ioduanlogs | If I can live through this I can do anything

Entry tags:

If I can live through this I can do anything

Characters: Pepper Potts, Devin Parker, and you!
Date: Throughout August
Location: Around Aifaran
Situation: Pepper gets turned tiny and is a small terror, and Devin is dealing with the fallout of Bobby's visit
Warnings/Rating: Probable discussions of torture, violence, murder

A. [Pepper] Arts 3 | Around Aifaran | Open

Not having anything particularly against Igheeri and also not being particularly busy at the moment they grab her, Pepper is willing to go along with the gag. It's clearly a serious enterprise for them, and despite literally nothing being either a style that works for her or something that isn't completely hideous, she's having fun. For the first hour, anyway. After that it starts getting a bit ridiculous, and then when she tries to disentangle herself it is not as easy as she would like. "Really, this has been super fun, but, uh, I'm supposed to be meeting a friend nearby."

B. [Pepper] To be a child again | Aug 8 - 14 | Around Aifaran | Open

Well, this is awkward. Pepper woke up about twenty-five or twenty-six once in Keeliai, and that was a bit strange but not substantially problematic. Waking up ten, however… very problematic. Part of that problem is that, while she remembers Aifaran and Keeliai and all of that history, she's also much more her ten-year-old self than her actual age in some ways: more stubborn, more chatty, and more (visibly) insatiably curious. She tries to go to work, and the Sentry tell her she'll have to wait until it wears off (it had better wear off). The kitchen counter is annoyingly high but she insists on trying to cook anyway. None of her clothes fit, which means she can go shopping but everyone treats her like the child she appears to be, and therefore don't talk to her like she's just a human being. Bakura and Gene are elected to help make the shopping nightmare bearable. More than one person is threatened with arrest.

Worse, Pepper can't wear the Rescue armor properly, and the one time she tries she falls on her face in the middle of a park. When her ka is tangible, Pepper looks almost laughably small next to the fully-armored woman, and Vee teases her once by appearing at her ten-foot height. The redhead retaliates by climbing her.

C. [Devin] Apartment | August 1 | X

Valdis tells him that Bobby is gone, and the last shred of composure Devin has been clinging to finally shatters. He doesn't sit so much as collapse heavily onto his couch, head in hands and shoulders shaking. It's over. It should have been over when they trapped her, when they fought on the most even terms possible and when Devin had the chance to just kill her. He had her life in his hands for the first time, and he didn't want it. She wasn't worth it to him; she was still a threat, to be sure, but not in the apocalyptic way he had feared. What was left to her was her ability to destroy Devin from the inside out with just words, a powerful language to manipulate reality, and the knowledge that harming people he cares about would unhinge him.

She will never remember this incident, but Devin is left trying to pick up the pieces of himself in her wake. She's gone but the world hasn't stopped spinning out of his control.

D. [Devin] The turtle's head | Mid or Late August | The Fool

It's obscenely early in the morning when Devin reaches the turtle's head. Neither his apartment nor the Fool's is a neutral enough location for this conversation, and he couldn't think of anywhere else that would be both private and neutral. Visitors usually don't show up until after breakfast here, even though it's no guarantee of complete privacy. What it does offer is a sense of calm that has evaded Devin for the better part of three months. Even if it's only by inches, it is better than nothing. There's a flat spot on the rocks that isn't carved but is like a naturally formed bench, and Devin claims the spot to watch the sun rise.

He told the Fool when he'd be there, but didn't request that he arrive quite this early if he doesn't want to. The vampire doesn't need as much sleep as most humans. He hasn't been getting it either, and it's starting to show even in the pale rays of morning.

E. [Devin] A Bar | Late August | Kit

So, a lot happened last month. A Lot. Taking on his demonic ex-girlfriend and sealing her into a giant bloody cross until she vanished from Aifaran was not undertaken lightly, and Devin has been dealing with the consequences in one way or another ever since. Getting drunk and hiding was the first order of things, but then he had to help keep an eye on a foal-sized Hellhound and was forced to stop drowning in his own self-hatred and misery for five minutes. He knows he needs to have a conversation with everyone who was involved; Valdis can wait, since the whole guardianship thing will take some more unpacking of its own and she wasn't miffed about anything but not killing Bobby. Klaus understood the gravity of her presence even if she was much less powerful than anticipated, and Devin also isn't sure how this situation will affect their already rocky interactions.

Kit, however, had objected strongly to her murder and to sealing her, and as much as Devin would like to Never Ever speak of these events again, he has to. There is too much that Kit doesn't know, and not enough familiarity between them to let this sit by the wayside. Devin purchases himself a double helping of liquor and tells the bartender he'll get Kit's, too.

F. Wildcard!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Fool is not, in general, an early riser. He enjoys the luxury of an indulgent lie-in perhaps a bit too much, now that he has the opportunity to enjoy it without fearing for his life or for the course of history that might be upset by indulging his whims. But this is hardly his first time visiting the turtle's head in the twilight of predawn.

For a time he stands still in the tall grass and watches Devin where he sits by the water's edge, but doesn't approach. Devin will know that he's here, of course--not by his scent, for he doesn't have one, but from the sound of his heartbeat, which will always be beyond his power to conceal. He doesn't hesitate in approaching out of fear or reluctance... though possibly to postpone the inevitability of change that has surrounded this encounter since Devin first proposed it. It begs the question of whether the Fool is drawn to change, or if his presence is enough to create it wherever he goes? That's more philosophical than he has the heart for, this morning.

(Though he has heart enough for plenty of other things.)

He doesn't announce himself when he at last descends the gently sloping hill to join Devin on the flat slab of stone, folding himself neatly into a sitting position at his friend's side. He doesn't say anything at first, instead looking towards the gentle softening of the horizon where the sun will rise, eventually.

Then, "This is such a beautiful place." Maybe a trite comment coming from anyone other than the Fool, who rather reverently traces his gloved fingertips across the smooth stone.

After the somewhat embarrassing text conversation earlier in the month, Devin has been trying to figure out how to tell the Fool what he needs to understand. Devin keeps going back and forth and back and forth on what he should even do about whatever it is that's been developing between them; he knows what to call it but he fears giving it a name. To do so would make transform it into something that could cut to the bone, rather than merely graze.

He doesn't turn when he hears someone arrive. It's probably the Fool, and if it isn't then he would rather not meet the gaze of a stranger at a time like this. Eventually, though, the Fool comes to sit beside him, and still he does not turn. Making eye contact when he's uncomfortable has always been difficult for Devin.

"It is," he agrees quietly. A few moments are filled only with the sound of waves lapping against the shore. "I didn't expect you to come out so early."

His wounds are still raw; any eye contact, even from someone who cares for him, is bound to cause pain. The Fool is content to sit in silence for now and admire the stone under his fingers, and to slip one of his feet free from his shoes so that he can dip it into the warm water.

Eventually, Devin says, "I didn't expect you to come out so early," and receives a gentle scoff in reply. "And why not?" he asks with a touch of his usual whimsy in his tone, his smile wry. He gestures around them with one hand. (His sleeve rides up just enough to reveal a bit of bandage wrapped around his arm from a recent injury; he hadn't meant to conceal it from Devin so much as he's likely forgotten it's there.) "This is the best time to come here if one wishes not to be interrupted during meditation. Even I can be convinced to get up early for that."

He's still smiling lightly as he grows quiet, eyes at last turning to take in Devin's profile. The expression fades some. Gently, he asks, "Will you tell me what is on your mind?"

Devin lets the explanation go without argument. It would be simple enough to use it as a diversion from getting to the heart of this conversation and normally he might take it, but he's delayed long enough. The wrapping on the Fool's arm is visible out of the corner of his eye though there's no accompanying limitation on mobility. He'll note that for later, if they have time.

"Too much," Devin admits. "With everything that's happened recently, it's been difficult to keep things as compartmentalized as I normally do." A breath, and he dives in. "When X made his call to the network a few months ago, it was because he had accidentally been subject to the entire lives and experiences of myself and one other." Valdis' story is her own to tell. "My life is fraught and violent, and trusting people with my secrets has never been safe. Some things I know are so dangerous that I could unbalance the order of my world if I'm misused. I was built for a purpose. Neither X nor I were given a choice in what he learned - and it was everything. I'm honestly surprised we didn't kill him with what he absorbed."

He pauses again and fiddles with a pebble, rolling it between his fingers. The next thing Devin says is barely audible. "I recognized his screams as my own-- it feels like being held hostage by my own life. That was why I started avoiding everything and everyone."

This world had betrayed him, and he was lucky that X was the one his universe fell to. But even now, Devin cringes when he remembers another horror that X now holds, another moment stolen.

How does one learn to compartmentalize the torture that one endures? The Fool has managed it, though not through any conscious initiative on his part. He sits in uninterrupted silence beside Devin as the circumstances of the last few months are laid out to him, making clear some things that had been mired in a fog of confusion.

(X's strange exchange with him via the network, and their conversation afterwards, now makes more sense--and he suspects that he can now answer at least some of the questions that he had left unasked.)

"...I recognized his screams as my own-- it feels like being held hostage by my own life. That was why I started avoiding everything and everyone."

"And why would you not?" The Fool gives his head a modest shake and looks away from Devin towards the graying horizon. He absently slips his other foot free of its shoe, then dips it into the water as well; a deceptively casual and relaxed demeanor given the subject they're discussing, though his expression is grave, his earlier mild frivolity gone. To think of what he must have endured, that sharing it would drive X to make such a post to the network--

He takes a slow breath, then lets it out again, his eyes closing. "You saw only the briefest of glimpses of my own trauma, and I all but fled the Dreaming Bridge for two days. I suspect what rapport I'm ever to have with Valdis shall always be fraught because of that."

After a moment, he tilts his head some to peer at Devin, pensive. "It takes courage to do what you have done," he reminds him quietly. A beat, and he adds, "And compassion, to relive your suffering and still be moved to look after another person who is suffering, too. Most people would not do such a thing."

He hesitates a moment, then reaches out to touch the tips of his fingers against Devin's shoulder; it is a delicate touch, more to the cloth of his shirt more than anything else. The Fool presses his lips into a thin line, before saying softly, "I wish I knew what to say to ease this pain in you, but I do not."

It's the lightest of touches and almost startlingly careful. Devin doesn't flinch away from it, instead squeezing his eyes shut and willing the painful lump in his throat to loosen. What's left to say will be worse to hear and to tell, and all he wants to do is lean sideways and forget the world. How do you recover from a trauma so deep the wounds have never fully healed, and that you've buried for so long? Devin tries to remember if he was different before her. In some respects he must have been, but he can't see very well past that cloud of agony and anguish.

Several shaky breaths go by before Devin finds words again. "I wanted to run. I seriously thought about leaving the city. But-- I made a vow I would never inflict myself on innocent people. X doesn't deserve my burdens."

He grips the edge of the stone they sit upon, as if trying to borrow from the solidity beneath them. "And neither do you, Fool." The words are strained. "If she had known--" Despite the vague wording, the message is clear: if Bobby had known what the Fool means to Devin, even with so much unexplored between them, it would have been disastrous.

His eyes remain shut; if he opens them he worries his vision will be watery and blurred. One hand comes up to cover the scar over his heart. The Fool has seen it, but now he'll learn it's origins. "What X broadcast was the night I told her-- I loved her." Devin shivers at the memory, but he needs to relate how dire things could be. "I woke up strapped to a table. She kept me alert while she cracked my chest open-- taunting and teasing the whole time. She called it art," the word is spat with a burst of anger, "and she'd have done whatever she could to hurt you if she realized that we knew each other, much less-- anything else. I am a death sentence to the people around me."

"If she had known--"

"Devin," the Fool begins gently, but quiets himself. Instead, he listens, even though the sharing of these burdens seems to tug and tear at old wounds already aggravated by Bobby's presence in Aifaran; but maybe letting the air in will enable them to heal properly, as they haven't been able to before, and perhaps if Devin can bring himself to share this much with the Fool, then maybe, possibly--

"...I am a death sentence to the people around me."

"Please look at me."

The request is delivered softly, without reprimand, but the immediacy of it hopefully is enough to ground Devin in the present moment, where he sits safe and uninjured on the great continent turtle's head, in the company of one who means him no harm. He waits until their eyes can meet, hesitates, then moves his touch from Devin's shoulder to his cheek; just fingertips at first, and then, tenderly, the back of one curved finger. The touch is brief, and silent, and it is only a matter of seconds before he draws his hand back. "We are alive, now." A moment's hesitation, before he insists softly, "I am alive now. Life, for the living, has only one guarantee, and that is that it has an end, but the choices we make with the time given to us are ours."

(Wretchedly unfair, the Fool has thought on more than one occasion, that his own decisions so often decided the fate of the future. He could have turned his back on his calling; he did not. He'd made his choice.)

There he grows quiet, his eyes at last darting away to rest on the water line; the sunrise is imminent now. The Fool takes a breath and goes on. "You've been through so much that I would be cruel to fault you for keeping those around you at arm's length. But I beg you not to do it for my sake alone," he says finishes quietly, looking to Devin again. His gaze is pleading. "Don't take the choice away from me."

It takes an effort of will to meet the Fool's eyes, but Devin does turn. Fear and uncertainty crumple into shock when the Fool touches his cheek. He's too surprised to do much but breathe in sharply before the prophet pulls his hand away, and after seems frozen by the contact. When was the last time he'd been touched so gently? Either he can't remember, or it's never happened. Kind hands have rarely reached him.

A memory of the future lashes at Devin: an eternity awaits in which he will slowly cease to be the man he is and become something other. How long it will take, Devin has no idea; only that if he isn't killed, he can never truly die. That matters less here in Konryu. In all likelihood, Devin will be sent back to his world before immortality becomes relevant. No, the real obstacles are more deeply rooted than that nebulous fate.

He can't hold that amber gaze for more than a moment. Devin's grip on the edge of the stone is white-knuckled and his voice is edged with desperation. "I am a monster, Fool. I am hunted by every race and faction in my world, and there is an ocean of blood on my hands. Do you really think we'll be this lucky again, if more of my enemies arrive? It's hard enough losing friends to a peaceful old age."

Everyone dies, and he has not learned to overcome that grief. But even that, Devin knows, is not the cruelest specter that hangs over him. The last one is as selfish as it is agonizing.

If nothing else might be said for the Fool, it should at least be readily apparent to Devin now that he is doggedly persistent.

"What makes a monster?" He hardly frames it as a philosophical question; it would sound almost accusatory if it weren't accompanied by another gentle touch to Devin's arm, where his hand lingers. He goes on. "I've endured cruelty at the hands of mortal men who saw a fey child at court and made my torment their sport. Is that not monstrous because they were born, lived, and died as living things do? Was the one who murdered me not monstrous because we shared a lineage?" He shakes his head and says quietly, "I know what the people of your world mean to you, even if they will never know what you have given up for them. If you take a monster's measure by how little they care for those around them, then you fall far short of that mark."

For another weighted moment he stares at Devin's profile and the tension tightening his jaw. His fingers curl in the fabric of his sleeve, and when he speaks again there is a note of finality in his voice. "Whatever my feelings might be, I meant what I said to you when we met in the library. I want nothing from you that you do not wish to give." His hand loosens, then falls away. "If you must reject me, then do so because changing our friendship is not what you desire to do. I am not a child; I will respect your wishes. But don't push me away to protect me from danger." This is said with a touch of reproach, though the delivery is far from cold.

The honesty required to explain how deeply terrifying the prospect of exploring a relationship is, nearly got Devin killed the last time it arose. The Fool means him no harm; he's not going to be tortured for speaking his mind. But Bobby had stolen his ability to judge his own feelings and shattered whatever trust in intimacy that she'd built up in him. Even a smaller wound, a more mundane one, would strike at that part of him again. He doesn't believe he has the strength to endure it a second time.

"It's not about wishing, Fool," Devin grinds out, somewhere between fear and frustration, and suddenly finds he can't bear the careful stillness. He's on his feet and pacing out into the surf, heedless of the sand and water getting into his shoes. He just needs to move, though he doesn't go far at all. "It's about not even knowing if I can. For Christ's sake, I killed my entire family when I was eleven. What kind of person--!" His voice cracks and he puts a hand over his mouth with his eyes tightly closed.

Devin's chest rises and falls heavily as he tries to get himself under control. Genocidal mass murderers should not be allowed happiness. This as much as anything else is behind Devin's refusal to get close to people, but his outburst should at least make it clear that he wants to.

"I am broken pieces pretending to be whole," he says, quiet and rough. The sun starts to peek over the horizon, blindingly bright on the water. It forces him to look away, and his gaze returns to the Fool. "And you deserve so much better than a disaster."

These confessions are spilling out into the open between them far too swiftly to have been shared after careful thought and consideration, and the Fool wonders with a deep ache in his heart how many of these secrets Devin will regret sharing once he has better control over himself. If he can be certain of nothing else today, the Fool at least hopes Devin trusts that these secrets will be safe in his keeping.

"Forgive me." The words come out after a weighted pause, soft enough that another set of ears might miss them. Then, carefully, the Fool unfolds himself from his sitting position to rise to his feet. He takes a moment longer to pick up his sandals from where he'd discarded them, dusts them off, but doesn't slip them on again just yet.

"You are in pain, and I thought--" There the Fool grows quiet again; there's a wistful, bittersweet sort of curl to the corners of his lips that might have been a smile, if the circumstances had been kinder. He lets out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in, then at last looks towards Devin, shaking his head once. "I don't know what I thought. Not enough, clearly." This added dryly, the self-deprecation clear, before he goes on with a vague gesture between them "That my being here might bring you some comfort, perhaps, that you might..."

That you might be ready. That you might want me. The words, the sentiment behind them, ring too selfishly for the Fool to speak them aloud, and so he does not. His heart is a resilient thing, long accustomed to loneliness and rejection, but there is no sense in subjecting himself to it when there is a far greater wound in need of healing first. His private longing, his hope, and all the fears and dreams that go with them, seem shallow and childish things in comparison.

He takes a few steps through the surf towards Devin, starts to reach out again, then stops short. There's an uncertain furl between his brows, and with a small shake of his head, he simply repeats himself, "forgive me--I've asked too much of you."

While it's true that Devin might think better of sharing all of this at once under better circumstances, this is nevertheless a mark of trust. The Fool has only ever been careful with him, respecting his boundaries and being far more patient than Devin thought anyone ever would. They wouldn't even be able to have this conversation in the first place were it not for how the Fool has treated him - Devin would not have had the courage for it.

He's not sure if he has the courage now to extend a hand across this divide. It's not that he doesn't want. Quite to the contrary, he fears that want is all he is capable of and having that affirmed would ruin him. It would prove Bobby was right. Of course, he'll never know if his heart is still open if he never tries. He does not fear death and he does not fear physical pain, but his very survival has relied upon hiding his true feelings for far too long.

A flicker of shame can be found in Devin's eyes. Will this be the last chance he gets? It would be cruel to ask the Fool to wait for him too long.

"But you did ask," Devin says raggedly, "and you are here. And that-- matters." His voice shakes with emotions he has never learned to master, only stifle. "A house cannot be built on pillars of sand, and sand is all that I would be."

He looks away, head hanging. "Perhaps it's all I ever can be. I won't mislead you by claiming otherwise."

At first, the Fool says nothing in response to those words, though the pained wince at the corners of his eyes is more than enough evidence to prove that they've reached him. Then he shakes his head slowly and, summoning his own courage, closes the remaining distance between them, reaching out his gloved hand to touch the edge of Devin's jaw; a silent request not to look away, please, not now--

When their eyes meet again, the Fool's are wet with a sheen of unshed tears. Whatever he has to say, it takes him yet another moment to master himself, and he can't completely check the almost melodic waver in his voice when he admits, "Since I arrived in Aifaran, you have been my most constant, my most unwavering, my most diligent and," this next said with a trace of a smile, "my most infuriatingly stubborn, dear friend." His eyes soften and drop to where his fingers touch Devin's jaw, lingering there; he takes a breath before he goes on. "Truthfully, after Fitz, that is not something I believed I would ever experience again. Not after what I demanded he endure for my calling."

The scale isn't the same; the blood on the Fool's hands belongs only to him, and to Fitz, but it is there, and the guilt that comes with it is as multifaceted and layered as the inexplicable grief he felt upon being brought back from the dead on the Glacier Plains. It takes up such impressive real estate in his heart that to find that he still has the capacity for longing, for desire, for something more, is an astounding relief.

He makes a soft sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. "So you see," he begins again, "you can't mislead me, Devin. You have already given me an irreplaceable gift, and I will always cherish it."

For a moment he hesitates, then gives in to a small, selfish impulse. He leans in to press a gentle kiss to Devin's cheek, just softly, just once; his hand falls to settle just above Devin's heart. When he draws back, there's a bittersweet twist to the corners of his mouth, and though the words he speaks belong to another time, another place, it seems only natural to say them again now. "I set no limits on what I feel for you--and my heart is not a weathervane. I'm not so easily changed."

He watches his fingers as he smooths the faintly rumpled fabric of Devin's shirt once. "You know where you can find me, if you need me." Then he steps carefully around Devin, his touch falling away, and ascends the grassy hillside away from the shore.

The touch at his jaw is as arresting as the words that follow. Devin would be hard pressed to say which is more astonishing, and all he can do is stand there, frozen and wide-eyed as he listens. Seconds pass like a dream, the traitorous part of his mind trying to confront the reality before him, to keep him from letting the words in.

Shock and gratitude and fear and battered affection make his chest tight and leaden his tongue. He couldn't see past his own failings to the possibility that his presence might actually be a good thing in someone's life. Being a protector and an ally was not the same as being a friend, and putting others before himself only seemed natural. But the Fool views him through a remarkably different lens, and values him not as a tool or a resource but as a person.

The kiss burns insensibly against his skin, and whatever composure Devin had managed to gather back flees him. He's so stunned he almost doesn't hear what the Fool says next, his breaths coming unevenly like his lungs are stumbling over the air. To know what he means to the Fool, and to know he hasn't lost him yet despite all he purports to lack, is a balm on his gaping wounds: not comfortable, but no worse than the pain he's already feeling.

Without thought, without looking, Devin reaches out and just barely brushing his fingertips against the Fool's arm as he passes by. He can't find his way back to words to even try to stop him from leaving.

Devin isn't certain how much time has gone by before he drifts back to sit heavily on the stone, head in his hands as exhaustion weighs down his frame. Left with something so precious, he is utterly adrift in uncertainty. The fog he hoped would lift is becoming a permanent fixture in his life, and Devin is at a loss for how to find his way free of it on his own.

Hours later, he finally wanders back to Aifaran.

A bar and a bourbon are neutral ground, for Kit. It sounds like an olive branch of some kind. He'll take it.

He arrives at the bar at the prescribed time, polite enough to finish off his cigarette and put it out before pushing the door open and stepping in. It takes him only a few seconds to spot Devin where he's seated at the bar, and to make his way over to him. "Hey," he says, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the din of conversation around them.

There's a vacant seat next to Devin, which Kit takes, and leans his elbows on the counter. He doesn't say much, scratching uncomfortably at the side of his jaw.

(Who's going to break the ice first?)

Well, he came. That's a good first step. Devin carefully keeps his posture relaxed - or as relaxed as he can manage after everything that's happened recently. He glances at Kit for a moment.

"Glad to see we're still on speaking terms," the vampire quips over the lip of his glass.

A few uncomfortable seconds of silence go by. "It's been a shit month, hasn't it."

"Yeah."

That agreement goes a long way without saying that much. The Dreaming brought them both two people from their pasts, and their experiences could not have been more opposite. Losing Bobby was probably like being released from prison for Devin; for Kit, losing Vandelin was... something else.

"Thanks for the drink," he says, tone neutral. He brings it up for a slow swallow, then sets it down again.

(He's not intentionally making this difficult for you, Devin, he's must shit at talking about his feelings, too.)

(They should start a club.)

The influx of Dreamfolk had had impact on many of the residents, both good and bad. These events often seemed to bring emotional rollercoasters along with them.

Devin also takes a sip of his drink, nodding after in acknowledgement. "It's the least I can do for your help," he replies. A sigh follows, and he tries to rub some of the weariness from his eyes. "Especially considering things did not go entirely to plan. I don't think anyone felt... satisfied with how it turned out."

"...I don't think anyone felt... satisfied with how it turned out."

Kit keeps his eyes on his drink when he says, "That's one way to put it." Up comes the glass for a swallow, before he sets it down again.

He doesn't want to revisit this subject, doesn't want to devote any more of his walking thoughts towards remembering the sight of a flesh and blood woman turned into a bloody cross by people he'd come to respect. Killing a demon in Thedas wasn't something he'd ever lost much sleep over; putting a defeated opponent, one who looked as mortal as the people who'd just bested her, through that kind of misery--

"Hey, I'll have another," he says abruptly to the bartender, holding out the tumbler for a refill. He stolidly does not look at Devin while he does so.

Devin has every intention of paying for however much Kit drinks, though he's more sedate with his glass. He's already spent a fair chunk of change getting hammered this month, but he knows there's no solace in the bottom of a bottle.

The compromise they had arrived at was not a comfortable one. She's gone, though she will have a lasting impact on this city and the people Devin knows. He can't help but feel responsible for all of it.

"I won't try to justify any of it, or claim righteousness, or beg forgiveness," the vampire says quietly, staring into the amber liquid before him. "I respect you enough not to do you that disservice. But I am grateful you were there... not only for your help, but for your dissent," he elaborates.

Devin pauses and takes another drink, letting the whiskey burn the back of his throat. "Someone in my world made it clear to me that Bobby knows exactly my brand of stupid. Even keeping that in mind... I'm clouded when it comes to her," he admits. "I did not mean to draw you into something you hadn't signed up for."

"...I did not mean to draw you into something you hadn't signed up for."

"I signed up for killing a demon," Kit answers flatly, then lifts up his newly refilled drink to swallow down a goodly portion of it. The burn of the liquor down his throat makes him grimace, teeth bared for a second, before he shakes his head. The motion is short, stiff. "Not--whatever that was."

He does, at length, glance at Devin to meet his gaze, though his own is deeply guarded and otherwise difficult to read. "That what demons are like, where you're from? They look just like you?"

A demon diminished, in this case, was little more than human. Her sadism and her skill with Enochian still made her dangerous - just not apocalyptically so. The disappointment or disgust or whatever it is that Kit has for him now is not unexpected. He's used to not being enough, to being seen as something abhorrent or at least capable of abhorrent things. It just took this long for Kit to see that side of him.

"They do when they're on Earth," Devin answers honestly. "She's the only one I've met personally, but they're not capable of walking around with the living at full strength, or they'll be banished as soon as they surface."

The vampire considers what must be a fascinating pattern in the wood grain of the bar. "She masqueraded as human for years, but I only knew her for a few months. I don't know if she stole some poor woman's body or constructed one." He shakes his head once and his tone hardens. "I do know that I killed that body ten years ago, and yet here it was again."

It had been unnerving how little she cared for her mortality here. Yes, she had shown fear and had perhaps even been overcome by it for the first time in her immensely long existence. But Bobby had been more reckless than Devin expected; she knew it was a trap and she had come anyway.

Rutile has lived alongside the resident fashionista back home long enough to know how to recognize an impromptu fashion show, as well as how dangerous it is to be in the vicinity of one. They keep their distance when they see the Igheeri pestering an unfamiliar Dreamfolk - the looks are, after all, horrendous, and they're far too busy to get caught up in that sort of thing. Truly. They would never want to take part in one, ever.

Still, as they pass by, they feel a pang of sympathy for the Dreamfolk. It is clear that she wasn't expecting such an outing, either, and even offers a pitiable excuse. A noble attempt, though unconvincing to the truly determined.

Rutile sighs and turns, heading back toward the Igheeri. As they push into the throng, they have no problem summoning a vaguely annoyed look as they say to the Dreamfolk: "There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Pepper could be more firm, but a slightly more graceful escape is always desirable. She'd rather not upset the nice Igheeri, since they're really so enthusiastic about this project. The appearance of her rescuer reminds her of Padparadscha, with that same odd but awesome shiny hair.

The redhead gives Rutile a relieved grin. "Sorry! I thought I'd have enough time to hang out with these guys before we met up," she replies. The group look disappointed, but they finally let her go.

"Thanks," she says, quietly appreciatively as she joins Rutile. "Your timing is seriously impeccable. I'm Pepper. You're a gem, right?"

"I am," Rutile confirms with a smile, warming up considerably at the idea that finally, there is someone in Aifaran they don't have to explain this to. (Really, who decided it was them who had to do all the explaining? A human ought to explain themselves at some point, just to make it fair.) "I am Rutile, born and named. Or make and model, I think some humans might say."

As the Igheeri trickle away, Rutile accompanies Pepper in the opposite direction, giving them a wide berth. "But you certainly aren't Igheeri. Why do they concern themselves so with your fashion?"

"Nice to meet you, Rutile." Pepper laughs quietly and gives a shrug as they walk. "They're doing some kind of make-over show for the Lae. I like fashion so I thought it'd be fun. And it was! Just, you know, not for the whole day. I usually wear things that actually fit."

Even if they weren't always 'hers', such as when she occasionally borrowed one of Bakura's shirts. "Here's hoping my bosses don't mind me being on the network," Pepper adds thoughtfully. "I guess I know where to find them if I need to ask them not to air it."

"Why would your bosses mind such a thing? It's not as though you've done anything wrong, or are shirking your duties," Rutile points out - they're still not quite familiar with the relationship between employers and employees in Aifaran. Then their eyes narrow just a hair. "Unless you are, in which case I think you have very different problems than a fashion show gone awry."

If Pepper is supposed to be at work, then Rutile is doubly glad they rescued her. Still, they'd rather not be party to their delinquency.

"Oh, no, I'm off duty right now. If I was I wouldn't have agreed to go around with them in the first place. It's just that the Sentry is the kind of place where they have a certain image they'd want to maintain and having a member be on a fashion show might not fit with that image," Pepper explains. "Public relations and all that."

On the other hand, an Igheeri member of the Sentry might actually be a good candidate for the show - then they'd get some positive exposure and it wouldn't be nearly as ridiculous. She'll have to suggest this at some point. It works sometimes in her world.

"You were looking into those visions we were having, right? There was a lot of conversation on the network."

Rutile snickers at Pepper’s comment about the Sentry. “It seems to me someone ought to tell Valdis that,” they say. “The site containing all those photos of her is still available, as far as I know.”

They hadn’t realized Pepper was a Sentry member, but perhaps they should have. It seems a common enough occupation here # what they stand vigilant against, however, Rutile hasn’t the faintest. They seem to spend more time policing each other than anything else.

At the change in topic to Rutile’s post, though, they are more somber. “Yes, I was - it was a passive role, more collecting and archiving information than anything else. It seemed to create a stir, though not in time for it to be of help to anyone. I regret that we could do so little for the crew.”

"That's true," Pepper says with a laugh, "but she didn't post them herself, so I guess they can't really ask her to take them down." Valdis had figured out it was Ilda, but Ilda is so infatuated with her queen that it'll be a challenge to dissuade her from those sorts of celebrations.

"I'm not sure any of us could do much for them," she returns, faintly regretful herself. "I don't know a lot about the Sentry investigation yet; they keep things like this pretty locked down, and I haven't been there long enough." Which technically won't stop her if she tries, but if possible she's going to go the legal route first. "Organizing everyone together was helpful though, even just to give people an outlet, so thank you for being part of that."

X has, very deliberately, not sought out any more information about Bobby. If Devin planned to deal with her in any way, X had no idea. For the space of time in which the temporary Dreamfolk are still in Aifaran, X lets Devin have his space, keeping himself only as visible as he thinks Devin would probably need in order to be sure X is safe.

That changes when he walks in and sees Devin falling apart on the couch.

Instantly, X is next to him, both hands on Devin's shoulders as a solid gesture of I'm here. He stops just short of a hug, recalling all too well what sort of a reaction Devin would have to that, but contact he'll insist on whether Devin wants it or not. This is Bobby, he knows, but -- has she done something else? Or --

"She's gone, isn't she?"

The relief it brings flooding would very easily crack the wall Devin is so skilled in keeping solid.

Devin tenses when hands settle on his shoulders but he doesn't try to push X away. What energy he had to care about such things has fled him. Unfortunately, that energy is what he's been using to keep himself in some approximation of sane and together over the past few weeks. Now there's nothing he needs to hold together for, except maybe his pride.

He can't speak past the painful lump of emotion in his throat, so Devin just nods and draws a heavy, raspy breath. Relief washes over him, but so does dread: Bobby is not powerless in his world like she was here. How will he possibly be able to defeat her there, even if he has allies? Those allies are almost all human, with one glaring exception.

A strangled, helpless sound escapes him before he can cover his mouth.

"She's gone," X says again, and then one more time for good measure, because Devin can't and it's important: "She's gone. She's finally --"

That strangled noise breaks X's heart and his hands slide down into a sideways hug, his head almost on Devin's shoulder, his arms wrapped around him. "I know how you feel," he says. His heart's pounding with it, with the relief and the fear and the dread and the memories, and it doubles when he remembers that it's only over for him -- not for Devin. A cliched phrase it may be, but if there's anyone who can say it and mean it completely, it's X. "I know how you feel. You don't have to say anything. I know, I understand. She's gone from here, but she's not gone over there, this was just a warm-up, and no one can be that strong for this long, you can't protect everyone, you --"

It's getting hard for X to speak now too, so he stops, and swallows furiously through the tears. "You're not alone," he insists. "Not here, not now. You're not alone."

Under nearly any other circumstances, Devin would not allow X to come anywhere this close. As it stands now, he both wants to push X away and collapse into his hold, and the tension between those results in him simply not moving.

Aside from the chest-aching shudders that are clearly his attempt at containing the swell of emotion that X is feeling too, that is. It helps that Devin doesn't need to say a word, as much as X knowing intimately how he's feeling is also more than Devin is equipped to deal with right now.

You're not alone. Not here, not now. People had come to his aid, and Devin isn't sure what he's done to deserve it. People had also been put at risk or harmed because of him. The rational part of him tries to remind Devin that Bobby had attacked strangers in their home world, that friendship only made the wounds worse for him as much as it made them targets.

The certainty of needing allies at his back to destroy her when he goes back feels like ice in his stomach. The hunters already insisted on that truth despite the likelihood that they'll become fodder. He needs them more than they need him, and in ways he can't bear to acknowledge yet. Devin has never really learned to deal with grief.

He shakes his head and ignores the probability that tears have escaped him. It's all too much to even consider in this moment. She's gone, and Aifaran is safe from her. The slightest lean into X is a much larger concession than the short distance would imply.

And X knows it. That Devin hasn't pushed him away, has instead surrendered even slightly into being held, says more about his state of mind than either of them could ever put into words. X can acknowledge, admire, and respect that unexpected intimacy even as he curses Bobby and the situation that caused it. For men like Devin, intimacy is a weakness, but for X, intimacy is a learned survival skill. And Devin has always been one of those people who trauma forges into diamond.

For many long minutes, X doesn't move. He's just there. He's there as a reminder that, even in this utterly hopeless moment, even against Devin's better judgement, he's not alone. It's many long minutes later before X tries to draw anything else out of him, and even then, it's gentle, it's soft. It's a question without obligation.

"Did she hurt anyone else?"

By the time X speaks again, Devin is marginally more calm. Exhaustion weighs on his shoulders, no longer shuddering but trembling. Later, he will grapple with what has happened in these private moments with X when he has the bandwidth to consider it. For now, he does not have the space to care much.

He shakes his head. "Not that I know of," Devin mutters, and wipes away moisture at his lashline with the back of a hand. Other than him, and the few scrapes that Kit or Klaus may have gotten when they sealed her, he hasn't heard of anyone actually being injured. He takes a deep, unsteady breath and lets it out slowly. "Just-- spent time with people."

Studying them, or for fun, or because she was bored. Devin had never been certain of Bobby's motivations. She and Valdis had gotten into a scrap, but Bobby was clearly the worse for wear on that one. The entire day she spent with the Fool, however-- that still sends chills down his spine.

Spent time with people. There's an immediate tension in X's thoughts -- what people, where, for how long -- which he knows comes from Devin's memories. And Devin chose to say it, not as an alternative to injury, but as a companion to it. Something there is hurting him, but X doesn't have the presence of mind to pinpoint what it is. A friend, or the Fool, or even the simple knowledge of how close she'd come to people Devin cared about.

"Tell me more," says X. He's still holding Devin, still hasn't moved. "It's going to hurt, but it's important. If she came back, what would you do?"

If she came back; he can't help but think it will be a when. Or, if not her, than any of the other long line of people that he's pissed off and/or murdered throughout his lifetime. It's a long list. At least the vampires he can kill repeatedly.

A hysterical little laugh leaves Devin's mouth. "I'd try the one thing no one here would let me do," he answers. He would give himself up; she can't just kill him to get what she wants and it's possible she can't extract the aspect at all here. She can kill him repeatedly - which would be horrible - but better him than other people.

"Barring that-- I don't know," Devin admits, frustrated. "If she were powerless, something similar to what we already did. If she weren't--" His breath hitches on the very idea of it. "I don't know. She's not stuck pulling puppet strings here, she can level the city for fun and running wouldn't even help--!"

Devin has no idea what the full extent of her powers are, and that is a deeply disturbing fact. Even if she and Valdis went at it, casualties would be high and there was no guarantee who would win.

It hurts. It hurts X as much as it hurts Devin, to talk about any of this out loud, because there aren't any good solutions. There never will be. They're at the mercy of the Dreaming for this, and Devin isn't a man who's comfortable unless he can exert control over what's happening around him. Or, failing that, unless he has full foreknowledge of what's going to happen around him.

But, X reminds himself with a deep and shuddering breath, it's not solutions that are important right now.

"You've been here longer than I have," X says. "Has the Dreaming ever had repeat visitors before?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

If I can live through this I can do anything

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A!

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Ceeeeeeeeee

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