47th metal and awakening

[godsays]

[ 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 ]

Comments

[heisrisen]

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.]

[godsays]

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

[heisrisen]

Yes, it is.

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

[godsays]

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

[heisrisen]

[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.]

[godsays]

[ 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. ]

[heisrisen]

[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.]

[godsays]

[ 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?

[heisrisen]

[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.

[godsays]

[ 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. ]

[heisrisen]

[The spike and the ebb of it mimics the symbiant's natural feedback loop; utterly familiar, quietly comforting. He sighs, softly, lets the comfort well up in the moments after and stay, level, small, still. Manageable comfort, instead of falling blindly into it, as bewildering in its own way as rage. He tips up, kisses Zane chastely, briefly. He blinks away tears of relief and they do not return.]

Perfect. Thank you.