[ SWEPT AWAY ] + [ SLIP AND SLIDE ]
"Everyone, please, this way - ! Watch your step – ah, are you all right? No, please, continue on – yes, be careful."
Once he had made his way back along the rocky coast, mindful of the rising tide and the crashing waves that broke along the dark cliff faces both distant and near, Dimitri had seen the frantic thrum of those who remained, yet were still lost, swept up by the darkness and confusion of the storm and finding it difficult to cut through. It was easier for him, he thought ruefully, of a hardier constitution, used to worse storms than this, and having the benefit of an upbringing that others might have balked at.
The decision to plant himself in the thick of it, to direct those who milled uncertain, scared, was also easy - this was what he was for, if nothing else.
Hands pressed against passing backs, a warm reassurance that an end was in sight, that they need only press forward and endure a little longer until the manor would be in sight, warm and comfortable, and he squinted at the huddled dark shape shivering in the water. Dimitri bounded forward without a second thought, understanding that any odd thing could have been the very worst option – and found this to be true, tucking his hand beneath the armpit of the man who lay bedraggled in the surf and heaving him upright.
"Are you all right? Can you walk? Come, I will assist." He was slight but not frail, and more importantly he was breathing, although quite pale and wild-eyed. Dimitri attempted his kindest smile, eyes creased at the edges only through the lashing rain and wind.
"Almost there, sir – just a few more meters, you see - ?"
And they continued in that odd three-legged way for far more than a few meters until the sight of the manor came into view, tantalizingly warm – until his foot caught in a shallow flat of collected water, and he slipped, flailing to course correct and failing, the weight of his arms and his cape hooking about the man until they both went down, down, down along the avenue.
ethereal ball, second half.
This night has been utterly humiliating.
First, the undoubtedly induced gust of wind that had knocked him off his feet and into the ocean in a moment of contemplative weakness. Second, his inability to properly identify who had been responsible. And when the storm arrived, sudden and without warning, the cruel whims of fate seemingly decided that humiliation was not enough.
Now, in the water again, swept away by the churning waves, the great Emperor of Grannvale struggles rather uselessly. He manages to force himself closer to the shore, but the pull of the tides makes it a futile, exhausting effort—and before long, he finds himself almost tempted to simply lie there, if only for a brief moment, and curse the unending humiliations that fate has in store for him.
Before he can truly wallow in his own, pathetic misery—unwilling to confront the true danger of his situation, there's a loud splash of water nearby. Then again and again—as someone approaches him, perhaps confusing him (again, a humiliation) for someone in need of help. He tries to speak, although his voice is hoarse and quiet—a surprise to even himself, even as he shudders from the cold. The young man helps him up. He coughs, trying to nod—of course, he's all right. Of course, he can walk.
Arvis feels pathetic. Indebted, too, to his companion. The sight of the manor is a much-needed comfort, but the great forces truly are cruel tonight. He is given no time to rejoice, not even a spare moment. His savior—oh, how he loathes the word—slips. If it were only the other man's support that had suddenly disappeared, perhaps he would have managed to keep his balance. But the other's cape was fated to entangle with him.
What is one more humiliation, now, on top of so many others?
stormborns
izzy806
tangentwithtanner
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