[ open ] when you're barely breathing; while your heart's still beating

[hymnals]

Who: Adrasteius; perhaps you
When: June 21
Where: Early morning - Lasker Cathedral; Night - Caissa; the House
What: it is his birthday and he will be sad and die if he wants to
Rating: rated a for angst



i. i'm so stubborn; that's how i got here;

[ This is not a cathedral of Light. The people of Lasker do not worship as he does, do not believe as he does, and their sacred house is like his own in design only. But it's better than nothing.

Adra walks--limps, really--down the aisles, leaning on his staff, feeling as tired as he ever has in his long life. His blood burns in his veins even so, a hot itch that prickles up and down his limbs, across his chest and stomach and throat. He's a walking desert; he's scorched to the bone. It's Midsummer, it's the day he was born, and he feels just about ready to die.

But he has to do a few things first.

Adra makes his way past the nave, past the transept. He stands before the choir. No one's really here yet; it's hours until the 8'o'clock bell, which suits him fine. There's just the altar, the stained glass, and rows and rows of unlit votive candles.

He thinks of the war, of their failure. He thinks of the corpses, civilian and soldier alike, their bodies twisted with agony, their lungs full of lightning and poison. The coagulated blood on their mouths; their ashen skin. He thinks of the people he healed, of the close press of the air in those train cars. The metallic and earthy scent of torn flesh, the sweat and the salt, the crisp ozone hiss of residual magic.

He thinks of the people he killed, and he thinks of his twin brother.

Adra waves his hand over a candle, lights it. Lights two more, then five or six after that. Ultimately, he just thinks, hell with it, and doesn't stop until every wick is burning.

Then, he sinks down into the front pew. He shuts his eyes, presses his forehead to the staff, and he prays. ]

Light give me strength. Bless me, Light, where I am. Bless him, Light, wherever he is. Keep us from harm. Keep us from doing harm. Bless us.

[ He sighs. ]

Give me strength.


ii. like a hurricane, it takes everything from me;

[ He's home, at last. It's early evening; outside, the sun's just setting, the end of a long, long day. Its warm glow suffuses his garden, turning everything to molten gold. Adra stands by the window in the kitchen, fingertips against the glass, watching. From his vantage point, he can see not only his blazing flowers, but the thin, foamy strip of sea just beyond. The waves shimmer as they rise and crash, brilliant in the fading light.

He feels dull and thin by comparison; he feels diminished. He presses his forehead to the glass. Everything aches, from his heart down to his joints. The ride home was agony. But he made it, somehow.

Pain pulses between his temples. He should drink some water, he thinks, but he doesn't move. He just stays right where he is, held up by will alone. He's sure that he'll collapse eventually, but that's all right. He's in his own place. If he's allowed to fall apart anywhere, it's here. ]

Comments

ii

[babbylon]

[Gilgamesh had done his best.

He'd tiptoed into the kitchen, before sunrise, and made breakfast. He wasn't much of a chef quite yet, but he could manage well enough, pancakes and juice and toast, all the essentials. He set it all on a tray and surprised Adra before he woke up. Kissed him on the cheek and told him those special words in his tongue. He'd spent time with him in bed, curled close. He'd told the elf, whatever you'd like to do today, we'll do together.

But he just shook his head, and wandered off to worship, and so Gilgamesh waited.

He waited and waited and waited. He drew pictures. He read books. He spoke with a few others, but it just wasn't the same. This was Adra's special day. He should've been the one to honor it most. He should've went with him, should've insisted. But despite being so close, Adra still always felt so far away. Like a star in a distant galaxy.

It's why he's slow to approach when Adra finally does return. He joins him by the window and slips a hand around his arm. He rests his head on a wary shoulder. He looks up at his housemate with worried eyes, more concerned than he ordinarily ever lets show on kingly features. And very delicately, as delicately as he can manage, he asks:]

Tell me what ails you.

[And maybe it's less like asking, more like a command, as he's accustomed to from Gilgamesh. But he's bothered all the same.]

[hymnals]

[ What ails him. His throat is dry. He doesn't even know where to start. He glances up at Gilgamesh, his eyes unusually bright. He's feverish to touch, burning up, though there's not a bead of sweat anywhere on him. He runs his tongue over his teeth. ]

I'm tired.

[ Well, it's not a lie. ]

[babbylon]

It is your day, and yet you are so unwell.

[It hardly seems fair. Why did this keep happening to him? No, actually... he knows exactly why it keeps happening. Because he's stubborn, and this was the cost of being so stubborn for so long. He sighs and wonders if it's even worth the argument, if he'd even listen.

Maybe he'd better just intervene, no matter how unhappy it makes him. It couldn't get much worse, anyway.]

Come to my bed, little sun. We must fix this. You know exactly how.

[hymnals]

[ He curls his fingers against the glass. He scowls, but his voice still sounds brittle. Ready to break. ]

No.

[ He turns his eyes back to the window. ]

Let it be.

ii!

[digophelia]

Mister Adra?

[ She sees him and watches before approaching. Touch is such a hard thing for Alice to initiate, even with someone like Adra, whom she feels the most comfortable with, out of anyone. She finds herself taking small, unsure steps, holding her hands close to her heart, unsure what to do with them. ]

Mister Adra, perhaps you should sit and rest.

[ Eventually, Alice works up a nerve to come closer, but not close enough to where she can reach for him. It's still very hard for her to approach closer, after everything that has happened to her. ]

[hymnals]

[ He doesn't turn to look at her. He just keeps staring out at the waves, hand pressed against the glass. There's fog forming around his fingers. ]

I'm fine, Alice. I don't need anything.

[ His deep voice is hoarse; enervated. ]

[digophelia]

You don't seem fine.

[ He seems weak, barely able to stand. In the little time she's known him, it seems like he's frail. Still, she lingers, her hands tentatively cupped in front of her. What can she do? What happens if he falls? ]

You're worrying me, you should rest.

[hymnals]

[ Adrasteius has no intention of falling. He's going to die standing, if he can help it. ]

You have no reason to worry about me. Yesterday was a trying time, that's all.

[ Which was true. The brutal battle hadn't helped anything. ]

I

[showsnopiety]

[Caren had come here, very early in the morning. Pre dawn, maybe? But she hadn't been able to sleep. There had been things that she hadn't been able to settle on, and while she mocked this place, the sameness-the structure of this place-reminded her enough of a place she was no longer certain she would see that she could sit, and doze.

But the sound of someone walking within, and stirred at the sound of his voice. She took in a deep breath, and rose to her feet. Her voice was a murmur, and it only became clearer as she came closer to the front pew (having been curled up in a corner in the back) what she was saying.]

...look upon your servant, Lord,
suffering from sickness of body,
and refresh the soul You have created,
so that, purified by this affliction,
he may always remember that
he has been saved by Your loving pity.

[She draws up to him, and her voice quiet, as she surveys him. As ever, she enjoys the suffering but she has long since learned to cover it. Besides. Sometimes, she had to act the part. The blessing of the sick was something she knew well enough. She was going to have to force the issue, because he was driving himself onto death. She knew this well enough, and she knew what problem he had with it. Trying to master his body, even if it meant that it would be near impossible.

A life for a life. Death for a death. She hated to owe. Maybe here she could do something to save it. Or join him, as priest to priest. Her expression was, as usual, hard to tell, even if she didn't look so hot herself. But better then he had seen her, for certain.]

Let us pray.

[hymnals]

[ He stares up into the vaulted arches. Ah, Caren. The girl who died; the girl who cried. The girl who can't feel anything. ]

Do you even believe in your prayers? Or--anything?

[showsnopiety]

Belief requires faith.

[Her head tips towards the ceiling.]

I was raised to be of the faith, but I was never given due reason. Those who advocated the faith never seemed to follow through to me.

[She shrugs.]

But. I believe sentient beings are able of great things-both good and bad.

[hymnals]

[ The Light itself had plenty of false followers. Plenty of people who walked under its banner and committed atrocities. The entire Scarlet Crusade flits across Adra's mind. In no world is it unusual for the religious to fall short. So he can't blame her there. ]

Hm. I believe that, too, Caren.


[ He stares into the wavering flame of the candles, his expression weary. ]

Do you believe that of yourself, also?

[sediments]

[ If it hadn't been for the fact that Bolin had already bought a birthday present, he probably would've forgotten about Adra's birthday altogether (the great friend that he is). It's not so much a commentary on his affection for the man as it is a reflection to how wholly the events of the previous day are consuming his thoughts. He can't stop thinking about it; the cold hatred in the eyes of the Noir soldiers, the lonely corpses of the train's passengers, and the mess that his own body had become. The smell of burnt flesh - Sasuke's and his own - is seared into his memory.

He's not sure if it horrifies or disgusts him, but somehow he just can't stop thinking about it. Can't get the images of civilians impaled brutally by metal spikes out of his head. He doesn't want to think about it, but here he is.

Happy for the distraction, seeing the blonde head of the elf for the first time since the events at the train. Just the blonde that he was waiting for. ]

Happy Birthday, Adra! [ Wait, had he remembered to wrap the present? ] Do you want your gift now?

[hymnals]

[ He's brushing his hair when Bolin approaches him, mechanically, limply. He's probably putting in more tangles than he's getting out, point of fact. He looks up at Bolin, blearily, and for a moment seems confused. ]

What? You didn't--you didn't need to do anything, Bolin.

[sediments]

[ Bolin shakes his head, walking over to the other man to take his wrist and tug him toward Bolin's bed, where the present is sitting neatly inside the little beside table. Setting Adra down on the bed, Bolin sets his hands on his hips and looks accomplished.

He just wants to do something good for someone. ]

Of course I did! [ Then, he looks a little sheepish. ] I'm still angry at myself for not getting you a housewarming gift so.

[ But that was that, and this is now. Opening up the drawer, he takes out a velvet box which is, sadly, not wrapped. But there's still enough mystery about the contents at least.

(It's a rather pretty fountain pen that Bolin had found.) ]

[hymnals]

[ Ah, a bed. He has to resist the urge to lay down. Instead, he forces himself to focus on the moment. It's still odd to receive gifts; he's not used to them, hasn't had many since he was a child.

So he opens the box with a look of wonder, and that turns to a soft smile as picks up the pen, as he turns it over in his hands. ]

Oh, Bolin. How thoughtful ...

[ He murmurs, his eyes half-lidded. ]

Thank you.

ii!!

[hoasen]

[NOW SEE HERE, she wants to know what he thought of her gift. She behaved and everything, even avoided breaking and entering for once. You know what, you might as well just make her a key. This takes time and effort.

She spots him just as she was about to knock on the door, seeing him from the window. So she knocks on the window.]

Adrasteius...?

[hymnals]

[ He doesn't turn to look at her. Just keeps staring out at the waves. ]

Sen. Are you my second roommate now?

[hoasen]

[oh my god don't make her open the window just to help him, she's rattling it. She's more worried about his condition on a day he should be celebrating.]

Do you want me to be? I will, tell me what is wrong?

ii

[quaria]

[ Someone has been knocking on the door for the past two minutes now. Setsuna doesn't really knock a lot, only once or twice during each minute. Moreover, his knocks are as quiet as he is. He only makes enough noise to let him know that he's there. He knows that someone's home at least, the lights within the house tell him so.

But as the third minute approaches, he wonders if neither Adra nor Gilgamesh wish to be disturbed at this time. ... Well, he can see why. Anyone could see why. The Hall of Glory hasn't been as lively since then.

A tragedy occurred, after all. Right before such a special day. Setsuna can't blame them if they just want to be left alone and comfort each other during such a time. Maybe he can just leave his present at the mail box... So he looks around the front, about to turn away from the door. In that instance, he's decided to just leave the box he has. He doesn't want to be a bother here... He isn't exactly the best person to extend comfort to anyone anyway.

Maybe because he's so clouded in his own thoughts that he forgot to catch himself. As Setsuna leaves the porch, he forgot to pay attention to his feet and trips. His eyes widen as he attempts to catch his balance again, but the step he missed is huge and he ends up smacking against the ground — the present box landing a few meters away from him. The noise may just be louder than any of his earlier knocks. ]

[hymnals]

[ Adra's in a bit of a haze, but he's not so far gone that he's lost his hearing. Or his sight, for that matter. When Setsuna tumbles outside, Adra turns towards the noise, frowning. Wonders if it's just Sen trying to 'break in' again. He stalks outside, intent on giving her a piece of his mind--and a key, damn it--but he stops short when he finds someone else there entirely. ]

Light! Setsuna, are you okay?

[ He kneels down beside the other man, frowning. ]

Did you injure yourself?

[quaria]

[ Aah, what the... Setsuna normally isn't the clumsy kind, but he supposes that he's been unfocused lately. There's been so much to do ever since the latest skirmish, too many things happening all at once. He needs to remind himself not to take on too much. He tells himself that as he lies against the ground, letting the sting pass first before he moves.

And when Setsuna does move, he lifts his head first. He positions his forearms below, pushing himself to sit up afterwards. How embarrassing. This isn't how it should be... He didn't go here to add to the worries already present. So he pulls himself together and nods reassuringly; it's at least true enough that something of a little stumble wouldn't hurt him. ]

Sorry... I am fine.

[ He says, peering through those dark hair fringes. He looks calm all for two or three seconds before he perks in surprise when he remembers about the box. Where did it fly off to...! He looks left and right quickly, then sees the present on top of the grass further away.

Oh, no... He hopes that nothing broke. Although his face is the same as ever, his eyes show distress. He stands and hurries to the box, picking it up before returning to the elf's side. It's afterwards that he, still a little embarrassed, offers it. He doesn't say anything else, but words are probably not needed. ]

i

[sealeted]

[Barely thirty minutes of sleep.

That's all Hakuno could force herself to get, after leaving the train station. After that, she spent a few hours tinkering with the roll cake recipe until it tasted more or less like what she remembered. Wrapping the cake only burned up a few scant minutes, since she had bought the card and materials on the way back, after learning about the importance of the next day.

Or, that day. It was about midnight, maybe a little later, when she finished. It took her about twenty more minutes to figure out why she was so on edge, and once she did, she certainly didn't like the conclusion. The train had triggered some coincidental conditioning she hadn't realized would be a problem. Her body was trained to treat only three areas as completely safe: the room she shared with her Servant, the Infirmary, and the Church, none of which were here. She wasn't in the Moon Cell, but her body had sensed danger, and wouldn't be swayed back easily.

Which meant she could either find Gilgamesh and take up his offer to sleep on his floor, find a hospital that wasn't overrun, or find a church.

Naturally, there was only one real choice.

As it so happens, she sent off Adra's gift via Carrier just about an hour before she wakes up to his voice, curled up on the floor between a wall and a pew. She's bleary-eyed and not sure of where or when, exactly she is at first; she thinks church and hears a melodious, male voice saying some sort of prayer, and so her first, sleep-hoarse conclusion is:]

Father... Kotomine...?

[hymnals]

[ His ears twitch as Hakuno's voice reaches him, and he pauses, frowning. Father who? Eh? ]

Hakuno?

[ He turns to look at her, his expression tired; his skin pale and sallow. ]

Are you talking to me?

[sealeted]

['Hakuno'? Since when has that priest ever called her...]

...what?

[The groggy confusion is readily apparent when she musters the energy to pop her head above the pew to peer over at Not-Kotomine. Not-Kotomine who looks... oddly familiar. But the only blond Master she knows is Leo, and Leo is a fifteen year old boy, not an--

...

--elf, she recalls, once the here and now properly registeres. Because Leo is a fifteen year old boy, and not a who-knows-how-old but plus one more because it's his birthday, elf.]

S-Sorry, Sensei. F'rgot.

[She muffles a yawn, sagging weakly against the pew.]