more but needs a moment to find the words. His other hand is still keeping its bruising grip on G'raha's arm as he frowns in concentration. Trying to find something. Some thread that he can pull to draw the both of them closer to him, without pulling wither one any closer than the other. ] And. And you can tell me. Things that I do not need to know. About people who are dead and who I cannot prevent from doing things I do not like.
[ Odd way of saying 'history' but okay. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-01-31 03:03 am (UTC)It's that one that's taking his free hand to place it upon the hand that's squeezing him so tightly. ]
No, your part is done. You have completed that which you have been tasked with.
[ Exarch. That is most assuredly the Crystal Exarch speaking at that moment. All the way to the sad little smile and the slope of the ears. Both have people that are long dead and that can be spoken about. Neither one of them are really able to wanting to discuss those matters. ]
We do have one thing that can be agreed upon.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-01 01:54 am (UTC)[ This would be the moment, always, when someone intervened. The scions try to let him speak for himself as much as possible for some reason that he struggles to understand. They wait patiently while he fumbles his way through conversation, and only intervene when he starts tripping over his words. If not them, then someone else. There have been a lot of kind, patient people across both stars, all willing to guide him.
There is nobody to step in, here. He repeats himself a few more times, quieter each time, until he finally realises just how much force he's applying to poor G'raha's arm. His eyes go wide as he lets go completely, bringing both hands into his lap and looking down at them instead of at the Exarch. ]
Please. [ He is quiet, and the pauses between words from longer and longer. Every muscle in his body is bowstring-taut. ] Please tell me what is this thing. I will find more of it.
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