BACKTHREAD POST

[devotedtothecore]

All the backthreading goes here!!

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Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

Recommissioning the pump system, I take it? [Steps out to lean in the doorway, peering into the darkness a moment before shaking his head.]

Mmm quite expected, metal being in short supply. You might see if Zhen Ji might be able to spare what he may.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

[ his good hand slips into his jacket, pulls out a compact flashlight.

holds it out to Ptou, wordlessly. ]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[He takes it and looks at Chrysos for a long moment, turning the object over in his hands a few times.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

I doubt we'll have much of a grace period when I've turned it on, where should I be looking, my dear.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

[ ...shakes his head and turns to the side, where the great branch slopes downwards at a moderate grade, the bark rough enough to afford ample footing for most. Which he employs, descending with the ease of practice, metal fingers occasionally touching the stone wall running alongside.

About a few metres down, and a dozen ahead, he stops again, figure still visible in the dim diffraction from the third floor's lighting. ]

Not from there. Here's the nearest vantage.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[It takes a moment... turning over thoughts about tone changes, but advancements, simple logic of the situation versus really NOT being fond of being outside this late, but... in the end, that's not THAT far, and certainly not entirely out of sight.]

You know, my ducky, we might need a talk about survival out here. In general, the 'out here,' bit of things.

[Still, he jumps down lightly, not commanded that severely by gravity... His senses spread out cautiously to the wind currents.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

...it need not take long.

[ the night seems quiet for the most part, the breeze from before still rustling through the leaves, the gaps in twigs and branches, swaying vines here and there... nothing animal in movement.

he reaches for the part of his belt behind him and casually tugs out a heavy handgun, incongruous in design compared to the metal hand holding it, and looks out at a certain spot in the darkness below... though from the slight cock of his head, now and again, he seems to be concentrating on the night's sounds. ]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[Too many disassociated statements, too many diversions. Something's way too many ways of not right and it's just piling up.

There's a moment, deep breath, where he considers the noble and dignified route... nope. Not when there are so many unknown elements.]

[He looks back up at the window and tosses the flashlight back, casually.]

I think, my taciturn companion, even should I explore much, there will be better light in the day, and far less risk to us both.

Lets revisit this in the morning.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

[ ...turns and catches it in his free hand, looking at Ptou... he glances out at the night again, for a moment.

there's a slow exhale, both hands lowering to his sides. ]

...aah. ...I'm not sure what I was thinking, at this hour.

[ there's... a tired, wry note in those words, as he makes to walk up the branch again. Tucks the flashlight back into his jacket, absently. ]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[And something in Ptou's posture changes, not quite relaxing, but settling. He runs his fingers through his hair, a faint shake of his head.]

I couldn't answer, but we may put it up to stress and exhaustion. You seem to have both in high amounts.

[He nods as Chrysos approaches, stepping back to make way for the trunk.] Go first, it may be quite utterly unnecessary, but it is far easier to catch someone from this angle.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

...far better to be overcautious.

[ swaps the gun over to his good hand as he approaches, testing its weight and grip in that hand. His eyes glancing at Ptou as he steps back, then on the path up to the main doors, taking it at a steady walk. ]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

[ and as Chrys's shadow falls over his---


--cold hard metal wraps tight around Ptou's throat and pulls, slamming him down to the ancient bark with all the force of their combined weight. ]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[He had, actually, been preparing. Expecting the gun instead, he'd weighed the options, gravity or wind or just transforming to run.

Completely unprepared for real pain, the impact knocks the wind out of him, sending brilliant starbursts behind his eyes. The hands that reach up to circle the metal wrist have utterly nothing to do with conscious thought, all in reflex and instinct and some part of him scrambles to figure out what happened.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

[ there's a second impact of hard knee digging into Ptou's gut, the press of gunbarrel against his right temple as metal digits squeeze heedless of the flesh ones plucking at them, enough to throttle and bruise but not quite enough to crush, not yet.

Warm breath inches above his face, and murmured words, in the same deadly calm that once wrapped them in Games long past, ones where pale hands and body and golden hair left yet dyed in the red of others. ]

Cast, turn, speak a Word, and I end you.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[It should have been a scream. There was some terrible, clear side of Ptou's consciousness that derided that pathetic sound that was ripped out of his lungs at the second impact.

The former god's face is blotchy with pain around the deathly pallor, and expression an unflattering portrait of agony. Eyes screwed shut, hands clenching convulsively on the metal arm, swallowing hard between desperate gasps of air.

It takes a while, seconds bleed into minutes before Chrysos' words seems to filter through the kaleidoscope of reds and blacks... Even then, it's just barely a nod.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

...good.

[ the grip relaxes a fraction, just enough to let shallow breath pass. His face shadowed from this angle, it's hard to make out his expression, even if you could see enough right now. ]


So.

Like him, you Command.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[There isn't shock, but there IS realization on Ptou's face. The 'Oh' he mouths can't really be mistaken for the other shallow gasps for air... and the eyes that flutter open again to squint at Chrysos are sharp and clear.

His hands drop, sliding nervelessly to his side, even as he struggles to answer, a wheeze catching on the vocal cords.

...

He closes his eyes and nods instead, again, faintly.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

...aah, even in guise of a man....

[ his head shakes slowly, words breathed out to the night... resignedly, almost. ]

Of course, of course... for words and names and Words and Names have ever been his, why should it not as well...

[ leans in closer, their foreheads almost touching, blue eyes seeming to watch a point beyond Ptou's face... fingers tightening ever so slightly. His voice yet even, neutral, as though he were asking of the time of day. ]

Shall I silence the voice, that wields such Words? Shall I not?

One would think, it would be better a thing not lingering long, in this new life.

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[It's not the precious air being cut off again. It's not the way he can't even swallow anymore with the pressure beginning to mount at his abused neck. It isn't how the knee crushes into his gut further as he leans closer.

It's always the words. Always the words. It rips back the muddling haze of misery and agony, burying it under adrenaline and a very specific terror.

The body goes rigid beneath Chrysos. Heedless of the pinch of mechanical digits, he shakes his head, now frantic, his hands coming up to drag and pull at the mechanic's shirt.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

...one would think...

[ careful not to black yourself out, moving your neck that vigorously in its trap. fabric yanked this way and that, yet the body beneath seems immovable as stone... eyes focusing on Ptou's face, the fear written on it, and sliding slowly down to the gleaming metal holding it down.

...

a catch of breath, teeth gritting, hesitation-- ]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[There's a moment, a crazed thought, urging him to push him the rest of the way. Death would be better than whatever is coming. Feeling for the wind, pushing it towards him, as his vision blurs, the impending black out chewing at the edges of it, he almost MISSES the expression, the pause... and the desperate hope it heralds.

He lets go of the shirt and puts shaking hands on Chrysos' shoulders, a simple wordless appeal. Please. Please.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

[ ....

how many such faces of appeal he remembers? Certainly they've blurred, after all this time.

That Power has to end.

That hand wasn't made for this.

End it now.

Stop this, she wouldn't--.

.....air harsh from his lungs, growing rapid, human fingers trembling against the handle of the gun.... doesn't move, doesn't say a word. Drop of sweat trickling off his face. ]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[anklets]

[So, the last thing you need right now, Chrys, is for a worrywart of a girl to notice on her way to bed the odd silhouette that is two people bent as he and Ptou are outside. An abnormal shadow out on the tree branch, but certainly human.

And Lenalee isn't one to pry in the business of "others", but the shape of someone holding someone else down is not unfamiliar. She'd seen it too often by the time she'd died. It's a trick of her eyes, she tells herself, and heads for the exit regardless.

(It's been a nostalgic week. Fallen and Komurins and people in danger, oh my.)

She comes out onto the branch, lingers at the top of the slope, squints in the dark.]

Hello? Who is that?

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[over_the_fop]

[He honestly doesn't know where that voice comes from, just faintly over the pounding pulse in his ears. Or even if it's real (some particularly cruel joke by an oxygen starved mind...) But whatever it is, he no longer has it in him to argue it down.

He lifts his hand, waving it to catch SOME attention. HERE. HERE! PLEASE OVER HERE.]

Re: Day 8_(?), a late evening

[devotedtothecore]

[ there are certain things one's senses are ever attuned to for survival's sake, even if the rest of conscious thought be far down a tunnel... the scrape of another's soles against bark, and he tenses, even before the new voice (familiar, a woman, he knows her) calls out--

--and then that move--

--and metal fingertips dig into the neck beneath them as he jerks the gun aside, barrel pointed at Lenalee's face, not turning to look, hoarse words in a cracking voice-- ]

Stay back.