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makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
lysoke) wrote in makinglies2025-09-27 05:54 pm
Entry tags:
Respite
Respite
The lake is dark and calm with a small breeze by the time they arrive at its shores. The stars above reflect perfectly in the still waters before them, and a small copse of trees lines one side, starting on their side of the river and jumping along the other side.
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
Chris takes a moment to re-prepare the spell he hadn't been able to cast in five years and gestures vaguely to the area around them as a suggestion for what the others can do. Gathering in the forest, sitting on a nearby over-turned log, it didn't matter to him. What he needed was an hour without interruption.
He settles down on the ground and presses his hands together as he closes his eyes to focus on the image in his mind. Within minutes, the white, shimmering outline of a large building forms in thin air. The gentle glow of its light barely spreads from the growing structure.
As promised, it takes the full hour before the slowly filling-in form is complete and finishes with a jaunty, echoing click.
Chris takes a breath, now sitting in front of the stoop that looks annoyingly like the one he'd passed earlier in the night, and gets back onto stiff legs as the glow fades away, leaving smooth, but otherwise unremarkable, white stone behind.
"Here we are. Home for the next however long we need. I'll start working on food and water next." Once they're inside, anyway, which is why he takes back his things from where he'd left them and leads them into the temple, marked only with the carving of ravens on the black wood of the double doors.
Inside is something just shy of opulence. The same polished white stone makes the walls, though black and gold veins course through the marble. The floor is the inverse, a black stone with white, shimmering speckles like a night sky if looked at for long enough. A single window faced East high up on the wall. The temple was alight with sconces at regular intervals along the walls, illuminating an open area that held all the offerings of comfort Chris could think of.
A large hot-springs-like bath, complete with a miniature waterfall, took up the left side of the room and ran into a smaller, similar bath at dog-height. Next to it, covered by a retractable screen, was a shower. Along the back wall, a raven's head emblazoned the white wall in black and watched out over a set of tables, chairs, and a couple of sofas. The majority of the center was clear for walking, but the right edge and right side of the room held a deeply inset pit of pillows, cushions, and blankets in various soft (black and purple) fabrics.
Finally, in the middle of the right-hand wall, there were two closed doors that, when inspected, revealed one room with a large, soft chair and rug, while the other room was made of nothing but stone with jars, pitchers, and plates on shelves along two walls and a cork wall perfect for catching daggers on the other side.
"I hope it works for everyone. I didn't...I didn't make separate bedrooms this time. I didn't figure we would need them tonight."
no subject
"I'll remind you said this tomorrow morning." She smiles down at him, waiting until his eyes are closed to shed her knives. She shouldn't hold back, but it's hard to ignore the reflex. They'll work on that another day. With those set aside, she slides down to join him, sighing in relief at how good it feels to fall into any kind of bed after the hell of a day she's been through. Her body doesn't ache much after the bath, but she's still exhausted.
Once she's fully down, she cuddles into Wolfe's side and wraps an arm across his chest as far as she can reach. "This is nice. Better for having you in here with me." Another sigh as she lets her eyes fall closed. "I've missed falling asleep with you at my side."
no subject
He doesn't expect Amelia to abandon what faith she has from home; she doesn't need to if she's not going to be written into the Weave as he and Jon need to be to keep themselves as they are. If she doesn't, Wolfe imagines the gods of her world will take her then, and...
No, that's not right. The deity present at all of their creation is the god of Duplicity, and fuck if any of them want to figure out what that afterlife is. Would that be her fate? She has no magic to weave and she has no previous connection to a God as Chris does...
"You should too. Choose a god, I mean. Chris says those of no faith here go somewhere awful. I don't want that for you." Now that the threat of death is again something to consider, especially with how they'll likely be earning a living.
no subject
His own eyes prick and sting out of sympathy. Empathy. They've lost too much and all at once, it's too cruel. Especially when they have the comfort and safety to actually face it.
At least, in Duplicity, there was almost always something else demanding part of their attention. There was always something else they had to keep moving for. Here, on the banks of a little-known lake in a small region, no one demanded anything of them. Time stood still. It was the unkindness of antiseptic on a wound.
He keeps his focus on his spell and how his hands stroke along Jon's back and his hair. His lips press small kisses where they happen to fall, but he makes no move to interrupt him or slow the storm or even try to offer kind words. There was nothing he could say that would feel right enough. Yet in the stillness where their words couldn't be heard and he couldn't interrupt him, he says "I love you" and "I'm sorry" to the quiet and hungry room.
no subject
It's a few minutes more before he's matching his breath to Chris', mirroring, and a another one before he finally pulls back enough to look up at the other man.
'I have to remember them,' he tries to say, lips moving silently. Jon shakes his head a moment, then tries for something simpler to articulate as a concept, if not as words to read by the lips. He lifts a trembling hand to cup Chris' face. 'Please... just cry, too?' At least he wouldn't be alone in the humiliation.
no subject
"I need to see to believe. Maybe I'll pick whoever helps us most to get written into the Weave." A concept she still only vaguely comprehends. It's important and will tie Wolfe and Jon to this plane, and right now that's enough for her. Some other day she'll ask more questions to better understand what's involved and if she needs to be threaded in too.
One of her shoulders rolls in a shrug as she cracks an eye open to look up at Wolfe. "I can always pick whoever you follow. Heard plenty of stories of gods liking blind followers. Why not one blinded by love?" That'll be enough, right? If it's not... dreams, she'll figure it out later because she's so much closer to sleep than she thought she would be when they stepped into the temple.
no subject
"I see no problem with that," he concedes, kissing the top of her head. "Get some rest, now. It's been one of the longest days I can remember."
Its strange to think how he started the day versus how its ending. From a prisoner to freer than hes ever been in his life, from alone and losing hope to surrounded by loved ones and looking forward to their future. Its a big change, but an exhausting one.
The rattle of a collar sounds as Patience hops down into the pit as well. She turns around twice and lays herself across both Amelia and Wolfe's legs, almost daring them to get up before resting her large head down on her paws. Chuckling again, Wolfe cranes his neck to spot Cookie snoring away under the table, only her back legs and tail visible among the furniture.
"I hope you didn't intend to get up again."
no subject
His throat fills with thorns again and he shakes his head. "I can't."
He's not even sure why he can't anymore. All of the reasons he might cling to run from him like sand between his fingers.
Crais would have told him he was being an idiot. Did he rail and fight against a second death so much more ignominious than the first? Martin would have been gentle, always so gentle when he smiled and blushed and looked at Chris like he kept waiting for the punchline on why Chris even wanted him. On second thought, he would have told him not to be so stubborn too...it makes him choke on the thorns in his throat. Did he die thinking they'd abandoned him? Left him to his Lonely end and the fears trapped in his head?
Chris' vision blurs, and he presses his forehead to Jon's while he fights not to let his grip turn to claws.
Did Jacob die knowing he'd never see his kids again? Did he die knowing they'd never actually been his kids? That the other life where he and Chris had quiet morning coffee and sunshine and vows was exactly as real as he'd been?
Caleb, Nate, Oliver, Nick, they would have died fighting for a world they couldn't save, a world they'd never broken in the first place, and one they never got to see again. Rosita, Stephen, Daphne, Lux, Diane, Katherine...fuck, Festival-
He sobs into the silence, the people who had made him an unstoppable line of faces in his mind's eye. He wasn't the Chris that existed here on this plane because that Chris hadn't known them, didn't carry them, and hadn't grown from them. He had and it made him just as important as anyone else with his face here. He was better because of them...and the least he could do was cry for them.
Amnos.
He hadn't thought of it for seeing his friend only a few hours ago alive and well, but that hadn't been the one in the city with him. His best friend had died knowing he'd never see his wife and kids again.
He can't keep himself upright at the thought; he crumples into Jon's chest with a silent scream of anger and grief. They'd deserved better than that. He should have done more.
no subject
While he can hear it, he feels Chris’ scream, and his fears and anguish come through at full volume. All of those names are in the book already. Jacob’s is somewhere near his elbow. He’d known that was an important one for Chris, much like Aloise for Amelia and Anders for Wolfe. They’re names that need to be remembered. But ‘Amnos’ is one he needs to add.
He holds Chris as he cries, pulling him onto the sofa as he lays back and down to make it easier. Jon lets him go for as long as he needs to, keeping a steady rhythm of harder twists in Chris’ curls to remind him of where he is and that Jon, at least, is here and real.
no subject
Chris's tear-blurred gaze is stuck on the pattern of the couch where he's lying with Jon. It seems abstract at first glance, but staring at it with his thoughts chaos and the sparks of pain that offer bright flashes of clarity in the storm, it occurs to him: it's one of Amelia's embroidery designs. Every detail of this place comes from his mind, his imagination, and he can't remember putting that design on this couch, but some part of his thoughts must have done it. It's such a little thing, but incongruously feels huge in the moment. She's part of him in even the smallest of details, just as Jon and Wolfe are. Just as they all are.
So long as they continue to survive, so will those they've lost. They wouldn't be forgotten.
Fresh tears spill from him, but they're calmer, quieter. He sniff and shudders, but the clouds clear more than they have all day, and finally the spell falls.
"I'm..." he stops himself from apologizing. He doesn't want Jon's; why should he offer his own? Instead, he softly offers: "Thank you."
no subject
“Hell of a thing to say to someone when you walked in and knocked a pen out of their hand.” His tone is as light as he can manage through the thickness that still plagues his throat. “Thank you. I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I just… I’m scared of losing them. Forgetting them somehow. If the gods here take the Eye away… what if it takes my memories as a punishment? I don’t want to… I thought if I wrote them down…”
no subject
"Well I wasn't going to apologize for doing that...I didn't want you to hurt yourself. And we'll make sure they're remembered." He can't promise Jon will remember, he can't promise anything about the Eye...but they could do better than scrawling on skin.
He sits up enough to put a hand on Jon's arm. "Let's make sure these are all on paper...and then we're going to wash this off...though we can wait until the morning, if you'd like. I think we can do our loved ones better than this. Find some way to permanently honor them and get a proper, dedicated book for filling with everything we remember of the people we want to hold onto. The people worth holding onto." He traces his thumb absently over Dorian's name but doesn't press any more than that.
"You don't have to bear all of them and their stories alone...in fact, I'd be hurt if you tried...those who were important to both of us belong to both of us...alright?"
no subject
"They're all in the book you gave me, I was just- I guess I was worried about... someone taking it away?" Saying it aloud, it sounds stupid, paranoid. "Sorry. I just keep expecting something terrible to happen." More terrible than everyone they knew in Duplicity dying and Chris discovering he has a double. "Something to snatch us back or take what things we have." He sighs and runs his fingers along Chris' arm.
"But finding something better than my skin is- It's a good idea. There's only so much canvas to work with there, and I don't fancy going bald to make more room." His mind turns to Mary Keay, and that just makes him think of Gerry. And Agnes. Gertrude. Tim. Sasha. Martin...
Jon takes a breath and closes his eyes, mentally steadying himself.
"For tonight, I, er... I'll wear long sleeves, I think. Don't tell Wolfe. Or Amelia. Please? They don't need to see this."
no subject
“I won’t. There are likely to be very few secrets between us as we go forward, both by necessity and proximity…I’ll keep whatever ones you ask that are in my power.”
His next kiss falls to Jon’s palm which he then presses it to his still splotchy cheek.
“Be kind to your paranoias the next while, considering what we’ve been through -you the longest- they have their place and our understanding. But…also know I’m still intending to help you against yourself as needed, I don’t even-” his words catch briefly and he clears his throat to keep going. “I’ve nothing but you all to put my focus on now…you’re going to bask and suffer under my undivided attention.”
no subject
“It doesn’t feel… long. It’s all rather straightforward for what’s happening there.” He knows he’s probably asking for too much pain from the cleric, but that need to speak is still there. “And you don’t have to say yes. I won’t explode or anything.”
But he’ll be consumed by terribly curiosity, no doubt.
no subject
But then he’s reminded of the statement; he’d nearly forgotten with everything else.
He nods and keeps hold of Jon’s hand. “Tell me…please. I want to know them.” Even if he couldn’t help them, he could at least hear the terror they’d weathered. Call it his last act as the king in his mind, perhaps.
Or just masochism.
no subject
There's also a soft click nearby, and if the cleric looks about, he'll see a second tape recorder has appeared on the sofa and begun recording.
"Blessed Bane, Black Lord who conquers all, grant me your power to smite this dragon, this thing of metal and fire." The Archivist voice takes on something close to the lilting accent of Chris' homeland, but it's strained, frightened. "We are your chosen people. I am yours. I clench my fist and see my gauntlet covered in blood, the blood of my enemies, the blood of my lesser brothers. What are these twisted things of flesh and bone that frolic at the monster's feet? They are crimson and ivory, your colors, too, but nothing you would bring to us. My Lord, I am your supplicant, I am your knight. Use me.
"Why do you hesitate, my Lord? Am I not strong enough? Have I not proved myself loyal enough? Faithful enough? Have I not been damned enough, Master of All?
"No. No, my faith is strong, my Lord. I believe in you. This monster that holds the bones of children will fall by my hand. It must fall by my hand. I am strong enough for this. I won't fail like the others. I won't. I'm not afraid. I'm not!"
The Archivist draws in a deep breath, the words having come in an increasingly frantic ramble. When he speaks again, his voice is smaller.
"Lord Bane, I am frightened. My armor is pierced, my is flesh in ruins. Please... please, my Lord, I don't want to become one of them. I am yours. Render me to ash. Lord Bane? I beg you, Lord Bane. Don't let them take me." His voice cracks. "I don't want to be undead. I don't want to be only blood. Please? It's coming toward me. Lord Bane? Anyone? Please, gods, I don't want to die like this!"
There's a break again as the Archivist draws in another long breath, then his voice changes to something deeper, something far more powerful.
"You are weak, boy. How unbecoming."
The Archivist lets out another breath and the eyes vanish as his body unclenches again. "Christ... is that... Sorry." He lifts a hand to rub at his eyes. Channeling some sort of Templar of Bane had not been his expectation. But of course they'd be scared. Their god is a tyrant who loves terror.
cw: light panic, ptsd
One of the Bane Hands...probably native to Melvaunt and her temple to the Black Lord. He could guess names, but he pushes the ones he knows aside. He doesn't want confirmation. Whichever one he was, he was abandoned at the last to the horrors that might have been the Tyrant Lord's doing in the first place. Abaonded like many in Bane's palm.
The memory of a vision flickers in his mind. The soul-deep voice passing judgment on Chris' kneeling form in His unfathomable palm. " Disappointing " he'd proclaimed...and let his cleric Fall into a waking nightmare of fire and ash and the dead of his city. The parallel is no different now as the dark paladin pleads and meets cold condemnation.
But that voice coming from his Archivist...it fills his veins with ice and steals his breath.
Was Jon hearing that through the dying paladin? Was he hearing it- was it for him? He tries to shake that thought off...if it was for 'him', it would be for the him still out there in the carnage. It doesn't stop his own fear from spiking.
He reaches both hands out to grasp onto Jon's arms, eyes wide and breath uneven once more. "How...how did you hear him? Through the Bane Hand or...or was he in your head? Is he still...?"
You are weak, boy.
Look how far you've come, just as I planned for you.
Did you think our separation was your choice? I simply opened the door for you
I offer safety. Certainty. I can protect them...you know what needs doing.
He feels sick. If they're still claimed, then Bane would notice them sooner or later; he would notice this remnant and see opportunity, maybe even power in these people from other planes. Planes untouched by the other gods, planes he could make use of. People he could make use of.
cw: light panic, ptsd
"I can't sense anything else? Can you?" He knows Chris has some ability to deal with spirits. Deities may be something beyond him, but having the cleric focus on things that he can do will, hopefully, forestall any sort of spiral. They've done that once only a few minutes ago. They don't need to do it again.
"Would he leave some sort of imprint if he were actually speaking through me?"
no subject
His heartbeat is still racing, but his breathing gets back under control and his hands slide down to rest, loose on Jon’s legs. He sighs.
“I don’t think I’d sense anything if he didn’t want me to…but he likes letting me know when he has control over something I love…so you probably just heard it from the paladin, not him directly.” Unless it was some long game starting, something to keep him guessing…but thinking like that wouldn’t help anyone.
He brings his hands up to scrub across his face. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that…I was scared he had you. I’m still scared he’ll take an interest in you all as soon as he knows I’m here. I should have planned this better.”
The last part wasn’t meant to be out loud, but he doesn’t take it back either. Bury it…there was space now.
“Thank you…for telling me. He won’t be the only one with unanswered prayers; the Raven Queen’s reapers will be busy tonight.” He needed to contact her. Commune and ask what questions he most needed to until tomorrow. “Are you okay, love?”
no subject
What he can realistically do against a god is up in the air, but until he and the others are written into the weave of Faerun, there probably isn't any sort of precedent for them or what they might be capable of. Unbound by the laws of reality here.
For now.
"I'm- Yeah. I think I'm fine? Better?" He can't help a small grimace. "Sort of. Less hungry. We should head out, probably. If you're ready. I'm sure Wolfe and Amelia are wondering after us. I think it might be prudent to tell them about this and your concerns about Bane in the morning. Just so we can all mentally prepare ourselves for whatever the bastard might try to do."
no subject
The assurance that he wasn’t going to deal with Bane alone is slightly better and the claim on him brings a flutter of a smile to his lips. On some level, he wishes he could handle Bane alone, just to keep them all out of it…but he knew he could be braver with them, wouldn’t bend a way he shouldn’t with them at his back. He was stronger with them than without.
He would tear their enemies and those who hurt them apart with tooth and claw, he can’t deny them the same, not at this point.
“We’ll be sure to feed you proper soon. For now, I think you’re right: we should go back out and I’ll tell them in the morning. You all need to know his signs, just in case.”
He stands, stretches, and steals another fortifying kiss from his boyfriend as he makes to help him back to his feet as well.
“Shall we? I think we only half look like we’ve been crying.”
dirty 20 insight
Wolfe tries craning his neck to see them without jostling Amelia and mostly manages, immediately clocking the drawn and tired looks on their faces even in the dark. He doesn't say anything of it, though. There are a myriad of things to be upset over, and continue to be upset over for the next lifetime. He's not going to fault them over it, especially with the very telling detail of Jon now wearing a sweater Wolfe knows once belonged to Martin.
It's good that they'd gotten some of it out, honestly. Wolfe had been worried Chris would bottle it up until he exploded in some other way, but in Jon's arms he knows Chris feels safe enough to crack. It used to be he felt safe in Wolfe's too, but... But that's a silly thought, one that Wolfe refuses to entertain. He's tired, not jealous, and Chris knows he never would have been parted from him if he had any choice. How could he waste time being jealous? Now? It's absurd. Jon just happened to be the one alone with him for any stretch of time since they got here.
Exasperated with himself, Wolfe just raises his arm to them invitingly. Just because he wants reassurance, general noise, and to drown out the fear that he won't be able to reach the Fade, instead casting himself into an inky black Void if he tries to sleep, doesn't mean everyone else should be kept up by it. Besides, maybe he won't, and he'll dream in the Fade like always. He won't know if he doesn't try. He decides he'll feel much better about trying with both Amelia and Chris at his sides, though, so he beckons to them with his one free arm and tries to keep himself still otherwise.
no subject
He’s a bit embarrassed it takes more than a second or two to clock Wolfe and Amelia in the pillow pit. Dimmers. Chris knows what a dimmer switch is, so there’s probably one around here.
The Archivist shakes his head slightly and moves to sit at the edge of the pit, ready to let Chris crawl in first and snuggle up to his mage. He does spare a raised brow for Amelia, though, already seemingly asleep. Good for her being able to just pass out. Would that they all possessed such fortitude.
no subject
He steps down into the pit and strips out of Jacob’s hoodie so he can set it aside. Between his and Jon’s emotions and the mucus and tears that came with them, he’d need to clean it. The normal way, unfortunately.
He snags a soft, thick blanket from the mass and crawls over to Wolfe and Amelia. The latter gets a brief kiss to her cheek before Chris settles on his side to press his back fully into the line of Wolfe’s body. His arms and the blanket are held open for his Archivist to fill. Between his boys, warm on both sides and in the safety of the near-impenetrable temple, Chris can feel his anxiety slowly start to unravel.
“Sorry we took a while, we need to discuss some things in the morning…for now we ought try for some sleep. Also: clever of you to manage the lights, love. I’m impressed.” He keeps his voice low to not disturb their rogue over much, but once all three are in the pillows, the room darkens to nearly nothing but a low, gentle glow from the raven head at the back wall.
no subject
"I just treated the room like a candle for the lights, if that makes sense? One of the first things I ever learned was to dim a candle." He yawns, curling his arm around Chris in a possessive squeeze before rolling it back out to let Jon settle in. He'll find Jon's shoulder and give him a gentler squeeze too when he settles. He may be Involved with Amelia and Chris, but Jon is his as well. They're all his, and he'd not only die for them; He'd live for them. All three of them. Even if there's temporary Tranquility in his future, he'll trust they'll find a way to overcome it. He trusts them.
"I'm proud of you, too. I know you hate to cry," Wolfe murmurs softly into Chris' hair, burying his nose in that familiar scent. He'd missed them so much he'd hallucinated his partners sometimes while he was being put through his paces. To have them actually here, now, is the most settling thing in the world. "We can talk tomorrow, like you said. I just wanted you to know that."
cw: minor ptsd moment, paranoia
(no subject)