John Green - "Sunsets"

shark vs the universe

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Acquired Stardust
Sade Olutola

Discoholic 🪩
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Claire Keane

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
we're not kids anymore.
d e v o n
Jules of Nature
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
wallacepolsom
trying on a metaphor

roma★

@theartofmadeline
hello vonnie
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@singularitei
John Green - "Sunsets"
Marina Tsvetaeva, from a letter to Boris Pasternak featured in Letters, Summer 1926
The sort of one sided argument at the back of the cart is not strictly between them and Elias, however, is it? They do have a spectator in this situation, equally tasked with watch duty for stragglers, just as efficient as them both in handling threats even in her young age. Kairos only glances up at Zinnea from where they are settled, ice cold eyes at least making an effort to not burn a hole through her soul unlike with a certain someone. "Do not learn such recklessness from him, it'll find you a grave sooner than you expect." It's only a warning, although one that does not carry much hope with the kind of company they find themselves in. / @singularitei
At some point as they fled from fire engulfed manor and fled from the horrifying creature, Zinnea summoned a longsword in place of the trident used to slay their short term friend Giles. Now in the cart with blade in hand, Zinnea turns the sword back and forth as she stares in awe at its shining bronze surface and its sharp edges. She lightly touches the surface, a smile forming on her face. Using this. It felt good. With something like this, I can be a protector. And maybe also... more. She sheaths the sword back at her side, keeping it summoned for now in case the creature decides to give chase.
After Grawk hauls the cart far enough away, she relaxs a bit. It seems safe to assume nothing was following them from the necromancer's stronghold. As she settles in at the back of the cart, she notices Elias offering to heal the injured Kairos and Kairos returning the favor by mending Elias's tattered shirt. Kairos's irritation was plain to see. It's too bad that mending spell couldn't mend this tension in the air. She felt a bit awkward being stuck so close together in the cramped cart, making it nearly impossible to pretend to not be listening to their conversation or watching their interaction. Just as she starts plotting in her mind the best way to appear aloof and uninterested in their conversation, she feels Kairos's gaze, the piercing blue eyes hard to ignore.
"Ah ha... what? I mean I... uh... I definitely was just minding my own business over here watching the... snow. Yeah snow. Very white." After pointing out at the endless snow all around them, she takes a moment to process what Kairos said. "Ahem. I appreciate your concern over my safety! It's true he was a little hasty in messing with that effigy. The end result wasn't too bad at least! That place had so much wrong with it. I am glad we were able to do a little bit to stop some of it." She scratches her head thinking over her own past instances of recklessness. "I suppose what brought me to this prison convoy was a bit reckless. It's hard knowing when swift and impulsive action must be taken and when to hold back and wait. I do appreciate your words of warning and will keep them in mind."
At least I don't have to pretend I'm not listening to their conversation anymore. I'm glad that both Kairos and Elias look pretty much back to normal now, health wise and torn clothes wise. Seeing as Kairos was willing to talk to her, this seemed like the opportune moment to finally say everything she had been wanting to say. "You really did an excellent job taking charge in that stronghold when you helped us figure out our options and what to do. Talking to Arthur to convince him we weren't going to turn him over to the necromancer? That was great. It was helpful being able to send messages to you when our group split up to update you on what was going on with our side of things. Also you looked so badass and cool when you fought! Luckily we were on the same page in that fight so I could move out of the way of your shot at the skeleton. Also, your eyes are really pretty. Such a nice blue color. That fire in the hallway to keep the creepy creature away from us was awesome. And... ahh sorry I'm probably talking too much. Anyways, thank you again for the advice. I don't have as much skills for healing or mending like you and Elias, but if you ever need help just let me know and I will protect you!"
Maybe a little tense, but Zinnea has demonstrated to be capable so far, even in her young age compared to the rest. For the time being, keeping in mind who exactly they are surrounded with is essential as far as survival goes, and Kairos makes a mental note of what they've seen so far. There is some relief to be found in seeing her at least try a little more than it feels Elias did to listen a little closer to their words, even if Kairos doesn't exactly hope for much more— she did get arrested, after all, warranted or not, it would hardly happen without motive, and the company she's found herself in is hardly the best kind of influence to have. ( no, they will not look at the man sitting across from them, he's already been enough of a pain as it is— )
And Kairos is ready to return their attention to the open journal propped up against their legs, nothing else to add beyond that and plenty of information to mull over as it is, but Zinnea herself is not quite done just yet— and... honestly, for maybe the first time in a long, long while, Kairos really doesn't know what to do. It isn't as if they believe their own actions and decisions to have been unimportant, far from it, they know what they are capable of, but— they really are not used to hearing it from someone else's mouth, are they? And it shows more than they would've liked, had they not felt so caught off guard as they are, blinking, eyes only a little wider than their usual seemingly permanent glare, hands frozen mid page flip. Somehow, she has done an excellent job in making all of their thoughts come to a screeching halt.
( ... their eyes? the one thing that seemingly never failed to unsettle people first? )
"... Thanks." A slight hint of a nod, and for once, an answer that comes out without having to plan their words first, even if it does come from really not knowing what to do with the situation at hand. It feels perhaps more awkward than it should've been, and Kairos clearly doesn't know where to go from there, not particularly having intended to start a proper conversation in the first place. Eventually, their eyes return to their journal, some part of their mind reminding them of their priorities— recent encounters have been dangerous enough, they really need to put together their desired weapon sooner rather than later, and time is not on their side as it is.
... Finding their focus again afterwards, however, is just a little more of a struggle than it should've been. What a problem to have—
i am not the knight in shining armor. i am the dragon that destroys everything and burns down the town. don’t confuse me for the hero.
He appears as equally relieved to see that full range of movement is possible again, and Kairos loosens up into something more appropriately tired than in active pain—wow... that really worked? When Elias pulls away, the frost dissipates, but his hands still look rather freezing. It takes some seconds for the rings upon his fingers to warm up and the condensation to give way to the expected luster of tungsten. The moment of peace doesn't last very long, unfortunately, as lavender meets a very pointed, annoyed glare in return.
"Ah, that's all it took to get you vocal again," he observes aloud, sounding ironically pleased at the compounding results, "I guess I know how to cure wounds now. Awesome." Eventually, it dies into a sheepish laugh, hardly the kind of response one should have after running through a literal house of horrors ( and what has elias seen to find himself at ease in a place like this? what familiarity does he have with a god of death to only be bothered by the scent of carcasses strewn across the floors of a madman? ). Still, the man can't outrun honesty. "I fear I can't say that I won't, but I'll try to keep you out of it next time?" he offers instead, the best he can do, unfortunately.
While being pointedly ignored, Elias simply watches curiously as Kairos rests a hand on each tear in their clothing, the mend far more comforting of a glow than the levels of freezing he was capable of. It's... different than even his own father's use of the spell—Mom did say everyone's magic deviated uniquely, whether it was innate or learned from texts. How interesting.. something to jot down later.
Ah, right... he nearly forgot his coat had torn rather pathetically, especially with how deep the gash had been. There was layer that had gone unscathed, but, he'd been far more preoccupied with the wendigo and the other skeletons to think about it. Kairos' dead stare reminds him it's unsightly and unfortunately not advantageous to show up anywhere like they had escaped something ( those something's were plural by now, too ), but before Elias can even ask, Kairos already has him held by a bunch of clothing, the mending treatment still working as intended despite the thinly veiled continuation of their reprimanding. Once they finally let go, Elias gives his clothing a good inspection before smiling in approval. "Well! Thank you kindly, Kairos," he hums, smoothing out the layers by reaching between the front of his coat. And with that settled, Elias can finally settle himself on the edge of the cart, sitting as comfortably as one can for the time being.
Now... where's that journal...
The initial comment does very little to help with Kairos' irritation in any way, eyes narrowing, yet pointedly choosing to keep any response to themself— perhaps for the best, their mind now far busier with... well, everything else coming out of this madman's mouth. 'Know how to cure wounds now'? He's only figured it out now? ( ... so, most definitely not a wizard. to simply come closer and do it so naturally without any manner of reference... a sorcerer, huh? they've rarely heard of those before. )
He's still far too carefree for Kairos' liking, a special, chaotic kind of disregard for danger that only makes them inwardly bristle and regret the interaction just a little bit. That is not the attitude of a man that has seen what they all just saw in that lair of bones and gore. Kairos is not at all keen to discover exactly what it is that has made him this way, that's for certain. ( and here they thought they were the one desensitized to this amount of blood. maybe not desensitized enough for it to be mere laughing matter. ) There is an inkling of concern over what this may or may not spell for the journey ahead, quickly stomped out with the reminder that this is only temporary and they will find their own way far away from this group the very second it is safe enough to do so. The necromancer and small undead army were only the exception, right?
( ... it won't be the exception, will it? )
They only spared his attire the briefest of glances to ensure their spell had done a proper job, even fully aware of how unnecessary it is, a soft grunt the only acknowledgement they're willing to offer to Elias' thanks, and then hissed under their breath— "The one group of people where no one is sound of mind and I get stuck in it—" ( that doesn't particularly exclude them, though, does it— )
Kairos finally allows themself some semblance of rest, curled into their respective corner, tail around themself and carefully tucked away to avoid any stray hand or boot, and they can now reach for their journal for the first time in far too long, care for secrecy apparently no longer as important as it should've been with how skewed their priorities have become in the last two days, not by their own choice. It at least seems safe enough to assume no one in this wayward party can rat them out, either for a lack of understanding of the content or equally precarious position, so the choice is obvious— they'd much prefer have the extra layer of safety a second weapon offers sooner rather than later, if these encounters are anything to go by. Complete privacy be damned, they won't be needing that if they die.
Their bag is easy enough to access in this position with some maneuvering, at least, and by some rare stroke of luck nothing has gone missing or been damaged in the battle. Now to complete those schematics...
Yeesh, they're certainly annoyed with him as he expected, but just enough out of it such that the typical manner of speaking couldn't come through at all. It's much more worrisome this way, much to his chagrin, as Kairos can barely even manifest half a snarl in lieu of words. The only other degree of anger they have manifests in the thumping of their tail against the wooden floor of the cart. Brows furrow in concern—maybe all of the commotion really took more of their energy than he would have guessed. After all, he simply assumed Kairos had it all together, but.. even as accurate as their aim was, the fire bolts he watched not too long ago were closer to flashes of sparks more than anything... it was a far cry from the burning redness he spotted the first time, and Kairos carried themself like someone who could carry quite the burden...
( well, doesn't everyone have their limits, too? kairos isn't any different just because they kept a better composure than you do )
Despite the struggle to stay coherent, Elias can still feel their gaze on him, perhaps burning him at the stake over royally pissing off the necromancer. He can't help a sigh—sure, it was reckless, but so was that guy, and on top of that, leaving the man with all of his tools intact would have let the next wagon of unsuspecting prisoners be used as fodder for reconstruction efforts... It was the logical decision to kneecap someone stupid enough to think it was possible to retrace a deity's steps, much less the avatar of death himself. Perhaps if he waited a minute, all of that precious necrotic magic wouldn't have dispersed back into the aether, now would it? "Ah.. I see, there's so much more contact than I thought.." Elias comments under his breath. Nevermind, he now has an answer behind why those firebolts weren't as impressive as they could have been.
As it takes some time, Kairos finally relents at his offer, perhaps concerning in itself considering what little he knows has proven that they'd rather die than receive someone's help. Well, there's no use in hesitating, and Elias tries to focus the aether in his palm and put the image of closing a cut in his mind's eye. Then, he carefully places both hands on the ( oh, sheesh ) gash, covering as much as he can. That butcher's knife was no joke, but if any of them needed to become humanoid turrets, this was much more vital to handle. The hands themselves are cold on their own, but with the magic pushing through, they take on a frosted edge. From this close, the lone eye focused on the wound is clearly engaged, a soft radiating ice hugging the edges of his iris. He figures, of course, there's a first time for everything—but it appears to be working. The bloody mess under their coat frays seems to at least be closing up. Phew, thank goodness. "Sorry. It might be a little cold. I can't really prevent that."
The kind of damage that could be expected from a jagged, rusted butcher's cleaver such as the one that thing was wielding should've perhaps been expected, another small huff their only response at an observation that felt like only now noticing the obvious. And then another smaller part of them takes some wayward kind of pride in what was most definitely not a compliment of any kind, simply from the knowledge that they must've done a good enough job hiding the worst of it and carrying on if only now is Elias noticing the severity of it. ( their priorities could use some rearranging, perhaps. )
Then, there's hands stretching over blood, and Kairos' grimace shows only in eyes squeezed shut for a moment and lips pressed thinner, body tensing up as the wound is agitated enough to make itself painfully known once again. Once the pain subsides enough, a shiver follows, eyes finding his hands enveloped in frost as tissue slowly begins stitching itself together. Kairos could easily deduce his affinity for ice aligned magic already, not at all a difficult observation to make as it is, and yet, even then— they did not expect his hands to be this cold.
( it is a welcome distraction, at least. )
It would be easy to chalk it up to overuse, a logical conclusion after what kind of mess they just ran from, but... that doesn't seem entirely right, does it? Their own hand certainly did not feel as if it had caught fire after one too many conjured flames. Though, this recent confrontantion did require harsher measures...
( it raises more questions, and they don't have the kind of energy required to mull them over too much right now. and it bothers them. )
They wait in silence until they no longer feel the bleeding wound and the ache becomes a ghost of it, and when elias finally pulls away, Kairos still takes a moment longer to find themself again, one deep breath after the other, clarity returning to their mind once the fog that comes with the pain and the aftermath of survival lifts. Their hand reaches for the once injured side, and they let out a quiet, relieved sigh when it finds nothing.
... And then, they glare at Elias again, slightly less visibly irritated and ready to throttle him. "Do not ever do anything that stupid again." It's part hiss, part growl, still displeased, but well— they seem lively again, at least! Well. As lively as someone so seemingly shrouded in exhaustion as they are can be, but— small victories and all that, right? They don't intend to kick him out of the moving cart, at least! It's only a few more moments to be sure they won't be making themself dizzy before they huff, just another couple flicks of their tail before they finally break eye contact to preoccupy themself with another matter at hand.
Kairos spares only a glance at torn leather before resting a hand upon it, quietly letting it repair itself under the soft glow seeping between fingers, a quick inspection to ensure the damage is gone, then repeating the process until bloodstains are their only concern. And then they look at Elias again, look at equally shredded fabric at the hands of the same accursed cleaver, and strongly debate leaving it as is in some kind of payback. Tempting option, very tempting, but even cleaning up the blood, their intention does remain to keep attention away, and in the not terribly unlikely chance they are spotted by unwanted eyes, torn clothing would raise at least one or two questions. Kairos sighs, doesn't ask for permission, and just reaches over to grab a fistful of clothing, a far less dignified method that still finds the same results, letting go of now intact clothing once the mending spell has ran its course. There, they've done their part now, right?
@fonzeworth asked : What a mess. But.. the cart's cleaner, everyone's alive, and there's no screeching, crying wendigo following after them. It's a little cramped, but none worse for wear, aside from...
Right. Kairos. They're not looking too hot, and certainly the gash on their chest isn't much helpful. Elias stares at his hands for the moment, tar sticking to his gloves and weighing them down. They've yet to be treated with the prestidigitation, and after all of the obstacle yanking with these horned friends of his being just tall enough to be in the way of his spells, perhaps a modicum of forethought could do him well. Besides, Kairos did heal him.. he'd best repay the favor.
And looking to the tiefling once more, Elias peels off his gloves, pale hands exposed and yet unaffected by the wind chill. Once placed off to the side, Elias kind of.. wedges himself over, walking on his knees the short distance from one end of the cart to the other. Something within seemed to click, and the sorcery at his fingertips had one more avenue to express itself. If he concentrated hard enough, he should be able to repay the favor after all, right?
"Hey.. thanks for patching me up. Seriously," he starts, albeit awkwardly, very much aware of the irritation practically radiating off of them. "Sorry 'bout all of that." Okay, that was not going to really mean much—Kairos hardly looks like an artificer that's easy to please—but Elias then spots the wound, covered in entirety by their arm, and frowns a little. "May I...?"
( this is why you don't trust people. )
It takes is being far away enough from that accursed keep to no longer hear the screeching and smell the smoke with a clear route set for Kairos to at least start relaxing, back pressed against their corner of the creaking cart, shoulders slumping a little more, shaking hand against their bloodied side not quite holding as much pressure as it did while they were still trying to make it out of the skeleton horde's assault alive. It worked out, at the very least, even if they would've very much preferred the sensible, more cautious way of doing things, but— that is the risk that comes with people, isn't it? The risk they were no longer willing to take. ( and yet here they are now, still trapped here for the foreseeable future. )
It is most definitely the blood loss obfuscating clearer thoughts that nudges them into desperately wanting some shut eye for a little while, only a slight inconvenience in their role keeping guard at the back to pick off anything potentially trailing them— but someone intruding upon their field of vision tosses that thought out the back entirely, exhaustion steeling itself into open irritation, perhaps the most emotion they've outwardly shown so far, eyes narrowing into a glare, lips twisting into a scowl, tip of the tail once limply resting curled up at their side now flicking and thumping against the wooden plans beneath them. Suffice to say, they are not at all pleased with the outcome, and maybe less with the man mostly responsible for it.
And right now, tired and wounded as they are, the artificer is not particularly in the mood for words, either. Elias' words are met with something quiet between a groan and a growl, a hint of sharp fangs between slightly parted lips, the only answer they dare offer at the moment, more out of instinct than thought. Oh, they will certainly have words for him in a while—
The offer, at least, does give them pause, their glare moving from meeting Elias' eyes to finding his hands, maybe a second longer than it should've taken for the implied request to click— perhaps a sign on its own that they do, in fact, need some amount of assistance. Now, normally, Kairos would be very quick to shoot down anything along those lines, fully aware this is something they can handle on their own if they can just get their mind to work with their hands, the very idea of having to rely on someone else like this and owe them for it making their skin crawl. They don't need other people, they have to remember that, it's the only way to be sure they are safe on their own, keeping to themself, quiet and away from anyone that could get too close—
... Right now, however, Kairos is tired. Kairos is tired, still bleeding, still needing to conserve what energy they're still holding onto for any possible danger on the long road ahead of them... and honestly? They're still just pissed enough that having Elias do the healing instead after being the one to get them into this mess, taking a hit that should've still been directed at him in the necromancer's unbridled rage and still taking their chances and making sure he'd live through his own mistake— this feels like appropriate compensation, at the bare minimum. ( not quite as petty of an action as it is in their own head, but hey— they are the one currently dealing with blood loss, it's fine if their thoughts aren't quite straight right now! )
Finally, finally, Kairos gives in, eyes closed for a moment, a huff as their tail sort of settles down, and they dare let go of the open wound, arm lowered as the icy stare is fixated on Elias once again. He has the permission he needs, at least—
Why can't things ever just go as planned? That's what the plan is for. What are we not getting????
“There are times when I am convinced I am unfit for any human relationship.”
— Franz Kafka, from Letters To Felice
“I do not know who I am, where I am going - and I am the one who has to decide the answers to these hideous questions.”
— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
@fonzeworth asked : "How's your hand, by the way?" Elias falls towards the back of the pack to follow up on the small remedy—it didn't appear like Kairos had struggled to sleep due to pain, though it didn't seem like there would be much that they'd articulate through complaining. Well. Anything pertaining to themself, at least. "It would be hardly fair to think you'd go off to hunt with one hand down, though, all things considered, it's not like we've seen anything along the way besides the undead..." Elias trails off, an attempt to cease his rambling, looking up at the tiefling instead. "Anyway, it didn't keep you from sleeping after your shift, I hope?"
it's a question they perhaps should've expected, with the kind of person this man seems to be so far. And with the apparent lack of... well, just about anything at all moving around them that could provide a good meal, Kairos can at least afford to take their attention away from empty surroundings, already doubtful of their search bearing any fruit. To be quite honest, between the sequence of events they had just ran from and all that was still left to do in the aftermath before reaching any kind of safety, the strain on their hand had been far too easy to forget— and perhaps that was a good thing, if it hadn't been enough to stay on their mind.
Still, Kairos raises their hand to check, just to be sure. It takes some squinting by now to realize there had been any consequence to their spells in the first place, most of the redness having died down by now. Tentatively clenching their hand once, twice, eyes tracing each finger, and there is no pain to be found in the aftermath, fingertips no longer trembling in the constant conjuring of flames. Hopefully, they won't be needing to cast to that degree any time soon, but for now, the temporary remedy had done its part in bringing a modicum of relief, and they're confident the last few traces of such strain will be vanishing soon enough. All in all, a far better outcome than they could've anticipated.
"Much better now." Despite the situation, they're in a decent enough mood to actually word their response— while still far from ideal, just the day before they were bracing themself for a vain effort to escape and a swift execution at best. Certainly beats the ride they've had so far. "It did not keep me up or wake me through the night." Perhaps the best sleep they've had in a while— out of sheer exhaustion finally manifesting itself rather than enough peace of mind to allow them better sleep, but well, they had to take what they could, blessings are scarce out here.
"Do not concern yourself with me any further— I am well enough to do my part, whatever it may be." However temporary this cooperation between runaway prisoners may be, Kairos refuses to be the one to become a burden. They will see this through until the time comes to part, won't they? Just as it has always been.
I GUESS I’M JUST A MESS AND MAYBE I’M JUST L O N E L Y AND B I T T E R
BUT I KNOW THAT MY HEAD’S A STORM AND MY CHEST IS EMPTY
“I live my own life and nurse my own wounds. It’s not the best way to live. But it’s the way I am.”
— Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex