tongueamok | XOqNI

[Later, Lance will be particularly glad for having thought to shut his gun away in a drawer in a different room, rather than carrying it on him; he can draw, aim, and fire the weapon without a whole lot of thought, and it might've been a tossup whether or not he would've done it before he could think twice about it.

It only would've been questionable, though, because of the way the compulsion comes through to him. There's no feeling of anger or any desire to cause Carlisle any harm, both of which would immediately stand out to him as coming from an outside source, but rather it's a feeling of necessity; there's the underlying, urgent sense that if he doesn't do it, something terrible will happen. It's a feeling of having to resort to self-defense, rather than a proactive choice to want to commit murder.

But being in physical danger still doesn't immediately made Lance choose to react by fighting; sometimes that's the best way to stay alive, and sometimes--as has been the case much more often in his life--it isn't. And he's not even in danger at all as far as he can tell, despite his tension and suddenly rapid heartbeat, so there's no reason to do anything just yet. Not until Carlisle makes some sort of move that convinces him there's absolutely no other choice.

So he fights the urge to act, struggling to stay calm, and then it suddenly snaps into place what's going on. Which... Doesn't help, really, in that the fear-based part of the compulsion doesn't lessen--logically knowing there's no reason for it somehow doesn't have much effect--and he's also now angry on top of it.

But although he lurches to his feet, it isn't to move closer to Carlisle; instead he storms purposefully to the far corner of the kitchen and crosses his arms tightly over his chest, both to make it more difficult to end up reaching for anything potentially dangerous if he loses concentration, and also to provide himself some sense of calm and reassurance. It takes another few seconds before he's sure he has enough control over the compulsion to risk talking, although what he ends up saying is very simple.]

Turn it off.

[So he can properly sort out what part of his desire to kill Carlisle is because of the compulsion and what part is just natural at the moment. Sure, he understands what Carlisle's trying to do, but that doesn't mean he isn't distinctly unhappy about it.]

You're doing well resisting it.

[Carlisle watches from his spot as Lance makes his way to the corner, not budging an inch himself. He probably should have considered the possibility of guns or other weapons, but when one is a competent healer who feels so utterly in control of the situation, it's hard not to feel invulnerable.

But he shouldn't, Carlisle notes, chastising himself inwardly; his influence wanes as he does. That is a dark road, one a man with no qualms of dominating the wills of others would take. This is about the lesson, not the gratification he gets from feeling as though he cannot be touched -- as though, through his own power rather than in the protection of someone else, he is invincible.

He relinquishes his influence over Lance, but it will take a moment for the full effect to pass, as before.]

It's easier to recognize when it isn't something you'd normally do, isn't it? You can feel it lacing through your veins, pulling your muscles like a tight thread. Breaking the strings is harder, but you must know they are there to begin with.

Edited 2017-11-16 07:49 (UTC)

[Lance doesn't immediately respond, both concentrating on making sure he won't act on the compulsion as well as trying to control his emotions; his heart is still pounding, and he's trying to figure out just how angry he is at Carlisle for going ahead and taking such a risk with both of their wellbeing.

So he waits until he's completely sure the compulsion has worn off, glaring a hole in a wall off to the side as he does, before he's finally sure he can speak without risking any sort of loss of control. And although there are a lot of things he could say, and a lot of things he wants to say, he ends up just asking a simple question.]

And what if I hadn't recognized it?

[He heard everything Carlisle said, but he's not going to address it just yet. This feels a lot more important.]

I supposed you'd be trying to strike me down, now wouldn't you?

[Carlisle keeps his eyes on Lance, watching his body language; he sees that anger, well aware he has overstepped his boundaries, but uncertain he'd have made his point quite so thoroughly any other way. He gives the doctor an apologetic look as he tries to swallow the accompanying guilt... along with the ink that wells at the back of his throat.]

I wouldn't still be trying.

[He can't really say it for sure, especially since Lance isn't exactly the best fighter in the world, but he's definitely more capable than people tend to think. And if he'd had his gun on him, it wouldn't have even come to that.

He sees the apologetic look, but is absolutely not ready to forgive this just yet; maybe later, once he's thought about it a bit more, but not while he's exhausted and overstressed and being angry is a lot easier than trying to think calmly and reasonably about things. So instead he makes eye contact but doesn't change expression, now just apparently trying to stare a hole through Carlisle like he had been at the wall.]

Edited 2017-11-17 03:10 (UTC)

[As confident as he had been in his capacity to survive whatever injuries he might have sustained from Lance, Carlisle buckles immediately under the intensity of the stare he receives: though his lips tighten and his shoulders stiffen, his eyes are cast away with all the shame of a child being scolded. His hands fumble with his tabard as he waits for the doctor to fully regain himself; the tabard does nothing to assuage his feelings of ineptitude as a teacher.

As guilty as he feels, Carlisle reminds himself that the far worse end of this endeavor is with the one being dominated. He is the aberration here; it is only through using his abilities to help others that he will be, perhaps, acceptable in the eyes of his goddess. His eyes remain on the floor as he murmurs.]

My apologies, doctor.

[As angry--and everything else--as he is, Lance is still far too empathetic to just ignore that particular expression on Carlisle's face, especially considering the apology. So Lance gives a quiet sigh that's really more an attempt to calm himself further than anything else, and turns his gaze toward the ceiling. Although he doesn't uncross his arms, some of the tension lessens and his tone is softer when he speaks again.]

I understand what you were trying to do, and why. But you can't just put us both in a situation like that, especially when I told you I didn't think it was a good idea.

[And contrary to what some people think, Lance doesn't talk just to hear himself. But all of that said, he looks back at Carlisle once more with a much more neutral expression.]

So just... Don't do it again, and it'll be okay.

[He's still upset, but under that condition he can let it go. He's convinced Carlisle means the apology, and that's more than he usually gets from anyone in general let alone in this place.]

[Carlisle doesn't look at Lance long enough to realize the doctor is no longer staring a hole into him; his eyes remain firm on the ground, as though it might help him escape the scrutiny.]

Sorry, I- at least I suppose you now know wh- what it is you're trying to resist.

[He bites his lip from the inside, swallowing down another spot of ink as it tries to well in his throat.]

Not- not that I didn't think you could hurt me, of course. I was- I was expecting it, but as- as I have mentioned before, I am a healer, and- and I suppose I let that thought get the better of me in my eagerness to, um. Hm.

[Good talk.]

Edited 2017-11-17 04:41 (UTC)

[Lance watches Carlisle as he stumbles through the explanation, noting both his expression and the uncertainty in how he's talking, and although Lance is still upset he really dislikes seeing other people being so as well. Especially in this manner, and especially if it's in any way because of him.

So he takes another deep breath, briefly trying to figure out both what to say and how separate his emotions from the topic enough to do so in the way he wants to.]

Finding the right balance of confidence isn't easy, and there was no real harm done. So it's a learning experience.

[For both of them, in a few senses. Carlisle isn't wrong in that Lance has a better idea of what the compulsion feels like, although--in the same issue of confidence, just on the low end of it--Lance is also not sure he's recognizing it as well as he should be, rather than just noticing inconsistencies in logic.]

Indeed.

[Though relieved Lance doesn't seem too angry with him -- not frothing at the mouth or telling him to leave just yet, at any rate -- Carlisle still fights his own apprehension as it mingles with shame in his gut. It's not an uncommon feeling for him, unfortunately.]

Whenever you are ready, perhaps we could try a d- different approach, if you have any suggestions.

[Lance is more the simmering, glowering anger type, but if he were very deeply angry he's be being a lot more vicious in what he says. He's still displeased, for sure, but he's doing his best to put that aside and be pragmatic, especially since it's clear Carlisle genuinely didn't mean any harm.

But he hesitates, still, to continue, at least for another several seconds; he's still tense and trying to relax a bit, mentally and physically. Being overly tired isn't helping with that, but after a bit more silence he thinks he's feeling a little more normal again, and considers Carlisle's words.]

I think I have the most difficulty recognizing the compulsion when it's something that seems logical, or...

[He hesitates again, trying to decide how honest to be, before continuing.]

Or if it's something that seems to have an immediate, serious consequence if it isn't done.

[Which had been the case for the event that started all of this, and why the last command Carlisle had tried had been so dangerous.]

Fair enough.

[Carlisle ponders to himself, trying to think of something that isn't terribly logical (a feat in itself, given how the dominated mind will seek to justify itself no matter what he commands), but also doesn't have a terribly serious consequence. While not terribly creative, he can be inventive when he needs to be, and as such, finds a new suggestion after mulling it over a few more seconds.]

Let's try this, then. Disrobe.

[This choice is, perhaps unexpectedly or perhaps not, is also one of those things that goes though several checks in Lance's mind before he ever does it. There's a very specific and unusual reason for that which most people don't have, and the lack of any apparent need to go against that reason causes this particular command to immediately feel out of place; unlike the previous compulsion, where it warped into feeling necessary, this one just stands out as clearly coming from an outside source.

And, once that registers, he suddenly has a much better sense of what the external influence feels like as opposed to fighting what felt like an internal urge. So, although he gets as far as uncrossing his arms before everything clicks into place, that's it and he immediately recrosses them defensively.

Despite the gesture, though, and some faint annoyance at the particular choice of compulsion, Lance is somewhat pleased at this change; it's nice to be getting somewhere.]

I think I actually felt that for what it was.

[And he's not having to fight it so hard either; he'd have to work a lot harder to convince himself to go along with it, actually.]

Edited 2017-11-22 05:29 (UTC)

Good. [Carlisle smiles a hair, his nervousness mixed with genuine relief, but maintains his gaze on Lance, as well as the compulsion itself. He holds his influence just a few seconds longer than before, pushing his pupil to keep concentrating. He relinquishes it as he stifles another cough, unable to hold it without his own attention. He could have phenomenal control over individuals, it's true, but his curse wouldn't allow it even if his morals would.]

I was not looking forward to commanding you to put your clothes back on once you got to your drawers, but I felt that was harmless enough. Though, in all fairness, there are some who would shed their clothing without a second thought, you do not strike me as the type to do so.

[He does have to keep concentrating while Carlisle is continuing to use the compulsion, but it's on a completely different level than before; it's more along the lines of focusing on reading a book while someone is talking in the background, rather than the exhausting and stressful effort required to resist some of the previous commands.

It's also easier to feel the effects fade when Carlisle stops actively using his power, and Lance isn't so distracted as to not catch the hint of some sort of discomfort; he can't tell exactly what it is yet, though, and instead focuses on the response. That actually earns a small laugh, despite his previous mood.]

There are, and I'm not. Although I wish I could say that an eagerness to undress was the biggest problem with the people here.

[The people here suck in general, honestly. A lack of modesty is a very minor problem in comparison.]

It isn't, unfortunately.

[Carlisle has a lot of gripes about the people trapped in Hadriel, but their poor fashion choices tend to be lower on the list of priorities when they're all being manipulated and used by hungry, would-be deities.]

How did that feel? What were you thinking of to keep your wits about you?

[He gives a small shrug at the question, and although his arms are still crossed he finally moves out of the corner a little, closer to the table again.]

I barely had to think about it at all; it was completely different than before.

[Probably because it's so ingrained--he doesn't even go swimming in public so as to avoid taking his shirt off--that it stood out as a completely alien idea. But he doesn't want to explain any of that, so he tries to figure out a way to answer with enough detail while avoiding the topic.]

With making the tea it didn't seem too unusual, so concentrating on not just doing it was really difficult. And the other time, it just... Warped into a sense of needing to act in self-defense.

[And so both of those had been very hard to recognize and then fight the instincts necessary to override them. But--]

This didn't seem normal and I guess wasn't something that could twist around in my head into being imperative to do, so it was easier.

XOqNI

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