[ 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.
[ The release of Marcel's hands is a slow one, almost reluctant. Another part of him thinks that this is an intrusion. It's a space that he doesn't belong in and thus withdrawing is the best option. It couldn't happen fast enough.
It's that time of disconnect, dissonance, that is causing the souls within turmoil more than anything else. Slight pain and disorientation. They had been the same person, once. Now they are not. ]
'Tis not a what. More of a whom. The only person that we most sincerely wish to see other than you, of course.
[ One person comes to mind above all others. They have never spoken about Krile, really, beyond him passing the occasional fond, exhausted, heartsore messages from her in recent moons. And she only rarely speaks of him. A few words of fond reminiscence back on Val. A long look away followed by an exasperated sigh and a smile when she learned about everything after Emet-Selch's defeat. Always using his given name
He nods, then looks up again. Holds out his arms. ]
[ There's a moment where G'raha reaches out, then hesitates. Reaches out again then stops. Again, it's a moment of disconnect. The younger and the older not quite meeting in the middle. Marcel can likely sense something is going on, since G'raha's gaze seems to go out of focus. A discussion between two souls. One insisting that they don't need to inconvenience the Warrior. The other more reassuring that this much can be and will always be permitted.
Once a hand grasps Marcel's arm, one soul grows silent. Settles into the back of this shared consciousness of theirs. ]
None of this is going quite as anticipated. [ Ah, Exarch. That seems to be the one at the forefront. ] The chances of this particular scenario occurring were so infinitesimally small, I didn't prepare for it.
[ Carefully, he gathers G'raha's body up into his arms and braces him against his chest. The throne is massive, and he isn't at all willing to let G'raha trust his own legs with the descent after so long in stillness. Truthfully, right now, he'd struggle to let G'raha trust himself with anything. He jumps down, leaving the throne as empty as if should always have been. ]
What. What was it. That you anticipated. [ He asks, utterly failing to convey in his tone that it's a question. He doesn't know what answer he wants to hear. All of them sound painful. Then softer, eyeing the floor like he isn't sure he trusts G'raha with that, either- ] Can you walk.
[ He should probably at least offer the option, even if he doesn't like it. ]
[ A hand goes to Marcel's chest as the Viera gives him space - meaning he thinks to actually try to walk. Now both of them are sure that Marcel doesn't really want to hear what the Exarch has to say on the matter. ]
One soul would consume the other. [ Though the younger G'raha is yelling for the Exarch not to say that, it can't be helped. Marcel deserves the truth. ] Either the years on one would give it strength to over take the other... Or the original inhabitant would offer naught but rejection.
[ That's all there really is to say on the matter. The Exarch's soul would just be lost, just as it had been originally planned. But this... ]
[ He just nods, expression unchanging. There is no need to tell this G'raha-Exarch-thing in his arms how much he dislikes this. He knows.
It would seem almost reverent, the way that he bows to set the Exarch down, if one didn't know that he is exactly as careful with everyone he encounters. Little by little he lowers him to the ground until his feet touch crystal. Even then, he continues to bear his weight, returning it an onze at a time as he becomes more certain that G'raha's legs can bear it. ]
This is not yours. Not yet. [ Softly, firmly, hands still holding on to the Exarch. ] You have borrowed this body. You will treat it as a thing borrowed. Until. Until this is done.
[ And he lowers his head to touch G'raha's forehead to his own, holding it there for a long moment before letting go to allow him to stand on his own. ]
It is good to speak with you again. You are. Very quiet. When you are a stone.
[ At first it is just going to be seeing if he can bear the weight at all. Oh he wishes that he could say that he has muscle memory for this, but it has been a while since the Exarch has walked without crystal affecting his body. It's been a little while since G'raha has been free to walk as well.
The response, however, is somewhat amusing. At least is is to the Exarch. G'raha is somewhere back there being flustered that Marcel seems to be so adamant about this. Firm. ]
Borrowed. I see. No need to worry, I assure you.
[ Maybe Marcel can detect that he doesn't quite fully agree with that statement. He is here now and while it is surprising that this younger self of his must value himself enough not to fade, he has no intentions of giving up either. No, the Exarch is quite confident that they can come to terms.
Those thoughts are derailed with the press of a forehead to his own. Carefully, there is a gentle press back. An explanation given to the curious soul about why this is a thing happening right now. ]
Crystal, not stone.
[ Oh that's definitely both of them correcting Marcel right now. ]
Borrowed. Do not become hurt until this is done. Or. Or it will be like making a library book become hurt.
[ Yes, he is under the impression that this comparison is more likely to impress upon the Exarch that being hurt is bad than anything else.
He speaks more naturally with the Exarch than he had with G'raha, clumsy as he still is with his works. Easily. His pauses are shorter. While he still sounds distant, his voice is worlds warmer. As if somewhere in the last few years he learned that he enjoys talking, even if he is still remarkably bad at it. ]
You are very quiet. When you are a very small piece of auracite. That is covered in blood. [ -and also he is at least somewhat capable of talking back. ]
I would argue it is more akin to taking well worn pages from a tattered tome and the cover from the same, but newer tome and stitching them together.
[ Only now some of the pages from the old tome and the new tome are both in there. But it is the same tome nonetheless in the Exarch's view. Surprisingly, G'raha agrees with that assessment.
At the end of the day, it's not as though either one really sees the problem with this, with what has been done. The Exarch had given a choice to Marcel. Entrusted his soul to Marcel. So it is Marcel that elected to show the auracite to G'raha. Without understanding the implications of it or what G'raha's choice would be... He had already made it.
Both of them inside this skin, this body, understand. Now they simply have to learn how to fit themselves together. ]
I apologize for the silence, my friend. Were I able to convey thoughts through contact with the auracite, I would have gladly.
[ Ah, but his legs are so stiff. A few steps and he already sees how difficult it is going to be to get anywhere likes this. Hmm. He's waving his hand about, expecting a staff to weave an appropriate spell or for the Tower to fix it and - ]
[ He considers that metaphor, frowns, and drops the topic. It sounds like a cruel thing to do to a book, but he doesn't know enough about books to actually know if it is something that one does. ]
Were you. Able to hear from it. [ He's using 'hear' as a shorthand for every sense. ] I am not very often a stone. I do not know these things.
[ And finally, it's something both the Exarch and G'raha will be almost equally confused by. There wasn't exactly a lot of time to discuss Azem's memory stone before. But that concern goes out of the window immediately when the Exarch looks to be struggling upon his borrowed legs. He doesn't pick him up immediately, but he does move closer. ]
I am here. [ And he extends an arm out, inviting the exarch to lean against him. ]
[ Oh the auracite. Had he heard Marcel from within his little prison. And the younger G'raha's ears are perking at the sound of "not very often a stone." What's that about? ]
Would that I could say that I did. Alas, voices can't truly reach where I was.
[ He notices that Marcel is there. Considers for a moment being stubborn... But then leans against Marcel as if to give him permission. ]
Oh. [ And for a long moment, he leaves it at that. When the exarch leans against him, he coils an arm around his smaller, borrowed body and braces it against his own. Taking a little of his weight, but just enough to let him still walk for himself. Even if it means that they'll be going slowly. ] I have said many horrible things about you. While you were not listening. And I will not tell you what they are.
[ That's. Probably. An attempt at a joke, something else that he never used to be capable of. And that, in truth, he is still not capable of. The pixies are trying their best but a lot of pixie jokes aren't so much jokes as 'just telling lies'.
Eventually, eventually they reach that great golden door. The one that has opened and closed and opened and closed and opened so many times, someone new behind it each time. He pauses before they reach it, just before the Exarch's feet would touch the sliver of dull, cloudy daylight streaming in from the one slightly-open door he'd slipped in through. ]
You are. Ready to leave? [ A pause, then, as if to clarify. ] He is. Ready to leave?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(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? ]
(no subject)
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.
(no subject)
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? ]
(no subject)
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.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-01 10:43 pm (UTC)It's that time of disconnect, dissonance, that is causing the souls within turmoil more than anything else. Slight pain and disorientation. They had been the same person, once. Now they are not. ]
'Tis not a what. More of a whom. The only person that we most sincerely wish to see other than you, of course.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-02 12:24 am (UTC)[ One person comes to mind above all others. They have never spoken about Krile, really, beyond him passing the occasional fond, exhausted, heartsore messages from her in recent moons. And she only rarely speaks of him. A few words of fond reminiscence back on Val. A long look away followed by an exasperated sigh and a smile when she learned about everything after Emet-Selch's defeat. Always using his given name
He nods, then looks up again. Holds out his arms. ]
I will. If you allow me. I will take you to her.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-03 05:14 am (UTC)Once a hand grasps Marcel's arm, one soul grows silent. Settles into the back of this shared consciousness of theirs. ]
None of this is going quite as anticipated. [ Ah, Exarch. That seems to be the one at the forefront. ] The chances of this particular scenario occurring were so infinitesimally small, I didn't prepare for it.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-04 12:06 am (UTC)What. What was it. That you anticipated. [ He asks, utterly failing to convey in his tone that it's a question. He doesn't know what answer he wants to hear. All of them sound painful. Then softer, eyeing the floor like he isn't sure he trusts G'raha with that, either- ] Can you walk.
[ He should probably at least offer the option, even if he doesn't like it. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-04 01:22 am (UTC)One soul would consume the other. [ Though the younger G'raha is yelling for the Exarch not to say that, it can't be helped. Marcel deserves the truth. ] Either the years on one would give it strength to over take the other... Or the original inhabitant would offer naught but rejection.
[ That's all there really is to say on the matter. The Exarch's soul would just be lost, just as it had been originally planned. But this... ]
I would like to try to walk, if you don't mind.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-04 01:40 pm (UTC)It would seem almost reverent, the way that he bows to set the Exarch down, if one didn't know that he is exactly as careful with everyone he encounters. Little by little he lowers him to the ground until his feet touch crystal. Even then, he continues to bear his weight, returning it an onze at a time as he becomes more certain that G'raha's legs can bear it. ]
This is not yours. Not yet. [ Softly, firmly, hands still holding on to the Exarch. ] You have borrowed this body. You will treat it as a thing borrowed. Until. Until this is done.
[ And he lowers his head to touch G'raha's forehead to his own, holding it there for a long moment before letting go to allow him to stand on his own. ]
It is good to speak with you again. You are. Very quiet. When you are a stone.
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-04 08:26 pm (UTC)The response, however, is somewhat amusing. At least is is to the Exarch. G'raha is somewhere back there being flustered that Marcel seems to be so adamant about this. Firm. ]
Borrowed. I see. No need to worry, I assure you.
[ Maybe Marcel can detect that he doesn't quite fully agree with that statement. He is here now and while it is surprising that this younger self of his must value himself enough not to fade, he has no intentions of giving up either. No, the Exarch is quite confident that they can come to terms.
Those thoughts are derailed with the press of a forehead to his own. Carefully, there is a gentle press back. An explanation given to the curious soul about why this is a thing happening right now. ]
Crystal, not stone.
[ Oh that's definitely both of them correcting Marcel right now. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-04 09:00 pm (UTC)[ Yes, he is under the impression that this comparison is more likely to impress upon the Exarch that being hurt is bad than anything else.
He speaks more naturally with the Exarch than he had with G'raha, clumsy as he still is with his works. Easily. His pauses are shorter. While he still sounds distant, his voice is worlds warmer. As if somewhere in the last few years he learned that he enjoys talking, even if he is still remarkably bad at it. ]
You are very quiet. When you are a very small piece of auracite. That is covered in blood. [ -and also he is at least somewhat capable of talking back. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-04 11:51 pm (UTC)[ Only now some of the pages from the old tome and the new tome are both in there. But it is the same tome nonetheless in the Exarch's view. Surprisingly, G'raha agrees with that assessment.
At the end of the day, it's not as though either one really sees the problem with this, with what has been done. The Exarch had given a choice to Marcel. Entrusted his soul to Marcel. So it is Marcel that elected to show the auracite to G'raha. Without understanding the implications of it or what G'raha's choice would be... He had already made it.
Both of them inside this skin, this body, understand. Now they simply have to learn how to fit themselves together. ]
I apologize for the silence, my friend. Were I able to convey thoughts through contact with the auracite, I would have gladly.
[ Ah, but his legs are so stiff. A few steps and he already sees how difficult it is going to be to get anywhere likes this. Hmm. He's waving his hand about, expecting a staff to weave an appropriate spell or for the Tower to fix it and - ]
Ah.
[ Nothing. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-05 12:48 am (UTC)Were you. Able to hear from it. [ He's using 'hear' as a shorthand for every sense. ] I am not very often a stone. I do not know these things.
[ And finally, it's something both the Exarch and G'raha will be almost equally confused by. There wasn't exactly a lot of time to discuss Azem's memory stone before. But that concern goes out of the window immediately when the Exarch looks to be struggling upon his borrowed legs. He doesn't pick him up immediately, but he does move closer. ]
I am here. [ And he extends an arm out, inviting the exarch to lean against him. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-07 12:48 am (UTC)[ Oh the auracite. Had he heard Marcel from within his little prison. And the younger G'raha's ears are perking at the sound of "not very often a stone." What's that about? ]
Would that I could say that I did. Alas, voices can't truly reach where I was.
[ He notices that Marcel is there. Considers for a moment being stubborn... But then leans against Marcel as if to give him permission. ]
(no subject)
Date: 2023-02-07 09:58 pm (UTC)[ That's. Probably. An attempt at a joke, something else that he never used to be capable of. And that, in truth, he is still not capable of. The pixies are trying their best but a lot of pixie jokes aren't so much jokes as 'just telling lies'.
Eventually, eventually they reach that great golden door. The one that has opened and closed and opened and closed and opened so many times, someone new behind it each time. He pauses before they reach it, just before the Exarch's feet would touch the sliver of dull, cloudy daylight streaming in from the one slightly-open door he'd slipped in through. ]
You are. Ready to leave? [ A pause, then, as if to clarify. ] He is. Ready to leave?
(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From:(no subject)
From: