Pontifex Nabor

[psychiatriae]

rexerrat​:

{ 👑 } ❝YOU BETTER BE SAFE, YOU – YOU —- ugh …❞ A pain in the back of his throat halts the man on his tirade. Gangrel sighs, head shifting to thunk against Nabor’s chest. ❝You … I know you had no choice. I only rant and rave because it feels GOOD to let out steam.❞ The embarrassment tastes like salt on his tongue, not disgusting, but dry. Too much and he’d be begging for water.

A HAND TUGS NABOR INSIDE, RELUCTANT to part, but needing to breathe, to sit comfortably upon a sofa or bed, and not the doorway to an apartment shared with strangers. Nabor is now home, he ought to act like it. Petals are kicked up as the Mahjarrat is rushed in, with the URGENCY of a touch starved, hungry man. But Gangrel is not thinking lecherously. With the pollen infecting him, he may not even be able to make jokes of that nature. 

❝I FIND MYSELF TELLING THE TRUTH more often lately. This damn pollen in the air. Heh, I want to make a joke about us being intimate —- but I don’t know if I could even be CAPABLE of that.❞ A wily grin between the folds of Nabor’s robe, before he holds his love even closer. ❝How fortunate - that the only one I’m being ‘forced’ to tell the truth around is you.❞

▄▀  — "So the City is up to its tricks again? It hasn't changed one bit." Comforting, almost, though maybe that's the gentle warmth of Gangrel's honesty, and not the familiarity of this hellscape. Still, better than the remnants of his asylum, desolated and mauled as it was. He allows himself to be lead, to sit carefully upon the edge of the bed, hands settling in his lap. A heavy sigh, until it dawns on him; the scratching pain in his throat, the pollen, perhaps such difficulties with keeping truths under wraps were connected?

But it was Gangrel, and no-one else. Still, it hurt. "I was... scared. When I was locked in my institute, I tried to continue my research, but things did not go to plan." Yet here he was, still breathing, face as constructed as if fresh from a recent ritual. Perhaps the most jarring feeling came from being so withered to so refreshed with nothing in between. "There's little that can happen to me here. We've dealt with enough together, haven't we?"

He plucks a petal from the linen, leaning against Gangrel beside him, mind finally at ease for the first time in a while. "These flowers... they make you speak more than usual?"

[psychiatriae]

bulletrein​:

INSTINCT BEGS HIM TO CHECK ON his companion, but he holds his ground. in the heat of battle, he becomes more of a LIABILITY if he simply watches and observes or focuses on a healing hand when all his strengths lie in the offensive. it is only when he’s addressed DIRECTLY that his head snaps up, gun-arm gripped tightly. 

❝i -— right! right! let’s GO!❞ he sputters, not trying to find an argument in the middle of this. 

there’s too much stress, too much EDGE clinging to the grit of his teeth. boots scatter plaster and rubble with a resounding crunch. he can see just enough at his forefront, arm outstretched just enough to feel the hem of nabor’s robes fluttering against his fingertips. so close … so CLOSE … 

barret isn’t too much of a fool to not know what nabor is doing. not only that, he’s FAMILIAR with the methodology too. collapse tunnels, pave the way forward. but this isn’t the mines of his hometown, but a beautifully crafted house of the arts. 

he’d find it funny if he wasn’t too SCARED to just barely hold on by the skin of his teeth. 

behind him, his world rumbles. clouds of dust and debris rise around his form, cloaking and covering him with the results of their labor. he coughs, gazing through the HAZE for any signs of life …

❝hey big guy, ya made it SAFELY?❞

▄▀  — He's awake, and whether that is a blessing or a curse, Nabor couldn't tell. Dust of his spell merge so intimately with crushed rock, anima hanging in the air like a choking cloud. It's dark, it's trapped, it's a memory of demons haunting blood-ridden halls. Nabor takes a breath, relieved to hear the muffled sound of his companion over layers of concrete. Even better, he hears nothing else except settling rock and rubble, the statues destroyed so thoroughly they ought to be at peace, for a time.

"I'm alright," he calls out, tugging his arm out from under a broken support beam. A few pushes at the rocks over him, and he begins to mull over the next few steps. There was, now, no rush at all. "Stuck. More fell than... expected."

[psychiatriae]

rexerrat​:

{ 👑 } OH, THE PUSH WORKS! BITING THE inside of his cheek to hold back a shiver, Gangrel leans in, a subtle forward pitch as eyes sear into Nabor’s work. It takes every ounce of his strength not to return to helping the Mahjarrat, but he wants Nabor to have the confidence that he could do this too. Certainly, he’d BOAST his own capabilities to anyone who may breathe in his direction, but Gangrel is far more than simply willing to set aside his pride for Nabbie’s sake – his love just has to deal with his complaining first!

❝HMM - LET’S SEE HERE … LET’S SEE … ❞ The end result isn’t perfect, but eyes nevertheless light up. Hands gentle as they brush against the side of the … rather MISSHAPEN lump. But to him, it is still beautiful - if only because it has the imprints of Nabor’s hands and the evidence of his hard work. Gangrel smiles and nods, ❝Yeah, it’s pretty good. Keep making balls like this and you’ll be a master sculptor. Rolling shouldn’t be hard either.❞

▄▀  — Well, if Gangrel approved, the Nabor must be doing something right. With renewed pride -- only glowing in the briefest flicker of his eyes -- he turns to the snow below, setting down the ball like one might lay a kitten within its nest. Yet hesitancy returns with the same vigour as it had left, claws hovering over the mass as he puzzled over what to do next. Roll, surely, it couldn't be that hard

He sets his hands back down and-

The ball folds completely, packed snow crumbling into the ice like sand through fingers. "Oh..." With it, he folds too, resting arms against his knees as he sighs through disappointed, gritted teeth. Scooping it back up, he glances up to his beloved, lips pursed and prepared for the inevitable scolding of his oafish 'handwork'.

[psychiatriae]

rexerrat​:

{ 👑 } GANGREL NEARLY FORGETS TO BE CAREFUL, only wincing when Nabor speaks. But of course! He looks down at his palms, heavy, thick pads nicked with scars and sharp pointed tips. He could carelessly RUIN anything be wanted in his own body, but to do so in Nabor’s would be sacrilege. Lips press thinly as he shifts the pad of a finger to shift through the apps on display. His dearest Nabor certainly has an eye for keeping things tidy, the thought of which causes Gangrel’s lips to tick upwards.

❝HEH, MY NAILS ARE PRETTY LONG too, you know~❞ He reassures his love with a nervous tinny to his voice. Though perhaps, he is trying to reassure himself first and foremost. He’s sheepish, shuffling upon his feet, grasping the phone as if it is a PRECIOUS child. ❝All done. Now we … wait. Maybe I can show you the kind of food I normally eat … no, hm, you’d probably PREFER something healthier …❞ It has been … quite the long day.

▄▀  — Nabor only then allows himself to glance back up, vertigo still coiling in waves to see his own eyes staring back. Nails run against palms, long, certainly, yet nothing of the brutality that came naturally to claws. No, his claws didn't compare to Gangrel's nails, preened as they were to perfection. It almost makes him laugh, a sound that spits more than purrs. "You could pamper my claws." A suggestion, only half in jest. It'd keep Gangrel occupied when he's eating, at least.

Yet the topic of food comes back up, and he scowls. "I... want to try whatever you eat." If he had Gangrel's body, then it stood to reason he had Gangrel's tastebuds. This is the reason he ends with, knowing for certain it wasn't the whole truth. 

[psychiatriae]

ultimorals​:

THE RELIEF THE YOUNG MAN EXHALES cannot be contained so easily, he sighs warmly, air rushing through his nose. the young student is relieved that the other takes to helping naturally — though he’d certainly never BOTHER even the kindest daycare attendant or teacher if he could help it — but this, he’d not squander.

❝i think i understand. dad and i … we were really a bit old fashioned, but as long as i UNDERSTAND which icon is which … ❞ there’s a remarkable amount of sleek icons with abstract names on display, just like the ones on his own phone. but the names are what he doesn’t quite recognise. motions are mimicked with his own hands, bringing up the menu on his own phone.

after a few seconds pause, he speaks up again. ❝this doesn’t seem too different from what i’m used to.❞ he’s mature for his age, reading through the text on his own screen with a furrowed brow. ❝are there any other things i should KNOW about this?❞ if spirale has an important app for banking, what over things would the city have apps for? his mind swims through many a busy thought —

❝oh! sir, i’m sorry, i don’t BELIEVE i’ve given you my name.❞ he offers a sharp, PERFECT salute. ❝my name is kiyotaka ishimaru. thank you again so much.❞

▄▀  — "It would be wise to learn all of the 'icons' in your own time. I... do not know what they all do." A little hesitant, perhaps, but he had very little reason to use his phone beyond transactions and contact. Perhaps, someday, if Gangrel's war against the written word became too great of a nuisance, Nabor might finally open the app for 'ebooks'. Yet that future lay in a hypothetical space, and didn't involve the poor boy fumbling through his phone.

"There is one for talking to people, and for writing," he says, like a kindergarten teacher directing an infant. "It's the same app, very convenient." And that's where his knowledge ended, glancing back over his phone for anything else important. "There is a map, and one for books." I don't know how they work, he almost continues, but the boy already stands to attention, wholly unexpected from a human of his age.

"I... am Nabor. It's a pleasure meeting you." A pause, as he mulls over the child's behaviour. Yet he doesn't say a word, instead lifting a hand to offer in greeting.

[psychiatriae]

bulletrein​:

INTERESTING, HUH? NOW WHAT IN THE hell is so interesting about THAT? the gunman feels words dance upon the tip of his tongue, but wisely enough chooses to hold them at bay. for as much as he wants to inquire and share, there’s PRESSING matters at hand that demand their current attention. the stranger has enough cunning and skill to match the best of them — and really, isn’t that ALL that matters in the heat of battle?

the smokescreen is nothing new, a moment passing where his nose pulls inwards. features choose to feast eyes upon DELICATE infrastructure. he’d be a fool not to notice the care put into this building; for as much bluster the stars put in their own superiority, one could still be BEHOLDEN to pride. the toe of his boot brushes against the foundations of one of the pillars; to most pairs of eyes, there likely wouldn’t be much to see, but he could tell - the museum wasn’t built for WAR.

the heft of his weapon is tested with a heavy palm as his surroundings melt away. it isn’t about nabor, isn’t about wizardry. as the DISORIENTED lumbering of the statues trawl towards his target, barret narrows his eyes and fires —- ❝damn, well ain’t they a bit too CLOSE to comfort,❞ he all but swears up and down. rubble creaks and shudders under the weight of his blasts, hoping that would be ENOUGH for now.

▄▀  — It isn't enough. Nabor quickly realises this as a hand lashes through the smoke, rocks snatching at the hem of his robes far too close for comfort. A fumble, a fall, and he rolls behind the damaged pillars, entities still sharp on his tail. Not enough, perhaps, but as claws graze the crumbling plaster, a plan B came swiftly to mind.

"Get out of this wing, now!" He calls through the blinding fog. Hand raises, and the air churns like a storm, smoke parting a route for his companion to follow his direction. Another swiping hand, he ducks under the statues and rounds them deeper in the smoke. Still, their stomps rattle the ceiling, dust and chips clattering behind his every step. It was now or never, and if Barrett wasn't out by now, well-

Nabor returns to the broken pillars, eyeing the statues that rumble towards him. Claws flash amidst the dissipating smoke, and he swipes poor construction with precision. Up, across, and one more- Patterns devised from years underground, the pillars are left unstable and, with one decisive dive, he leaves the statues to slam into their inevitable demise. And yet, as he glances back to the wing's entrance, he has only a breath before-

CRASH.

[smokescholar]

🗝 + Nabor's death :3

fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuc--

He couldn't speak. His throat was hoarse, as dry as the Kharid. He had to excuse himself for a moment, if he was going to discuss something this painful, he at least wanted to be drunk beforehand. Anything to dull what would inevitably come.

The bottle slammed down, threatening to splinter the wood in front of him. Not of anger, no. Well, not entirely. Being gentle was hard when one was not paying attention to restraint.

"Nabor..." Shaking hands poured the drink, threatening to spill on the table as he overpoured; downing it like a shot. "Nabor was everything to me. He was family, he was...the only good that came out of Freneskae. He was living proof, raw, physical proof that we could be more than what we were told. That despite everything...despite it all, the Mahjarrat were not broken." Another shot, he coughed.

"He was a beacon, even on Freneskae. He was kindness, a spark, a reminder that things could be okay. He was the closest thing to a parent I, or any of us could ever ask for. He was family, and I lo--"

He shook his head, gritting his teeth. Another shot. Another shot. Another shot. Another shot

"He was the strongest Mahjarrat I knew." He tapped the side of his head, nearly hitting the bottle. "He could do things I never thought were possible. He truly was a genius of his craft. When I...when I felt his lifeforce vanish, the world lost something of great importance. Nabor is irreplaceable. No one could do what he did, no one could even scratch the SURFACE of what he did. When I felt him die..."

His fists struck the table, wood splintering and biting into his hands. "I SHOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING. AZZANADRA SHOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING. IF HE HAD JUST USED HIS DAMNED HEAD FOR ONCE NABOR WOULD STILL BE HERE. I didn't have the power to keep him safe, but Azzanadra could have. Azzanadra had power, he could have saved Nabor. If he had just used his head for once in his LIFE, and stopped listening to Zaros' WHISPERS. He would have saved him. Nabor died in a way that is seen as torture to us Mahjarrat. slow, dragging over years. No one deserved that. NABOR DID NOT DESERVE THAT."

"Everyone I love goes away, and it can all be traced back to Azzanadra! DAMN HIM. NABOR DID NOT DESERVE TO DIE, HE HAD DONE NOTHING WRONG. I will never forgive him for what he did to Nabor."

Snarling, Wahisietel got to his feet; knocking the table aside and sending the glass bottle crashing to the floor in a spray of shards and liquor. He vanished from sight, the only audible noise was a soft...sobbing? Surely Mahjarrat cannot cry...

I Don’t Wanna Talk About It || Accepting

[psychiatriae]

Because it appeared on my dash last night, I updated nabbie’s stats page to just briefly mention that he’ll never speak freneskaen in Isola

[rexerrat]

@psychiatriae

{ 👑 } THE LIAR WANTS NOTHING MORE THAN to keep his deep and dark secrets to himself, to refuse to utter a word that may deem him IMPLICIT to a soft heart. Yet, it is difficult, so very difficult when he's all but forced to reveal hard inner truths. The flowers don't hurt, but they irritate. Branding him a liar, a mistrustful man. Why, that technically isn't nothing NEW, but … well …

TO SEE NABOR AGAIN IS A relief in more ways than one.

❝NABBIE! YOU! WHAT THE HELL? SHOWING up on my doorstep like … like … ❞ Petals spew from within his sleeves as he clings to his companion. Arms move, gripping tight in a hug. ❝Big idiot - strong - handsome lug -- Gods, I was so FUCKING worried about you, you know that? I … ❞ A single tear is brushed away upon his sleeve as he watches thelast of his flowers fall. ❝I missed you more than anything.❞

[psychiatriae]

▄▀  — The fuzziness gave way to relief, like the first breath of air from a millennia underground. Yet words catch themselves, and Nabor can sigh as hands snatch at his robes. In truth, he doesn't quite hear what Gangrel had to say, daze only clearing when his beloved is safely wrapped against him, and Gangrel's bright shock of red hair filled his vision

He holds back, in silence, curling over Gangrel to pull him into a tight hold. It's only in a fragment of clarity does he notice the slipping petals, yet with more pressing matters on his mind, he leaves them to disintegrate into nothing. Mouth opens, and a stabbing pain glances across his tongue. A swallow, and he begins again. "I'm sorry." It falls smoothly, like honey upon his lips, and Nabor quietly retches at its ease. A pause, another stabbing pain, a conundrum of rewording he couldn't figure out. "I'm here. I'm alive." Perhaps this is the relief humans craved so much, confusing as it was. Fears could hardly settle for long, anyway, as claws slipped through locks, cradling and caressing his beloved in motions both peculiar yet right.

[psychiatriae]

@sableclaw liked for a starter

▄▀  — They're growing. Not where they're supposed to be, petals fluttering around his claws as vines creep against his wrists. With thin lips, Nabor plucks one, breaking it apart as he rolls it between fingers. The approach of a stranger nearly startles him as he lets the petal's dust fall to the ground. A swallow, and he smiles. "I'm sorry... I didn't see you there." He did not -- that is a truth. The flowers do not budge. "Do you happen to know what these are?"

[psychiatriae]

▄▀  — Blink. From ash-swollen breath, limbs heavy on ancient rock, Nabor stared up at the flickering lamplight, a purple hue tarnished with specks of dust. Blink. A month, two months, he counted the seconds; breathe in, two, three, four, breathe out, two, three, four.

Blink. He counted the skittering of demonic entities, shuddering growls and scratches against worn sandstone tiles. He listened to the lack of screams. It had been months. He lay, pretending to be dead, only two steps from the void, staring up at the lamplight.

Blink. They won't notice him here.

Blink.

The room is plain white, and recent memories a blur of frenetic energy. The bed weighed down beneath him, jutting rocks making way for soft pillows, illuminated by the softened yellow glow overhead. It was unfamiliar. It needed books to fill it.

Yet, he remembered this place, hands patting hopelessly at the bedside table with an instinct he'd all but forgotten. Phone. Texts. The asylum had none of these. Neither did his bedside table.

Brow furrows. The asylum didn't have something else, either, as he pulls himself from the fogged memories and soft bed. Gangrel. Nabor would have to find him another way.

[psychiatriae]

Starter call? Starter call. Capped at 2, may or may not be event related

[isolaradiale]

Hello! Reapping Nabor from Runescape, his app is available at /app and his stats are at /stats

Welcome back!

You’ll be staying in HOUSE 103!

You’ll retain everything from your previous stay!

Enjoy!

--mod Lyra

[psychiatriae]

update regarding nabs: he’s probably gonna stay on hiatus for the foreseeable future

[psychiatriae]

I can’t believe gangrel is canon to runescape

[taffingart]

aight so since nabor is dead, can we use his gem in a piece of jewellery to make some kind of skilling item ??? pls i need the xp

[imforeverjustyours-deactivated2]

[lady-feral]

I would love to live in any one of these.

[thekavseklabs]

@psychiatriae seems like your aesthetic