thebastion | Day 255

Entry tags:

Day 255 - Yeah no

When: Day 255, midday
Who: The Helmsman and anyone who trips over his prone body
Open/Close: Open
Where: The middle of the Bastion, facedown
What: You know what's nice? Grass is nice.
Format: I'll match
Warning: Blood warning/minor self harm in Aoi and Disciple threads

Ever since he'd been brought to the hospital in the middle of the night by Aradia and the Disciple, the Helmsman has been quiet. His throat has been in no condition to really speak, which had been one thing, but besides that... Any attempts to speak with him have just earned a narrow eyed look and thinned lips, although he'd gone along with attempts to feed him and put him into some cleaner clothes.

Apparently, today's the day that changes because anyone going about their business in the Bastion is liable to notice the gray-skinned and horned alien laying facedown in the middle of the little settlement. The clothes he's wearing are far too big for his food-deprived skinny body but despite what it looks like, he is breathing and is alive.

Don't mind him, he's just gonna be here for a while. If you trip, well, that's your problem. Suck it up.

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This really is the nicest hallucination he's gotten by far. (Because it has to be a hallucination, has to be.) Telling him she doesn't hate him, doesn't blame him for anything... Telling him she's real. Insisting she's real.

The shaking starts up again.

What if you are real? This doesn't seem to comfort him at all.

It's hard to just watch him shake but she promised she wouldn't touch him without permission and he hasn't given it. Her shoosh starts up again, only to fade when the psionics crackle back to life.

"...Then you have a second chance. We both do. I was sure I was dreaming in there, only my dreams never captured the sheer...horror of it. If you weren't real, I was still going to save you. But you are. I am."

She takes a breath that sounds like a sob, then shakes her head, as if to clear it.

"We don't have him or her, but we have each other."

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It's selfish but it's true. Everything is ruined, everything is fucked up, that he only found any meaning in living by pure fucking spite. He needs that or he needs death, and he knows only one of them would happen.

A second chance. What is he even going to do with one?

"Are you sure you're my tuna? I thought he was all about twos. Though maybe it's not your second chance. Maybe that was when we found you, led you away from your old life. Maybe this is your third."

She keeps talking, keeps trying to work her way under the walls he's built to keep the world out. She wants to pry them loose, get to the person she knows is still in there underneath.

"I know it's not the same. Nothing...will ever be the same after that. After it all. It's selfish to ask you to keep living," admits the Disciple, "But I got you from that fish bitch in the end, and you're here. She may not have let you die, but she didn't really let you live. I can let you live."

Yeah... He was- is?- all about twos. But this is too much, he doesn't know what to do. This is so much more than two and he's scared. He draws in on himself, psi crackling over him to help draw his legs and arms up against his chest.

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That's a good question. What does he do. What does she do? She has no idea and that's sort of scary in a way. Liberating in another. She has nothing to run from. The people here are kind enough. She has a hive, tip top of the building just like she thought he might like. Not easy to run from, but easy to defend. She doesn't have the answer he craves, but maybe that's the answer.

"I don't know. Based on your current behavior, you're going to either decide I'm real and in which case, we both cry some more because we're emotional idiots. You decide I'm not real and I sit beside you until you feel hungry, thirsty, or tired. Beyond those two option, it's hard to say. We pick ourselves back up. We stay by each other. Same thing we've always done."

Her lips curl into a smile she's not sure she feels. It doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Just without the specter of the highbloods. Without the rest of them. ...It'll be hard. You and I lived, for some definition of it. It'd be easier to do it together."

Awkwardly, weak and soft, he moves his hand to lightly touch her knee with just the tips of his fingers. The words come a moment after.

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Scared of this being real. Scared of having to continue living, of facing an uncertain future and having to deal with everything again.

His touch, soft and hesitant, sets off a tremble through her. She blinks back tears and nods. It's quiet for a little, as she gathers up her words.

"I'm scared too. I don't know what to do either but here we are. Making the best of a shitty situation is what we do best, right?"

That feels fake, even if she really feels that way. Fake and off, because she's so scared, so tired. Relentlessly hoping is exhausting. Waiting in the skyway for something that shouldn't have come. Would she have spent her life out there among the islands, wasting away, staying alone, separate from these people? She's not sure.

Having someone to take care of is exhausting too, but helpful. It gives her reason to stay close, not to run, not to hide.

"Can I touch you? Just quickly."

Making the best out of a shitty situation... Is that really him? When, once upon a time long ago, he was the kind of person who murdered others just to keep his powers under wraps? When he was living without knowing why? It's not what he does, he knows that much. Signless, Disciple, Dolorosa... It was their strength that he was leeching from.

The request seems to make him shrink back a little again, but soon enough he gives a nod of his head.

With permission, she shifts to hold the hand he touched her with. It's warm, like she remembered. It's scabbed in some places, scarred in others, like he always was, but more. Everything about his pain is more and he's trying to be less.

She raises his fingers to her lips and kisses his fingers, where the scars overlap. It's soft and quick and as unintrusive as possible while still being there.

It's such a familiar action, one he hasn't been able to do or receive after so many sweeps of his own hands consumed and trapped by biowires that leeched him of all he was worth. Against his will, he starts to cry again, dragging in wheezing gasps and choking out quiet sobs.

No one's touched his hands in so long.

She doesh't shoosh him time. There are no gentle paps. She holds his hand in hers, forgetting that it was supposed to be a quick touch. Her pad of her thumb brush over the back of his hand, tracing scars and the traces of biowire.

"It's okay. It's okay to cry Psii."

It shouldn't be okay, he shouldn't be allowed to, times like this almost make him wish he wasn't so goddamn stubborn. If he wasn't so stubborn, maybe he'd be like any other Helsman. He could be broken and numb to the pain and misery. It'd be a fucking break.

But he's not. He's not broken, he's not numb, and all he can do is cry all the harder, tears flooding down his face. He'd hold her hand if he could but he's still too weak for that. All he can do is twitch his fingers bit by little bit while the rest of his hand spasms with each sob that wracks through his body.

She holds on for him. He's crying but it's okay. Maybe it was Signless that taught her that was okay, after the sweeps where she'd learned to bury it inside. Probably him. It hurts to think of, but a good hurt. Somehow.

She leans in close, her hair sweeping a curtain around them that doesn't quite conceal, but it feels private. It's pitiful in a way that makes her feel protective, instinctively knowing that this isn't something someone should see. Too many sweeps of calling this weakness, knowing what softness of heart it implies. Behind her mass of hair, she doesn't cry, not yet, though she blinks away tears. This is for him.

He cries for a long time. He cries until his eyes are all dried out with nothing more to give and until his throat isn't capable of anymore. It hurts, to cry himself out so much. He hasn't cried like this since... he can't remember. He's always had a little bit more in him. But this is it, this is everything he has in him, and soon enough he falls quiet with wheezy little gasps.

When the sobbing falls silent, or silent as it can, she reaches with her free hand to stroke his hair. Slow strokes that only slightly catch on the goggles still strapped to his face. She still wants to pull them off, to rid him of every shred of the Condesce. She doesn't.

"If you want some water, I can get up. Or I can stay."

Water can go fuck itself. He doesn't care about his own bodily needs, he'll be more than happy if he never sees water again for the rest of his miserable life. Instead of crafting letters with energy, he just shuffles his weak body closer to her knees and presses his forehead against what of her he can reach.

She'll take what he gives and assume the answer from the lack of response. She breathes in, then out, slow. In the end, she'd forgotten what this sort of touch was like, the reassurance that came from having someone near. She wants to gather him up to her but she's still slightly afraid she might hurt him.

"I'm going to make you drink sometime you know. You can't survive on air and food alone. I'll have to see about what sort of food they have here. I...forgot to really look."

There's just a shake of his head at that, rough hair and the faintest brush of biowires against her knee. Finally, the psionics come back out to play.

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Hmn. Her face scrunches up at that. He was always a bit difficult at times.

"What do you mean? Is this a 'Psii doesn't want to bother' or 'Psii really doesn't need it'? Because it's hard to tell. And if you're still acting like this isn't real, real me wants real you to eat at least from time to time."

...Well, it's sort of a 'Psii doesn't want to bother' thing, and also-

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He's still sort of scared to admit that this could have the actual possibility of being real. At least he's moved onto active denial. That's... progress. Maybe.

...Oh they're back to this. She pets his hair a little. Geez Psiionic you'd make a person feel unwanted. Also, she's pretty sure eating was like one of your favorite things to do.

"Right. Let's say it doesn't provide nutrients. Just saying that. Saying that you're relying on outside sources of food and such. Would you eat then? Cause if you start wasting away because you refuse actual food, I am going to be pissed. Shit, we're probably going to have to keep you on soft foods and liquids aren't we. Like you came out the desert starving or something. "

A pause, and he nods. The fingers in his hair feel... it's kind of nice. Even if it's not real. Can't be real. Nope. Okay, he needs to breathe before he has a panic attack.

N0 phys1c4l f00d 21nc3 1nst4ll4t10n. Which explains a lot about the state of his body.

Of course. That would be work, feeding a Helmsman. Too much effort, too messy. God, a thousand sweeps without real food. It's a blessing he can eat whatever he has. Her hands almost grasp at his hair before she gets back control and smoothes it down. Slow slow. Calm.

"Soups and ...I guess mushed up things. If we can. I'll try to find fruit. You like fruit."

Another pause, and he peers up awkwardly up at her from beneath his hair and behind his goggles. She can probably guess what he's going to ask about before he forces the word into order.

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