vatheon | Think happy thoughts!

Entry tags:

Think happy thoughts!

Who: Summoner and who ever manages to find him.
Where: On the island in the top room of the lighthouse
When: Saturday Morning.
Style: Prose.
Status: Open

The worst part is over. That confusion, most of the fear, that's gone. For the most part Summoner's managed to stay alone, alone while he's wingless, while the plates that make up the connection points for his wings lay flat over his back and he's unable to soar. That's where the real fear lied after, that vulnerability caused from taking something so precious from him, taking his flight option away from him. It was conflicting and terrifying and Lysunder hadn't realized how different everything was when he couldn't take to the skies. He hadn't realized how much he relied on flying, and hadn't realized how weak he was. With his wings, at least it made sense that his body always felt so light. He flew and hovered a lot after all. But being grounded this long without the option? He's now realizing how different his body actually feels, and he's thanking the mother grub that he's been alone for most of it.

The fact that this was a molt was something he had realized finally as well. The way his wings stripped, it was obvious, though it was hard to figure out because molting was more of a bird thing than an insect thing (at least wing specific molting), but then again, he was neither, wasn't he? He was a troll, and he had no knowledge about how wings worked for his kind, nor could he know that his body would want to refresh them. It was good to know, sure, and to be honest, his wings needed the refresher since they didn't really heal and he had to fix them by hand. But still, to be flightless this long isn't something he planned, isn't something he prepared for. And neither is this sudden pain jolting through his body from his back.

"Ah... w-w..what?"

A breath, curling up into himself a bit more, his eyes blinking more than usual as he feels the pain start to grow, an ache in his mid and upper back. Summoner crouches away from the wall he had been propped against, the various shredded away wing pieces decorating the floor around him, and he places a hand to the ground, putting either knee, bent, under him. Another jolt of pain and he closes his eyes, breathing out of clenched fangs. This much, was it supposed to.. hurt this much? And... already? He couldn't even feel-

"AH... HOLY F-" A gasp and then a higher pitched 'hnn' sounds as he crouches down, forehead almost against the floor. Summoner can feel a splitting, like... popping feel of the skin on his back. Like someone is slowly stabbing him, pressing a blade point in softly and just slowly edging it deeper and deeper. But...it's the opposite, it's poking into his flesh from the inside and in two places. The pain starting from either spot under the two plate clusters near his shoulder blades.

"This slow, ha... are you kidding me?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If it's a pound of his own flesh that Summoner needs to rend for him just to distract himself from his own pain, Darkleer would let it happen. There is nothing more he can do in this situation, no way to take away Summoner's pain or speed the process up in a way that wouldn't just make matters worse. If it's physical pain, he can take it. This was a body made for punishment, if nothing else. As if in preparation for claws digging into his skin, or teeth drawing blood, or anything, anything at all, Darkleer breathes in deep and tries to force his body to relax. He'll make it worse if he tenses up.

But before any violence can happen to himself, Summoner suddenly lets out that shriek. Even as he grips him tightly, Darkleer is pressing closer and cups his free hand around Summoner's face. He's heard worse, he's seen bloodier, and he knows he can handle this. So he keeps his calm and presses his lips to Summoner's temple.

"Just hold on. Hold on. It will be over soon."

Part of him wishes he didn't have to fucking feel this, wishes he didn't have to go through with this, that his fucking wings didn't fall off, like dead leaves on a tree in autumn. It felt like something in him died, something important, his own fucking limbs just fell off, dropped off, like they weren't important, and he hated seeing shreds of them littering the floor like that didn't mean anything. He wanted to hold the pieces close, like they were something precious, things that have carried him over so many battle fields, reliable, and then they just drop off? Leaving him feeling broken? It was fucked.

But Lysunder knows his body needs this, and he knows it's for the better. Those wings that fell off... they were like strands of hair he would lose day to day, they weren't something to mourn over, even if this hell was something he'd never really wish on anyone, like taking crutches from a man with a broken leg.

Heh.

A small, bitter laugh. Was he like that then? A broken man?

And then another jerk and his body crouches again, back arching as the plates shift again and two points pressing up through his shine shift around under the layer with a lurching sound as they move.

"Ah, haa... ha..ha ha ha... fuck, fuck y-you. Fuck this," without crying, it sounds like crying, tears filling his eyes as the points move about again and he keeps his teeth clenched tight, the sobs like dry laughter. He tries to tug his hand away again, wanting to move away, not wanting to be seen like this, not wanting it to fucking hurt so bad, not wanting to be such a fucking pussy about it. But it's like fire is shooting through his system, his body prepared for this pain, but his mind isn't and he shakes again as two more points press up against his skin, making it four. They move about a little before all four go still and he breathes deep, feeling sweat coat his skin, his lungs rasping as he tries to catch up on breathing.

"I don't like this, like y-you here, seeing this bullshit." The word gasps out, and he takes a deep breath, quickly moving his free hand up to rub hard on his eyes.

Edited 2012-03-24 18:06 (UTC)

As if Summoner can get rid of him so easily.

Darkleer doesn't let go, no matter how hard Summoner tugs at his hand. This time, he really does pull him closer, using the hand on his face to his advantage. "I've already seen you weak and frightened!" He hisses it against Summoner's ear as he moves his hand down to his hip. He won't let him run. That will not happen. "I've seen you exhausted and starving, terrified and lost in your own daymares. I held you then no matter what idiotic things you tried to do to push me away, and I will do the same now!"

Shaking with the effort needed to not accidentally crush Summoner's hand, he guides it up to his face and uses it to push away his shades. Blue eyes are wide with worry and fear despite how stoic he has been so far, and filled with a desperate kind of love. He presses their foreheads together. "I told you I was yours when we first agreed to stop being utter fools about everything about the two of us together, and you cannot get rid of me so easily. You need only ask and I would bare myself to you. So do me this rare favor and do the same in reverse." A hissed intake of breath and he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Please. I love you, Lysunder."

A small whimper like sound when Darkleer's grip on his hand tightens and Summoner's eyes squint closed, looking down before slowly raising as he feels his face directed towards the other by a large hand. Lysunder's ears flicker, hearing the other's words and he feels a pulling sensation on his face, near his eyes and nose before both heat up and he closes his lids again. This is so tough, just like the last time when he found himself here with Darkleer. Summoner did well to just not think about that, to block it out as if it didn't happen. Being brought up now bothers him, and being like that again infront of the other bothers him as well. He's not used to letting people see this, this vulnerability. At least now he has a better excuse with it being actual pain put on him with his wings. But still.

Being like this, this wasn't the position of a leader. How could he defend others if he was like this, how could he be there for him when he was curled up on the floor selfishly weeping about his own pain. And not only that but he'd burdening Darkleer with his problems again. Summoner might think that he understands pity better, but he really doesn't. He doesn't get that it means allowing yourself to be like this infront of another, that it's inevitable. He hates this, being like this. Even if how Darkleer's holding him close feels comforting, that he enjoys the larger troll curing around him like a cool security blanket. He wants to just stay here, melt into him, and when Darkleer presses their foreheads together, Summoner can't look at him.

"Rare? If you haven't noticed I have a lot of problems," and holy hell is it a punch to the gut to say that outloud and he's a little shell shocked himself when the words leave him, only to be even more taken aback when he hears Darkleer's next words.

Lysunder clenches his fangs, eyes barely open and looking through orange tinted tears welling up and ready to drip down his face. Finally he manages to look up at the other troll, his free hand hesitantly moving to slides fingers up into his long hair, cupping the side of his head weakly.

"...Tink.."

Of course he has a lot of problems. They are from Alternia; for a troll not to have deep aching problems that haunt them is a rare thing indeed, and perhaps even almost worrying. But, like all of them, he hides them so well. Show weakness to anyone, everyone, and your life would be short. Yet at the same time, they need to be shown so that the pressure doesn't well up inside and break one. It's what the red romances are for. It's why they're so precious.

Darkleer isn't surprised that Summoner doesn't understand this and still fights so hard against it.

Hearing that name and feeling that touch in his hair has him release a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding and Darkleer leans into it. "I'm here." His own free hand hovers near Summoner's face, ready to catch any tears that might finally sleep free and down his cheek. He really is beautiful like this, something he rarely gets to see because Summoner is so desperate to be independent and rely on his own two hands, his own feet, his wings, everything that is his own and no one else's. Really, it would almost be enough for him to be jealous if it didn't make his heart twist so painfully.

"I'm here." A weak smile. "And I have just as many problems as you. Don't hold yourself back."

"I don't want them though. I w-want to just be," he stops, shuddering as that lurching at his back continues again. Summoner's breath catches and he shrugs his shoulders forward, taking in a deep breath as he pulls himself together again.

"-There for everyone elses. I want to be strong for everyone else, I want- want to to fight for everyone's freedom, I want to be there for their hardships," a hitch again, eyes closing and squinting, causing orange tears to push out of his eyes and fall down his face.

"Not wallowing in my own pain like a selfish ha- ngh," he stops, feeling two more points press up on his skin, making that six, these smaller ones are each between the top and bottom ones and are thinner, starting to cut through his skin before the other larger four.

"I can't stop moving, hah, I can't just dwell like this, and w-waste time."

Edited 2012-03-24 19:03 (UTC)

Silly fool. He doesn't want his problems; does he think any other individual in the whole wide universe wants theirs, too? Careful, Darkleer sweeps his finger across Summoner's cheek and gathers up his tears on his thumb.

"Sometimes being strong means being weak." Careful to avoid Summoner's back, Darkleer keeps him close, pressed up against him. If he needs something to hold, he can handle it. Something to rage against, he can handle it. Something to cry against...

He doesn't mind if he's relied on so heavily, even if just for a moment. One could even say it's something he's constantly longing for.

"If you do not show a bit of weakness, let another be your strength for a short while, then you will eventually destroy yourself... Then you will not just be weak, but useless."

He tries to pull his head away but muscle memory knows better, this angle would most likely clock Darkleer easily so he just closes his eyes and grits his teeth. He can deal with crying when it's for others, for his men, friends, beasts, but crying from his own pain is different and he really does feel weak in that moment. Summoner wishes he could soak all those orange drops back into his eyes, wishes Darkleer could never wipe the away.... even if it feels nice how his chilled hand grazes over his heated face.

"Certain kinds of weak I can take... I shouldn't be showing my pain here." More cracking and moving around on his back, starting to feel the smaller two points cut through his skin. He shudders, curling downwards, closer to the other's chest, not caring if Darkleer can see his back anymore. The other troll is cool, a refreshing release compared to how hot Summoner's body as pain pulses through him.

"Heh, hypocrite." A strained laugh, tilting his head up to weakly glance at the blue blood's face.

Hypocrite... Yes, he certainly is, isn't he? Hiding things from so many, reluctant to show the truth, reluctant to show his own weakness- particularly when he's uncertain of what the true weakness was. Darkleer just stares down into Summoner's searching gaze, the heavy sadness he still carries despite the joy he's surrounded by all the more present in his eyes. There are so many amazing things and people he has in this place. He has no doubt it has changed him than if he had stayed back on Alternia, living out a life sentence he's still certain he deserves.

He has the children who rely on him for protection, guidance, and affection. He has a freed Helmsman who engages in long winding conversations about technology and mathematics over tea. He has a beautiful and charming matesprit with a passion that can hardly be rivaled no matter where he decides to direct, who thinks him beautiful, who's been through so much that he's so gorgeously pathetic in those moments of weakness...

But there's still much that haunts him, even if he refuses to speak of it to anyone.

Darkleer doesn't make mention of any of this. He simply kisses Summoner's forehead. "Quiet, now. If there is any person you are supposed to show weakness to, it should be I."

Another hitch, shaking with his mouth slowly opening wider, a wheezed sound of pain hissing out like a leaking pipe. It continues as the center spikes push through his back, tearing the flesh as they release, along with the top points which just begin to start making themselves seen behind him. Along with the four showing points, the final two still under his skin, a light cascade of orange falls down his back and drips to the floor, his shoulders tugging in, muscles flexing.

But he manages a smile, small, wary, eyes closing as he shakes his head and grits his teeth to keep his mouth closed.

"Why'm I doing all the sharing then?" A slightly bitter remark, but it's really more sad in Summoner's mind; moving a hand up to lightly press a shaking palm to Darkleer's cheek.

"I..." But it is true. Even now, he's so certain he cannot afford to show vulnerabilities. Not to the children, not to his own matesprit, not to anyone. During the war, then exile...

"It wouldn't be fair to you," Darkleer says instead, watching with a faint kind of mingled horror and fascination as the wings do their best to push out of Summoner's body. "To spill anything of mine when you're suffering..." Closing his eyes, he presses his lips to Summoner's palm.

No, pushing away from you, weakly, but still pushing away.

"Bullshit."

Oh no- flustered, Darkleer holds on tighter and shakes his head, eyes opening in a heartbeat.

"Please, I- what do you want me to say?"

A pained hitch before shaking his head and looking up at him, staring into shades where he knows eyes are set.

"Not bullshit, how about, not-" Hitch. "Bullshit."

How helpful. Darkleer makes a frustrated, horse-like snort. Not 'bullshit'. That certainly sounds simple, but it is ridiculously vague. Is he just supposed to say the first thing which comes to his mind?

"I... I imagine I could tell you about instances when I was still beginning in the Archeradicators?" He's helplessly confused but wanting to please, anything to keep this fool still while nature works its course. "Would that be acceptable?"

He stares for a moment, trying to sit up but finds that his back simply won't allow such a movement. The snort is met with his own and he purses his lips. That's not what he meant, part of him felt like Darkleer knew that, but at the same time he didn't have the proper experience to know what to say here and his energy was pretty drained too. So instead he sighs, looking down before closing his eyes and manages a small, half hearted shrug. Again, what should he say? He could just say 'okay' or 'sure', but he doesn't feel like what Darkleer's offering is exactly what he wants...

At the same time, his head hurts, his eyelids are heavy, and his back continues to crack and split and he really just doesn't have it in him to argue right now.

It hurts, seeing Summoner give up like that, and Darkleer can't help but feel like he's disappointed him somehow. He doesn't mean to ruin things like this.

Taking a deep breath, he tries to search his memories for something suitable. Is this the right way to go about things? If only there was a guide. He's hardly a novice to flushed romance, but he's simply never had to deal with this before.

"I... wasn't particularly skilled in the beginning. I still couldn't quite control my strength, and bow and arrow alike were more likely to break in my hands than anything. I was never particularly social before for that reason alone. They used to speak of me behind my back, the other recruits. It... Well, it was far from pleasant." His shoulders hunch up and he pauses. "I'm sure you understand."

This is stupid and ridiculous and what is he even talking about. Aren't there more pressing matters he could have chosen than childish foolishness? Darkleer's ears press down and he glances away almost in embarrassment.

He's juts exhausted, okay? Just not doing his best... Summoner's body is trying so hard to just focus on what's currently going on with his wings right now and his mind is doing it's best to follow.

But now he's listening, and the small laugh that leaves Summoner is hard for him to stop as he hears Darkleer speak. Not at all laughing at his story, but at just his reaction in general. The lowblood listens to all of it though, slowly going to raise his head and look at the other troll with as much of a smile as he can.

Lysunder wants to know this, sure, he wants to know as much as Darkleer is willing to tell and more, but his point wasn't for him to tell him anything now. He appreciates it, but he also acknowledges that he'll probably barely remember his stories later when he's more awake and not crouched into himself. So he scoots forward just enough to put his hand back to his face, and though Darkleer has stopped speaking, he moves to cover the other troll's lips with his fingers.

"Naturally, Blue, all right?" He manages, his voice whispered, harsh, and his hand falls limply, pulling it back so it lands on his own lap. Eyes close again, trying to think through the heat beating into his skull.

"And when- when I can devote myself to hearing it."

"You were the one to complain about my inability to share," is the grumbled reply, Darkleer's face more blue. "And you didn't seem as if you would be sated until you got something. Now be quiet, you absolute fool, you need to save your strength for healing from this."

Still, for his gruffness, he reaches up and threads his fingers through Summoner's hair, holding him close.

"I'll stay here for you the entire time."

"Don't, I want you to go after a little while, okay?"

A deep breath, keeping his eyes closed and not yet curling next to him.

"You're seeing me again now... Fine I realize - ah..." A hiss, more blood dripping to the floor as the top wing point shove out more. "-But I can't burden you- you with having to watch all of this." No one should have seen any of it... Darkleer included.

"It's hardly any burden."

Really, they're both bull-headed stubborn fools, and Darkleer knows it. But he wants to keep Summoner safe, no matter what. The best way to do that is to stay by his side... and let him know if something goes wrong with the molting.

"Darkleer."

Bull headed stubborn fools you said?

The exact same words.

"Lysunder." Another snort.

He's not trying to pout right now but it's kind of happening anyway when he tries to look up at Darkleer.

He's not trying to snicker. He really isn't. But his lips quirk upward anyway at the look on Summoner's face, just a twitch of a smirk.

Think happy thoughts!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)