[i'm throwing all of these that i start directly into the memory hole. it's easier on me this way. i'm so sorry this is long i live the oc struggle life.
so, from their room, they get unceremoniously dumped somewhere with-- a screen? a screen, for some reason. he squints at it, then jumps back with a start as it turns on, ears flattening when he realizes what it is.]
Shit- no, we have to leave, we need to go. Now.
[while he's desperately looking for a way out, or at least any way to keep his roommate of all people from seeing this, the scene just-- continues to play out.
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 before 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.
the actual rynlan, in the present, is more or less plastered against the wall opposite it and just about vibrating with pure discomfort.]
[ mephisto looks at him with curious amusement over his apparent desperation to keep him from seeing this... and then looks back to the screen and settles in to see how things play out.
...
there is, perhaps predictably, no real reaction from mephisto to anything he's watching — certainly no empathy. just politely subdued amusement.
when it's finally over his eyes scan the room until he sees rynlan against that wall, and he leans over the back of his seat to face him, pretending not to notice what a mess he appears to be at the moment. ]
Well, that was certainly dramatic! A nice look on you, too, though I'm partial to the current one.
[to needle him, right, because of course there's nothing about this look to be partial to, for all that he insists he knows he's still attractive.
there's a part of him that takes a little solace in the fact that he's not going to get empathy or pity out of mephisto for this; he hates both, when it comes to this particular subject. there's another part of him that quietly scolds himself for being satisfied about that.]
I do think this look is much more interesting, though. It's not every day you see someone who acts so much like a human while looking so different. I like it.
[ before there's a chance for any more flippant comments, the screen flickers on again, this time showing a memory of a serious council meeting, a stark contrast to the chaotic, emotional scene it played just minutes before. ]
there's a lot that comes to mind, watching this, a lot he'd like to say. for one thing-- sir? really? for another, he's putting effort into holding back can't imagine why any of these people wouldn't trust you. for yet another, the research mentioned, which all too easily sets him on edge, hair tentacles writhing in response to barely-stifled agitation. but he takes it all in, arms still folded as he watches, and while he decides just what he wants to say, ultimately starts with:]
...Suppose you can take things seriously, when it suits you.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
w3 monday
so, from their room, they get unceremoniously dumped somewhere with-- a screen? a screen, for some reason. he squints at it, then jumps back with a start as it turns on, ears flattening when he realizes what it is.]
Shit- no, we have to leave, we need to go. Now.
[while he's desperately looking for a way out, or at least any way to keep his roommate of all people from seeing this, the scene just-- continues to play out.
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 before 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.
the actual rynlan, in the present, is more or less plastered against the wall opposite it and just about vibrating with pure discomfort.]
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...
there is, perhaps predictably, no real reaction from mephisto to anything he's watching — certainly no empathy. just politely subdued amusement.
when it's finally over his eyes scan the room until he sees rynlan against that wall, and he leans over the back of his seat to face him, pretending not to notice what a mess he appears to be at the moment. ]
Well, that was certainly dramatic! A nice look on you, too, though I'm partial to the current one.
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[to needle him, right, because of course there's nothing about this look to be partial to, for all that he insists he knows he's still attractive.
there's a part of him that takes a little solace in the fact that he's not going to get empathy or pity out of mephisto for this; he hates both, when it comes to this particular subject. there's another part of him that quietly scolds himself for being satisfied about that.]
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I do think this look is much more interesting, though. It's not every day you see someone who acts so much like a human while looking so different. I like it.
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[he knows he's this way, he should just let it go, but. after seeing that, it's harder to be reasonable about things.]
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there's a lot that comes to mind, watching this, a lot he'd like to say. for one thing-- sir? really? for another, he's putting effort into holding back can't imagine why any of these people wouldn't trust you. for yet another, the research mentioned, which all too easily sets him on edge, hair tentacles writhing in response to barely-stifled agitation. but he takes it all in, arms still folded as he watches, and while he decides just what he wants to say, ultimately starts with:]
...Suppose you can take things seriously, when it suits you.
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Surprised?
I did tell you I was dealing with a number of important matters.
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[which is, probably, the point.]
Suppose this explains a few things you've said, too. Demon, was it?
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I imagine the mention of Satan by name didn't escape your notice either.
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