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[ open ] when you're barely breathing; while your heart's still beating
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. ]
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. ]
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[ She finds herself leaning against the glass, too, just to get a better look at his face. It's childish, the way she leans to peer up at him, almost mimicking everything that he's doing just to see his face. ]
But that doesn't alleviate my worry for you. I wish you weren't there, at all, actually. I don't want your hurt, again.
[ Not after Capablanca. ]
no subject
[ It's odd to feel eyes looking up at him. Outside of actual children, most people are his height or taller. His gaze flicks down to her, and he sighs. ]
Getting hurt is part of the job. Part of being alive, generally.
no subject
[ She had many objections to this, of course, and all of them would make her sound like a hypocrite. Unsure of herself, Alice falls silent, her gaze dropping, just a bit before she speaks up. ]
Well, if I was beside you, I would make sure that you weren't hurt, at all.
[ Which... does little to help him and she hates it. ]
no subject
It's not that kind of hurt. There's nothing you can do about it. Not you, or anyone else.
[ He looks at her directly, his alien eyes glowing emerald green. ]
I'm sure you know what that's like.
no subject
[ No one has really ever been kind enough to her as a child to mend her grief. But his omission causes her to frown deeper than before. It's not in her nature to pry and poke him, but she's not exactly about to pull herself back up from the glass.
If anything, it makes her even more determined to fret over him. ]
Then something else has happened.
[ Who does she need to beat? ]
no subject
[ He breathes in slowly, exhales just as deliberately. It hurts even to breathe right now. ]
More precisely, something's been happening, for many years now.
[ He decides that it doesn't matter if she knows. She's not the kind to betray, he's sure. ]
My people are addicted to magic--to mana.
no subject
[ She's perplexed with this; she knows mana is a necessity in this world to firght and carry on with spells, but cannot wrap her mind around the concept of being addicted to it. Not with touch, not with the need to replenish one's self with it. Still, she asks without judgment, afraid to ask him more about it, fearing that if she pries too much, she'll upset him. ]
no subject
[ He runs both hands through his long hair, scowling, looking ashamed. ]
And if we don't satisfy the addiction, we suffer. Immeasurably.
no subject
[ Hopefully, it won't cause great harm to him or worse. Surely there's a way to work around it, there has to be a way to help him. ]
no subject
[ He shrugs, listlessly. ]
I'm still working on that part. But, Alice ... it's fine. It's my fight.
no subject
[ She's a little reluctant to pull away from the glass, not until she knows she can at least get him to sit down or something. ]
You don't have to do it alone.
no subject
[ He taps the glass. ]
How many people have you let in?
no subject
She just can't answer it, because the answer is no one. ]
I don't know what you mean.
no subject
[ He shrugs his narrow shoulders. ]
It's fine. But you ought to know better than anyone that some things are easier said than done.
no subject
[ She may just make things worse by saying this. ]
I'd rather see things right for you, more than anything right now. It would make me sleep better.
no subject
[ Well, not so much. He pauses, and amends. ]
Things will be right.
[ Somehow. ]
no subject
She can't really say anything at that moment, only hover close. ]
no subject
Alice ... I promise. It's okay. I won't die. I'll--find a way.
[ He will. He will. ]
no subject
[ Even if he's affirmed there's nothing she can do at the moment to help his affliction, Alice won't feel comfortable enough without trying, first. ]
I can help you sit down, just for a while. Or bring you something to eat or drink.
[ She hopes he'll let her do something. ]
no subject
[ Or anyone, for that matter, but particularly not Alice. He needs magic, and the best way to take it in this world is a method that's distasteful to them both (which is to say: touching anyone at all).
That said, he does finally pull away from the window and sit down, heavily, at his table. She wants to do something; wants to feel useful. He's not so far gone that he can't recognize and appreciate this instinct. ]
Some water, if you don't mind. I have bottles in the icebox, over there.
no subject
[ Without saying anything else, Alice moves swiftly to the icebox, pulling out a bottle of water and coming back to Adra's side. She hovers of him, before settling down at the table with him. ]
It's a pain, isn't it? The mana exchange, that is. A friend of mine always gives me treats infused with mana.
[ Leave it to Alice to talk about Sion in a positive light and not in front of his face. ]
He's good about those sort of things. Would that help?
no subject
[ His tone is gentle, though, not reproving. It's not a bad idea--but such things aren't enough. They don't satisfy. They barely take the edge off. ]
But I appreciate your consideration, Alice.
[ He drinks the water, and feels just a bit more fortified. ]
I will be fine, I swear to you.