Forums » Forum Games » How Would Your Chara React... V2! (IC)

She could feel it, the twisting of magical bullets lodging even deeper into her shoulder, even when its caster was long slain; such was the grasp of a pride of Thay, even when dead would find their mark. It felt like a curse, something tunneling deeper into muscle so much it started to kiss bone, and she bit her tongue. So many other wounds, and she was too spent of magic to try to knit herself together. Any bottles of potion, any points of collection, everything run dry.

Perhaps this operation, this... notion to take the corrupt city of Thay as their own, to unseat the Council of Zulkirs and throw the Mageocracy into chaos was a fool's errand, after all. While The Flock did have the head of a lich on figurative display, taking on a government where one had no need for masquerades or humility was a different ball game entirely. Their enemy was vehemence in its nature, rivalled only by how long he'd defied death at the hands of both the Gods and his co-workers to scoff at snooty little upstarts like themselves. She had her doubts on the plan's conception and its fruition as the small cell started to be spread too thin. Perhaps she would meet a short reprieve here, and be returned in a couple of decades. But it would be too late, and she would not try again if she fell to a bullet wound in the city's waterways, of all places.

"Fizzy? Are you there?" Zaharah whispered, feeling a piercing pain as she croaked the words out.
"Song... C'mon, Song, just a little more. You can do it." Came the little raven's voice, and she saw them perched on her shoulder. "Don't die on us now, we need you."
"If I don't make it out of the sewers... Tell Zubair I love him. Tell him to get everyone out."

It was then when she heard the telltale sound of arcane magic being pulled from the Weave, and quickly ducked away from sight just in time to escape a bolt of lightning from hitting where she was just half a moment ago. Fizzle squawked, their feathers puffed in alarm. She swatted them away and projected into their mind--Go! There was no plan to fight this mage, only to live, to survive. However, the pains that pierced her back and sides were not keen on letting her run as she would unfettered, and as punishment, took two more witch bolts to her side.

This time, she fell.

Though she could see well in the absence of light, this was the first time colour faded from her eyes in the dark. The telltale red robe of her Thay assailant seemed to meld in with the looming dark. "Any last words?" They said, a bright light shining from their hands.

And that was when she saw it. Behind the mage was the towering figure of Zubairad, with his glaive raised, Fizzle dutifully on his shoulder.

Zaharah smirked. "I don't know, do you?"

----

[decided to add this bit that was sitting in my private drive. hehe]

She felt him wipe off the traces of warm blood off her face and cheek, and replace it with the sensation of something cool, yet comforting–his healing energies, both a personification of Sardior’s radiance and of Khei Orn’s frigid peaks, into something that resembled bundling in front of a fire on a cold winter’s morning. If not for the smell of the waterways, Zaharah would have been lost in the sensation.

“I have you.” She heard his voice, somber and steady, but there was a hitch where it belied a trace of emotion. “You are safe. I have you.”

“Where– where are we going?”
“Base of operations. You are not leaving until you make a full recovery, the damage you sustained is extensive. There will not be a negotiation.”

“No–the rest can’t see me like this, please.”
“Why not?”
“Zubair, they need me to be strong. Everyone’s at their capacity, and I need to double the amount myself. If they see I can’t carry it–” She said, before the man simply leaned her on his shoulder.

“We will address the fact that you almost died today later,” He started off, holding her closer as he carried her, walking at a steady pace. “To be seen as infallible is no strength. It is arrogance, and will only serve to further divide you and your peers. If unity is truly what you choose to preserve, you will opt to be seen as vulnerable to them, that the difference between you is thinner than a razor. Even you can fall. But what matters is you let those who you owe your trust to, catch you.”

“You do realize that is a huge risk to take, yes?”

“I do. And I am asking that you take it, if you respect them.”

"You look like you've not slept a wink."

Julia was, as always, the first to notice. She was their eagle-eyed receptionist, and outside of work she'd have told Beaman that he looked like shit. Here, though, they upheld their chirpy and professional masks - even him, decked out in scrubs and with bags under his eyes big enough for a shopping spree in Harrods.

"No. Not really," his expression was a typically bashful one, his voice no louder than a murmur. Julia leant in over the desk.

"Yeah?" She prompted with a smile.

"Yeah. Nala was sick. We were up all night, again."

"Nala. That's the--"

"The fox pup. Yeah," Beaman's eyes met hers, only for a moment, in a flash of sheepish blue. "I know I have to step back, really. But... she needs me. You know?"

"Paulie..."

"I know," he turned away, radiating quiet frustration. "I know, Jules. And when I got home yesterday, she came right over. I know it isn't good for her. But she's still so weak, and she'd--" he cut off, voice cracking. "I can't. Not yet."

"It's not your house, is it?"

"They won't find out," his smile wavered on the edge of being encouraging.

"And if they do?"

"Then I deal with it." The certainty in his voice made Julia smile. It was a certainty that would, hopefully, be echoed when he finished work and found an indignant text waiting from his housing company...

"Summer, 2000," she said softly into the silence, "at Tenerife. Do you remember?"

His mind was slow to whirr back into life; pitifully so, really. His reply was equally so, and he was grateful for the darkness that cloaked just how half-awake he was.
"I remember James getting into a fight with a lifeguard."

A laugh bubbled from her. "Oh, he was so pissed. Didn't J think he was trying it on with his new missus?"

"Ironic," it was dry as bleached bone, "that that man had such a talent for trouble."

"Has," she corrected with a grin.

"You're still in contact?" This was edged with indignance that Kez either didn't notice, or chose not to acknowledge.

"Yeah, man. J wouldn't let me leave, if I wanted to. He's... not really changed. Still wears that stupid leather jacket. And the hair gel. Bottles of the stuff, Sol. Trust me - I've been in his bathroom."

His sudden snort of amusement was unexpected, and admittedly undignified. Still, the words had caught him off guard. "Oh-- really? God forbid. He must keep them in business, mustn't he?"

"You know it. Though, you're not exactly one to judge," and now her glittering ochre gaze turned on him; his chest squeezed as she purred, "Mr. Fancy Pants. I see you've not changed, either."

"Well," he intoned, and then trailed off - unsure how to quite explain how much had changed. So, instead, he just shrugged - with the one shoulder he could still do so properly with - and said, "you can't really judge me for having style, now, can you?"

"Mm, it's always... suited you," the ridiculous joke wasn't enough to hide the way she looked him up and down, her eyes lingering hungrily. The next breath he took was sharper, and he moved a little bit aside; away from her. Her brows furrowed.
"... Sol?"

"Mm?" He met her eyes with the slightest hint of sheepishness, not realising his own gaze had defected. "Yeah?"

"Are you--"

"I'm fine," he snapped immediately, lifelong muscle memory kicking in in an instant. "Just- stop, alright?! Stop it."

"Huh?"

"Stop- looking at me like that. What - I'm a piece of meat, nowadays? I didn't expect that from you."

He couldn't quite hide the rattled disgust in his voice.

"Got it. Sorry," she dipped her own gaze. It was genuine remorse, but stopped before pity. "But - no. God-- of course not. You know you never were - not to me, anyway."
He looked away with a dismissive grunt. She chuckled, adding,
"Besides, Don Juan-- you really think I'm gonna give up everything just for this? We're not kids, anymore. I've got a life, you've got a life. There's... gaps to fill, right? We aren't really the same people as before."

Was it hope toying with her senses, or did his shoulders relax just a little, upon hearing that? Did she imagine that look of measured gratitude that she caught?

Whatever the case, his next words were seemingly back to levity. "Exactly - fashion sense notwithstanding."

Kez grinned, rolling her eyes. "Right. Apart from that."

"Although," and, yes - she'd said the right things, because the slowly spreading grin on his face was out of place, being so mischievous. "I hope you got rid of that godawful puffer jacket. Please, tell me that you don't still wear that monstrosity."

"You kidding? I outgrew that thing ages ago."

"Thank god," and he laughed for real, now; a soft sound, tainted with disuse. "I never wanted to say it-"

"Oh, you said it every time!"

"-- because I'm a paragon of virtue. Of course," and there was that infuriatingly charming, we both know I'm right, but I'll humour you anyway" grin again - self-assured and all too fond and, reserved - or so she had always greedily thought - just for her, "and far be it for me to tell you how to dress-"

"Oh, don't! You said J looked like he got dressed in the dark on the daily. I think you even said it to me a few times-"

"-- but I, for one, am glad to see that it's no longer on you. Have you gotten rid of it, yet?"

"... Yes. Why?"

"Really, now? That's a shame. Because I think that the local clown college is taking donations."

"Oh, you jackass! God, I'd forgotten how annoying you were!" But despite it all, she was laughing.
She reached over, on instinct, to give him a playful whack on the arm - and then stopped. As soon as she raised her hand, his own expression had flickered to mistrust; a line with bad signal. Slowly, she lowered her hand - and then, thinking better of it, reached over to slip an arm around his shoulders.

He winced.

She readjusted, keeping the pressure light until she felt him relax microscopically. Even then, the way he leant away from her told her enough. It clawed at her heart, leaving hot weals of rage directed at someone that she knew she could never confront.

"Sorry," she said, tentative. And then, "is... this okay?"

He thought about it for a long moment, and only in the last few seconds did his gaze shift to meet hers.
She'd known him for so long, and seen the expression from him so much, that it was impossible to miss the fear in his face. Despite that, though, there was something gentler there. More acquiescent.

"Yes," he said eventually, softly.

"I'm glad," she replied - and that was it.

When he did doze off again, in the companionable silence that followed, only then did she say what she really meant by that. I'm sorry, and you didn't deserve it and, most importantly, I love you.

He, still more lucid than he'd admit, and perhaps not as surprised as he should have been, said nothing in response.

Something told him there'd be time for him to say it all back, later.