thebastion | Day 288

Entry tags:

Day 288

Who: The Helmsman and you
Open: Open
When: Day 288
Where: By the entrance to the Skyway
What: The Helmsman ventures out and comes back with some shinies he's heard so much about.
Format: Any
Warnings: The usual difficulties that come with chatting it up with him

Regardless of the tension that's flared up because of recent discussions, it seems as though the Helmsman's schedule hasn't changed particularly greatly. Today, just like every other day, he ventures outwards from the Tower. Unlike every other day, however, he doesn't venture off onto Dragonfield or wander about the Bastion or lay face down on the grass. Instead, when he shows up again, it's from the direction of the Skyway and a bruise blossoming on one side of his face.

And then he lays down on the grass where anyone could step on him.

At least it's not just laying, this time. Sparks of red and blue lift up tiny little shards for him to inspect curiously. For anyone in the area, he's not hard to miss.

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Stumbling across him out in the middle of the place had become a somewhat familiar occurrence. The glimmering shards were not. Not exactly. The Disciple had shown him the shiny little things and they'd picked up a few here and there. She just did't thinking

She opened her bag and glanced at the shards piled at the bottom. It was too hard to tell if some were missing. She still wondered if it would be enough. Maybe one more nighttime jaunt. No one seemed to know exactly how much one might need.

"Enjoying your shiny objects?"

By this point in the day, he's now covered a bit in bits of grass and looking a bit tired. As Disciple comes closer, he can only look up at her owlishly. Clearly someone's been having fun. Sort of. Maybe. He knows he doesn't make himself easy to read sometimes.

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She sits down beside him, settling in for the moment. There's undoubtedly a conversation here, what with the shards, the grass and how tired he seems. She looks a little concerned for a moment, wondering if he wants to go up.

That goes on hold because she has to raise both eyebrows at his statement. Huh.

"...Okay I'm going to assume you mean not a troll. Which isn't possible."

With one thin hand (that doesn't shake as much as it used to, when they'd first freed him), he points silently to the Monument that stands in the center of the Bastion.

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The Monument--Well she hadn't thought it did things like that. It had been explained as giving more tangible things. Like the coon and sopor she was going to get. Paints or weapons.

"I didn't think it could do that. I mean, I had plans to get a few things but can it really just give you knowledge of a whole language? Just how powerful is that?"

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And then he goes 'silent', curling up a bit and staring into the distance. The day has given him a lot to think about. It'd be easy- it should be easy- to just make that fact another bit of evidence that this is all in his head. But...

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Oh, was that it? She leaned over to stroke his hair, avoiding his horns out of habit. Was that really such a bad thing? Making friends. The ridiculous part of her worries that he'll think it was fake because of course he can't make friends and they can't learn a language with the snap of their fingers.

"Do you consider her your friend?"

Against her touch, he curls up a bit. Not in the bad way, just in the way he needs when there's too many thoughts that not even his mind can keep together. What to say?

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Disciple pulls her hand away just a little. Close enough that he could press into it if he wished. At least with this subject she feels more on solid ground.

"You were never good with people doing that. When people did things for you when we were with him, you know? If you like them, let them do it. Be your friend. It's okay to let people get close Psii."

He doesn't even think about it, just subconsciously follows the movement of her hand. His fingers dig into the loose set of pants that are tied around his waist, still too weak to do such without the help of his psionics.

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She rubs her thumb over his scalp, thinking as she reads that floating statement. Oh Psiionic... She's starting to wonder if he'll ever feel secure in this world with her. He can't want this to be fake.

"Hallucinations are the best friends. Not that they are hallucinations. They're people. Weird people to you probably since they're treating you like one of them, huh? People being nice to you doesn't make them hallucinations."

The more she talks, the more he squeezes in on himself, staring into space. A quiet tremble is starting up.

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Just like before, he seems intrinsically terrified of this idea... And having a lot harder time denying it now.

She shooshes him, softly, stroking his hair a little. It still hurts, deep down, that he might not believe in her realness and every step is a struggle.

"Real people can be friends, that's right. They're definitely real too. After all that's happened, you sort of know that, right? Deep down."

The shooshing only seems to queel his violent trembling slightly. It's taken a good long while for the truth to finally worm its way in, but now it's going off like an explosion.

And he doesn't like it.

The energy is erratic and broken apart, even harder to read than usual. fuck fuck fuck 1t2 r34l 2h1t 2h1t

Panic rises up, making her throat stick closed and for a long moment its all she can do to pat his hair. It's almost papping but a touch too frantic. No, calm. She can help him deal with reality, really she can. Again and again, until he can look at her without a shadow of a doubt about what he sees.

"It's okay. It's real, I'm real, this is real. And it's okay. Shhhoosh. "

It's real, she's real, he's not there anymore- so many sweeps of being stuck in that cold salt-infested fucking room with nothing but numbers and trying not to stay in his own body and enough spite to fill a couple goddamn solar system, but he's out and it's real-

The words can't form, nothing but jagged overexcited bursts of energy, and he's practically shaking himself into non-existence. A sudden burst of energy propels him against her, claws digging into her clothes as a long keening noise drags out from his throat.

Oh. Oh she should have expected this, this sort of reaction, but she didn't. Her arms wrap around him tight; it's all she can think to do. He's clinging to her clothing and that sound. Her arms wrap tighter, like she can hold him together through sheer force of will.

"Shooosh. Shhh, it's..." Her voice trails off and she can't just repeat the same platitudes.

"I know it's hard. To accept. I know it was so hard to deal with your mind making things up to keep you sane, dreaming of us, of rescue, of hope. And I know it's seemed like a long ridiculous dream... And I know I'm not all of them and I'm not the best at this and--Shhh."

Somehow, the iron-tight embrace of her arms almost helps a little. It keeps him tethered, keeps his mind in his body- not that there's anywhere for it to run to. No system for him to take shelter in, no programs to hide behind while he catches his breath. He's horrifyingly and painfully vulnerable, trapped in his own body and unable to stop making pained noises through a throat that half doesn't want to work.

There's so much he needs to say, wants to say, but all he can do is cling to her as she talks, trying to force his lungs to work.

Disciple strokes his hair, his back, his arms, anything she can reach without having to move her arms too far. Her grip does loosen, when she hears the way he sounds, the way it doesn't feel like he's breathing right.

"In and out, okay? Breathe in. Breathe out."

Somehow they always end up with the worst of his moments out in the open air. It'd be worrying if she cared about people seeing.

Repetition. He can do repetition.

It gives his mind something else to focus on as well, a mind that could watch over every bit of data in a whole Alternian battleship now focused on one order: breathe. His fingers knead against her clothes as he tries to focus again, throat a rattle as the tears start to gather up in his eyes again and flood down his cheeks, his throat.

But at least he's breathing.

Step by step. She'll take it. He may be crying and he may sound like the worst four wheeled transportation vehicle in existence but he's breathing. Things could be so much worse. She strokes along his back in time with his breaths, one long stroke for ever two breaths. One arm is still wrapped tight around him but the other tries to soothe.

"If you need to talk, I can--listen? Not listen, read, you know--you know what I meant."

As best he can, he tries to speak, tries to get the words across, but his tongue flounders on them clumsily and his throat won't quite work with him there. Just more meaningless noises, choked off by tears, and eventually he gives up. All he does is cling and cry until his body gives out on him.

The result is him lying limp in her arms, air shakily making its way to his lungs. He's not sure how much time passes before his pan finally thinks to conjure up the words again.

fuck

...Well. Word. Singular. That sums up the situation pretty eloquently.

She has her cheek pressed against his hair when she notices. Fuck. She swallows a laugh, bitter, before pressing her face back to his hair. It was quite the descriptor for this.

"I agree. Sounds about right. I'm pretty sure I said that word a lot in my head when we found you."

The reminder makes his entire body give a jerk again, fingers spasming against her back and sides. Shit. Shit that's right, that's how they'd found him, he'd never-

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She squeezes the arm wrapped around his waist, shaking her head. He doesn't need to apologize.

"You like that? I'd rather have seen it than...I was glad I was there. If she'd brought you back alone--I don't know if she could have honestly. But I would have felt terrible. I was glad to be there, even if it was awful to see what you'd been trapped in."

And guilt still sits heavy in her stomach at how she hesitated at the water surrounding him, how she told him to shut up when he quipped about the lucky three. Even if she'd shoved down all her horrible feelings of betrayal at being almost mocked as a hallucination, she still felt the guilt over it.

backdating bc i fail it is me

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