( Pahja knows that she is a lot of things to a great many people, be it positive or -- as comes with the territory -- negative. Sometimes both depending on temperament or inclination, but not to the extremes as Emet-Selch surely has held her over his long life and her rather short one. She knows it bothers the Scions, as desperate as they are to protect her, to make sure she takes care of herself; Emet is a liability, a risk, a danger. For Pahja he's simply Emet, and allowing herself to have him with her is as selfish as she's allowed herself to be in a long, long time. The Scions have to be aware of this fact, too, or else they wouldn't begrudgingly let him exist in the Rising Stones, watching him out of the corner of their eyes while life goes on.
On the days he isn't scathingly editorializing all their comings and goings, he's taking a nap somewhere high amongst the towers and stone balconies of Mor Dhona -- favoring the views not of the Crystal Tower. So often has she found him there that, when he is otherwise occupied, she's steadily dropped off pillows and blankets to make it more comfortable than lying on the cold stone for the both of them. Napping during daylight hours will never not be preferable to attempting to find some peace and quiet in the Rising Stones, and normally by the time she joins Emet he's already asleep and all that remains is for her to curl up next to him and pull a blanket around them both.
Not so this time, for when she dismounts he is ready with some quip or two that she waves off, letting him resettle with his book before curling up against his side. )
You know-- ( She starts, looking up at the oncoming gloom that threatens to ruin an otherwise sunny day. ) If we got a tent you might as well just stay up here all the time.
On the days he isn't scathingly editorializing all their comings and goings, he's taking a nap somewhere high amongst the towers and stone balconies of Mor Dhona -- favoring the views not of the Crystal Tower. So often has she found him there that, when he is otherwise occupied, she's steadily dropped off pillows and blankets to make it more comfortable than lying on the cold stone for the both of them. Napping during daylight hours will never not be preferable to attempting to find some peace and quiet in the Rising Stones, and normally by the time she joins Emet he's already asleep and all that remains is for her to curl up next to him and pull a blanket around them both.
Not so this time, for when she dismounts he is ready with some quip or two that she waves off, letting him resettle with his book before curling up against his side. )
You know-- ( She starts, looking up at the oncoming gloom that threatens to ruin an otherwise sunny day. ) If we got a tent you might as well just stay up here all the time.
[ He feels more oft like a tiger than a man, for all that he might lay claim to the word, a creature of strength and power trapped in walls, eyes watching him at each and every moment. He recognises his place, certainly, and realises why there are such limitations on his existence, but it does not make it easier to bear. It is a burden that he carries, one that he bares, because for the first time in eons his heart feels as though it has been able to breathe.
With little else to do as far as 'aiding' the Scions (which, he thinks, comes with its own share of anger and frustration on all fronts) he has found his time stolen with stories and sleep, allowing himself to drift away into the evening with little more than a blanket for comfort. A far cry from the generous supply of bedding and luxuries he had once been afforded with another time in another lifetime.
Ah, how things do change; a refreshing thing for once rather than something worth torment.
Pahja arrives and he plays the game of ignorance, as if the book he reads is of more import than her, until she speaks and he can do no more than offer the gentlest of scoffs. ]
And give up such a generous abode? I hardly think so. [ Careful, slow, one arm wraps around her, drawing her close. Familiar and comfortable. ] My chains would likely not extend so far.
With little else to do as far as 'aiding' the Scions (which, he thinks, comes with its own share of anger and frustration on all fronts) he has found his time stolen with stories and sleep, allowing himself to drift away into the evening with little more than a blanket for comfort. A far cry from the generous supply of bedding and luxuries he had once been afforded with another time in another lifetime.
Ah, how things do change; a refreshing thing for once rather than something worth torment.
Pahja arrives and he plays the game of ignorance, as if the book he reads is of more import than her, until she speaks and he can do no more than offer the gentlest of scoffs. ]
And give up such a generous abode? I hardly think so. [ Careful, slow, one arm wraps around her, drawing her close. Familiar and comfortable. ] My chains would likely not extend so far.
Edited 2021-12-10 23:58 (UTC)
[ There are very few things Meara allows herself in this life ─ a moment of rest, the comfort of a hot bath, a meal consisting of more than what can be gathered from the area around her campsite ─ unless such things are forced upon her. Too busy has she always been looking after others rather than herself. Too focused on the well-being of the world around her while ignoring her own needs. The Scions came to this realization quite early on in their time together, making certain such things are given in such a way that their esteemed champion cannot refuse.
They only want what is best for her, of course, making certain she receives the self same care she gives onto others ─ friend and foe alike ─ as they take some of her duties upon themselves and leave her with naught to do but rest. A cruel fate, truly, for one such as she.
Unable to lay her head down upon a pillow Meara resorts to wandering, to taking in the sights and sounds that usually are little more than a backdrop on the world-ending crises she spends so much time working to thwart. There is no destination she has in mind, nor any goal, allowing her feet to take her where they so desire. Perhaps it should not surprise where exactly they lead, and to whom, given how often her thoughts seem to flit back towards that long coat and slumped shoulders. Once such things were met with anger unending, a similar feeling she held for most of his fellows, but something somewhere shifted in her opinion of Emet-Selch, and that anger was replaced with something much softer.
A need, perhaps, to stay at his side. To listen, to learn, to understand. To take comfort even in somehow who understands the very fabric of her soul. ]
Taken to brooding, have we? [ Her presence would be no surprise, she thinks, not with how easily he seems to pick her out from a crowd. Still, she thinks to pretend if only for a moment, that she surprised him this time. ] Be careful, should your brow furrow anymore you may gain another wrinkle.
They only want what is best for her, of course, making certain she receives the self same care she gives onto others ─ friend and foe alike ─ as they take some of her duties upon themselves and leave her with naught to do but rest. A cruel fate, truly, for one such as she.
Unable to lay her head down upon a pillow Meara resorts to wandering, to taking in the sights and sounds that usually are little more than a backdrop on the world-ending crises she spends so much time working to thwart. There is no destination she has in mind, nor any goal, allowing her feet to take her where they so desire. Perhaps it should not surprise where exactly they lead, and to whom, given how often her thoughts seem to flit back towards that long coat and slumped shoulders. Once such things were met with anger unending, a similar feeling she held for most of his fellows, but something somewhere shifted in her opinion of Emet-Selch, and that anger was replaced with something much softer.
A need, perhaps, to stay at his side. To listen, to learn, to understand. To take comfort even in somehow who understands the very fabric of her soul. ]
Taken to brooding, have we? [ Her presence would be no surprise, she thinks, not with how easily he seems to pick her out from a crowd. Still, she thinks to pretend if only for a moment, that she surprised him this time. ] Be careful, should your brow furrow anymore you may gain another wrinkle.
( If Amaurot was paradise, then Elpis defies words. Heavenly, perhaps, otherwordly definitely. Everywhere she turns is something that takes her breath away; be it flowers or people or the wonderful and many-teethed creations that the Ancients bother themselves with. She could spend years wandering around, delighted by every new thing presented with her but it isn't the time, nor place, in which she can spend such a thing. Long enough was spent on telling Venat and the rest of them about their future in direct defiance of Elidibus' words, and even longer still now that they wait.
Her feet are restless; wandering outside is well and good, but she's near sick of everyone calling her familiar. That she might not even be considered a person at all is insult onto the existing injury of worrying if she is truly her and not some lesser, vain reflection of a woman long dead.
Not often does Pahja feel lonely, so often do others insist upon her presence, but it comes crashing down on her now, a weight that threatens to bend her back. She forgets where she's going, simply lets her feet pick their path, and is only slightly surprised when she finds herself arriving at the domicile she knows was given to Emet-Selch.
He is the last person she would expect to make her feel human, at least at this moment, but she can't help but give into the ache of familiarity. That is what she wants most of all, even if she knows he would deny it.
She has lost so many people to get to where she is; the idea that he is here, alive and wonderful and still so stubbornly ill-tempered threatens to break her heart anew. Futures that might have been that she will never know from the moment she defeated him, robbing her of the chances to ask him questions and learn.
If he were from her time, he would understand. Perhaps there is a chance that he still might.
Pahja knocks once, loud and ringing in the silence. And then knocks again. )
Emet-Selch?
Her feet are restless; wandering outside is well and good, but she's near sick of everyone calling her familiar. That she might not even be considered a person at all is insult onto the existing injury of worrying if she is truly her and not some lesser, vain reflection of a woman long dead.
Not often does Pahja feel lonely, so often do others insist upon her presence, but it comes crashing down on her now, a weight that threatens to bend her back. She forgets where she's going, simply lets her feet pick their path, and is only slightly surprised when she finds herself arriving at the domicile she knows was given to Emet-Selch.
He is the last person she would expect to make her feel human, at least at this moment, but she can't help but give into the ache of familiarity. That is what she wants most of all, even if she knows he would deny it.
She has lost so many people to get to where she is; the idea that he is here, alive and wonderful and still so stubbornly ill-tempered threatens to break her heart anew. Futures that might have been that she will never know from the moment she defeated him, robbing her of the chances to ask him questions and learn.
If he were from her time, he would understand. Perhaps there is a chance that he still might.
Pahja knocks once, loud and ringing in the silence. And then knocks again. )
Emet-Selch?
Oh, to think you have such high opinion of your quarters!
( She snorts, letting herself be pulled in without resistance. Once she is tight against his side and chest she curls further in, the side of her face pressed against his chest and her own arm lying over it, her fingers playing with the fur hem of his shawl.
No one has offered him a change of clothes. Pahja thinks he wouldn't take it if they had.
Her smile fades slightly; with him there is no need to pretend that she is not tired, worn down, faced with a bone deep exhaustion that obligation keeps her from resolving. Emet understands; her fingers curl further into the fur. )
They only want to make sure you're not up to trouble. Although-- ( A bemused shake of her head, muffled and resigned laughter following. ) They would also insist that should you come to harm it'd be your own fault. And, if I do say so myself, we couldn't keep you anywhere you didn't want to be.
( Bold to call him out? Perhaps, but Pahja has never pulled punches in her life and she certainly isn't going to start with Emet. Not when she wonders if there are scars running over his chest from the blow she dealt him. )
( She snorts, letting herself be pulled in without resistance. Once she is tight against his side and chest she curls further in, the side of her face pressed against his chest and her own arm lying over it, her fingers playing with the fur hem of his shawl.
No one has offered him a change of clothes. Pahja thinks he wouldn't take it if they had.
Her smile fades slightly; with him there is no need to pretend that she is not tired, worn down, faced with a bone deep exhaustion that obligation keeps her from resolving. Emet understands; her fingers curl further into the fur. )
They only want to make sure you're not up to trouble. Although-- ( A bemused shake of her head, muffled and resigned laughter following. ) They would also insist that should you come to harm it'd be your own fault. And, if I do say so myself, we couldn't keep you anywhere you didn't want to be.
( Bold to call him out? Perhaps, but Pahja has never pulled punches in her life and she certainly isn't going to start with Emet. Not when she wonders if there are scars running over his chest from the blow she dealt him. )
Edited 2021-12-11 05:33 (UTC)
[ It has been a very, very long time since his mind has been properly his own. But then there was that partial form of Azem, sundered but also very bright already, burning with the will to set things right, and Azem...
Azem is not trying to set Zodiark free. A part of Hythlodaeus's gut wrenches, because he knows that means Azem and Emet-Selch are at odds. Or were at odds. That is rarely good, and yet...
Emet-Selch would have chosen to keep his course. Because of Hythlodaeus. That does not necessarily mean it is the right choice. The past... though Hythlodaeus wants to return, to hold his dearest people once more, to learn more - he knows from Azem's eyes that it can't happen. Not really. And he chooses to help the future. Because he knows that's what Azem will be fighting for. And then...
Then, the last of the fog lifts, and he is no longer on the moon, dissolving into the welcome, familiar warmth of the aethereal sea, with a sigh of relief.
In there, he form again, raising his face to properly be for the first time in millennia. Free... Zodiark is no more, for weal or for woe...
Hythlodaeus's train of thought stutters as memories taken from him return, and his eyes widen. Hermes... Meteion... Azem. This partial Azem who knows the truth. Who knows--
Hythlodaeus shudders slightly. What did he do. What did they all do... postponing a problem doesn't solve it. This...
As everything around him spins, there is a familiar color, distinct, familiar, beloved - and so, so weary. Hythlodaeus raises his chin again, back straightening. Oh. Oh, his poor Hades...
He flies there, knowing that his approach will only remain secret if Emet-Selch really is not paying attention, but still, he settles nearby, taking care to sound like he normally does, to feel like he normally does, the turmoil locked in his heart wrapped and padded gently away from sight, away from his mind. ]
Hey. Long time no see.
Azem is not trying to set Zodiark free. A part of Hythlodaeus's gut wrenches, because he knows that means Azem and Emet-Selch are at odds. Or were at odds. That is rarely good, and yet...
Emet-Selch would have chosen to keep his course. Because of Hythlodaeus. That does not necessarily mean it is the right choice. The past... though Hythlodaeus wants to return, to hold his dearest people once more, to learn more - he knows from Azem's eyes that it can't happen. Not really. And he chooses to help the future. Because he knows that's what Azem will be fighting for. And then...
Then, the last of the fog lifts, and he is no longer on the moon, dissolving into the welcome, familiar warmth of the aethereal sea, with a sigh of relief.
In there, he form again, raising his face to properly be for the first time in millennia. Free... Zodiark is no more, for weal or for woe...
Hythlodaeus's train of thought stutters as memories taken from him return, and his eyes widen. Hermes... Meteion... Azem. This partial Azem who knows the truth. Who knows--
Hythlodaeus shudders slightly. What did he do. What did they all do... postponing a problem doesn't solve it. This...
As everything around him spins, there is a familiar color, distinct, familiar, beloved - and so, so weary. Hythlodaeus raises his chin again, back straightening. Oh. Oh, his poor Hades...
He flies there, knowing that his approach will only remain secret if Emet-Selch really is not paying attention, but still, he settles nearby, taking care to sound like he normally does, to feel like he normally does, the turmoil locked in his heart wrapped and padded gently away from sight, away from his mind. ]
Hey. Long time no see.
And to think you might imagine me to have anything but.
[ He was of the Old World; he was an Emperor, a guest among kings, and now he sleeps like a prisoner under watch with voluntary guard. This strange notion the Scions seem to have of being able to keep him leashed as a pet is baffling to say the least when he exists as he does - a being far beyond their power, someone they cannot truly contain in their pitiful walls.
There's no denying that he is here all the same, however, bound by invisible shackles to a women he can't find the strength to step away from. Her soul is too familiar, too comforting, and her heart has so deeply entwined with his own that he has no sense of how to free himself from her warmth. That is something the Scions know and why they take such comfort in his position in their Rising Stones; he will not harm what is hers.
Not in this moment, at least.
Turning his head, he rests his chin on her head, cocooning her with his body. ]
I shall simply have to not come to harm, then. Though I doubt you would allow it to occur in the first place.
[ Pausing for a moment he reaches for her hand, drawing her up and urging her to move, willing to lift her if he must. ]
And should wounds happen to befall me you might soothe them with your lips.
[ He was of the Old World; he was an Emperor, a guest among kings, and now he sleeps like a prisoner under watch with voluntary guard. This strange notion the Scions seem to have of being able to keep him leashed as a pet is baffling to say the least when he exists as he does - a being far beyond their power, someone they cannot truly contain in their pitiful walls.
There's no denying that he is here all the same, however, bound by invisible shackles to a women he can't find the strength to step away from. Her soul is too familiar, too comforting, and her heart has so deeply entwined with his own that he has no sense of how to free himself from her warmth. That is something the Scions know and why they take such comfort in his position in their Rising Stones; he will not harm what is hers.
Not in this moment, at least.
Turning his head, he rests his chin on her head, cocooning her with his body. ]
I shall simply have to not come to harm, then. Though I doubt you would allow it to occur in the first place.
[ Pausing for a moment he reaches for her hand, drawing her up and urging her to move, willing to lift her if he must. ]
And should wounds happen to befall me you might soothe them with your lips.
[ Comparatively, Emet-Selch could claim to a life familiar with the richest of comforts - but he finds himself less inclined to them these days, unconcerned with feather beds and the warmth of a fire in the wall. There have been other worries on his mind, other matters to think of, and he is oft lost in the notion of the past overwhelming him. It is difficult, then, to focus on the present when he longs for a world long gone.
He is harried around like a prisoner, urged to stand and sit and move with the Scions as if he was meant to be a pinned animal, but he can only find it in him to complain briefly when the time comes. The world's end has paused for now, a brief thing, and he wishes that it had not; the ache of eternity has often been too much to bear, too much grief to muster the strength to withstand it. Company eases it, but it is nothing like the people of the past, friends long gone to the Star.
Her soul sings to him before she approaches, his sight not wavering in the years, so he barely turns as she approaches. Emet-Selch can read her spirit like a novel, and when her words reach his ears all he can do is breathe out gently, trying not to fumble his speech, burrowing into the depths of his wants and wondering how long it will take before he breaks once again. ]
I do not brood. Your Scions' inability for critical thought does not make mine something so poor. [ And the look he gives her is sour to say the least. ] You whisper wrinkles to an immortal? You must be tired.
He is harried around like a prisoner, urged to stand and sit and move with the Scions as if he was meant to be a pinned animal, but he can only find it in him to complain briefly when the time comes. The world's end has paused for now, a brief thing, and he wishes that it had not; the ache of eternity has often been too much to bear, too much grief to muster the strength to withstand it. Company eases it, but it is nothing like the people of the past, friends long gone to the Star.
Her soul sings to him before she approaches, his sight not wavering in the years, so he barely turns as she approaches. Emet-Selch can read her spirit like a novel, and when her words reach his ears all he can do is breathe out gently, trying not to fumble his speech, burrowing into the depths of his wants and wondering how long it will take before he breaks once again. ]
I do not brood. Your Scions' inability for critical thought does not make mine something so poor. [ And the look he gives her is sour to say the least. ] You whisper wrinkles to an immortal? You must be tired.
[ Questions still sits on the tip of their tounges when the other Scions look at him; Why? Why does he still draw breath? Why does he hold such sway over their vaunted champion? Questions often posed when they think he is out of earshot when they think perhaps this time Meara will have the answers they seek. She never does, unable to find the right words to properly express all that swirls within her chest. Still, they trust her in this, as they do in all other things, for not once has Meara ever led them wrong.
Despite herself, a smile finds her lips, and her eyes light up with amusement that always comes to greet his sourness. Truly, she cannot help but wonder if he even has the ability to smile or to laugh in unbridled joy rather than contempt. ]
You do brood. [ She counters, a hand reaching up to brush a lock of stray hair behind a horn. ] More so than any man I have ever encountered in my life.
[ It is then that she turns and reaches up towards his face, finger hovering at the corner of an eye. ]
Right there, it makes you look more tired than I could ever be.
Despite herself, a smile finds her lips, and her eyes light up with amusement that always comes to greet his sourness. Truly, she cannot help but wonder if he even has the ability to smile or to laugh in unbridled joy rather than contempt. ]
You do brood. [ She counters, a hand reaching up to brush a lock of stray hair behind a horn. ] More so than any man I have ever encountered in my life.
[ It is then that she turns and reaches up towards his face, finger hovering at the corner of an eye. ]
Right there, it makes you look more tired than I could ever be.
[ The look he gives her can only be described as withering, a lowered gaze that settles on her features - before he thinks better of it and shakes his head, accustomed to the notion of her teasing by now. There's something familiar in it, of a friendship borne and lost a lifetime ago, and he can do little more than welcome the tenderness it offers. He has long been bereft of such things, after all.
Leaning down, he tilts his head, as if to be judge and jury rather than ally. ]
You have quite literally spoken with dragons and creatures beyond imagination. I cannot be worse.
[ His gaze flicks to her hand, her horn, her face, before he scoffs and rises up to full height once more. ]
Again, I have been gifted the certainty of immortality. One might imagine some tiredness walks with that notion.
Leaning down, he tilts his head, as if to be judge and jury rather than ally. ]
You have quite literally spoken with dragons and creatures beyond imagination. I cannot be worse.
[ His gaze flicks to her hand, her horn, her face, before he scoffs and rises up to full height once more. ]
Again, I have been gifted the certainty of immortality. One might imagine some tiredness walks with that notion.
[ And who would she be to deny him such comforts? Bereft as he is of all he has ever known. It would be a fate too cruel, she thinks, one worse than the shackles that seem to bind him now. She lifts her head, smile widening just enough to reach her eyes.
It was good of her feet to carry her here, to him, instead of into whatever trouble they could find. Much better than the soft pillows her of bed, as her friends would so dearly want. ]
You may be right, I know a dragon who still mourns his lost love. [ It has been some time since she had been to Zenith, she thinks, she ought to visit. ] Alright, you are not the worst but you are a close second.
[ Absently she shifts on her feet, watching him rise, moving to follow just a touch before remembering her height prevents such things. Instead, she shifts her weight, tilting her head to the side. ]
Then you should be resting rather than brooding out here.
It was good of her feet to carry her here, to him, instead of into whatever trouble they could find. Much better than the soft pillows her of bed, as her friends would so dearly want. ]
You may be right, I know a dragon who still mourns his lost love. [ It has been some time since she had been to Zenith, she thinks, she ought to visit. ] Alright, you are not the worst but you are a close second.
[ Absently she shifts on her feet, watching him rise, moving to follow just a touch before remembering her height prevents such things. Instead, she shifts her weight, tilting her head to the side. ]
Then you should be resting rather than brooding out here.
[ Visitation for the purpose of an offer was something reasonable enough for Emet-Selch, but settling into Elpis is something that makes him yearn. He wishes to return to Amaurot, of course, to return to the beautiful gilded halls and the towering chambers that breathe home to him, but he cannot stray so far when there are still things he ought to do. It is what brings him to rooms and rest, settling in bedding not his own and accepting the fact that he may be here for some time.
His eyes are alight with the colours of souls, his heart is heavy with the burden of questions, and he wonders about the future. He wonders what may come when they walk forward, aware and unaware all at once, building hopes on false promises and striving for something better. Their world, in his eyes, was already near enough perfection; why might he ask for more than that? There is nothing better than this, than Elpis, than Amaurot.
Still, their guest comes and finds him and he should not be surprised - but he is, remains so, given how close she seemed to others above him. Hythlodaeus was more their wont, the jovial soul he remains, and so Emet-Selch had been content to be nothing more than the frustrated companion, loathe to do anything beyond remit to make their time here of more comfort. It is not his duty nor his want, but he has no desire to send her away at the moment. It's clear something weighs on her mind and if she seeks him out for solace - well, he certainly has the wisdom to share.
Turning away, he moves and opens the door, peering down at her. ]
The hour is late. What do you want?
His eyes are alight with the colours of souls, his heart is heavy with the burden of questions, and he wonders about the future. He wonders what may come when they walk forward, aware and unaware all at once, building hopes on false promises and striving for something better. Their world, in his eyes, was already near enough perfection; why might he ask for more than that? There is nothing better than this, than Elpis, than Amaurot.
Still, their guest comes and finds him and he should not be surprised - but he is, remains so, given how close she seemed to others above him. Hythlodaeus was more their wont, the jovial soul he remains, and so Emet-Selch had been content to be nothing more than the frustrated companion, loathe to do anything beyond remit to make their time here of more comfort. It is not his duty nor his want, but he has no desire to send her away at the moment. It's clear something weighs on her mind and if she seeks him out for solace - well, he certainly has the wisdom to share.
Turning away, he moves and opens the door, peering down at her. ]
The hour is late. What do you want?
I am sure you know many people who could make that claim. I am hardly impressed.
[ A shake of his head follows and Emet-Selch lets himself gaze out at the morrow. There are many things that might drown his mind in these days gone by, but he does his best not to let himself fall and trip into that ocean. It hurts, truly, of course it does, but it is an ache and pain that he is all too intimately familiar with.
Emet-Selch can make an assumption about why she is here, carrying her own burdens as she does, but he is not to offer anything without her offering first. There is so much more he could do, but only if it is at her request. He is not quite so generous. ]
Why should I rest? I have little I aught to do of late, do I? I should rather enjoy the scenery.
[ A shake of his head follows and Emet-Selch lets himself gaze out at the morrow. There are many things that might drown his mind in these days gone by, but he does his best not to let himself fall and trip into that ocean. It hurts, truly, of course it does, but it is an ache and pain that he is all too intimately familiar with.
Emet-Selch can make an assumption about why she is here, carrying her own burdens as she does, but he is not to offer anything without her offering first. There is so much more he could do, but only if it is at her request. He is not quite so generous. ]
Why should I rest? I have little I aught to do of late, do I? I should rather enjoy the scenery.
[ It is like a breath of air.
Emet-Selch knows the burdens he has carried; he has been urged to do it for so long, bearing the weight of expectation from so many people and knowing nothing more than the path before him. He has yearned to return to the world he knew, bright and beautiful halls, golden chambers and bright, perfection that is now beyond the means of anyone in this realm. Letting go of that, allowing it to slip through his fingers, to stride forward into his own oblivion...
That is not something that he is prepared for.
There is little that might be kept secret between them, and he can sense Hythlodaeus as he comes. It sings of comfort and home, of a world long lost to the realms of darkness and pain, but the relief he feels is something painfully soft, an ache in his chest. Emet-Selch cannot ignore it no more than he can pretend as though he has not been desperate for this meeting for eons - he has heard the echo of Hythlodaeus' words in his mind for almost too long.
Slow, almost lazily, he turns his head and lifts a hand to wave, careless, as if he has not oft dreamed of this moment, as if he has not been desperate for a reunion for years come to pass. It would be far easier to step forward and embrace the man, but he does not; he has not quite been able to steep into kindness towards himself, to let his heart breathe.
Still, his lips curl just a little. ]
Is that all you have to say?
Emet-Selch knows the burdens he has carried; he has been urged to do it for so long, bearing the weight of expectation from so many people and knowing nothing more than the path before him. He has yearned to return to the world he knew, bright and beautiful halls, golden chambers and bright, perfection that is now beyond the means of anyone in this realm. Letting go of that, allowing it to slip through his fingers, to stride forward into his own oblivion...
That is not something that he is prepared for.
There is little that might be kept secret between them, and he can sense Hythlodaeus as he comes. It sings of comfort and home, of a world long lost to the realms of darkness and pain, but the relief he feels is something painfully soft, an ache in his chest. Emet-Selch cannot ignore it no more than he can pretend as though he has not been desperate for this meeting for eons - he has heard the echo of Hythlodaeus' words in his mind for almost too long.
Slow, almost lazily, he turns his head and lifts a hand to wave, careless, as if he has not oft dreamed of this moment, as if he has not been desperate for a reunion for years come to pass. It would be far easier to step forward and embrace the man, but he does not; he has not quite been able to steep into kindness towards himself, to let his heart breathe.
Still, his lips curl just a little. ]
Is that all you have to say?
Heh heh heh. Of course not. Since when do I only have one thing to say?
[ Hythlodaeus hums slightly, eyes crinkling, but he doesn't add what runs through his head - did the shade of him that Emet-Selch recreated only say one thing and grow quiet?
But no, while that amuses him, he is rather certain that his friend will be anything but amused.
Instead, Hythlodaeus steps closer, reaching up to place his palms at the sides of Emet-Selch's face, touch gentle as he can make it, in this place. ]
Let me look at you. [ And... ] You remembered everything, too?
[ Hythlodaeus hums slightly, eyes crinkling, but he doesn't add what runs through his head - did the shade of him that Emet-Selch recreated only say one thing and grow quiet?
But no, while that amuses him, he is rather certain that his friend will be anything but amused.
Instead, Hythlodaeus steps closer, reaching up to place his palms at the sides of Emet-Selch's face, touch gentle as he can make it, in this place. ]
Let me look at you. [ And... ] You remembered everything, too?
( A lesser woman would be put off by his gruffness, perhaps. At least chastised or mollified; Pahja has faced his disdain before when it was sharper, a knife aimed to cut her resolve to ribbons. It did not break her then, at her lowest, and she will not let it destroy her now when she is so close to understanding the heart of what destroyed his world and will destroy her's. If he insists on comparing her soul to that of Azem's he should be well prepared for her stubbornness.
So she stands with her hands on her hips, peering up at him into familiar but unfamiliar eyes. )
Is requesting your Eminence's company not enough? ( She teases, though perhaps he won't take kindly to the familiarity. Shaking her head to clear away the jest, her grin settles into something more inquisitive. ) I couldn't sleep. It never seems to be a problem for you, that much I know, but I thought that I might use the time given to us more wisely than simply wandering.
So she stands with her hands on her hips, peering up at him into familiar but unfamiliar eyes. )
Is requesting your Eminence's company not enough? ( She teases, though perhaps he won't take kindly to the familiarity. Shaking her head to clear away the jest, her grin settles into something more inquisitive. ) I couldn't sleep. It never seems to be a problem for you, that much I know, but I thought that I might use the time given to us more wisely than simply wandering.
probable endwalker spoilers from here on out, for the entire msq
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likeyouknow
2021-12-11 10:25 pm (UTC)(link)
( Wisdom demands that feeling safe within the arms of a man who would have stopped at nothing to kill her, her friends, and all of the world is impossible. Pahja knows this, and yet it doesn't change the warmth that spreads within her, the feeling of peace that washes over her as he surrounds her. Perhaps it's part of her soul, calling out for the comfort of another known to it.
Perhaps it's that Pahja has never known to do anything by halves, including who she might give her heart to; Emet has it within his hands as surely as she knows that she holds the chains that keep him close.
Laughing, she lets him take her hand, meeting his golden eyes with sly grin. )
My lips? Hm, I was unaware of any healing properties they might have -- I think a demonstration is in order.
( Teasing, but she will leave the ball in his court; Pahja knows that for all his bluster he is sentimental to the last, achingly so. Denying that they have any connection at all is commonplace, as his complaining, but he still answered her call for him -- twice over. And this time she is not eager to see him leave.
(Hythlodaeus, too, but he keeps himself otherwise occupied, as charmed as he is by all living creatures. At least Pahja is mostly certain he will not end up on the wrong end of something with a great many rows of teeth.) )
Perhaps it's that Pahja has never known to do anything by halves, including who she might give her heart to; Emet has it within his hands as surely as she knows that she holds the chains that keep him close.
Laughing, she lets him take her hand, meeting his golden eyes with sly grin. )
My lips? Hm, I was unaware of any healing properties they might have -- I think a demonstration is in order.
( Teasing, but she will leave the ball in his court; Pahja knows that for all his bluster he is sentimental to the last, achingly so. Denying that they have any connection at all is commonplace, as his complaining, but he still answered her call for him -- twice over. And this time she is not eager to see him leave.
(Hythlodaeus, too, but he keeps himself otherwise occupied, as charmed as he is by all living creatures. At least Pahja is mostly certain he will not end up on the wrong end of something with a great many rows of teeth.) )
[ It is hardly easier for him, the one who sees in her a soul long lost to the echoes of time; he had been drawn to her first because of that, for the yearning of Azem, for want of a friend taken from him in a time of pain and agony. Knowing her, as Pahja and not as a reflection nor an echo, has opened his mind enough that he feels comfortable taking her as she is rather than what he yearns for her to be.
None of this is particularly simple, not when one takes into account the nature of their acquaintanceship and how they had become first enemies and later something altogether different. The line between love and hate is thin, Emet-Selch knows that, and it has been blurring all the more for him of late.
His fingers are large enough for her wrist, and it takes him by surprise for a moment. She is so small, so seemingly frail, but so terrifying in her strength. She might kill him, should she choose to, in this moment. He is nothing compared to her. Strong and coy, a dangerous mix indeed. ]
Is there someone I might call? I am most confident there is more than one who would be willing to be your test subject.
[ He could take what he wants from her, Emet-Selch knows he has the strength to do so in this realm, but he has no desire to. The legacy he carried as an Emperor was not taken by force; he can be tender with his affection, not brutal, not unkind. He is not that kind of man. His head tilts, watching her, eyes dark and searching. ]
I could ask another to give me succour, if you are so uncertain of your merit.
None of this is particularly simple, not when one takes into account the nature of their acquaintanceship and how they had become first enemies and later something altogether different. The line between love and hate is thin, Emet-Selch knows that, and it has been blurring all the more for him of late.
His fingers are large enough for her wrist, and it takes him by surprise for a moment. She is so small, so seemingly frail, but so terrifying in her strength. She might kill him, should she choose to, in this moment. He is nothing compared to her. Strong and coy, a dangerous mix indeed. ]
Is there someone I might call? I am most confident there is more than one who would be willing to be your test subject.
[ He could take what he wants from her, Emet-Selch knows he has the strength to do so in this realm, but he has no desire to. The legacy he carried as an Emperor was not taken by force; he can be tender with his affection, not brutal, not unkind. He is not that kind of man. His head tilts, watching her, eyes dark and searching. ]
I could ask another to give me succour, if you are so uncertain of your merit.
Edited 2021-12-12 00:36 (UTC)
It is hardly a request when you come storming in as a tempest.
[ As if she hadn't been appropriately polite, knocking on his door and awaiting him to open it. He is sour because it is in his nature to be so, bristling like an irritated cat more than an immortal bound by duty to be in this place. He can hardly complain, not when Elpis is so handsome and beautiful a place, but he yearns for some reason to be dismissive when he has learned so much.
His arms cross over his chest, looking down at her with an explorative expression, wondering. Who finds it difficult to sleep in paradise, he wonders? It is not his wont to ask her more of it, but he does step at the way, inviting her into the room without much more preamble. It would be a waste, when he might question her a little more himself. ]
How would you wish to use the time, then? What questions do you have?
[ As if she hadn't been appropriately polite, knocking on his door and awaiting him to open it. He is sour because it is in his nature to be so, bristling like an irritated cat more than an immortal bound by duty to be in this place. He can hardly complain, not when Elpis is so handsome and beautiful a place, but he yearns for some reason to be dismissive when he has learned so much.
His arms cross over his chest, looking down at her with an explorative expression, wondering. Who finds it difficult to sleep in paradise, he wonders? It is not his wont to ask her more of it, but he does step at the way, inviting her into the room without much more preamble. It would be a waste, when he might question her a little more himself. ]
How would you wish to use the time, then? What questions do you have?
I do not think it has ever happened in the span of our knowing one another. I was a fool to think it might begin now.
[ It is impossible not to think of the shades, of the images that had haunted of him, filled with longing or yearning for a friend long lost to him. To see him now, almost in the flesh, as it were... It is painful. It makes him feel things he has not in some time, and the knowledge that Hythlodaeus can likely see it in his very spirit is an irritant.
The touch to his skin draws him out of his thoughts and he frowns, expression twisting at the softness. It has been a long time - but he does not pull away, allowing it despite the clear furrow in his brow and the frown that colours his mouth. ]
You could have looked with your eyes, not your fingers. [ A sigh. ] Yes, yes, I remember it all now. Foolish to the end, I am well aware.
[ It is impossible not to think of the shades, of the images that had haunted of him, filled with longing or yearning for a friend long lost to him. To see him now, almost in the flesh, as it were... It is painful. It makes him feel things he has not in some time, and the knowledge that Hythlodaeus can likely see it in his very spirit is an irritant.
The touch to his skin draws him out of his thoughts and he frowns, expression twisting at the softness. It has been a long time - but he does not pull away, allowing it despite the clear furrow in his brow and the frown that colours his mouth. ]
You could have looked with your eyes, not your fingers. [ A sigh. ] Yes, yes, I remember it all now. Foolish to the end, I am well aware.
[ Too many, she thinks, discarding the subject to the side. But truly who mourns lost loves more than Emet himself? All pale in comparison his display, to the city that sits beneath the waves in the First. Unbelievably large and sentimental.
Meara follows his gaze to the horizon, the sun burning bright as it begins its slow descent down. ]
For those wrinkles of course. [ Her gaze snaps back to form beside her shifting herself closer. ] Or mayhaps to keep another company? I know someone you see, she has been all but relieved of her duties and commanded to rest. Her fellows have taken to the winds and, with them, taken some of her duties leaving her a simple request: Rest.
Meara follows his gaze to the horizon, the sun burning bright as it begins its slow descent down. ]
For those wrinkles of course. [ Her gaze snaps back to form beside her shifting herself closer. ] Or mayhaps to keep another company? I know someone you see, she has been all but relieved of her duties and commanded to rest. Her fellows have taken to the winds and, with them, taken some of her duties leaving her a simple request: Rest.
( Simple, no. But neither is life, with all its heartache and loss, but it is worth experiencing. And whatever connection they have, whatever relationship it may take form, would be worth the risk. On that front she knows that she and Emet are agreed, if perhaps coming at it from entirely different angles.
But who would he be if not frustrating and so intent on putting barriers between her and what she wants?
His statement earns him a roll of her eyes and a poke in the side, though she knows both of them have no wish for either of them to field another option -- for healing or for kissing. Calling him on it would be a mute point when she can instead tease him for it. )
Oh? Perhaps Thancred, then. For your succor and my kiss--
( Pahja makes a move -- half-hearted and with no strength nor real intent -- to extract herself from his arms. )
I shall go get him if you wish, or perhaps you would like to accompany me? His expression would be priceless.
But who would he be if not frustrating and so intent on putting barriers between her and what she wants?
His statement earns him a roll of her eyes and a poke in the side, though she knows both of them have no wish for either of them to field another option -- for healing or for kissing. Calling him on it would be a mute point when she can instead tease him for it. )
Oh? Perhaps Thancred, then. For your succor and my kiss--
( Pahja makes a move -- half-hearted and with no strength nor real intent -- to extract herself from his arms. )
I shall go get him if you wish, or perhaps you would like to accompany me? His expression would be priceless.
I could have.
[ Instead of letting go, however, he steps closer and leans their foreheads together. Granting Hades the privacy to not have his expression stay under scrutiny, for all they know they can both see more than that. ]
But that would have left you wondering, and I think you've had enough of that. And of this, too.
[ A smile, gentle, from the very soul. ]
You did the best that you could do. When you saw a sliver of hope, even without knowing, you guided and taught, so that a path can be found.
[ That much he is certain of, even if he does not yet know all the details. But he is also certain that Emet-Selch, that Hades, needs to hear it. ]
You know because I'm here, that means He is gone.
[ There are so, so many things to say. There are so many emotions, but Hythlodaeus has far from come to terms with his own, and his friend probably needs a little more time before they face those. So getting the facts out of the way first. Even if the facts may be difficult. ]
[ Instead of letting go, however, he steps closer and leans their foreheads together. Granting Hades the privacy to not have his expression stay under scrutiny, for all they know they can both see more than that. ]
But that would have left you wondering, and I think you've had enough of that. And of this, too.
[ A smile, gentle, from the very soul. ]
You did the best that you could do. When you saw a sliver of hope, even without knowing, you guided and taught, so that a path can be found.
[ That much he is certain of, even if he does not yet know all the details. But he is also certain that Emet-Selch, that Hades, needs to hear it. ]
You know because I'm here, that means He is gone.
[ There are so, so many things to say. There are so many emotions, but Hythlodaeus has far from come to terms with his own, and his friend probably needs a little more time before they face those. So getting the facts out of the way first. Even if the facts may be difficult. ]
( Seizing upon the opportunity, Pahja slides into the room without a second wasted -- she doesn't want him to change his mind and shut the door in her face now that she's piqued his interest. It could happen, she knows he's prone to ill-temperedness. But apparently his desire to entertain her questions also remained unchanged and that, of course, is comforting.
Giving him a small, thankful smile, she makes herself comfortable in one of the chairs in the room before he can gesture her to take a seat. Presumptuous, yes, but again -- the quicker she entrenches herself in this space the more difficult she hopes he'll find it to remove her. )
Everything. ( It comes more breathless than she'd like, her eagerness overtaking her as she leans forward, a hand going to grab an apple slice. The action is second nature -- she is used to being in charge, in the center of the room. ) You once told me I would like Amaurot. But for all that I experienced it in your recreation, I want to know what it was really like. What do you do for fun? How does one relax? Do you have theater?
( Pahja clears her throat awkwardly. )
Or you could tell me about yourself. I know your name, I've-- ( Here she waggles her eyebrows, because she really can't help herself. ) Seen you transformed, and we hardly know anything about each other!
Giving him a small, thankful smile, she makes herself comfortable in one of the chairs in the room before he can gesture her to take a seat. Presumptuous, yes, but again -- the quicker she entrenches herself in this space the more difficult she hopes he'll find it to remove her. )
Everything. ( It comes more breathless than she'd like, her eagerness overtaking her as she leans forward, a hand going to grab an apple slice. The action is second nature -- she is used to being in charge, in the center of the room. ) You once told me I would like Amaurot. But for all that I experienced it in your recreation, I want to know what it was really like. What do you do for fun? How does one relax? Do you have theater?
( Pahja clears her throat awkwardly. )
Or you could tell me about yourself. I know your name, I've-- ( Here she waggles her eyebrows, because she really can't help herself. ) Seen you transformed, and we hardly know anything about each other!
Edited 2021-12-12 07:22 (UTC)
[ That has his eyebrow raising, the two of them closer than they have been in some time, and his grip does not waver. He has no intention of letting her go, of allowing her to wander to find another of her allies to spend her time with. He is claiming it now, as is his due for years of suffering. Why aught he not scrape some joy from this world?
His eyes narrow as he leans closer. The notion of anyone, most especially Thancred, taking her from him... No, it sits unwell on his shoulders. ]
I think you are playing a dangerous game.
[ It is clear what she wants, pushing and nudging as she does, and he draws her all the closer, inches apart now. A simple turn of the head would bring them together. ]
Just as I think you shall not be leaving my arms.
His eyes narrow as he leans closer. The notion of anyone, most especially Thancred, taking her from him... No, it sits unwell on his shoulders. ]
I think you are playing a dangerous game.
[ It is clear what she wants, pushing and nudging as she does, and he draws her all the closer, inches apart now. A simple turn of the head would bring them together. ]
Just as I think you shall not be leaving my arms.
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