[ryn's busy checking out what they can see of the dorms, already changed into a different outfit-- long-sleeved, high-necked dark grey robes and gloves, leaving only his face and ears uncovered. nooo more jumpsuit.]
So. Your opinions, so far? I think it could be much worse, as punishments go.
[Now there's a rare sight indeed — Thancred, enough lost in thought that he's not altogether paying attention to what's being said around him. At least he snaps out of it quickly, though.]
Oh. Well, it's certainly better than thirty of us in a single cell, I'll give it that.
[Even if he wasn't capable of stealth-following Ryn to the library after the farce of a trial concludes — which he is — it still would've been one of the first places he would've looked for him, regardless. Call it a hunch, or maybe just a familiarity with nerd elves and their habits.
Regardless, he looks quite unlike his usual self when he rolls in and seeks Ryn out — this certainly isn't the Thancred making jokes and quips at spin the bottle just days before. His eyes are dark, his demeanor moody and withdrawn.
[ryn is still in an awful mood, himself; he's not writing or reading anything in his notebook, just idly flipping through it, chin propped in his palm. the tendrils in his hair shift in a constant sort of mild agitation.]
Not for long, possibly. I'm considering moving to the-- what did they call it, dispensary. It might not be bloodthistle, but it'll do.
[hello, thancred. ryn's at the new bar today, but i'm leaving the degree of Shenanigans up to you-- at the moment he's testing out the beer, seeing if it's as bad as it is at the other bar. everything otherwise seems the same with him, except that there's a thin gold chain visible around his neck; whatever is on it is tucked under his robes.]
Thancred- come here, have a seat. Little obnoxious here, design-wise, but the options seem better.
[why is thancred out looking for ryn when it's so fucking late i mean we just trialed all day and then he ran off for some more shenanigans how are we not all exhausted
oh well anyway knock knock pay attention to him rynlan]
[we'll make this before Boat Hell. rynlan is somewhere out in subnutica, wandering... largely because he seems to keep pausing to squint at signs, occasionally turning back a way he already came.
also, his hair is very fancy this evening, it's important.]
[Oh, dear. He'd already know that hair anywhere, but damn, just look at it.
Anyway, Thancred's the diametric opposite of Ryn right now, having been yet again enjoying the near-Limsan atmosphere of the indoor beach, which is why when he spots Ryn he is unfortunately wearing these swim trunks. And no shirt. And flip flops. And his hair, though not so damp that it's dripping, is definitely a spikier mess than usual courtesy of shaking it dry with vigorous finger-rubbing.]
There once was a fella named Ryn Whose good favor I'd worked hard to win, But alas I suspect That he might just object To my rhyme, and deny me a grin.
Speaking as one of the resident threats, I do wish they wouldn't.
[After a long night spent locked in the onsen, maybe it's ridiculous that Thancred is still hanging around — or maybe that's exactly the reason he is still hanging around, because after the crowded mess it'd been the night before, that's all the more reason to expect it to be emptied out and quiet now. Which it certainly is.
Also, he's been swimming in the artificial ocean all week, but the change of pace soaking in the hotsprings is nice, too. Reminiscent of Camp Bronze Lake. Or even Kugane, if he's being generous.]
ryn doesn't have his cat with him, right now, and the reason is immediately clear from the weed smoke he exhales. he's just laying flat on his back somewhere, taking another idle drag.]
[hello, thancred. wherever he happens to be at the moment, rynlan wanders over--
and they are unceremoniously dumped into the memory hole! he blinks up at the screen, ears pinned back, but... as soon as he realizes the scenery on it is familiar, he's stunned into silence, the memory starting to play.
the landscape here is icy and absolutely freezing, harsh and unforgiving, the howl of the wind overshadowed by the sounds of shouting, growling, of metal clanging against metal and teeth and fangs scraping against armor and flesh. their unit's overtaken by the undead, ambushed by scourge forces, and already three out of the eleven of them are bodies on the ground. they all wear the same uniform tabard bearing a stylized sun; rynlan is in the center of their group along with a taller elf in heavier armor, clinging to a staff while his partner bears a shield, struggling to hold off the swarm.
he looks different, too. not blue at all-- he's pale and blond-haired, with bright, glowing green eyes, the same color as his partner (though another elf here has glowing blue ones.) he's younger, if not by much, definitely healthier, golden sparks flying from his fingertips as the pair of them struggle to keep their unit healed. another staggers to their knees, a shield of light surrounding them as rynlan hurries to her side, the memory providing his internal narration. spreading already-- three distinct diseases. plague. rapid onset of necrosis, no response to cleansing-- fuck. fuck, i can't-- out, get out, damn you, let me fix this, please let me--
'ryn-!' he hears from behind him, as claws dig into his arm, the snarling maw of a ghoul entirely too close. rynlan screams, lacing it with magic on instinct to drive the creature away, its claws tearing free as it goes. his partner's mace comes down on it, and as he sees a geist slam into the paladin from the side, he realizes they're truly overrun. there's no defense, anymore, there's just each of them against the undead attacking them, too many for him to even focus on healing at all. 'move,' he manages, his voice hoarse, and the other elf understands.
he snaps the vial around their fallen companion's neck and hurriedly steps back as the body is consumed in blinding, holy flame, all of the dead around them hissing as it burns their eyes. in seconds, the body is nothing but ash. nothing left to stagger to its feet again, mindless. at least he can keep her from that fate.
he can't keep the two of them from theirs, though. there are too many, and they're both healers-- he sees the other elf glance back at him as he staggers, his own arms almost too heavy with exhaustion to hold his staff. the dead mob his partner all too easily, and he screams in outrage-- but this time they don't go anywhere. he just doesn't have anything left, eyes wide with panic at the realization.
'i'll hold them off you,' his partner mutters, determined. 'shut up-- get them off yourself!'
he doesn't listen.
the rest is a blur, for him, even the memory on the screen fuzzy and unclear from there, but the last thing rynlan remembers of him is seeing him flash a quick, reassuring smile before snapping the vial around his neck. he remembers thinking no no no don't you dare don't you fucking dare do this-
the last thing he remembers, the last thing shown as teeth and claws sink into his leg, his back and arms, anywhere they can reach, body curled in on himself in a desperate attempt at protection, is hearing a gut-wrenching scream in his own voice.]
[He almost averts his eyes, once he realizes what he's watching. Not because the scene is gruesome, though it is. Not because it unfolds into horror, though it does. But because something like this isn't supposed to be for him to see — because this is being exposed in a uniquely cruel and violating way, taking images that Rynlan never wanted to share and hanging them up for all manner of scrutiny and regard.
He almost looks away, except that looking away won't help. The sounds will still be there. To say nothing of the fact that this is hell, and more likely than not the images would just project onto the backs of his eyelids even if he did try to close them, because cruelty is the point. It could only be the point, of a moment like this.
So he looks. Sees how strikingly beautiful Rynlan was before whatever corruption took him; understands with new poignancy why he hates mirrors so much, why the person reflected in them is wrong, wrong, always wrong. He sees the ripping talons catch his leg and already knows that it will be lost, that a prosthetic will be needed in place of whatever wreckage of a limb they might leave behind — if they leave anything behind at all.
He sees the paladin. He's wearing armor. It doesn't disguise the knowledge that somewhere on him, there's a ring.
He watches, because this is hell, and as the Rynlan in the projection begins to howl he picks up a chair and smashes it into the screen in a single rapid and unbroken movement, hard enough to crush a hole into the center and send spiderweb cracks skittering all throughout the rest.
It's impossible to say whether it's his percussive maintenance or the natural end of the memory that stops it. This is hell, so likely it's the latter. But it was worth it to attempt the former anyway.]
...Ryn.
[He wavers, just on that syllable. Unsure what to say. Don't comment. Don't draw attention. Don't leave him feeling exposed.]
[hey guess what chums are you sick of RANDOMLY FALLING INTO HOLES by now because GUESS THE HELL WHAT have we got a SURPRISE FOR YOU
|| What — what's this? Something is...interfering with the equipment! the Loporrit cries incredulously, one heartbeat before the alarms begin to sound.
5:50 worth of cutscenes far more convenient to watch rather than transcribing them all out here, the memory shifts —
To the landscape of Ultima Thule, black and green and ultraviolet, an ultimatum of decay and regret nested there at the very edge of the sea of stars. Seven figures stand in the midst of a barren landscape, surrounded by smog and the ridged white ghosts of dragons: two tall elves, one in armor and one in robes; two short ones, identical but for the colors they wear. Three with furred ears and tails, each bearing a staff of a different design on their backs.
The eighth figure in their midst hovers above them on a platform invisible to the naked eye; she is smaller than all of them, ink-black and grey like she's had all the color leached out of her. She is birdlike, with clawed talons in place of feet and wings jutting from the sides of her head. She is the center of attention, for all those assembled.
Our friend Thancred, asks the elf in robes, his stance shifting like he's bracing for a fight to accompany his answer. Where is he?
The birdlike girl smiles sweetly, cocking her head. Mocking him.
A strange question, she answers innocently, like a child gleeful with a secret. He is at your side, is he not? Oh, yes — he is here, and there, and everywhere within this space.
Her smile sharpens. He would tell you himself, if he had form to form words.
The robed elf's eyes narrow; a mixture of confusion, uncertainty, and dread crosses the expressions of the others assembled, one by one. And the bird-girl's look turns wryly pitying, as she casts her eyes down at them again.
Huh. Such loathing and uncertainty...you don't know why you still exist, she remarks. In like manner to the oblivion I send, I tried to drown out your aether with dynamis. Beginning with this Thancred, who came at me despite being unable to breathe.
It quickly becomes apparent that the bird-girl is enjoying the horror of the seven assembled below her; as the terrible recognition begins to dawn in each of them, she looks only more pleased, carrying on with her explanation as if to further twist the knife:
Such a simple thing, unmaking men. In the blinking of an eye, he was gone. Didn't even have the chance to be transformed.
But then, her own expression darkens, just slightly. Yet somehow, he managed to leave a sliver of himself behind. What you call...the heart...or perhaps the soul? In his final moment, he...cried out from it. A single word.
"Survive." ||
As as the robed elf on the memory screen gasps, taken aback with wide-eyed horror, Thancred finds he can't bring himself to look at Ryn — suddenly afraid he'll see the exact same expression mirrored there on his face as well.]
[ah, he knows rynlan so well already. that's exactly the look on his face, after watching all this, seeing their reactions, the way thancred was immediately asked after.
the way he came at her despite being unable to breathe. rynlan doesn't have to wonder why.
if he's not looking, though, he'll miss it when ryn abruptly grabs him by the collar of his coat and shoves, a motion clearly meant to push his back against the wall. whether it works is another thing entirely; even angry, he just doesn't have much physical strength, the force behind it lacking for all his intent.]
You-- I'd ask what you were thinking, but I doubt I have to, you just-- you weren't, were you?
[Hi, Ryn, you will probably find him in one of the onsen's little side rooms today because realistically what is the likelihood that he's going to sleep in the dorm room and run any risk whatsoever of Harrow observing this travesty in any capacity? Zero.
Anyway it appears he's either not yet unfucked his pants or simply doesn't want to wear them in his current condition, because he's hanging out in his Fat Cat alternawear today — big soft hoodie, squishy-soft pajama pants, and dumb little cat slippers and all.
He's also manspreading like crazy which. Probably speaks for itself.]
Well, I suppose it's not the worst pain I've ever been in. Still, top five, perhaps.
[Hey, Ryn, where you at, because here's Thancred in his pajama pants and his Fat Cat slippers and conspicuously not the matching hoodie (you thief), and he's actually out and about walking in search of you.]
[he's at the indoor beach! he's out here just chilling, seemingly content to sit and watch the waves. his ears flick when thancred approaches, though, turning to glance up at him.
rynlan is, however, conspicuously not wearing the matching hoodie, just like he wasn't for mini-event time. he didn't want to get it damaged and now doesn't want it to get sandy or wet, okay.]
[SO ANYWAY now that the tone of curfew has been set by Ryn falling facefirst off a boat after some kind of miserable CYOA and Thancred is being #TankBehavior about it, it probably comes as no surprise that he literally does not put Ryn down from Gigantica all the way back to College Island — albeit with a few stops at a number of his most-visited locales to grab some shit on the way.
See, the thing is, he's started to notice a pattern: people come back from some wildass adventure all fucked up, and then later that night all the doors lock. So right now, he's betting tonight is going to prove to be the same, and if he's right, then he's right, and if he's wrong, so much the better.
So anyway, here we are tucked away someplace secure in the library, where Pack Rat Thancred is making an appearance yet again.]
...don't know how much you think you need for one night, Thancred.
[he's quietly allowed himself to be carried, honestly. it hurts, but he doesn't have to walk, and it's going to hurt if he holds still anyway-- he may as well get the carrying tour.]
[Hey Ryn guess what, we're going to the onsen today, but unlike previous visits to the onsen, upon arrival Thancred embarks on a quick journey of:
1) casing the premises to ensure they're alone 2) barricading the door 3) setting up a bunch of stuff that'll fall and make a loud noise if someone tries to force the door anyway
before finally slinging an arm around Ryn's waist and nodding in the direction of the hotsprings.]
...Can I tempt you with a soak? As there's no one here but us.
[leaves this here because Thancred's probably still sleeping in the Home Biome because let's be honest, where else is he going to go? Movement? He's tired of movement. Let him sleep forever.
The real question is, if everyone who was with them on curfew has vacated and now it's just Thancred and Ryn around, Whose Biome Is It Anyway?]
[WELL OKAY THEN guess who's in a real bad mood about mind control? If you said Thancred, you'd be right!
Ryn's choice where we're going post-trial but hopefully somewhere they can both like. Sit down for ten billion years. It's a shame the ice cream shop would probably leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth (pun intended) at this point because sulking over ice cream honestly sounds like a pretty decent way to spend an evening.]
Edited (wrote execution when i meant to say trial oopsie doopsie) 2023-03-19 01:54 (UTC)
[it really does, doesn't it? so ryn is just taking them back to the home biome, where they can rest on a familiar bed again. he's tired. it's been a long day.
he's just curled up with thancred, an arm draped over him and face pressed into his chest as he mutters-]
[sometime after execution, wherever they're hanging out-- ryn has clearly had something on his mind, and eventually he just glances up and asks, out of nowhere-]
[I hate to say it but they're probably in the extremely cursed ice cream shop because 1) ice cream and 2) if Ryn flinches and drops this on his crotch it's a much easier cleanup. Morosely eats his chocolate chip cookie dough and ponders the universe — well, up until that question.]
...I can't say as I ever have, truthfully. Ear accessories are more the province of other races back home — Elezen, in particular, make quite a fuss about their adornments.
[But it's not as though he doesn't sense there's more to the question than that, and what the hey, he'll take the bait.]
["Let's spend the night in the home biome", they said, because the truth is it's an awfully comfortable and convenient place to spend the night, for the following reasons:
1. No demon roommates 2. It's not the Bone Palace™ 3. More comfortable than the onsen 4. Nostalgia
And the thing is they've done this before, except it's generally been Ryn's influence that took hold of the biome and turned the setting to his own thoughts of home — but tonight, when the area shimmers and takes its shape, they find themselves outside on a warm spring night on what is clearly some sort of academic campus, all green trees and sprawling quads and dotted with marble buildings and benches. Down by the harbor, a magnificent statue sprawls up into the heavens, magicked waters spilling steadily from its ever-pouring ewer.
Welcome to Sharlayan, Rynlan. Is this what you would've imagined, when trying to picture the place Thancred thinks of as home?]
...Thancred, this is-- it's beautiful. Is this really your home?
[a little awed, there. he honestly didn't anticipate this-- yes, he's said he was well educated, told ryn how he earned his tattoos, but rynlan wouldn't have guessed that the place where that happened would also be home to him. he assumed he came from somewhere else, left for somewhere else afterward.
he's staying still right where he is, just... taking it all in.]
[Anyway, following a positively Mandervillian return from CYOA on the part of one (1) ThanBoySuperThan FanCred, Rynlan Dawnslight, these two idiots will be heading for the onsen because there are like three whole locations that Thancred defaults to holing up in around here in Superhell, and this seems like one of the best for warming up after being wet and cold in the bitter chill for so long.
Also, it's 100% less hazardous than the coffee shop to his sensitive bits. So.]
...And I thought the garb I was sent back in after one of those misadventures was atrocious.
[the terrible shirt is one thing but also, this is so unlike his preferences, short sleeves?? fuck. he has to lean on him along the way, he's missing his cane, but he's a little more relaxed after they leave snow island. warmth...]
[honestly thancred should get a pity regain just from all the rynlan-related shenanigans he has personally shouldered this week like fuckdamn. what an absolute saint.]
Mm. Nothing to be upset about, is there?
[He's just like. Shepherding Ryn back to the indoor ocean, probably. Beach time now.]
[Now here's a place we've never had a PC before: still on Execution Island™, just outside the doors to the Execution Bar™. After all, that's what you do after a performance, isn't it? Go wait just outside the backstage door for your leading man to finish taking off his executioner's costume and void makeup and come stumbling back out into the bright blinking light of day.
The thing is, this is just — it's just been a hell of a week on Ryn in one particular manner that Thancred really doesn't like. Injuries are one thing, of course, but all the mindfucking and perception-switching and personality-reversing and voidcalling has him more than a little worried. And sure, he's been doing his damnedest to field it as best he can, to roll with it and accommodate it and do his job keeping Rynlan safe, but at the end of the day he really just wants his elf back.
He's even waiting with a bribe. His gunbreaker coat is already off his shoulders, dangling instead from one hastily-bandaged hand.
[when he comes to find thancred, it's clearly a little difficult. he doesn't have anything to lean on for his injured leg, but he can still manage to walk, albeit with a limp-- the trouble is the good couple hits he took from filbo's shadow. he moves slowly, careful not to overextend himself until he can actually assess the damage.
and when he finds him-
...he doesn't have it in him to take the coat and put it on fully, to pause long enough for that, but he does take it and clutch it close as he just lets himself fall right against thancred.
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w0 sunday
So. Your opinions, so far? I think it could be much worse, as punishments go.
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[Now there's a rare sight indeed — Thancred, enough lost in thought that he's not altogether paying attention to what's being said around him. At least he snaps out of it quickly, though.]
Oh. Well, it's certainly better than thirty of us in a single cell, I'll give it that.
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w0, monday
there's an elf struggling to get one of the dorm room mirrors down the steps by himself without breaking it; it's very slow going.]
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Well. Doing a little redecorating, are we?
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w0, saturday (post-trial)
Regardless, he looks quite unlike his usual self when he rolls in and seeks Ryn out — this certainly isn't the Thancred making jokes and quips at spin the bottle just days before. His eyes are dark, his demeanor moody and withdrawn.
Great company, in other words.]
I thought you might be headed this way.
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Not for long, possibly. I'm considering moving to the-- what did they call it, dispensary. It might not be bloodthistle, but it'll do.
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w1, monday
Thancred- come here, have a seat. Little obnoxious here, design-wise, but the options seem better.
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anyway Thancred comes rolling in a little bit later in the afternoon, smelling of french fries and that unique Eau de Food Court.]
Well. Someone's in a cheerful mood.
[But over he goes, not one to turn down some company, and finds himself a cheap beer of his own. For the moment.]
Have you been out exploring all of our new locales?
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w1, saturday
oh well anyway knock knock pay attention to him rynlan]
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he does allow it, though he looks slightly surprised to see him there.]
Thancred-?
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w2 tuesday
also, his hair is very fancy this evening, it's important.]
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Anyway, Thancred's the diametric opposite of Ryn right now, having been yet again enjoying the near-Limsan atmosphere of the indoor beach, which is why when he spots Ryn he is unfortunately wearing these swim trunks. And no shirt. And flip flops. And his hair, though not so damp that it's dripping, is definitely a spikier mess than usual courtesy of shaking it dry with vigorous finger-rubbing.]
There once was a fella named Ryn
Whose good favor I'd worked hard to win,
But alas I suspect
That he might just object
To my rhyme, and deny me a grin.
[Hello, there.]
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w2 friday
You know, they could at least kill one person who's actually-- a problem. A threat. Anything like that.
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[After a long night spent locked in the onsen, maybe it's ridiculous that Thancred is still hanging around — or maybe that's exactly the reason he is still hanging around, because after the crowded mess it'd been the night before, that's all the more reason to expect it to be emptied out and quiet now. Which it certainly is.
Also, he's been swimming in the artificial ocean all week, but the change of pace soaking in the hotsprings is nice, too. Reminiscent of Camp Bronze Lake. Or even Kugane, if he's being generous.]
Another friend of yours?
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w2, saturday
anyway he's coming to find ryn after a while, fully expecting to find an absolute wreck.]
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ryn doesn't have his cat with him, right now, and the reason is immediately clear from the weed smoke he exhales. he's just laying flat on his back somewhere, taking another idle drag.]
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w3 monday
and they are unceremoniously dumped into the memory hole! he blinks up at the screen, ears pinned back, but... as soon as he realizes the scenery on it is familiar, he's stunned into silence, the memory starting to play.
the landscape here is icy and absolutely freezing, harsh and unforgiving, the howl of the wind overshadowed by the sounds of shouting, growling, of metal clanging against metal and teeth and fangs scraping against armor and flesh. their unit's overtaken by the undead, ambushed by scourge forces, and already three out of the eleven of them are bodies on the ground. they all wear the same uniform tabard bearing a stylized sun; rynlan is in the center of their group along with a taller elf in heavier armor, clinging to a staff while his partner bears a shield, struggling to hold off the swarm.
he looks different, too. not blue at all-- he's pale and blond-haired, with bright, glowing green eyes, the same color as his partner (though another elf here has glowing blue ones.) he's younger, if not by much, definitely healthier, golden sparks flying from his fingertips as the pair of them struggle to keep their unit healed. another staggers to their knees, a shield of light surrounding them as rynlan hurries to her side, the memory providing his internal narration. spreading already-- three distinct diseases. plague. rapid onset of necrosis, no response to cleansing-- fuck. fuck, i can't-- out, get out, damn you, let me fix this, please let me--
'ryn-!' he hears from behind him, as claws dig into his arm, the snarling maw of a ghoul entirely too close. rynlan screams, lacing it with magic on instinct to drive the creature away, its claws tearing free as it goes. his partner's mace comes down on it, and as he sees a geist slam into the paladin from the side, he realizes they're truly overrun. there's no defense, anymore, there's just each of them against the undead attacking them, too many for him to even focus on healing at all. 'move,' he manages, his voice hoarse, and the other elf understands.
he snaps the vial around their fallen companion's neck and hurriedly steps back as the body is consumed in blinding, holy flame, all of the dead around them hissing as it burns their eyes. in seconds, the body is nothing but ash. nothing left to stagger to its feet again, mindless. at least he can keep her from that fate.
he can't keep the two of them from theirs, though. there are too many, and they're both healers-- he sees the other elf glance back at him as he staggers, his own arms almost too heavy with exhaustion to hold his staff. the dead mob his partner all too easily, and he screams in outrage-- but this time they don't go anywhere. he just doesn't have anything left, eyes wide with panic at the realization.
'i'll hold them off you,' his partner mutters, determined.
'shut up-- get them off yourself!'
he doesn't listen.
the rest is a blur, for him, even the memory on the screen fuzzy and unclear from there, but the last thing rynlan remembers of him is seeing him flash a quick, reassuring smile before snapping the vial around his neck. he remembers thinking no no no don't you dare don't you fucking dare do this-
the last thing he remembers, the last thing shown as teeth and claws sink into his leg, his back and arms, anywhere they can reach, body curled in on himself in a desperate attempt at protection, is hearing a gut-wrenching scream in his own voice.]
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He almost looks away, except that looking away won't help. The sounds will still be there. To say nothing of the fact that this is hell, and more likely than not the images would just project onto the backs of his eyelids even if he did try to close them, because cruelty is the point. It could only be the point, of a moment like this.
So he looks. Sees how strikingly beautiful Rynlan was before whatever corruption took him; understands with new poignancy why he hates mirrors so much, why the person reflected in them is wrong, wrong, always wrong. He sees the ripping talons catch his leg and already knows that it will be lost, that a prosthetic will be needed in place of whatever wreckage of a limb they might leave behind — if they leave anything behind at all.
He sees the paladin. He's wearing armor. It doesn't disguise the knowledge that somewhere on him, there's a ring.
He watches, because this is hell, and as the Rynlan in the projection begins to howl he picks up a chair and smashes it into the screen in a single rapid and unbroken movement, hard enough to crush a hole into the center and send spiderweb cracks skittering all throughout the rest.
It's impossible to say whether it's his percussive maintenance or the natural end of the memory that stops it. This is hell, so likely it's the latter. But it was worth it to attempt the former anyway.]
...Ryn.
[He wavers, just on that syllable. Unsure what to say. Don't comment. Don't draw attention. Don't leave him feeling exposed.]
Rynlan. I didn't see this. We were never here.
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w3, thursday, pre-curfew
5:50 worth of cutscenes far more convenient to watch rather than transcribing them all out here, the memory shifts —
To the landscape of Ultima Thule, black and green and ultraviolet, an ultimatum of decay and regret nested there at the very edge of the sea of stars. Seven figures stand in the midst of a barren landscape, surrounded by smog and the ridged white ghosts of dragons: two tall elves, one in armor and one in robes; two short ones, identical but for the colors they wear. Three with furred ears and tails, each bearing a staff of a different design on their backs.
The eighth figure in their midst hovers above them on a platform invisible to the naked eye; she is smaller than all of them, ink-black and grey like she's had all the color leached out of her. She is birdlike, with clawed talons in place of feet and wings jutting from the sides of her head. She is the center of attention, for all those assembled.
Our friend Thancred, asks the elf in robes, his stance shifting like he's bracing for a fight to accompany his answer. Where is he?
The birdlike girl smiles sweetly, cocking her head. Mocking him.
A strange question, she answers innocently, like a child gleeful with a secret. He is at your side, is he not? Oh, yes — he is here, and there, and everywhere within this space.
Her smile sharpens. He would tell you himself, if he had form to form words.
The robed elf's eyes narrow; a mixture of confusion, uncertainty, and dread crosses the expressions of the others assembled, one by one. And the bird-girl's look turns wryly pitying, as she casts her eyes down at them again.
Huh. Such loathing and uncertainty...you don't know why you still exist, she remarks. In like manner to the oblivion I send, I tried to drown out your aether with dynamis. Beginning with this Thancred, who came at me despite being unable to breathe.
It quickly becomes apparent that the bird-girl is enjoying the horror of the seven assembled below her; as the terrible recognition begins to dawn in each of them, she looks only more pleased, carrying on with her explanation as if to further twist the knife:
Such a simple thing, unmaking men. In the blinking of an eye, he was gone. Didn't even have the chance to be transformed.
But then, her own expression darkens, just slightly. Yet somehow, he managed to leave a sliver of himself behind. What you call...the heart...or perhaps the soul? In his final moment, he...cried out from it. A single word.
"Survive." ||
As as the robed elf on the memory screen gasps, taken aback with wide-eyed horror, Thancred finds he can't bring himself to look at Ryn — suddenly afraid he'll see the exact same expression mirrored there on his face as well.]
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the way he came at her despite being unable to breathe. rynlan doesn't have to wonder why.
if he's not looking, though, he'll miss it when ryn abruptly grabs him by the collar of his coat and shoves, a motion clearly meant to push his back against the wall. whether it works is another thing entirely; even angry, he just doesn't have much physical strength, the force behind it lacking for all his intent.]
You-- I'd ask what you were thinking, but I doubt I have to, you just-- you weren't, were you?
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w3, sunday, post-execution
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ryn is making a latte again.]
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w4 monday
[hi thancred... rynlan's dropping by to check on him in the morning, brows furrowed in concern.]
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Anyway it appears he's either not yet unfucked his pants or simply doesn't want to wear them in his current condition, because he's hanging out in his Fat Cat alternawear today — big soft hoodie, squishy-soft pajama pants, and dumb little cat slippers and all.
He's also manspreading like crazy which. Probably speaks for itself.]
Well, I suppose it's not the worst pain I've ever been in. Still, top five, perhaps.
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w4, wednesday
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rynlan is, however, conspicuously not wearing the matching hoodie, just like he wasn't for mini-event time. he didn't want to get it damaged and now doesn't want it to get sandy or wet, okay.]
Thancred-- how are you feeling?
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w4, thursday night curfew
See, the thing is, he's started to notice a pattern: people come back from some wildass adventure all fucked up, and then later that night all the doors lock. So right now, he's betting tonight is going to prove to be the same, and if he's right, then he's right, and if he's wrong, so much the better.
So anyway, here we are tucked away someplace secure in the library, where Pack Rat Thancred is making an appearance yet again.]
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[he's quietly allowed himself to be carried, honestly. it hurts, but he doesn't have to walk, and it's going to hurt if he holds still anyway-- he may as well get the carrying tour.]
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w4, friday, post-death announcement
2) barricading the door
3) setting up a bunch of stuff that'll fall and make a loud noise if someone tries to force the door anyway
before finally slinging an arm around Ryn's waist and nodding in the direction of the hotsprings.]
...Can I tempt you with a soak? As there's no one here but us.
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[his brow furrows, as he gestures to the bandages...
but it's not an immediate no because of undressing either.]
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w4, Saturday
I know what you were doing, Thancred.
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...I know.
[He says, like a man fully expecting an earful about it.]
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w5, tuesday
Let's go to the clothes shop and flirt and get Thancred a baby slut crop top I guess!]
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We're going to have to do something about the outfit if there's supposed to be a party.
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w5, friday
The real question is, if everyone who was with them on curfew has vacated and now it's just Thancred and Ryn around, Whose Biome Is It Anyway?]
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when he wakes up-- he just goes back to petting thancred's hair, silent. letting him sleep, if that doesn't wake him.]
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w5, saturday, post-trial
Ryn's choice where we're going post-trial but hopefully somewhere they can both like. Sit down for ten billion years. It's a shame the ice cream shop would probably leave a bad taste in everyone's mouth (pun intended) at this point because sulking over ice cream honestly sounds like a pretty decent way to spend an evening.]
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he's just curled up with thancred, an arm draped over him and face pressed into his chest as he mutters-]
...twice in a week is too much.
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w5 sunday
Have you ever considered piercing your ears?
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...I can't say as I ever have, truthfully. Ear accessories are more the province of other races back home — Elezen, in particular, make quite a fuss about their adornments.
[But it's not as though he doesn't sense there's more to the question than that, and what the hey, he'll take the bait.]
Been staring at my ears of late, have you?
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w6, monday
2. It's not the Bone Palace™
3. More comfortable than the onsen
4. Nostalgia
And the thing is they've done this before, except it's generally been Ryn's influence that took hold of the biome and turned the setting to his own thoughts of home — but tonight, when the area shimmers and takes its shape, they find themselves outside on a warm spring night on what is clearly some sort of academic campus, all green trees and sprawling quads and dotted with marble buildings and benches. Down by the harbor, a magnificent statue sprawls up into the heavens, magicked waters spilling steadily from its ever-pouring ewer.
Welcome to Sharlayan, Rynlan. Is this what you would've imagined, when trying to picture the place Thancred thinks of as home?]
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[a little awed, there. he honestly didn't anticipate this-- yes, he's said he was well educated, told ryn how he earned his tattoos, but rynlan wouldn't have guessed that the place where that happened would also be home to him. he assumed he came from somewhere else, left for somewhere else afterward.
he's staying still right where he is, just... taking it all in.]
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w6, thursday, pre-curfew
ThanBoySuperThanFanCred, Rynlan Dawnslight, these two idiots will be heading for the onsen because there are like three whole locations that Thancred defaults to holing up in around here in Superhell, and this seems like one of the best for warming up after being wet and cold in the bitter chill for so long.Also, it's 100% less hazardous than the coffee shop to his sensitive bits. So.]
...And I thought the garb I was sent back in after one of those misadventures was atrocious.
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[the terrible shirt is one thing but also, this is so unlike his preferences, short sleeves?? fuck. he has to lean on him along the way, he's missing his cane, but he's a little more relaxed after they leave snow island. warmth...]
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w6, saturday
wherever they end up afterward, ryn is completely fine! he's just chilling. vibing, even.]
Don't know what we're all so upset about, sixth time we've gone through this. We caught him, he dies.
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Mm. Nothing to be upset about, is there?
[He's just like. Shepherding Ryn back to the indoor ocean, probably. Beach time now.]
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w6, sunday, post-execution
The thing is, this is just — it's just been a hell of a week on Ryn in one particular manner that Thancred really doesn't like. Injuries are one thing, of course, but all the mindfucking and perception-switching and personality-reversing and voidcalling has him more than a little worried. And sure, he's been doing his damnedest to field it as best he can, to roll with it and accommodate it and do his job keeping Rynlan safe, but at the end of the day he really just wants his elf back.
He's even waiting with a bribe. His gunbreaker coat is already off his shoulders, dangling instead from one hastily-bandaged hand.
It's warm, and carries his scent.]
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and when he finds him-
...he doesn't have it in him to take the coat and put it on fully, to pause long enough for that, but he does take it and clutch it close as he just lets himself fall right against thancred.
he'll catch and hold him. he always does.]
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