letsdeadaland | Wouldn't you like to use more than words?

Wouldn't you like to use more than words?

The last thing you recall is likely your own death. Whether it was fast or slow, it's over now. And you're... where are you?

One moment, you were among the living. The next - you may be one of the unfortunate ones who actually died. In which case, you've found yourself flowing in the lazy rivers of the river Styx, unfathomably deep underground. Just for a moment, mind you. It's not long before your consciousness is yanked from the waters by some scary monsters, shoved into a healed body, and pushed through a portal.

Or, maybe you were caught red-handed and sentenced to your doom. But, instead of a proper death, you were whisked down into the Veins of Tartarus. And there's really only one place that could lead to... Or is it?

You've been tossed down here by the will of the Titan, but what you find is A helping hand swooping you up - possibly literally, and potentially out of the grasp of the Titan himself.

Not a moment after, you're whisked through another rift, this one a shimmering gold. Into a realm of slightly more stable platforms and a lot more shit to look through. The area is practically littered with the ill-gotten goods of a thieving God (who is happy to note via pop-up illusion that you are touching his stuff). Here, however, you are safe; assured that Typhon cannot find or hurt you here.

For the moment, you can breathe before the next part comes.

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[It's just the slightest whisper of a touch, gentle and barely there at all. Zvei likely isn't expecting any sort of response to this either, not with as cautious and as tentative as it is, and indeed at first he may not even recognize what he gets for what it is. But that something warm and wet on his fingertips isn't his own blood, not when it continues to flow the way this does...

Seymour's conscious mind may not be capable of tears, but his subconscious has no such reservations. They well up, overflowing, like they're being pushed out with nowhere else to go, eighteen years of pain that have been bottled up and locked away until they were all but forgotten. But the heart never forgets, no matter how much the mind might try to, and once a dam has broken you can't put that water back in.

From the way those tears flood out, this dam was holding back an entire ocean of grief.]

[Zvei doesn't recognize it at first.

Were his memories only that of Zvei's, he wouldn't have recognized it at all. Zvei never saw anyone cry. Why would he, when he never had reason to cry himself, and was never close enough to anyone else for it to matter?

But he isn't just Zvei, and though Ivilezlei's memories have given him nothing but grief since he reclaimed them, they shed light on this.

Ivilezlei hadn't cried, not even once in his memories. But then, of course he hadn't; he hadn't been allowed to have any feelings. Any missteps, anything less than perfection was rewarded with a beating. His earliest memories hold nothing similar to what Seymour's described - a life where the only person who wanted him chose to abandon him while he was shunned by everyone else. Ivilezlei had been a tool; raised with a purpose, and molded to fit it. He learned to give up on fighting it early on. He only barely remembers a few rebellious attempts, and the bruises left behind.

Even here and now, seeing Seymour at his absolute lowest and being unable to do a damn thing to help, Zvei doesn't cry. He's not sure he can, or if he even knows how to. Is it something that needs to be learned? Was that stolen from him too, as so much was in Ivilezlei's life?]

Seymour...

[For a moment, that's all it is. Just his name and a touch that's still far too hesitant for the situation. Zvei doesn't know how to handle this, and he fears any wrong step could make things worse somehow. The last thing Seymour would want is to be treated like he's fragile, like he can't take care of himself, and yet Zvei hesitates for too damn long anyway, with an unfamiliar feeling threatening to strangle him entirely.

It does get him to shut up, for once. And then he's moving, cutting off what little space was between them to start with. Two, then four tentacles slide out from the back of his labcoat as his arms wrap tightly around Seymour, tentacles serving only as extra arms as if that will somehow help. The healing magic picks up again, though it's no longer focused on any area specifically, instead jumping around as if it will find some open wound that needs to be sealed. As though he could solve this as easily as he's always solved physical wounds.]

[Seymour, at least, has memories of touch and kindness, of gestures of affection, though it's been those eighteen years since he last experienced anything that didn't come from Zvei. He remembers his mother holding him close when he was frightened or upset, the way she would stroke his back and hum to him until he calmed down, and as fragmented as his mind currently may be, those memories still drift within it like leaves in a stream, surfacing just long enough to be visible before being sucked back under once again.

It's enough for him to be able to recognize those arms wrapping around him as comfort and protectiveness, and on pure instinct he curls himself into that contact the same way he would when he was a child in his mother's lap. It's warm. It's warm, and safe, and he needs that particular brand of comfort more than even he knows at the moment.

The tears haven't stopped. They're coming harder now, his entire body shaking with soundless, wordless sobs. Although he may not remember how to cry, it would seem like his body does-- a small mercy, at least, because there's so much pent up that trying to stop it or hold it back would be nothing short of futility. But his body isn't even making an attempt to stem the tide, instead merely continuing to go through the motions as long as there are tears left to shed.

... and then, at last, one hand shifts just enough to grasp the front of Zvei's lab coat like a drowning man clinging to a thrown rope. It's an attempt to anchor himself against everything, unconscious though it is, because it's the only thing his instinct can think of to do.

He's drowning, still, but this time there's someone trying their best to pull him out.]

[You're absolutely terrible at hugging, Syzi had told him once, wearing one of his usual bright smiles. You cling like you're drowning. And then you wrap me up so tightly I can't move! You know it's okay to be gentle too, right?

His grip is tight, unaccustomed as he is to hugging. The tentacles are more gentle, which might have at least been one lesson Syzi imparted on him a long time ago. But his arms wind tight around Seymour; clinging like he's drowning, indeed.

Zvei feels Seymour move and it gets a sharp inhale; one that makes him ache in so many uncomfortable and unfamiliar ways.]

I'm here, [he repeats it again, as though he can never say it enough,] I'm here, Seymour. You aren't going to be alone. Not again. Never again.

[It isn't a promise he can make, for so many reasons. There's no telling what will happen to them in this strange sense of being, and even if they were to live again, where would that take them? Something he hasn't allowed himself to think about, because it just doesn't seem possible. He belongs in the lifestream. His life is over, twice now.

But he's always been selfish, and right here, right now... he's so relieved that he isn't truly dead. He gets to hold Seymour, has a chance to apologize and do right this time. No matter how painful it is right now, that's something worth clinging to, he thinks.]

I'll be right here. For as long as you'll let me stay.

[There isn't enough present in his mind right now to be able to be able to process and respond to everything Zvei has been saying to him. Most of it is just garbled, meaningless noise to him at this point, but one particular phrase is repeated over and over again until it manages to filter in through the fog and finally coalesces into something that some small part of him thinks it recalls the meaning of.

"I'm here."]

Please...

[It's barely more than a whisper, broken and desperately pleading, almost more of a reflexive response than anything else. Just a single word, but it asks so many things. Please stay. Please don't leave me alone. Please help me. He can't say any of those; even that word alone took a tremendous amount of effort to articulate. He doesn't even really know just who it is that he's asking it of, only that there arms around him clutching him tight as though he's a precious treasure, and the small and frightened sense of self that still remains wants to keep clinging to this faint bit of safety for as long as it lasts.]

[It's so soft he could have missed it, but of course Zvei doesn't. He's been desperately hoping for any reaction, any words, and even just this one means the world to him. He's not sure which part it's in response to - or if it's in response to all of it.

His grip tightens, reflexively, to the point where he's likely to hurt one or both of them. It takes a conscious effort to loosen his grip, to make sure he doesn't cause Seymour any more pain. The man's dealt with entirely too damn much his entire life.]

I'm here. [Softly, at first, then rapidly picking up in pace,] I'm here. I'm here, Seymour.

[And he'll keep repeating it, as long as it takes to truly sink in, that Seymour isn't alone anymore. A mantra, an oath, a promise - whatever it is, he can't get himself to stop repeating it.]

I won't let anyone hurt you. [Another promise he can't keep.] I won't leave you. I—

[A shuddering exhale follows and then suddenly Zvei's shaking, and he's not entirely sure how or why that started, or how to get it to stop. He still doesn't cry, but the involuntary trembling is certainly new. His hands tighten in the back of Seymour's robes, heedless of the fact that he's definitely getting blood on them now.

And then, so softly he's not entirely sure it can be heard:]

Please come back to me. Please... please don't leave me alone.

[He's being crushed, the breath being squashed right out of him, and in an instant his mind is thrown right back to pressure in his lungs, a sudden burst of pain in his chest and the horrid sensation that had followed and he shoves, panicked--

... but then the feeling of being squeezed goes away almost as suddenly as it had began, and in its wake he registers a very different sort of motion, unsteady, like the rocking of a boat.

And he hears that same word he'd just said being repeated back to him, equally pleading, and there's something familiar about it that he can't quite put his finger on--

A voice saying his name with genuine warmth and fondness. Telling him they were pleased they had met him. Making him feel for the very first time that his existence mattered to someone.]

... Zvei...?

[It's equally soft, almost as though he's afraid to voice the question. Afraid that the answer will be something else, that he's allowing himself to dare to have the tiniest flicker of hope all for nothing.

Afraid that this is all a dream, and that he's going to wake up.]

[Selfishness is what keeps him clinging to Seymour despite that sudden, panicked attempt to get free. Maybe he could lie and convince himself that he thinks the proximity and touch will help Seymour, but that isn't the full truth. He does want to help, certainly. More than anything else, he wants to help bring Seymour back. But he can't claim it's that thought that drives him to keep clinging to the man who means so damn much to him in this moment.

But Seymour settles and so does Zvei, and though the shaking doesn't stop, it seems something may have gotten through to Seymour anyway. The breath he releases is half-laugh, half-would-be sob, and he pulls back just enough so that Seymour can see him.]

Hello, Seymour.

[The greeting sounds just as casual as it would have been any day of the week before his betrayal and death, but his expression gives him away. Fear and sorrow have given way to relief and his smile is a bright, genuine one. The shaking hasn't stopped either, small tremors even afflicting the tentacles where they're wrapped around Seymour.

I've missed you and I'm sorry fight for which sentiment to express first, and he's not even sure if Seymour is fully back or not. Take it slow. One step at a time. Start with the most important thing.]

I'm here. It's me. You're safe with me, I swear it.

[And even though it isn't a promise he can keep because he has no damn idea how the others will react... it's one he'll fight to uphold.]

[Something seems to click in Seymour's mind. His eyes, which had been vacant and unfocused until now, slowly seem to regain a bit of their focus, tracking upwards until they fall on Zvei's face, and it's clear that they're seeing him for the first time since he arrived. And then, little by little, the tension begins to ebb out of Seymour's muscles as he starts to relax into that embrace.

Sentences are still beyond him. Thoughts are still largely beyond him; the shattered pieces of his mind aren't going to be put back together that easily, not after everything he's been through. But he remembers that night where Zvei had laced his fingers with his, that warmth and gentle contact, the way Zvei had clasped his hand so gently yet firmly without pulling away from his claws.

It takes him a moment to find the coordination to detach his fingers from Zvei's labcoat. It takes him a longer moment still to remember how to get his muscles to work, but at last he lifts that hand up just slightly towards Zvei. (It's trembling as much as Zvei is.)

This much, at least, doesn't need words to express.]

[Seymour's back. Not fully, not after all of that. But he's at least registering that Zvei is here and that he's no longer alone, and that's a fantastic first step. He waits - breath held like he's too damn afraid to move - until Seymour reaches out for him.]

I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.

[He frees one of his own hands to join Seymour's, pressing against the back of the summoner's hand to help guide him. Zvei leans his cheek into that touch, mismatched eyes falling closed. He won't react even if Seymour's claws do scratch him; he couldn't care less about anything like that right now. Hope you don't mind the blood, since he still has not bothered healing himself.]

I missed you. [And then, as if to make sure Seymour understands, he repeats it; it's heavy, filled with some sort of emotion he can't place with words he can't quite find right now.] I missed you so much.

[The start of an apology, perhaps. Better to wait until Seymour's feeling better, but he needs to express it now. He needs to make sure Seymour knows that, that at least one person in this cruel, uncaring world cherishes him.]

[His mind registers touch, the softness of skin against his hand and the warmth that accompanies it. Zvei's hand guides his up to rest against his cheek; his eyes follow that motion and watch as Zvei nuzzles against his palm in an evident gesture of affection. It's then that the red on Zvei's hand draws his gaze.

His thoughts churn as he struggles to process just what it is-- it isn't good, he knows that much, but...

... ah.

With a brief, dim flash of green light, the scent of grass after the rain fills the air-- an attempt at a Cure spell. Not a strong one, and it flickers out almost immediately, but the thought is there, the desire to want to try to heal those injuries. Frowning, Seymour tries again, equally ineffective.

He can do this. He knows he can, because magic has been so much a part of his life since he was a small child that it has simply become second nature to him. Yet right now, his mind is his own worst enemy; it works against him even as he tries to call upon it, and he lets out a low sound of helpless frustration.]

[Oh, Seymour... He withdraws his hand, wincing a bit at the thought of leaving Seymour's hand bloodied. Honestly, what was he thinking... It would have been far more efficient to heal himself up before this meeting. But that's just the problem, isn't it? He wasn't thinking, entirely too focused on just seeing Seymour again.

Zvei's initial thought is to heal the injuries himself, to seal them so Seymour doesn't have to worry about them any more. He almost does just that before stopping himself. No, maybe it's better to let Seymour do this - not because he needs Seymour to heal him, but because it's one step closer to Seymour regaining himself.

He holds his hands out then, so Seymour can get a better look at them. What were once welts from where his nails met skin have opened into nasty gashes across his palm, further torn by both his own nails and his control over blood. His palms are absolutely shredded, but no one knows his limits better than himself. Zvei can still heal this, even if Seymour can't - but he knows Seymour can.]

It's okay. [Soft, encouraging.] You can do it. I know you can.

[He's still leaning into Seymour's hand against the side of his face, and his tentacles still hold the summoner as close as he can while still having room to watch the other man. The shaking has subsided at some point; his emotions have evened out as well, which makes this whole thing a little easier.

One step at a time.]

[The sight of the injuries earns Zvei a sympathetic wince. Pain is something he remembers all too well (even though he wishes desperately that he didn't), and those wounds look painful indeed with how raw and torn-open they are. He wants to fix this. A part of him wonders if this is somehow his fault too. Maybe it is. It probably is, because everything seems to be his fault and he can no longer remember what truly is and what isn't. That's exactly why he needs to fix it.

The sensation of Zvei's cheek against his palm serves as a focus, grounding him. This is Zvei. He wants to heal Zvei, because he doesn't want Zvei to be hurt or in pain. Because he...

Maybe he can't rely on his own mind right now. But he can pull strength from Zvei's presence and let that emotion flow outward, and maybe that will be enough.

He closes his eyes, reaches for that feeling and sends it out towards Zvei. And, indeed, his next attempt manages to get the wounds to shrink slightly, closing themselves up from the outside in. It's not much, and it's definitely a mere shadow of his usual abilities, but it's progress, and that's what matters in this moment.]

[Zvei doesn't look down at his hands; but then, he hardly needs to. He can feel Seymour's magic working its way through the injuries and knitting them back together, closing the edges of the wounds and holding strong. There's still plenty of work left to be done on them, but it's a very promising start, especially considering the summoner was struggling with even this much a moment ago.]

You're doing well. Thank you for the help, Seymour.

[He nuzzles against that hand as if he needs to confirm it. Almost there, just a little more. Seymour's got this.]

[Distantly, barely here:]

awww

[A second time, and then a third. He's still struggling, but it grows a little easier with each attempt, and as the wounds knit themselves closed so too do Seymour's memories and conscious thought begin to knit back together as well. He's not fixed - far from it - but a vase that's been glued back together, no matter how awkwardly, is still a step above a vase in pieces on the ground.

He casts one last time, pushing everything he's capable of into it. What under ordinary circumstances would take a single spell required four, and from the look on his face it's clear this frustrates him as much as he's glad that he was able to heal the injuries in the end. It's evident this took a lot out of him, yet that doesn't stop him from craning his head to get a better look at Zvei's hands in order to ensure that everything has healed up as it should.]

[He doesn't rush Seymour; it's good for him to have something to focus on, Zvei thinks. The sharp sting of the injuries fades as the wounds knit themselves closed thanks to the spells, and once they're finally healed, he flexes his fingers a few times to make sure that the injuries are properly sealed. They are, of course - even if Seymour is still struggling to return to himself in full, he's gotten this much down.]

There, see? I told you. You did well.

[He brings one hand up to the side of Seymour's face. Zvei's touch is still gentle, as if expecting Seymour to pull back from the contact.]

I'm fine now. I'm sorry I worried you.

[But instead of pulling away, Seymour just leans into that touch and lets his eyes flutter closed with a sigh. Exhaustion is beginning to set in, making his limbs leaden, and while he doesn't know where he wants to go, he does know that he'd rather be somewhere that isn't here on the cold, hard ground of wherever this is. It reminds him too much of...

The shudder that wracks his body is involuntary.]

I... would like to rest...

[Slow and halting though it is, the words themselves come easily enough. It's a start.]

Edited 2025-08-27 00:50 (UTC)

[Zvei's grip tightens at that shudder; not enough to hurt, just enough to keep Seymour steady.]

Of course. We should leave this place, anyway. Typhon came for us once before...

[Oh, right, he sort of... forgot about that... Well, whatever, Typhon clearly isn't here and Fenyx has likely been keeping an eye out to make sure they don't need to run. Though of course, that does leave only one real option...]

We'll have to move to a safer location. We can rest once you're there. Will you be okay to walk, Seymour?

[Probably should've thought about this before letting him use up all his strength on healing, but well. Hindsight, and all that.]

[The mention of Typhon causes Seymour's mouth to thin into a line, though he says nothing. Perhaps he's too tired to, or perhaps he simply has nothing to say on that subject at the moment. It's not as though it makes a difference either way.

But when Zvei mentions walking... ah. There's a hesitation as he considers this, weighing it in his mind, before at last nodding. He's not sure he can, honestly, though it's clear they don't have much of a choice if they're going to need to go somewhere safer.

He'll just have to do his best.]

We'll see how far Fenyx can get us.

[Granted, they'll have a whole different host of issues once they return to the others, but Zvei imagines they'll be more interested in comforting Quark and celebrating their victory than dealing with Seymour. And if it comes to it, he'll make sure they stay away.

For now, he slowly unwinds the tentacles from around Seymour and moves to stand, holding out a hand for the summoner to take.]

I'll be with you every step of the way. You can lean on me.

[When Zvei moves to stand, Seymour makes an effort on his own end to sit up a little more in preparation to attempt to climb to his feet. He's about to start to try pushing himself to his feet when he looks up to see that hand being held out to him

and he just

stares.

The crying had stopped some time ago once the pieces of his consciousness had begun to filter back in, the mental block on that particular action back in place. Even so, in this instant he looks for all the world as though he wants to cry despite no longer consciously knowing how, and the way his breath turns uneven and shuddery says enough on its own.

Slowly, almost wonderingly, he reaches out to take that hand, clasping it as tightly as he can manage.]

Edited 2025-08-27 01:35 (UTC)

[Oh. Oh, that's—

Seymour doesn't need to express it in words, but he understands. The unexpected offer of kindness and support that isn't required, but is offered with no strings attached. After the horrific experience he's been through, of course Seymour is having a moment about it. Hell, it's not like he's the only one - Zvei had a moment over the potion Fenyx gave him just a little while ago for the exact same reason.

It's harder seeing it happen to Seymour, though, and knowing that maybe things could have gone differently if he'd just taken a different path. Maybe it wouldn't have helped. Maybe Seymour was already solidly determined to carry out their salvation through death even before they started getting to know one another. Maybe he would have been the one betrayed in the end. But it's hard not to imagine a world where things could have gone differently, where maybe Seymour could have been spared some of this suffering.

Zvei grips Seymour's hand tightly, heedless of his claws.]

I'm not going anywhere without you.

[Not again. Never again.]

Let me know when you're ready to go.

[The scramble to his feet is an awkward one that takes him a few attempts before he succeeds. But that hand supports him, anchors him, and at last he manages to get himself upright with Zvei's help, though he does in fact need to lean in order to remain so. It's... nice, having someone to lean on like this, literally and figuratively. His thoughts are still a jumble, but Zvei is warm and solid and steady and he's promised he won't leave.

Seymour doesn't usually put much stock in promises, because no one has ever kept a promise to him. They're pretty words that mollify people, keep them docile and complacent, only lasting as long as they need to in order to achieve the promisemaker's ultimate goal; once that is achieved, what value is the promise itself? It can be discarded, thrown aside just like he was.

This time is different, though. This time Zvei's hand itself is the promise, warm and holding his so tightly. And this time he chooses to place his trust in this and let Zvei support him.

He knows he isn't going to fall.]

[As though he'd ever let Seymour fall? As though he'd ever let Seymour down again, when he's finally reached an understanding of why he did what he did and why those actions and words hurt Seymour so much? No. Never again. If he's learned one thing throughout the duration of this game, it's that Ivilezlei had the right idea... sort of. It is important to better oneself - and he won't ever let Seymour down again.

But for now, let's make our way over to Fenyx. Zvei's smiling again, though the expression is a little worn.]

We're ready to go. Seymour needs a little support in order to get back, so can you drop us off... somewhere secluded. Away from the others.

[He doubts he needs to elaborate on why given the trial and everything else. Best not to make waves with the other dead, but more importantly, Seymour needs to rest. Let him have some time to recover before facing them.]

Wouldn't you like to use more than words?

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cw: child abuse mention

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cw: self-harm mention

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