asgardmeridiem | [Closed] Empty Spaces & Broken Graces

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[Closed] Empty Spaces & Broken Graces

Who: Ril Sorrin & Open to Whocast
What: Vanaheim had been a quiet, if largely sleepless, adventure, but coming home is a waking nightmare and a wicked shock.
When: Day 334 & Subthread: Late Evening 334
Where: Who house, streets, near the castle where all those dead folks have apparently gone.
Rating: PG-13? Dealing with death and shock. She's not going to react well. At all. It's not something you expect.

It was a subtle difference, a darkening of mood as they returned from Vanaheim to the city. The streets felt as if they were darker, heavier, and the air, too felt as if it were weighed down. It wasn't cold, but she felt as if it should have been a biting horrible cold. Ril passed it off as the sort of thing that could happen when there was a temperature shift. As she moved up the steps, her bag of newly bought clothes en tow, she shifted to listen to the house.

This was her home with the folk she called family without reservation. And she was home in her home. There was an eagerness to her movements as she walked through the front door, searching the space in front of her. Familiar faces, familiar things. There was something different about the air, too, cleanser, perhaps with a sharp scent.

No matter, it was fine. Everything was fine, and she had something for Six ,she did.

"Anyone about, then?" she called, shifting on the balls of her feet with the door wide open behind her. Already she couldn't quite stop the smile spreading across her face. Where'd he gotten to? Surely he'd be about.

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It's late when Six finally stumbles out of the Castle, late and cold. And he does stumble, at least at first; he's still rather in shock about it all. The last thing he remembers is, well, his throat being cut by someone he trusted. And he is grateful that Eleven was able to stop him; he'd been trying to kill another person, and he has plenty of blood on his hands as it is. At that thought his hands almost unconsciously press together, rubbing... there's no blood there now, of course, but he still remembers the tacky feeling of it, how it pulled at his skin as it dried, how much he enjoyed...

With a shudder and a bit of effort he manages to pull himself back to reality. He needs to... go to the house in Thor, probably, much as that thought fills his stomach with leaden dread. They'll probably tell him it wasn't his fault, that he's not to blame... and while that's most likely true, he doesn't want to hear it. He'd rather be given to the people he hurt and let them tear him apart and blame him for what he did under her influence. But he has nowhere else to go...

His footsteps slow to a halt, so caught up in his thoughts and the torment of trying to decide what to do that he doesn't even notice Ril yet. That will probably change soon, whether or not she makes her presence known.

She hadn't dozed off, not once, not once in the hours that she'd sat with her knees up against her chest, waiting for him. It doesn't matter that her fingers ache or that she's lost her grip on the blanket she'd brought him, or that when she finally sees him, she's moving. It doesn't matter, either, that there isn't an inch of her that now feels anything except for joy, because there's his face and he's got arms and legs and he's all attached and--

He's alive.

But she comes to a stop, hovering, taking in his face while her eyes water and smart. Her lips part and there's just his name, quiet in the air between them as her expression shifts through a gamut of emotions. There nothing negative in her, save the sharpness of worry that's been pulling her to pieces since Eight had told her he'd died. He was alive and he was here and nothing else mattered right now.

He hears his name, but it feels like it takes him forever to look up and find the person who called to him. Part of it is because he's dreading who he might see... and part of it is that everything feels just a bit off, like his brain didn't all make it back from Hel's region with him.

It feels like it takes forever, but in reality he probably spots her within moments, his eyes widening a little... of all the people who he thought would go to the effort of finding him the moment he came back from the dead, she hadn't even been on the list. Perhaps she should have been. "Ril?" His voice is soft, and there's a bit of a croak to it, as if it's rusty from ill use. "What... what are you doing here?"

She couldn't be looking for him. He didn't deserve that kind of consideration from her. He certainly didn't deserve her looking at him like he's the first ray of sunshine after a long, dark winter's night.

"Waiting," she says and she can't help the crack in her voice. "Eight said you'd been-- That you'd." Been killed, were corrupted, were made to do horrible things, were dead, you were dead, you were dead. She can't. She can't even say it and it makes her shake.

"I came for you. " There's a hitch in her voice and she can't not lean up, farther, as far as she can to place tiny little kisses across his face as if making sure he was solid and real. Her lips are bright bursts of cold, but she doesn't notice as she curls herself around him. "I waited."

Waiting. For him. Long enough that her lips are cold where they brush his face. He doesn't deserve it... but he's not foolhardy or brave or... strong enough to throw that kindness away, or to ignore what it means. And when she wraps herself around him, it's all he can do to not crush her against him with the force of his return hug.

His sigh comes out more like a sob. "Ril..." is all he's able to get out before he has to bury his face in her shoulder. She's so much shorter than he is that he has to bend a little, which probably looks a bit silly, but he doesn't care right now. He needs this, very badly. They both do.

She turns her lips against his temple and brushes her fingers though his hair soothingly. Her words are a murmur of quiet Antedan, low in her throat, as she tucks herself as tightly as she can against him. He's not alone in this, she'd never left him be alone. And if he could make her spinning less, make it stop, then she'd do the same for him.

"Come home with me," she says, her fingers at the nape of his neck. "Come home."

"I can't... can't go back to the house." He means the main house, with all his friends and other selves. He mutters it into her shoulder, unwilling or unable to let go just yet... it's something of a minor miracle his knees haven't given way beneath him already. "I... I have nowhere I can go." She was living with them last he checked, so it doesn't even occur to him to ask to go to her room in Sigyn.

"I've not let the room in Sigyn go just yet." She shivers lightly as she cups his cheek, her touch infinitely gentle. "Still has my things in it."

Her lips find his temple again and sink in as if she could give him her strength and energy. She can feel a tug, a whisper somewhere deep inside of her, a part of that wants to heal. It rises sleepily and falls away, forgotten. Her lips tingle and her fingers feel as if they belong. There's the barest hesitation as her thumb skims along his cheekbone and jaw.

"You've me, haven't you?" Ril asks. "Always somewhere to go."

It's the perfect solution, and he seizes upon it with an almost unbelievable sense of gratitude. "Yes. Please, I... I'd like that." It makes the leaden feeling in his stomach, already easing thanks to her presence, almost vanish. He doesn't have to face them before he's ready; he knows he'll have to eventually, in fact he'd better let at least one person know he's alive tonight, but it doesn't have to be now.

He breathes in a deep breath, hoping it will help him gather strength... and pulls away from her slightly. "I'd... like to go there now, if it's not too forward of me." It's cold, it's late, and he's exhausted. Does it always leave one tired, to return from death? He doesn't acknowledge what she just said with words, but whenever they separate from the hug he'll catch her hand and hold it tightly all the way to her room.

"Never too forward," she says, leaning down to finally catch the blanket she'd bought him. It takes a second to drape it over his shoulders and tuck herself back against his side. It's a long walk, she knows, but it's just fine. With her hand in his, they do walk, the both of them exhausted until Sigyn's familiar shape give way to a door, and the door into halls and the halls into corridors, then her sparsely lived in room.

She stood there with him, more than a little winded, more than exhausted and wasn't sure if she were holding him up or if he was holding her. Her fingers, laced with his, only twitched the once.

"The blanket," she says in a thin voice, "I bought it. For you. Thought you might need it."

The blanket helps, but not nearly as much as the way she presses against him as they walk. It seems to take forever to get to Sigyn, and he's not sure if that's because of his exhaustion or how cold he is or just... everything. It doesn't help that signs of what they did are everywhere, when you know what to look for: a burned wall here, a wrecked cart there. He even thinks he sees a burned and blistered handprint shape in one of the walls, but he looks away quickly--he doesn't need any reminders of his part in things right now.

He feels almost too tired to move by the time they make it to her room, though he looks down at her when she speaks. "...thank you." The words are quiet, but he means them. It means quite a lot that she was thinking of him over there, that she was concerned for his well being.

He really should take off his coat... it's clean, the colors fresh and bright, just like new. He supposes he ought to be grateful to someone for that, but he just can't find the energy... he squeezes her hand gently, already suspecting he doesn't have to ask what he's about to ask, and asking it anyway. "I would consider it a very great favor if you'd... sleep with me tonight. That's all, just sleep, I promise." The thought of facing the night alone fills him with more dread than going back to the house in Thor--if he tries, he won't get any sleep at all.

There's an unused hanger in the closet, she knows that because she looked, once. His 'thank you' was met by the touch of her lips against his cheek and the press and slide of her fingertips as she tugs his jacket free. As she neatly works him free, she nudges him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed.

Once she has his jacket tucked away and safe in the closet, she's back with him, all soft humming for a minute. Her hands cup his face. He didn't need to ask, not really, not as she wraps her arms around him with her cheek against his chest.

"Of course I will," she finally says, pulling back to kiss him on the tip of his nose. If he hadn't asked, she would have offered, because going anywhere was too cold and too wrong. "I couldn't, wouldn't, leave you be." Her fingers tangle with his.

"As long as you want me," Ril says softly. It broke her voice to say it, but she meant it, and slowly but steadily worked on making sure what he was wearing wasn't too tight. There was no sense in sleeping if you weren't comfortable. Her fingers touch his face, his hair, his arms. Little things, little touches, and she kisses his cheeks again. She understood the need far more than she used to, that's for sure.

"You and I both," she murmurs. "Not alone."

Edited (lalala what are words) 2013-10-02 11:37 (UTC)

He didn't expect that, but he'll go along with it willingly enough--though he has the presence of mind to kick off his shoes and work the tie at his throat free before she gets back. And that's really as far as he wants to go tonight... the rest of his clothes, while not the most comfortable things to sleep in, aren't going to be uncomfortable. They'll do.

...though if she wants to loosen something else, he won't fight her. He's beyond embarrassment and petty concerns like how much skin they're revealing to each other right now; they'll probably return with a little sleep, but now he just doesn't care. He doesn't give her long to work, though, before he's flopping back onto the bed, still holding onto her if she'll let him. "Let's get some sleep?" Of course he'll have to adjust to be actually on the bed, but that's easy enough.

Ril wriggles a little. mumbling incoherently under her breath about his pants being ridiculous for sleeping. It's a half thought that turns into quick fingers and a neatly folded pair of slacks because no one in their right mind could possible get a decent sleep in them. It's not even about the color, but the cut of the blasted things. She's rather deft about it so she's never really out of reach and by the time he's flopped back, she's already folded the pants and tossed them into a neat pile.

It takes her a minute to shrug off her top, quick-fold, and then toss it. The light camisole she'd elected to wear beneath it rides up, exposing the raised rust and spattered iridescent scaling that's scattered across her back and up her spine. It's soft and textured and goosebumps at the slight chill in the air. When she settles, her cheek finds his chest and her fingers curl agains the hollow of his throat.

"Mm, sleep." Her voice is sleepily satisfied and utterly exhausted. If he wants to move, she's just with it enough to shift around with him until he's comfortable. Briefly, she brushes his chin with her knuckle, the motion gentle.

It's certainly more comfortable for him once they're gone, and at least he's wearing some undergarments under there, so her removing them doesn't really raise that many alarm bells in his current state. He'll be more embarrassed about this tomorrow, in all probability, but now...

He manages to twist a bit, shoving himself back until he's more comfortably oriented on the mattress, half on his side with his arms wrapped snugly around her. There's enough of a chill in the air that he remembers to reach for the covers, pulling them over both their bodies with a few tugs. He can already feel the magic of a soft bed and bodyheat starting to work, tugging his consciousness toward sleep, or at the very least, rest.

That's the plan, anyway, though his fingers somehow managed to work their way under her camisole during all that and are resting against one of the soft, textured patches at her lower back. He's not planning to do anything more, but he is sort of sleepily wondering just what that is and exactly what species she was before she came here.

Edited 2013-10-02 18:52 (UTC)

Ril will not be embarrassed because sharing a bed is a very Antedan thing to so. She will, however, be a little sad to leave the bed. Six tucked around her makes her want to rest, maybe even to sleep.

The sigh she lets out as his fingers touch her back turns into a brief shiver and a slight arch as if she were saying more please. Ril's murmur is low, almost a purr or the softest of trills. She's warm, curled up in the right pair of arms and he's safe. There is little more she wishes except, perhaps more fingers on her back because that is wonderfully pleasant. Drowsy, maybe that's the right word for what she was, pleasantly drowsy and thankful.

On the other hand, he's gotten rather used to sharing a bed with the TARDIS on the nights she chooses to be with him... perhaps he'll decide to refuse to be embarrassed about this. He'd needed it badly, and so had she; what was there to be embarrassed about?

Well, aside from his other selves deciding to tease him about it, but he could ignore that.

Mmm, that's a nice noise, not to mention a nice feeling when she arches against him. He strokes his fingers back across the area, a touch more firmly this time, sleepily experimenting with just what she likes there without any real thought about where that might lead.

A few light shivers work their way up her spine before spreading a bright burst of warmth where his fingers touch her skin. She twitches into him, shifting so there's more access. Her words are soft, but Ril is technically speaking speaking her mind. most definitely another language. Her tone is warm and the murmur of it more than a little appreciative. It had been a long time since she'd had someone touch her back. Ril knows she aches for it, needs the contact of it as much as sleep. The sleepiness might stay, but she's learning what she could from him in turn. How he moves, for example, and how he feels when his fingers glide across his back. It's a different sort of voice, touch is. And Ril now knows, for example, that she could stay here for ages letting him do that with absolutely no hesitation.

It was as if everything went still and quiet and there was just now with his fingers against her back. Pleasant was an understatement and if he kept that up, she'd just forsake the camisole just to be free of it.

He shivered slightly himself as her fingers went skimming over his skin in light, butterfly touches. It was definitely a little past 'nice' to have this right now; a distraction, something that could take his mind away from the horrors of what he'd done, and helped to do. And, well, there was the obvious, of course.

His fingers found their way further up her back, discovering more of those interesting soft areas... the contrast of texture was downright fascinating, really. He pushed the thin cloth out of his way, muttering soft curses in Gallifreyan when it got tangled in his fingers. He was too distracted to do more than just shove it up as far as he could before going back to running his fingers up her spine.

Edited 2013-10-04 00:00 (UTC)

She bit down on her bottom lip and breathed out, trying to keep herself still, though she couldn't quite help the way she twitched into his touch. The camisole found its way to the floor, unfolded and bereft in favor of his fingers.

The soft unintelligible murmur of her voice was almost soft enough that it was barely audible. Trying to focus only brought her sharply back to each stroke of his fingers against her skin. At the nape of her neck, there was a slightly raised symbol where Eth had marked her as her own, and like the flashes of iridescence down her back, it was a shimmering copper, a few shades darker than her own hair.

He made her forget to think and she had never been so comfortable with that idea in her life.

Good, the damn garment was out of the way now. It was so much easier to explore her skin and map out all the interesting textures and softnesses that patterned her back. When his fingers reached the base of her skull they found the odd raised marking. That was different... he allowed himself to be distracted by that, running his thumb slowly over the spot.

He was finally feeling warm again, warm and almost content, as long as he was able to concentrate on Ril. And... well, he was very tired. His hands and fingers had been moving slower over the past couple of minutes or so, and every time he blinked his eyelids took a fraction of a moment longer to open back up again. Sorry Ril, but he won't be able to stay awake much longer.

She was fine, quietly pleased that he was comfortable enough to doze off. His fingers had nearly sent her to sleep as it was. If he did fall asleep, she'd try to stay awake a little longer, and then let herself go as well. They'd had such a long evening from both his return and the walk to Sigyn.

Her soft hum was quietly encouraging. Sleep would be the best, now, even if she, too, kept fighting it.

Edited (Because sometimes I can English harder.) 2013-10-04 10:43 (UTC)

His answering hum was sleepy and barely audible, and his eyes are actually closed now. His fingers go on moving, slow and automatic, for a few more moments, but eventually it was replaced by stillness, deep even breathing, and the faintest suggestion of a snore.

He doesn't stir again for several hours. When he finally does, it's not really anything significant--just a whimpering noise under his breath. It's probably not enough to wake anyone who's deeply asleep, though his next groan is a little louder. Whatever he's dreaming about it's obviously not very pleasant--his face is contorted into an expression of either fear or unhappiness, it's hard to say which. Maybe it's both. His arms around Ril tighten, shaking ever so slightly with the strain or emotion of whatever scenario is being played out in his mind.

At some point during the little time she'd slept she'd turned to face him and woke to find herself tucked as close as possible to him, her head tucked under his chin. It was a sharp wakefulness, and she immediately reached out to stroke his hair. Her murmur was quiet, his name, gentle Antedan, and her lips brush his jaw.

It's a dream, a nightmare, and her fingers touch his cheek, find the nape of his neck in an attempt to soothe the dream away--or wake him as gently as possible. Either works for her.

Late Evening 344: Wake up, wake up

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