Built to Last

Independent multiverse Zelgadis Greywords rp blog. See pages for more information.

[ipraygreywords]

anonymous asked:

“I’ve got you.” - cholericchimera

Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse clean blood off themselves. 

Rezo has been unnaturally still since he cornered Riksfalto outside of Philionel’s bedchambers, and demanded she abide by a warrior’s honor code of temporary retreat.  Retreat, that the mourning might bury their dead. 

What was left of him.

The Sage has silently endured incessant personal and professional stress for many months now.  But it’s a struggle too great even for him to conceal his anguish.  Not only because Phil had become a close personal friend, but also….

Zelgadis enters the room–and fuck, fuck, of course, right now, when he cannot shield a soul from his pain, it has to be the one person for whom Rezo has tried to be flawless, in abject terror of falling back into dangerous old habits.  The Red Priest curses the gods who do not, do not, DO NOT have his trust.  And he does so audibly, a hiss of “shit” between his teeth, lips tightening into a thin line. He jolts even then, sampling something disgustingly ferrous on his lips. 

It dawns on him then, he hasn’t changed his garments. He hasn’t even washed his hands.  He’s still sitting at his desk, in his bloodied night clothes.  Blood … is there blood on his face?  How savage must he look, a healer baptized by the viscera of the person he could not save.  

    “I’m sor … !”   He can’t even get those three syllables out before his voice breaks, and he must swallow, and wait for the weakness to pass.  

Zelgadis cuts across him and simply says, “I’ve got you,” and he feels roughened stone hands take his own and quietly, diligently, kindly scrub off the blood of the man who would have been his grandson’s father-in-law, and it is too much, it is too much, too much, for Rezo, that they are here, at this juncture in both their lives, when his child would be burdened by this grief, because Rezo once again was weak, or stupid, or slow. 

I n s u f f i c i e n t , WORTHLESS old man! 

For the first time since he came to Seyruun, Rezo weeps in front of Zelgadis. Not a little bit. Not a tear or two.  A broken, rib-crushing, cannot-breathe-between-the-sobs kind of weeping.  He covers his mouth with a closed fist, and he cries some more, while a vein presses out against his pale forehead, while tears and snot run in an ugly torrent down his face.  He has never been less dignified, or more human.  

      “I … . w-wanted, I wanted … ! So MUCH  … . to be of USE to you, I … .wanted to save him for you, f-for HER, but especially for you, I … . please … believe me, I tried, I TRIED … . to save him!  You had a proper parent, you finally . … !  I’m sorry, I’m … SO sorry, I’m sorry … !” 

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP–!!!! 

Rezo bites down on his closed fist, and shivers once, violently, and shuts the fuck up, like he ought to.  The hand that Zelgadis has already cleaned scrubs down his face, as though to literally erase visible evidence of his devastation.  His features are blank again.

     “That was … inconvenient for you, forgive me.”  

His voice is dead. 

    “I’m sure Amelia needs you more right now.”  

I love you, and I’m sorry that I failed you again. 

[cholericchimera]

Zelgadis waits for Rezo to break, and then for the old man to piece himself back together again.

It has been many, many years, but Zelgadis has seen his grandfather this way before. He has seen him despair, seen him smash experiments and swipe tabletops clean in rage and desperation at his blindness, as Shabranigdo tore at his soul, as Zelgadis watched, shivering and conflicted, from behind bookshelves at Eris’s side before Rodimus would cart him away from the inappropriate sight.

But now, Zelgadis is an adult, and there is no Rodimus to cart him away, and Rezo is not enough on his own. He never has been, and perhaps if Zelgadis had been a little more then, they wouldn’t have come to this at all.

“You’re getting blood on the hand I just cleaned,” he says tiredly, unable to mask the weariness from his voice. Even him. Even him.

“Amelia is sleeping. I think. I’m not certain, but I did my best,” he continues, pulling a stack of cloths down from the high shelves and running them under warm water. “I stayed with her until she slept. I’m here now. I’m where I want to be, so don’t chase me off.”

Zelgadis cannot contend with Rezo’s anguish; he does not know how yet. He feels a child again, but--as with Amelia--he is doing his best.

There is silence as Zelgadis brings the warm washcloths to Rezo, begins to wipe at his face. He remembers, then, that this is Philionel’s blood, and he slips, dropping the washcloth. He begins to break, and frantically tries to stop it. The shock is wearing off, and he begs it not to leave.

“Damn it,” he says slowly, reaching down with trembling hands, vision blurred, unable to swipe the cloth. “God... damn it.”

[cholericchimera]

“It’s hard not to tell jokes when you’re surrounded by fools,” Zelgadis murmurs in his distraction, briefly flickering back to his traveling days with Lina, Gourry, Amelia, Xellos, and their guest adventurer flavor of the week.

Traveling again had been fun, but stressful. Zelgadis wondered, briefly, if he were getting old, or merely burnt out. He supposed it would have gone much better had Amelia not been whisked away by Brau demons, but c’est la vie.

“Amelia has always been that way. To everyone,” he added dismissively, waving a hand, then thought better of it on two fronts: he was currently writing poetry for the doter, much as the very thought brought unwelcome heat to his stony cheeks, and he and Rezo were on some sort of rocky path towards reconciliation--he supposed.

At any rate, it took great effort indeed to indulge the man.

“Amelia is... earnest,” he finally amended, “which I would find annoying, and did in fact at one point, but she’s grown into herself... marvelously. Not to say that I was entirely grown when I--when I failed to appreciate her potential, I mean.” He sighs. “She really can take care of herself--and I couldn’t stand to align myself so closely with someone who couldn’t carry her weight. I only want to support her, not guard her relentlessly.”

He returns to tapping the pencil, frowning, and it takes a moment for him to register Rezo’s interference with his paltry attempts at beginning a courtship--which he hadn’t thought of before attempting this blasted piece of rhymey bullshit, but that’s where he is.

“That’s--!” he sputters, going red in the face. “This is--notes--on--augh!”

Zelgadis puts his hands into his hair and grips; the wire does little to harm him, but the way he tugs brings a welcome distraction in the form of dull pain at his roots.

“Courtship is so formal and... declarative; Rezo, please.”

[cholericchimera]

@ipraygreywords

[ continued from X ]

As usual, Zelgadis’s jokes fall flatter than a conspiracy theory.

Well, he amends to himself, half-joke and half-reminder, because it is something that he, deep in his stony little heart, is proud of, and is not intent on letting Rezo forget.

“It isn’t all that,” he mutters, twirling a pencil in between his fingers as he sits backwards in his chair, musing at the half-written poetry before him. “There aren’t many,” he adds, admittedly, “since Amelia has stopped traveling quite as much. I consider myself incredibly fortunate that she’s kept my recent blunder regarding her kidnapping a secret.”

Zelgadis still can’t quite wrap his head around his upward mobility. A peasant lad, a mercenary, a knight? Amelia’s personal bodyguard? He used to abhor the very thought of being so tied down, or perhaps it was a way of contending with his own awkward affections.

Ah, youth. He frowns, tapping the pencil once more.

[phantomemes]

credit .

‘ did it really happen if i can’t remember it ? ’ ‘ but you kept trying , didn’t you ? ’ ‘ how can someone be too young to be in love ? ’ ‘ i will never forgive you ’ ‘ you have been the star of each and every one of my nightmares ’ ‘ i’m sorry if i wasn’t the child you had in mind ’ ‘ i only ever wanted to make you proud ’ ‘ silence has always been my loudest scream ’ ‘ i used to think i was broken ’ ‘ i’ve always felt like a stranger in my skin ’ ‘ i still wonder who i would have been ’ ‘ i didn’t realize i could be my own knight ’ ‘ i’m not scared of the monsters hidden underneath my bed ’ ‘ some names will always be cursed ’ ‘ i have so much love to give , but no one ever wants it ’ ‘ in all my dreams i could find myself picking my teeth out of the carpet ’ ‘ i’m sick to death of everyone telling me how strong i am ’ ‘ death is one of the senses ’ ‘ children are not meant to die before their parents ’ ‘ fate is a fucking lie ’ ‘ everyone i love leaves ’ ‘ i’m terrified down to my very roots that there are parts of myself that can never be filled ’ ‘ fuck the idea that there is such a thing as destiny ’ ‘ the pain did not make me a better person ’ ‘ i burned the bridges to all the things i could not repair ’ ‘ i would thank you , but we both know you don’t deserve it ’ ‘ i bet you regret making an enemy out of me ’ ‘ you can hate me forever if that’s what you really want ’ ‘ hurting others is a choice ’ ‘ you can have my forgiveness but you can’t have me ’ ‘ please believe me when i say revenge was never my intention ’ ‘ i am strong enough for anything ’ ‘ i am so glad we were born during the same lifetime ’ ‘ i may not believe in fate , but i believe in you ’ ‘ i am allowed to live my life ’ ‘ do not waste a minute mourning me ’ ‘ maybe you should start treating people better for a change ’ ‘ it is a fucking tragedy when the world does not stop for you when you give it every last drop of your blood ’ ‘ your failures are just what happened — they don’t have to be who you are ’ ‘ you have to keep moving forward ’ ‘ don’t allow the world to take your kindness ’ ‘ you owe no one your forgiveness ’ ‘ love is never a weakness ’

[cholericchimera]

B3 TvT

Drawing Zel comes easy to me, not entirely sure why. ]]

[cholericchimera]

@ipraygreywords

[[ continued from X ]]

Zelgadis waits with characteristic stiffness, tapping his fingers against the table he sits at near to the gardens’ entrance. As he hears Rezo’s jingling staff approaching, he calls out, briskly, “Over here.”

He knows the man can and will find his way over with minimal difficulty; Greywords pride is nothing to sneeze at. Spread out before Zelgadis is a modest setting of tea, cups, and additives. He prefers coffee, himself, but it isn’t his birthday. He waits for Rezo to seat himself, and speaks again.

“Amelia suggested darjeeling--it was her grandfather’s favorite, so they have surplus of it in the palace kitchens that they don’t know what to do with. There’s milk and sugar as well, if you want it.”

[cholericchimera]

shelter, heal //ipraygreywords

Zelgadis is tasting shameful regret at his having scoffed at bringing Rezo along on this ambassadorial mission three days ago–his smug overconfidence in his own capabilities as a mercenary coupled with his ever-present loathing for his grandfather’s presence in his and Amelia’s lives had, very nearly, gotten the both of them killed.

He has plenty of time to reflect on his reluctant gratitude for Amelia’s insistence that Rezo come in her absence, as Rezo drags Zelgadis to a makeshift cave shelter in the deep woods near to where they had been ambushed and Amelia kidnapped. Or he would, were he not feverish from poison.

“No–No,” he mumbles, as Rezo situates him near a fire, wipes a damp washcloth across his stony brow. “Don’t…don’t touch me,” he fumbles, heavy-lidded eyes weighing down on his gaze.

But Rezo carries grimly onward to save Zelgadis’s life, and Zelgadis slowly stops fighting him, instead fighting pain and burning in his veins, the heaviness in his limbs and the dizziness in his head. He thrashes weakly, blacks out, and comes to with warm hands over his chest, thumping harshly.

He chokes, sitting up, and sees spots, hears a ringing in his ears.

“Amelia,” he gasps, putting his palms to his blinded eyes, rubbing. His chest aches. Had he stopped breathing? “Amelia,” he says again, insistently, before looking back at Rezo, who looks haggard, beside himself. “Where is she?”

There is no time to consider the animosity, the lack thereof–he is panicked, and gratitude will come much, much later.

[cholericchimera]

Zelgadis grips tightly at his own arms and restrains himself from lashing out; oh, it is so easy with this man.

“I live my life in a constant state of bitterness,” he comments dryly, “as Lina has pointed out to me on several occasions--but not foolishness, Rezo.”

Zelgadis knows Rezo regrets, that he mourns, that he is desperate. Zelgadis can read it in every twitch away from placability that Rezo displays, the way his grandfather’s nose bleeds, the way he cowers in corners of Seyruun away from him in shame and guilt.

It has, simply put, just never been enough.

But admitting that he knows Rezo’s desperation for Zelgadis to understand that he understands how wrong he was, how much he fucked up, loses Zelgadis a tool of emotional war and leverage. He regrets it slightly, because this is the only way he knows how to interact with Rezo--in anger and snide dismissal, in nags and provocations.

Prove to me you’re not the evil man you once were by rescuing Seyruun’s princess in its time of need.

Prove to me you still care by rescuing my...

Zelgadis stops himself there; he needs to think clearly, and his own rivers of denial will deny him such. He knows himself far too well to fall prey to his own dizzying spells of tangled attempts at weaseling out of things.

“I’m fine,” he finally answers, brushing sweat from his stony forehead. It is vaguely warm to the touch. He kneels down before Rezo, then curses himself for the foolishness he has, in spite of his proclamations, displayed.

“I’m on my knees. Climb onto my back.”

[cholericchimera]

shelter, heal //ipraygreywords

Zelgadis is tasting shameful regret at his having scoffed at bringing Rezo along on this ambassadorial mission three days ago–his smug overconfidence in his own capabilities as a mercenary coupled with his ever-present loathing for his grandfather’s presence in his and Amelia’s lives had, very nearly, gotten the both of them killed.

He has plenty of time to reflect on his reluctant gratitude for Amelia’s insistence that Rezo come in her absence, as Rezo drags Zelgadis to a makeshift cave shelter in the deep woods near to where they had been ambushed and Amelia kidnapped. Or he would, were he not feverish from poison.

“No–No,” he mumbles, as Rezo situates him near a fire, wipes a damp washcloth across his stony brow. “Don’t…don’t touch me,” he fumbles, heavy-lidded eyes weighing down on his gaze.

But Rezo carries grimly onward to save Zelgadis’s life, and Zelgadis slowly stops fighting him, instead fighting pain and burning in his veins, the heaviness in his limbs and the dizziness in his head. He thrashes weakly, blacks out, and comes to with warm hands over his chest, thumping harshly.

He chokes, sitting up, and sees spots, hears a ringing in his ears.

“Amelia,” he gasps, putting his palms to his blinded eyes, rubbing. His chest aches. Had he stopped breathing? “Amelia,” he says again, insistently, before looking back at Rezo, who looks haggard, beside himself. “Where is she?”

There is no time to consider the animosity, the lack thereof–he is panicked, and gratitude will come much, much later.

[cholericchimera]

Zelgadis is measured and calculated, and he often thinks himself invincible. To black out before the poison reached his cardiovascular system was, perhaps, a blessing in disguise; if he had experienced the cold fingers of death’s brush himself, if he had known Rezo’s painstaking panic, then he might have an identity crisis to contend with on top of it all.

For what use is this body if it cannot protect itself? Cannot protect Amelia?

Moments before he regains consciousness, however, Rezo’s shouts reach him, and then he sits up, head throbbing, eyes burning, chest searing, ears ringing. Rezo is a terrible mess, shambles of a man, and Zelgadis squints at him in the dying light as he regains his bearings. The man is bleeding, and haggard, and Zelgadis is grateful.

Rezo hits a wall, and it is what Zelgadis himself wishes to do; he sees the family resemblance in their manners of handling distress, frustration, helplessness, self-loathing, but instead of crushing his own rocky fist into the stone wall of the cave, he drags himself, panting, to his feet, and shakes his head.

“Amelia,” Zelgadis breathes, “can handle herself for a little while--brau demons; it’s coming back to me--” He stumbles. “We can find her. It would have been useless to let me die and rescue her yourself.” Zelgadis narrows his gaze at Rezo, not out of suspicion, but thoughtful scrutiny.

“... Not that you would have, hm?”

He can feel the warring conflict inside of him, but Amelia’s careful prodding, her easy pestering, comes to mind, and he sighs, kicking a pebble before him.

“What do we do now, then?”

He is afraid, and in pain, and grateful, and he does not know how to express any of these things.

[cholericchimera]

shelter, heal //ipraygreywords

Zelgadis is tasting shameful regret at his having scoffed at bringing Rezo along on this ambassadorial mission three days ago–his smug overconfidence in his own capabilities as a mercenary coupled with his ever-present loathing for his grandfather’s presence in his and Amelia’s lives had, very nearly, gotten the both of them killed.

He has plenty of time to reflect on his reluctant gratitude for Amelia’s insistence that Rezo come in her absence, as Rezo drags Zelgadis to a makeshift cave shelter in the deep woods near to where they had been ambushed and Amelia kidnapped. Or he would, were he not feverish from poison.

“No–No,” he mumbles, as Rezo situates him near a fire, wipes a damp washcloth across his stony brow. “Don’t…don’t touch me,” he fumbles, heavy-lidded eyes weighing down on his gaze.

But Rezo carries grimly onward to save Zelgadis’s life, and Zelgadis slowly stops fighting him, instead fighting pain and burning in his veins, the heaviness in his limbs and the dizziness in his head. He thrashes weakly, blacks out, and comes to with warm hands over his chest, thumping harshly.

He chokes, sitting up, and sees spots, hears a ringing in his ears.

“Amelia,” he gasps, putting his palms to his blinded eyes, rubbing. His chest aches. Had he stopped breathing? “Amelia,” he says again, insistently, before looking back at Rezo, who looks haggard, beside himself. “Where is she?”

There is no time to consider the animosity, the lack thereof–he is panicked, and gratitude will come much, much later.

[cholericchimera]

What's your favorite childhood memory with your grandfather? (ipraygreywords)

Zelgadis curses the darkness in which his estranged grandfather operates, the dim-blasted laboratory where he can set down his canteen for just a moment and trade it in for hours of truth-telling agony.

“A favorite memory,” he growls, fists clenched across his chest as he sits, one leg bent across the other. “Of Rezo?”

But truth beckons him, and he sighs, hanging his head low.

“I couldn’t truthfully say I have a favorite--that’s dependent on context--subjective. But the one that would tickle most people’s fancy would be the one with the least angst about it--when he praised my work at his side. At the time, it was... pleasant, I suppose.”

Zelgadis smiles wryly, and looks out the window. “Maybe, then, it’s one of the worst.”

[memetaped]

nonverbal starters prompts featuring nonverbal scenarios.

guide take them by the hand, arm, or shoulder to guide them.

shelter protect them.

shove push them.

loop drape an arm around their shoulders.

touch a gentle touch like rubbing their back, hugging them, holding their hand. 

kiss a kiss on the cheek, knuckles, forehead, in their hair.

palm smack them upside the head.

bed rest gently push them back down when they try getting out of bed.

aid help them with a task.

note pass a note to them.

cry wipe away their tears.

wash wipe something off their forehead, cheek, so on.

bandage patch them up when they get hurt.

heal take care of them when they get sick.

book silently read a story with them. 

carry pick them up. 

scrap punch them.

cherry find blood on them.

sit help them sit down.  

medical wake up in the hospital and find them holding their hand.

steer place a hand under their chin to make them look up. 

beat dance with them.

stare stare them down. 

off track get lost with them.

no shaking their head in disagreement. 

yes nodding their head in agreement.

rush tackle them to the ground.

open hold the door open for them.

[cholericchimera]

thread title: A Timely Warning

Zelgadis has little time to consider the mechanics of Xellos’s illusory wardrobe. He hardly even attempts to calm himself–if only to keep Xellos from achieving satisfaction from his buffet of emotions–far too preoccupied with sudden urgency regarding regency.

“Of all the things a monster could do, I suppose healing wouldn’t be one of them,” he gripes, fingering the amulet at his chest. If he sells it, perhaps–perhaps he can buy a horse. It is merely a trinket, after all.

“I suppose you expect me to thank you for this?” he grinds out, arms crossed tightly. “For your timely warning?”

[cholericchimera]

Zelgadis leans back a bit, fingers stiffening in outrageous incredulity.

“E--Excuse me??”

This woman was clearly out of her mind, and Zelgadis wiped clean any indication of familiarity with her from his mind. If he knew this woman before, he certainly didn’t want to now! She was certain to be trouble.

“Listen,” he griped, regaining his composure, running a stony hand down his face. “I’m exactly what I appear to be, and that is very, very busy. Are you all right or not?”

[cholericchimera]

The woman seems to adhere to sensibility for all of a minute, and for that minute, Zelgadis is relieved. Perhaps social convention will get him out of here quicker than he can hope. She almost sounds like Lina, and for a moment, he’s almost fondly exasperated.

Ah, but then.

“A. A pet store?” he asks incredulously.

[cholericchimera]

thread title: Death of a King

Zelgadis takes an intuitive step back but, as Rezo moves to comfort Amelia, reluctantly removes his hand from the hilt of his sword. He isn’t certain what he feels, not for lack of clarity but for the fact that many, many things are happening to him at once.

There is rage, oh yes--and fear, and confusion, and that little disastrous cold flash in the chest that comes with trauma, the smell of wet stone and the ache of hardened skin, that feeling for which there is no name.

He pities Amelia in her bedraggled, undignified state of despair, and he wants to comfort her but doesn’t know how--Rezo’s doing so only serves to make him angrier, and he knows that some of that is directed at Amelia.

How could you? he thinks, and he wants to tell her, but he knows better. Disgust roils him. How could she stand to be touched by those bloodstained hands? How could she trust enough to let him into the King’s bedchambers? Indignance overtakes him; it is misplaced anger disguised as righteousness, as he is a Knight of this kingdom, and her foolishness is bound to get a flag set at half-mast.

He knows he is wrong about all of this, and he swallows.

“I am,” he answers coolly, though most certainly not with the air of an affectionate grandson updating his grandfather on his life achievements. “I don’t know whether you expected less. But I can see you’re very busy attending to the King’s needs. Don’t let me keep you.”

For both of their sakes, he fails to address Amelia entirely.

[cholericchimera]

Zelgadis stumbles back in horror as the immeasurably tall, scantily-clad woman rises to her feet, collapses spectacularly, then rises again. He puts a hand to his face, outrageous warmth spreading across his cheeks. Was there familiarity to the curve of her cheekbone, the point of her jaw?

Ah, but he’d never seen her before. She was... definitely the sort to make an impression.

“I’m sorry,” he grinds out in annoyance, pushing against his knees to stand, dropping the stick with both hands raised in defense. “You were just so busy being a road obstruction--I suppose I shouldn’t have interrupted.”

[takethewinningsandrun-blog]

She’s just… passed out. Right in the street.

[cholericchimera]

Zelgadis traverses the city streets carefully but with purpose, eyes cast down so as to avoid the hawkers of wares that litter the sides of the road. He stops, however, when he comes upon a woman in strange clothing, though nothing... entirely unfamiliar, he supposes.

A more pressing concern is her status.

He struggles briefly with his conscience and a deep, visceral desire to mind his own business before he stoops down and prods her with a sigh... and a very long, thin stick that he finds beside her.

"Hey. Hey!"