drama king

[silvermists]

He's waited too long this cycle.

It's his third or fourth go-around. He's far too tired to think in numbers, right now. One of the most reclusive of the castle's prisoners has emerged from wherever he was holed up, because he's on a mission. There's blood on his sleeves. He discarded his armor and original outfit months ago, deciding to try and fit in better, as much as anyone can 'fit in' here. At least a clothing change served to not attract attention. He's wearing a light blue silk shirt and black pants, one of the few things that fits him and looks nice.

Really. It doesn't matter how good his clothing looks today. Blood. On the sleeves. Hair matted and unwashed. He's all skin and bone and he looks like he might collapse any second. (And yet, even now he's hiding his monkey's tail. Some things still matter even as he wastes away.)

He's leaning on the wall, making his way with frequent stops to catch his breath, trying not to cough. He simply has to make it to the Edge, and reset painlessly to the beginning of all this. Like he's managed to do each time before. It would never do to leave a corpse behind. That would raise questions and some of the children around here are so odd. Odd and nosy.

Comments

Tauriel is gonna look all glowy like her icon, btw, since Kuja is so close to death.

[lightofthestars]

There is blood upon the stones, and for that reason, Tauriel steps through the castle without sound, knives drawn. If someone has harmed another, she will soon find them and make them regret what they have done.

Yet first she finds not the criminal, but the one who has been wounded--and, it seems, horribly.

She sheathes her knives before she calls out, "Stay there! I am here to help you."

[silvermists]

No external wounds are visible. That's... something. Not something good, of course not. It's all been coughed up. Sheer willpower has gotten him this far, it seems.

"No. No help. Get the hell away from me." says the man slumping against the wall, rasping the words out. Gods, he feels like there are knives in his throat.

[lightofthestars]

She does not stop, but approaches still. Maybe the blood is not of wounds, but of sickness.

Her thoughts run unbidden to Neil, and that day she had found him fallen, bloody from his own spew, encircled by ghosts of his mind. Her lips press together and she sends the thought away.

"I cannot be sickened by any illness," she tells him as she draws nearer. "You need not fear harming me."

[silvermists]

"Not contagious." If he explains his reasoning, will anyone understand? Has anyone ever?

The answer is usually no. People just... can't see the world the way it is, the way he does. He can't be understood any more than he understands others.

"Trying to die. Getting it over with. Back off."

[lightofthestars]

By the light of the Trees, do all humans seek death so stubbornly?

She takes up his arm, without heeding the blood that makes damp her clothes, and puts it around her shoulders. Though she guesses he is taller than she when standing straight, he weighs so little she almost cannot tell he is there.

"While there is yet hope of healing, I will not let you die," she tells him, her voice suddenly stronger. "Come with me and I will tend to you."

[silvermists]

"There is no hope. This is the third... fourth time. Get off me."

Ah, what's the use, he's too tired to raise his voice or shove her down. And he lost his magic days ago. He has to fight back the urge to cough for a moment...

"Unless you're dropping me over the edge. I'm not interested. Better not to have a corpse lying around."

Belain = Valar in Sindarin Elvish

[lightofthestars]

"You speak as if I do not know how to use a shovel," she answers back.

She thinks for a moment, and then, if he does not find a way to stop her, sweeps him into her arms. His height is unwieldy, but not impossible.

"You know your illness better than I. If you are alive, you can teach me about it. Should I fail" --and, Belain willing, she will not-- "we can try again in three days."

...When did she become so unmoved by the death of those not orcs or great spiders?

[silvermists]

"I don't want a burial." It's a harsh whisper. He's trying to raise his voice a second time and failing miserably. Too much pain in his throat and chest. Being hauled up into her arms like he's already dead doesn't help.

If looks could kill right now... "What gives you the right to force your will on those who don't agree with you?"

Making a few guesses here based on Tolkien's Epic Catholicness....

[lightofthestars]

"What right have you to throw away the life given to you by the Belain?" she demands. "At least let me try to help you before you yield your gift."

She begins walking toward her room. She can only hope her sons are elsewhere so she does not scare them.

[silvermists]

He starts to laugh, and it is not happy, sane laughter. Exactly the opposite. Ah, if only she knew.

Fortunately, he's interrupted by more coughing. More blood. If only he weren't built to be a survivor--if he were human, surely he would be dead already. He'd go down quicker.

When he has the cough under control: "I'm the Angel of Death. I have the right to take my own life."

[lightofthestars]

She freezes, a chill in her heart. An angel--one of the Rodyn. She had not known the meaning of that word until Ryoji had told her. Could she have treated someone so great with such a lack of respect?

...But no. That is not right.

"I have already met the Angel of Death," she tells him. "You are not he."

[silvermists]

Cold, flat eyes meet her own. This is hopeless. He can't do a damn thing to make her put him down--not even so much as a magic spark wants to come to him. Oh, how the mighty fall.

"Yes, I was. For people. For cities. For countries. For an entire world. I was their Angel of Death."

[collectyourfriends]

Speaking of children.

Frisk is alone for now--outwardly at least, their team is aware in their bag but resting. But they're there. In the way. Staring.

They don't know what to say.

[silvermists]

What. Is wrong with these people. Why are they in his way, slowing him down and forcing him to waste precious breath? Are you insane, Frisk?

He slumps against the wall, using that to support himself for the moment. So many rude words spring to mind.

"Move."

[collectyourfriends]

"You..." they start, then stop. Then move.

Out of the way, but only technically. They're standing at his side now, just...watching him with sharp red eyes.

"...It looks like you need some help."

[silvermists]

"And why. Would you want to do that?"

Give him a moment. He can do this. He can keep walking. It shouldn't be much farther, unless the castle itself is against him and tricking him.

[collectyourfriends]

"That's a stupid question."

It really is. It doesn't occur to them, either, that not everyone would try to help in their place.

"Use my shoulder. Where are you going?"

[silvermists]

"You're behaving stupidly."

Not his best comeback. He shuffles a few steps forward, not looking at them and certainly not leaning on them.

"Out. Outside. The edge of the world."

[collectyourfriends]

"I'm not the one that looks like I'm going to give up the ghost any moment," they reply flatly.

...Ah. They don't think they like that answer. (They don't know death's not forever here.)

Frisk reaches for his wrist.

[silvermists]

"I'm aware." he snaps, under a wee bit of pressure. The unfamiliar touch does not help.

(Who is he kidding, all touch is unfamiliar or violent. No one has the guts to be friendly with the 'Angel of Death'.)

He sweeps his arm, twisting away from their grip. "Get your hands off me--"

And then the coughing strikes. He can taste blood. More blood.

[collectyourfriends]

Frisk lets go, not even bothering to dodge. They've been hit by a lot worse than a man on the edge of death.

"Stop it," they say, voice pitching up when they spot red on his lips. "Now, before you just fall." And they're reaching for him again.

[silvermists]

"F-falling is the p--" he chokes out before he can't anymore, and does indeed sink to his knees. Great. What a lovely day. He didn't want to make a scene! Not like this!

[collectyourfriends]

"You just fell." Their voice is a little strangled. "Quit it, stupid, I am trying to help you!"

[silvermists]

No means no, Frisk!!

He can't get back up and he can't respond right away. He... tastes blood again. This likely means he isn't going to make it. He's going to choke and die by inches slowly in this hallway, leaving a filthy disgusting corpse for people to prod at and...

And he'll have to do it all again next month.

"Don't think you're going to help me to where I want to go."

[itstheend]

Yet another odd child, somewhat at a distance. They make no move to block his path, but they watch, hawklike, and as he moves forward they follow at a silent walk to keep doing so, head cocked.

Both individuals are indeed, very nosy. They have suspicions. The what, but not the why, because nobody seems to fall ill here, at least in mundane fashion.

Eventually, they step around in few view of him, and sign.

[Are you aware there are healers in the Castle?]

(I should start using something more than italics for SL, shouldn't I.)

[silvermists]

Thank heavens, someone who isn't actually stopping him. This is all going to hell--people are going to ask questions once he makes it over the Edge and returns. Well, he had a good run and some peace and quiet.

The sign language doesn't even seem to register as anything other than speech.

"Yes. How stupid do you think I look?" Words hurt. Fortunately, he's used to pain. "I'm one of them. I know there's no cure."

It's up to you!

[itstheend]

[Would you like the true answer, or the one that salves your feelings?]

Kuja left himself open with that one and they couldn't resist, even if they didn't really have any opinion on his possible stupidity prior to this. This is the first time they've met him and the healers here don't exactly advertise. For all they know, he's new.

Frisk informs them he isn't new. Well, that's good to know. They slowly tilt their head the other way, thoughtful.

[Is it contagious? Did you contract it here?]

They don't seem too bothered, given if Frisk is right it's possible other people would have caught it by now, and in any case there's always what he's doing right now as an option, but it pays to be sure. They've had enough of sickness, lately.

[silvermists]

"No, and no. Are you quite done being nosy?"

He shuts his fat mouth, grits his teeth, and keeps on hauling himself along the wall. Either he'll make it and avoid leaving a corpse as he planned, or he won't. And there will be a filthy rotting body in the halls. Living isn't an option. He knows damn well what's happening to him.

And he deserves it.

cw assisted suicide offer hh

[itstheend]

[I believe I am satisfied, yes.]

Although their passenger isn't. Chara watches him a bit more and then slowly begins again, beginning to smile, just a bit.

[Would you prefer assistance?]

*Chara, LV!

This could be considered an edge case, could it not? Certainly, they are very suited to the task, should he request it. It would be mutually beneficial.

*We can't... just...
*...
*If you break your side of the deal, I'll break mine.

Acceptable consequences. Frisk makes an unheard sound of frustration.

cw this whole post tbh

[silvermists]

Luckily for them, he does keep glancing back, curious to see what they're saying. Because, oddly enough, they seem to be on his side. That sort of understanding is rare.

Heh. He'd laugh if he could spare the breath. It's always his damn lungs and throat.

"You? You're too short."

And he's very much not. At least six and a half feet tall. Like almost every other adult in the castle, he's a giant.

yyyyep

[itstheend]

They very much believe in self-reliance, self-determination. It is his choice, already made. They lift their chin, just a little.

[Height is not the be all and end all.] They've felled opponents much taller than them, for example. [Wait here.]

Without a further word they turn on their heel and walk off, and a few minutes later return dragging one of the castle drapes, dropping it next to him and dusting off their hands before signing.

[Get on. Push with your legs while I pull.]

*Chara, this is a bad idea. Trust me. Get... get Mom or something, S4.
*We haven't used up all the options yet!

They're ignored. The both of them have been having this argument and ones like it all the way there and back. Chara hefts up a corner of the thick velvet, regardless of if he's gotten on yet. Much more efficient, this method, and they don't even have to touch him. For the moment, this malnourished pre-teen has made themself your sled dog.

(But some help maaay be required.)

[silvermists]

Hm. How strangely helpful and clever. Strange child. Something's pinging at his senses faintly, as if there are two other people here, but that... is probably his mind playing tricks on him. He could be delirious, at this stage.

He eases himself down onto the drape, wincing at first and adjusting his position so that he's not sitting on his own goddamn hidden tail, and facing away from the child. Meaning, no more watching their hands. Good. He can't say he wants to have a chat, really. Just to finish this and rest.

"Go on. I'll push."

So he shall, once they get going.

[itstheend]

Not that it's possible to sign while holding cloth, but Chara isn't particularly inclined to chat now either. Once he's on they begin pulling with a small noise of exertion. The cloth slides over rocks and flagstones, occasionally snags to a muttered curse from Chara, and slowly inches towards the Edge.

When they arrive, a slight mist is curling in the air. Chara drops the cloth unceremoniously and drops a loose stone over the Edge, like they do every time they arrive here. Maybe in a thousand years the Castle will be gone, unless those come back after three days too.

They move around the cloth so that he's facing them, and sign.

[We're here. Would you like to do the honors, or shall I?]

Frisk is a dark, stormy presence in the back of their mind.

[silvermists]

"I will." is all he says, kneeling and catching his breath. Standing up seems a much more daunting task than throwing himself off. He was stupid. He overslept and now he's almost too weak.

Yet somehow he manages, expression all snarling fury at himself. In a few moments he's up on his own feet and gazing down...

"When I come back, let's never speak of this again."

[itstheend]

They themself look out over the Edge, and don't look at him as they speak. "As you wish." They can keep a secret. They're assuming that when he comes back the Castle's magic will have restored him to full health.

Their gaze turns to him, waiting, expectant. They'll watch him fall. The least they can do, although they're not entirely sure why themself.

They could push him; a shove in the small of the back would unbalance him. But they won't. He's made his choice. No LV for them, it seems.

"Take your time."

idk why I'm writing this just to wrap up a six week old threaaaaad

[silvermists]

Watching him fall? Just fine. Watching him strangle and then leave a filthy stinking corpse? Not fine. But hey, he's going to prevent that... in a moment.

"No. I'm ready." he hisses, gritting his teeth and pulling magic out of somewhere with an almost painful effort. If he were going to live longer than the next five minutes, he'd have just given himself one hell of a migraine. Blue light surrounds him and he starts to levitate forward... far enough that there's no ground to catch him and then it fades.

And he falls.

Goodnight.

no worries o7

[itstheend]

The magic surprises them - he looks human. Then again, he's not the only human who knows magic here, even if the idea of one knowing the blue kind is getting carefully filed away.

*No...

They've kept their word, Frisk. They say nothing as the light fades. They say nothing as they lean over and watch him vanish to a speck, and then nothing, gone into the mist. Their expression is as one half-watching a mildly interesting sports game.

They wait a moment more, and then turn from the Edge, gathering up the cloth and dragging it with them back into the Castle.

Goodnight, stranger. Enjoy your rest.

[lostinmyway]

Grune is in the middle of finding more yarn for Tauriel (her sons grow so quickly!) when she hears dragging, slow footsteps in the hall. She also thinks she can hear...is that panting?

She quickly emerges from the room to find--oh dear. That young man doesn't look very healthy at all.

Without even stopping to say hello, she hurries forward.

[silvermists]

These people are infuriating. What did he ever do to deserve this?

What didn't he do?

He continues panting for a few moments, blood on his lips and teeth. It tastes terrible. "Get. Away. Stop."

[lostinmyway]

As soon as he tells her to stop, she does.

She blinks a few times, then asks, "Why?"

[silvermists]

Maybe lying his ass off is the way to go, since these idiots can't mind their own business.

"I'm contagious. Get back."

[lostinmyway]

Oh, is that all?

She starts moving again, as quickly as before. It's very sweet him to think of her, but.... "Don't worry. I'll be just fine."

[silvermists]

...He tried.

"Don't touch me. Don't. It's pointless. I'm doomed. This is the fourth time."

[lostinmyway]

Grune stops. She'd been about to offer her arm to help him walk, but if he doesn't want to be touched, then it would be rude to do it anyway.

"Fourth time?"

[silvermists]

"Fourth death. It never ends. Speeding it up, over the edge I go--"

Ha. Hahah. His laughter sounds rather maniac. This is hell, never finding his way to true rest. No, he has to do it over and over and over, with no end in sight.

"I told you, now go away."

[lostinmyway]

She watches him without reacting to either his words or his laughter. When he calms down and finishes speaking, she's silent a moment longer before asking, "Why do you keep dying?"

[silvermists]

He struggles for breath a few agonizing moments, chest heaving. It's not remotely attractive. He'd probably be very pretty, on a good day. Panting, licking blood off his mouth, and sinking down into a crouch...

"Genetic defects. Nothing you can do."