godsays | 47th metal and awakening

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47th metal and awakening

[ spam for emperor ]

[ He dreams vivid and angry. He dreams like a thunderstorm, restless like rain and broken with sharp spasms of a mind trying, trying to wake up. He dreams of Ruin.

When he starts to wake up, pulling himself up, he, for a moment between awake and asleep, doesn't know if this is real. ]

[ spam in general ]

[ Zane has energy.

Perhaps it's being asleep for so long; perhaps it's some other sort of restlessness. But he doesn't want to stop moving.

Watch out in the hallway; instead of walking past you like a normal person, he may step off the wall, push off from the ceiling, flip, and land on the far side of you. He could also be jumping around on top of the greenhouse like a crazy person. Or balancing on the rail like a crazy bird. He may also be in CES, in a place blasted with dry, hot winds. ]

[ video, open ]

Does anyone have a spare lamp?

And table. And chair. And large bowl.

[ hi he's awake ]

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[ A little flinch. Good thing the Emperor misses, because Zane wouldn't have been fast enough to dodge. ]

I know.

[ Does he know? He feels awake. He reaches out, hand on top of the blanket, palm open, inviting touch. ]

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

[For throwing things, for being here at all. He's here so no one will see him fall apart. He's mostly here because of that.]

Are you - I'm sorry. I'll go.

[He clenches his empty hands and doesn't move.]

What for?

[ He doesn't know, he doesn't understand. He just wants to be touched and held again. Zane has always craved love. ]

Aslan.

Zane.

[Weary, wanting. He aches to hear his name like that. He thinks maybe it could be an anchor, if he were allowed to touch. Zane asked him a question.]

Sneaking. Sneaking in? I'm not worthy.

[There's something wooden in the way he says it, something talismanic.]

That happened, I'm sure that happened. I don't remember my dreams, so it happened.

[Logically.]

Not worthy of what?

[ He pushes himself to sit up. It doesn't feel good; his muscles are weak and shaky, resting too long. ]

Come here. [ It's almost a command. Strong, coherent. ]

[He unfolds from where he's sitting, pads over, wary, wavering, then slides in next to Zane, curls against his side. A hand around the far side of his neck, palm to pulse, counts the beats in his head. Real and alive. He forgets the question before he can think of the answer.]

You're alive.

[ Murmured, and he pulls the Emperor close. He's remembering the cold reality that will await him, but he closes his eyes and wills it away, burying his face in the Emperor's hair. ]

For me.

Yes.

[It's the only thing he never forgets, these days. He can't forget being alive. It demands his awareness. Hitches of breath, hunger pangs, swooping tautness in his chest when he is overcome with emotions before he even knows what they are. It is tumultuous and constant. He thinks of the rusty sea. He tilts in, his hand sliding up to cup the line of Zane's jaw, his cheek.]

Yes, I'm alive.

[Something like his old calm, soothing cadence. Something like waves. He's not sure who he is soothing, but he has missed closeness terribly.]

[ No one's ever done more for him. It is a sacrifice, he isn't ignorant of that. He lets his hand press against the Emperor's chest, until he can feel the heartbeat.

He doesn't have any metals in him, and it makes him feel weak and untethered. But it doesn't matter: because he doesn't need to lean on Aslan to make him feel anymore. ]

Marry me.

[ He hadn't even realized the thought crossed his mind until it was out of his mouth. It feels right. Not like one of those arranged, political marriages - though the two of them probably could have made that work, too. But it feels like it's the time to formalize and deepen, or admit that this isn't what they want. ]

[He makes a noise, strangled and eerie, something between a sob and a scream. His nails dig hard into Zane's shoulder and he quakes, a full-body shudder, delight and fury and yearning and wild despair crashing through him, over him, choking him with wave after wave, one feeling triggering the next, the way a trough pulls a crest.]

You -

[He's wanted it since Zane said he would be willing to come to Aslan's world, but he thought it wasn't the time, and then they were torn apart. He hisses, half-mad, vicious and hungry and hurt in ways that are only half rational.]

You said you wanted to be equals, you, you ask me now when I'm - how dare you, how dare you, fuck you -

[He's shouting now, he's crying, wretched gasps between vitriol on tears gleaming on his cheeks. He doesn't let go, doesn't let go, holds Zane even tighter, like he could shake them both apart if he held on enough.]

When you're insane?

[ Torn apart one way or another. Feeling things that haven't been felt in so long, if ever. God help them, this may be the most equal they've been in a long time. Zane may always be insane. This may be the furthest that he ever heals. It seems selfish to ask for more - to ask that he always be able to cope with it, instead of just more than not.

Aslan helped Zane cope with his insanity. Maybe this is fair. Or maybe Zane is wasting his time measuring and weighing things that are cosmically, inherently unequal. He and Vin are not the same; they never were. He and Aslan are not the same. He and Cassel are not the same. He is not the same as he was.

His fingers run through Aslan's hair over and over again. Hold on tight enough, and they won't shake apart at all. ]

When I'm -

[Yes, no, yes, and he struggles to articulate the disctinction -]

I'm not functional, I can't - I don't remeber where I am or what day it is, I forget which life was real, I can't sleep and I can't work and I can't - I'm only here because I'm hiding, you weeren't supposed to see, no one, and, and how can I change who I am if I don't even know who I am moment to moment, how can I ever - it's been getting worse, I don't remember how long it's been since you fell asleep but it's a little bit worse every day now, and I can't stop it and I can't - build anything, I have no foundations anymore, you can't make promises to anyone when you're disintegrating, how am I supposed to, I'm not, I just -

[He crushes his face against Zane's shoulder, muffling himself as he screams in frustration.]

Edited 2014-05-08 17:58 (UTC)

[ Oh, Zane thinks, this is the Barge - he'd thought it was just emotion. Just the aftereffects of being suddenly alive and human.

He rolls them over - gently, so that Aslan can stop them if he doesn't want to be confined beneath Zane's body - and covers Aslan's body like a blanket. I have you here; I'll protect you. ]

What's happened?

[ On the Barge. What might cause this. Flood? ]

[He shudders, closes his eyes, fists his hand in the back of Zane's shirt. Weight is good, real. He has felt, too often recently, that he might drift away at any moment, that he is mist only occasionally coalescing. He can do this, at least, he can present collected data, and if it's haggard and terse, at least he isn't sobbing or yelling anymore.]

I don't know, I don't - I though it was just nerve damage at first, that I messed up carving the symbiant out, it was still there, entwined, so I had to - but I didn't, the surgery was perfect, damnit, and temporal perception is in the cerebellum, not the sensorimotor cortex or the spine which is where I'd expect damage, and Mal had the same progression and some of the same symptoms, and Ned said something similar, but it's not just. It's not a flood, Zane, there have been floods come and gone and it's still happening.

It started small, a few minutes lost, and it just kept getting worse, I'd suddenly realize I was starving and Mel was howling and I'd check and realize I hadn't eaten or moved in two days, and then it got suddenly much worse, just, I don't know how long, not long ago, and I don't.

I don't see the endpoint for this.

[There might be one. Certainly. But he doesn't see it. The pattern is not known.]

Edited 2014-05-08 18:27 (UTC)

[ He hooks Aslan's hand, brings it up next to them, rubs a thumb over his palm over and over and over again. ]

I'm sorry. I wasn't here.

[ He was here, but he wasn't awake. He wasn't where he should be, doing what he should be. It's not his fault, but he's still sorry. ]

All things that the Barge does - they pass. This will pass.

And then?

[He's so angry, he's so bitter. He thinks of the sea, wave after wave. Feelings, floods. The taste of rust and salt, gagging awful brine, gulping and spitting on accidental mouthfuls as a swell shoved him under. The answer to his question is: and then something else.]

It's the Barge. It's always the Barge.

Yes, it is.

[Duller, now, exhaustion piling on top of the anger and bitterness rather than replacing them.]

You're tired. Sleep and I'll stay here.

[A wrenching sound, half a sob, half trembling relief.]

Please. Please.

[Please stay. He hates himself for it for an instant and then gone, a flare like a lightning strike, shame and uncertainty and hunger and gratitude and fear rumbling thunder in the wake of it. He shudders, the tension falling from his body as he goes limp underneath Zane, except for his face, eyes screwed shut.]

Edited 2014-05-19 02:23 (UTC)

[ If Aslan is comfortable, he stays like this. He times their breathing so that when he inhales, Aslan exhales. He wills the warmth of his body into Aslan, as though that were some new Allomancy he could just Push into being. He doesn't want to go back to sleep. But this closeness isn't something he wants to give up. ]

[He notices the pattern after a few breaths, keens softly, shudders, yearns, trusts. He wants to say I love you I love you I love you, wants to kiss him, or maybe I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry, and manages to do none of them only because he's so torn between them. He hasn't the right, anymore, he has to remember it, imagines scrawling it on the back of his hand since he can't trust memories. He gives a quite, wracking, choked sort of sob.]

Could you.

[He's ashamed to ask. Even with his eyes closed, even with Zane's weight on him like armor, it's a struggle.]

Could you soothe me. Just a little.

[Blunt the driving edge of this storm.]

[ He is surprised, if that's the name for the odd, brimming-tight feeling in his chest. This is the opposite of before. Hundreds of years, and the Emperor hadn't grown acclimated to the lack of feelings. (Riot me.) What if he couldn't grow acclimated to the presence of it? ]

My metals...

[ He reaches to the bedside table, shifting his weight, and selects a vial, one of the non-combat ones. It gives him a little pewter, so he just goes ahead and flares that to let it run out faster, so it won't poison him. Gently, he burns brass. ]

Ready?

[He doesn't even know how he feels now, about Zane being careful with him, about giving in and asking and recieving, about any of it. He focuses on keeping his flinches small and his breaths slow, on the warmth of Zane's skin, how familiar-unfamiliar it feels, instead of the feverish chasm between their body temperatures before.]

Ready. Please.

[ He has never been as good with brass as he is with zinc. Enhancing emotions he can do with such a subtle touch that even a Mistborn doesn't sense it, not unless they're already looking for it; suppressing, he is clumsy. But he tries. He Pulls, fumbles, maybe is a little too severe at first, but he levels it off, gently quieting the emotion. ]

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heisrisen - 2014-06-22 00:48 (UTC) - Expand

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