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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[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.]

[Hop, skip, and Fenyx is entering the scene. An outside force stepping into this positively tragic scene.]

Excellent. I'll open the portal and we can go. [She turns and, well, there's a lot of finger wiggling but eventually the portal opens back to the base of operations.] I've got plenty of healing potions if you still need it, but for now let's get you somewhere a bit more comfortable, okay?

You have my thanks.

[More than he can even express. Neither of them truly deserve the kindness she's offered them both, but he'll be sure to thank her for it again later regardless. For now, it's an easy walk to the portal and then...

Well, the place we end up certainly is different. The spot Fenyx chose is further away from the others, though it's not like avoiding them forever will truly be possible. Still, for now, this is good enough.

Zvei helps Seymour out through the portal and over to a spot that's good enough for now (though will require him to go find some blankets or something later) and moves to sit beside him. Leaving isn't an option right now.]

We're safe from Typhon here. The others are... somewhere around here.

[It's as much a warning as it is an explanation.]

But I'll be right here with you.

[Once Zvei states out loud that they're safe here, that's all the incentive needed for Seymour to sink down onto the ground and just curl into himself like an animal trying to protect its most vulnerable spots. He's exhausted and on edge at the same time, his entire body humming with tension like a live wire; though he's lying down now rather than trying to keep himself upright, he's shaking very slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Even so, there's one very important thing that he needs to voice before he does anything else:]

... thank you.

[Despite how quiet and wavery it still is, the gratitude in his voice is genuine.]

[Zvei joins Seymour on the ground; he hasn't slept since dying and has no real interest in it, particularly now that someone might come looking for Seymour to yell at. But he's certainly not leaving the man alone here, and he reaches out to brush his fingers against the side of Seymour's face. The touch is still light, gentle, as if asking for permission for even this much.]

You don't have to thank me. I want to be here for you - more than anything else in the world.

[Easy to say now that he has his memories and he's had time to really sit with them and think about what they mean to him, but no less true.]

I'll be right here when you wake, I promise.

[Just a few weeks earlier, the two of them had crammed themselves awkwardly into Seymour's bed after the first time they were intimate. That night had been a constant balancing act of trying to sleep without too much physical contact - something neither one of them had particularly wanted - and the second time around, they had opted not to share a bed after they were finished to avoid a repeat of something that felt far too intimate for what they were. They weren't lovers; there was no reason to cuddle or embrace when all they were doing was mutually sating physical desires.

This time, however, when Zvei lies down beside him, Seymour is immediately melding himself against the other man, pressing up along him as though Zvei's entire body is an anchor to keep him moored. He doesn't say anything else-- he doesn't need to. He just wants to be assured that Zvei is right there even as he sleeps.]

[Zvei has never really liked physical contact. What little he gives usually is because Fiona socialized him into it (before he killed her, because she got in his way). But his memories reveal a different side; the same hesitance, uncertainty, and to some extent, discomfort with touch, but a willingness to learn. It helps that Syzi was incredibly open about such things and exceptionally patient with Ivilezlei.

But truthfully, it wouldn't be fair to say that any of those past experiences are what cause him to cling to tightly to Seymour - it's entirely because of today, of seeing how much he's been struggling on his own and watching him die. Seymour needs the comfort, sure, but it isn't as though it's entirely for the summoner's benefit. Zvei wants the contact just as much.

His arms wind easily around Seymour and the tentacles are quick to follow. Usually he prefers sets of two, typically drawn from his lower back up to the top of his back if he has all six out. Right now, there's only two, but from the sides so he's not lying on any. They are just as sensitive as the rest of him, after all.

He'll remain right here for as long as you need him. May Seymour get some rest after today's horrific events.]

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taintedfayth - 2025-08-28 02:59 (UTC) - Expand

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necromants - 2025-08-28 03:01 (UTC) - Expand

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Wouldn't you like to use more than words?

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cw: self-harm mention

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