tongueamok | XOqNI

Entry tags:

g[hadriel],
ic

XOqNI

Hello, this is Carlisle.

I mean, it's not Carlisle as in I'm actually answering you right now, so if you're trying to reply to me at the second, you should probably save your breath because I'm not really here. This is some kind of a recording of my voice, but this is my communicator. I'm going to assume these devices are as common here as they are in other places — not my world, but others, ones more technologically advanced than where I come from— so if you'd like to leave me a message, then you may do so here, or er...

Right. Here is fine. So just leave yo—

[beep]

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I couldn't think. My head was pounding, as though it'd explode any moment.

[His anxiety claws at his mind. How is he supposed to find strength in what friends he has to stand up fears when he's so certain that what he can do will damn him in their eyes? Were the Inquisitors right when they called him an abomination? Have they always been right?]

I didn't- I didn't expect that much ink.

Yeah, you seemed um, really not-good.

[And it had freaked Chris out a little bit, simply because he really wasn't sure how to help.]

Was it just from the event, or...?

[Does that just happen sometimes?]

[He takes an unsteady breath.]

It is the nature of my curse, unrestrained due to the false gods.

[That answer kind of just gives him more questions, but he doesn't want to pry too much at the moment especially since Carlisle's still recovering.]

Is there um... If it ever happens again, is there some way to help?

[Another pause as he makes some considerations that he does not want to make.]

It'd—

[—be better if Chris didn't associate with him. Be better if no one associated with him. Everyone who does is cursed by association.

That's true, isn't it? That's why his father is gone. That's why his uncles are gone. And when he dies and ends up cursed to wander the realm between the planes, everyone will be gone.]

It'd...

[But more than he fears himself and what he can do, Carlisle fears loneliness. He sighs, defeated.]

There's nothing to be done, but it would be best for you to give me space when it happens. If it should happen again. J- just for when it happens.

Edited 2016-10-20 04:05 (UTC)

[He's silent, giving Carlisle as much time as he needs to choose what to actually say, though he does make note of the attempts at a sentence that seems to eventually be abandoned.]

Okay. I can um... I can do that.

[He's not sure why that's best, but he'll trust Carlisle on it.]

Is there anything I can do now, though?

I don't want to be a burden.

[Nor does he want to feel that he owes Chris more than he already does. Chris protected him from that creature, and what did he get for his troubles? Probably compelled into it in the first place.]

You're not.

[He says it easily, certainly.]

Besides, I wouldn't be offering if I didn't want to help.

[And sure, he wants to help almost everyone, but still. Carlisle is his friend, and so he means it even more than usual.]

I... um.

[There's that nagging at the back of his mind, those old superstitions ingrained into him. He shouldn't talk about his curse so openly. Others are better off not knowing what it is they have living among them.

... And then there's the encouragement he got from Glacius, reminding him that he will never make progress if he does not even attempt to face his fears; those fears include that of other people, of what they will think, and of what might happen to them. Carlisle is no more their keeper than they are his, and Chris would not offer if he did not genuinely want to help, surely.]

I could use someone to talk to... I suppose.

[A lot of Chris is still really expecting Carlisle to continue keeping to himself, so his last comment is a bit of a surprise. It's a nice one, though, and Chris' response is as fast and sure as it had been before.]

Yeah, of course, no problem. I can come to your place, if you want?

[Since he's guessing Carlisle isn't feeling up to coming here, or probably even meeting somewhere in the middle.]

I would rather not talk here.

[As hesitant as he's been regarding everything else, he is certain of that.]

[...Huh. Chris doesn't ask, but he files that away mentally for later; right now he's busy running through options.

His place is probably out since it's full of people--and a wolf, which he's not sure how Carlisle would feel about--and the bar is pretty public if there are people in it. Emily's shop is an idea but she's probably at it herself.]

Maybe the library? Or just like, temporarily grab a place no one's at.

[He's been thinking of scoping out open houses anyway himself.]

The library will be fine. There should be at least one corner that is relatively quiet.

[Because last time he poked his head in there, a green man was building towers out of books.]

Hopefully.

I'll bring coffee.

[At least he can do that much to help for certain.]

Thank you.

[And with that, he's headed out to the library to find the most secluded area possible -- probably that one room down the long hallway with all the blank books, where he's been procuring some for himself to repurpose into journals.

Though he looks better than he did earlier in the month when Emily started making him his pain-killing teas, he's still more disheveled than usual -- haggard, tired. With the bloodstains still stubbornly clinging to the neck of his jacket, he's swapped it out for a black ensemble he managed to find in the stores. His tabard is still present atop it, as though it provides some sense of normalcy for him.

And that's really what he needs right now.]

[Chris arrives a little late, due to his detour to make coffee, but he might hopefully provide some more normalcy; he looks the same as ever, totally fine after healing himself from everything that happened during the Confusion event, the only difference now being that he's wearing a ridiculous lavender beanie.

Don't judge, okay.

He offers a smile as he finally finds Carlisle, though he makes note of his disheveled appearance. At least he's looking better than last time Chris saw him, anyway.]

Hey.

[His voice is quiet, mostly from an ingrained sense of not being too loud in a library. It's a hard habit to break, and he sets Carlisle's coffee on one of the small tables in the room.]

This one's yours.

[He's not spitting up ink and crying while clutching his head and cowering from a plagued bear, so that's an improvement over the last time he and Chris spoke. He offers Chris a bare smile as he comes in, tucking a blank book into his satchel for later, when it's easier to hold a pen for long periods of time. At least the mug is easier.]

Thank you, lad.

[His eyes trail upward.]

Nice hat.

No problem.

[Bringing coffee wasn't exactly much effort or anything. At Carlisle's next comment Chris gives a small laugh, sitting on the edge of another of the small tables scattered about.]

Thanks. It's uh... It's Ash's, but it showed up here along with some of the other weird stuff popping up and since she's not here I figured it was meant for me. Have you found anything of yours yet?

[Ah, a memento from his girlfriend. Carlisle is sure having that is both a comfort and a heartache all at the same time.]

I found nothing, but it seems others found them for me. I cannot help but wonder if the false gods sought to make us homesick.

[It's definitely a little of both. Chris gives a small shrug, taking a sip of his coffee.]

Maybe. It'd be uh, kind of a passive-aggressive way of going about it though, and since I think only Sorrow'd get something out of it he'd probably be a little more um... Aggressive-aggressive? But who knows.

[Not like he talks to Sorrow much, or ever.]

Get anything good?

Just something of mine from home. A gift from one of my uncles. It's, ah.

[A smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, along with a somber laugh.]

It's hideous, really. But it has an enchantment on it to disguise the wearer as a beast, so perhaps it will have a use here.

Edited 2016-10-28 00:58 (UTC)

Sounds worth it, no matter how ugly it is.

[He's grinning a little as he responds himself, though now he's curious to see the thing and just how hideous it actually is.]

Should it like, be able to make monsters think you're one of them, or...?

[He'll have to show it to Chris someday, as he wouldn't be caught dead wearing it on a daily basis. He has some standards.]

Any monsters should see me as a kalugra, the beast the pelt was from, when I don the cape. They are not know for their agreeable disposition, so it worked well enough on the creatures surrounding Bear Den, including the Forest Folk. I never really meant to frighten them, but it happened from time to time.

Oh, huh. That's pretty cool, actually.

[And definitely worth it, if it works here.]

Was it the only thing you got?

[His eyes flick away, brow knitting.]

No, um. Actually.

[He's still obviously stiff in the joints as he reaches beside his chair and into his satchel that's sitting on the floor. He retrieves a leather, folding frame, setting it on the table and pushing it toward Chris.

Inside are four portraits, lifelike illustrations produced by a skillful artist. The first has a rugged fellow with wild, ruddy hair and an even wilder look in his vibrant eyes. He's got a massive axe strapped to his back and, if the definition in his neck and shoulders is any indication, has no problems wielding such an intimidating weapon. Despite his hard jawline, untamed features, and numerous scars across his skin, his smile is soft, kind.

The man in the second portrait must be related to the first, as he also has a furious mane of hair; it connects to his sideburns, all of his auburn locks brushed backwards and pulled into a knot at the back of his head. He has a traditional bow over his shoulder, the limbs engraved with symbols and depictions of various creatures. His long nose is wrinkled as he smiles for the artist, proud to have his picture made.

That smirk is no comparison to the confident grin on the third man, whose hazel eyes and chiseled features were likely to have made him very popular around any town. He looks as though he knew it at the time of his portrait too, his hand only loosely curled around his staff, fingers relaxed. Though not as weathered as the previous two men, he doesn't look like one to be challenged -- the orb at the top of his staff is not the only ornament on the weapon, as teeth, claws, and feathers all hang below it, attached by leather strings and wrappings. He's got several hanging along the neckline of his tunic, too -- trophies, mementos of favorite kills.

And the last portrait is someone who might be familiar to Chris, despite the fact the figure in it is several years younger, not even an adult: tired eyes, glasses, nearly colorless skin even as an adolescent. Even without the sides of his head shorn, the hairline is unmistakably Carlisle's. At least he's smiling. Times were happier, then.]

Edited 2016-10-28 01:53 (UTC)

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