ioduanlogs | In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet, for just a moment, a yellow sky...

If Devin could hear what Aly's thinking, it would strike him how similarly they react to comfort. How many times has he rejected the idea that he deserved care from anyone? And how many times have people told him he's an idiot for it? A lot. He stopped counting years ago.

Devin wants to tell her that she's safe, but she's probably not in her own world. Things are definitely not okay, except perhaps in the narrow frame of this moment where she is safe and he does believe she'll be alright. Perhaps it's foolish of him, since he doesn't understand the circumstances that led to holding her sobbing in his arms. Realistically, he doesn't think he's going to get a coherent explanation out of her right now, either.

"Stop that," he says, gentle but firm, and squeezes her more tightly before drawing back only far enough to look her in the eyes. His hands rest on her shoulders still, steadying as much as a reminder of the present. "Whatever it is, it's done now. You're here. You have time." It sounds a little nonsensical to his own ears, but he's trying. "Focus on what you can see and hear and smell around you - be where you are. We can deal with the rest later."

"It's not, it's not, it's not," Aly sobs. "It's just starting." How can she tell him? How can she possibly begin to explain what only one other person...

...so now what only she knew.

She did what Devin said, though, and took a few deep breaths. Almost unconsciously, she squeezed him tighter. "If I'm here, I don't have to face it...that's cowardice, isn't it?"

"No. You'll still have to face it when you go back." He sighs, resettles into the hug. "Whatever you did just before returning is done now, even if something much larger has only begun," Devin clarifies, still with that gentle, firm tone. Reassuring but not coddling is the stance he's going for, rather than the bluntness he'd once chosen in a forest of crimson leaves. "And you will have to live with the decisions you made. That's not cowardice. If anything, having to wait and wonder is much worse than simply remaining in the natural flow of time. It gives us too many opportunities to think of what we might have done, or what we'll yet do, but nothing we do here will ultimately change the decisions we make in our worlds."

It's cruel, really, how many of them have to be held in suspense over such dire circumstances. How many lives and relationships hang in the balance. Aly had given him a vague outline of her situation back home not long after they'd both arrived in Aifaran, when she'd come to him for advice. A few things came to mind as possible causes for her distress based on that, but Devin set the speculating aside again.

"When you're ready, I'll listen to anything you're willing to tell me," Devin offers quietly. "Later. Let's get you cleaned up for now, hm?"

"That's why I can't stand it," Aly mumbles. "It's cowardice. Staying here's going to...it'll tear me apart, I can't do anything about it, I can't try and fix it or put the pieces back together as much as I can. It won't work. All I can do is...sit here and wait and it'll kill me!"

At the offer to clean her up, she pulls back and shakes her head vigorously. "No, I can't, I...there's blood on my hands, I have to l..." She swallows hard. "Listen. I've killed before, but I'm not a murderer. Not in battle, that doesn't make you a...but now I'm just as good as one, even if I didn't wield the knife myself. It's my fault, this is..."

'On the contrary, Your Majesty. It pleases me.' The grin she'd had to hold back so her teeth didn't become fangs and rip that bitch's throat out for revenge, even though that'd kill her, too. I have to play my part, otherwise it was all for nothing. I won't waste that. The scream she'd let out upon waking up. The knowledge that her own hands had wrought the weapon that had struck the killing blow on the wrong person...

Tears are streaming down her face now. She pretends not to notice. "I have to live with this," she says, and indicates the blood on her face.

Devin's expression is as neutral as he can make it given how worried - and frankly disconcerted - he feels. He studies Aly for a moment or two, struggling to consider more than just her tears, and tips his head to the side. There are a lot of things he's missing, but what she said about the blood on her face does not seem wholly metaphorical.

"You do," he confirms softly, a frown pulling at his brow. "And that will be true whether or not a mark remains on your skin, Aly. As much as I wish this were not experience you needed from me, and regardless if you are a murderer or as good as one-- this is something I understand. Murder is something I understand. Something I've chosen in full knowledge of what it would make me-- but never knew quite what it would do to me." It does not get easier, those occasions that go beyond war and mission.

He pauses, hesitating over saying more. Aly isn't in a fit state to hear him well, for good reason, and he doesn't want to overwhelm her further. "I honestly do not know how much I can help you, Aly, but I'd like to try. What I do know is that allowing yourself a shower and a change of clothes and a few decent hours of sleep will not diminish any of what has happened, and might just give you time to gain more perspective on your situation."

And in the process of hopefully helping her through this, Devin might also end up helping himself without realizing it. He has so much to heal from that he has shied away from over the decades and only recently begun to address and acknowledge.

"I could have stopped it. I should have." But that little shake of the head - the I-know-what-I'm-doing look - had stopped her. Had he really? Or had that just been a bluff?

Aly shakes her head at the suggestion of sleep. "No, if I...if I sleep I'll just have nightmares. Or go back there. I'm not sure what's worse." It shouldn't theoretically be possible for her to be drawn back there in spirit since she's returned to Aifaran, but, well...part of her isn't exactly hers anymore, and not in the symbiotic relationship she'd established with the land spirit, either. Who knew what would happen?

In nightmares she'd relive it over and over again. If she returns there...she'd have to face it without running, and she's not sure she has the faculties for that right now.

"I can change my clothes," she concedes. "Maybe shower." She's not sure what she's more frightened of - that if the blood will come off, or if it won't.

Edited 2019-05-28 02:39 (UTC)

Devin is beginning to wonder if this is what it's like for other people to go up against his insistence on carrying so much guilt and self-hatred. Maybe he'll examine that some other time.

"Alright. That's a good start." She's going to have to sleep eventually, whether she likes it or not. The longer Aly holds off, the more likely it is that she'll do herself further harm. Devin unfortunately has experience in that department as well, but ultimately her body will make the decision for her. Perhaps they can arrange things so she won't be alone in case of nightmares, assuming she'd appreciate the company. They'll cross that bridge when they come to it. For now, Devin won't push her too hard.

He holds an arm out again, less to invite another embrace than implication of escorting her to her room and remaining present for as long as she wanted or needed. To remain and watch her back, if nothing else. "One step at a time; I'm not going anywhere." Unless Aly asked him to, but even then Devin would likely linger nearby just in case. "I'll stay as long as you'd like."

It's kind of like looking in a ~~younger, cuter~~ mirror, isn't it, Devin?

Aly eyes the arm held out to her, and then accepts it in the spirit in which it was offered - that is, as assistance in escorting. When he says that he won't go anywhere, that he'll stay, she looks at him. For a second she looks her age, all of seventeen, a frightened girl who never wanted to be drawn into this world but never had a choice. She's tired and frightened enough that the usual steely edge to her gaze is gone. There's no bravado, there's no fire, there's no Flame.

There's just Aly.

"Okay," she says quietly.

Seeing Aly so vulnerable is almost unnerving, would be if it isn't also perfectly expected. After all, she is still seventeen, no matter how much she's experienced or what power she holds. Devin only hopes that she will have a chance at real peace, someday, but he'll never know for sure. There is more than enough heartache to go around without continuing to wonder about her future beyond this catastrophe she's landed in.

He bends to retrieve the bag he brought and curls his free arm lightly across Aly's shoulders, loosely enough that she could duck away but with a guiding intent, nudging them back towards the stairs. It's late enough that they likely won't encounter many people, which he thinks is for the best. "I'm assuming food is also a 'no', but let me know if there's anything I can get you."

At the mention of food, Aly gags, practically dry-heaving. She can taste the blood, still, hot and sticky on her tongue, filling her mouth, each stolen bite of the heart she'd taken chewy and tough, the sensation of it sliding down her throat suddenly as fresh as though she'd just swallowed it.

"No," she gasped once she'd gotten control of herself. "No food. Not for. Not for a while." No water, even. That wouldn't help.

She lets him guide her to the stairs and down them, still shell-shocked. It had happened. It had really happened, she hadn't been able to predict it or stop it, and it had been her fault.

"Easy," he soothes, pausing for a moment when she gags. Aly like this really is like looking into a mirror. Just like sleep, though, Aly is going to need to eat something sooner than she'd like to - perhaps much sooner, even if he can only convince her to have something small. Her stomach will not appreciate being empty for any significant length of time. Devin sympathizes with revulsion even as he's adding that to the list of things to strategize helping her overcome. Worst comes to worst, he'll take her to a hospital and get her some anti-emetics at the very least.

"Anything else, though? Favorite music or books?" Devin swears this is relevant. If Aly reacts so similarly to trauma as he does, perhaps some of his coping tactics will work well for her, too. "Something familiar helps; repetition helps. For me, anyway," he elaborates more quietly as they descend. He remembers where her room is and takes them there at Aly's pace.

"I have my phone, I have something I could listen to." She laughs a little, and it's less bitter than it could be. "Kinda wish I had podcasts. Listen to someone else talk for a while about something that isn't this."

Distraction techniques. If she was still on the plane, she had plenty; she had her 3DS, and books, and music to listen to...but here, she doesn't have much.

Devin hums, acknowledging and understanding. Wishing for it will not make them any less alike; at least it allows him to be here for her in a way he has so rarely been able to be for others. He goes quiet then until they reach her room, contemplating an idea, turning it over in his head carefully. Assessing his gut reaction rather than ignoring it.

In some ways, what he's about to say is as personal and vulnerable for Devin as the passenger Aly discovered. This time, it's offered willingly.

"I cannot claim to be as entertaining as a podcast," he begins, reaching to open her door and usher her inside, peering around for roommates, "but if you would like, I can read to you." Pause. "There's one I have memorized, for occasions like this." Dryly: "A bit dense, maybe, for your tastes."

Though maybe that would help her sleep, and he's not inclined to go snag anything more entertaining from the lounge until he's sure Aly's more stable.

Aly snorts. "Are you mocking me?" Dense? Is he calling her dense? Granted, she's a little prickly at the moment. But she'd appreciate the distraction all the same.

The room's empty. It usually is, these days. People are disappearing left and right, the Dreaming claiming its own.

"Okay," she says. "Hit me." Then she pauses. "Literally, if you want." While she's prickly and sad, she's also spoiling for a fight. She wants to cry and scream and punch and she knows that Devin won't indulge that last one.

"The book is dense." Aly can be incredibly obstinate but she's sharp; he'll never deny that. "I can always grab something more entertaining from the lounge library."

Devin sets the bag he brought on one of the unused beds. It's a good thing, he thinks, that her room is empty tonight. She needs space and privacy to process, or to melt down, or both. Or to fight, apparently, and Devin arches an eyebrow at her request-slash-suggestion. He will absolutely not be initiating any fighting, though if she comes at him he can make a reasonable impression of a punching bag.

"Start with a change of clothes." He gestures to the bathroom. "And if not a shower, at least try a washcloth on your neck and face. It'll help."

"What's the book?" She's not going to reject it out of hand. Something she can focus deeply on might help.

The suggestion of a change of clothes is something that briefly angers her - you don't understand - but she knows his advice is good. And some part of her, the very small part that's thinking clearly, knows that she needs the advice. So she grunts and gathers up a change of clothes off her bed with her unbloodied forearms and hustles into the bathroom.

Once she closes the door, she stares at her bloodied hands. Will the blood come off? Should she be more worried if it doesn't, or if it does?

Aly turns on the faucet with her wrist and, after a moment's hesitation, puts her shaking hands under the water.

The choked wail she lets out as the water runs pink down the drain would be audible to Devin even without his vampire hearing.

Edited 2020-05-10 18:15 (UTC)

"T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets." If she's interested, Aly will be the second person here that he's shared it with to bring some order into chaos, though he's not sure how much it'll help here. It had worked well with X because he'd just read Devin's universe, and so had the value of the book etched into Devin's memories.

The vampire props himself against an empty stretch of wall, glad that Aly is taking his advice on this point. He imagines that each step of this process is going to be one level of difficult or another; the fewer she fights him on, the more he can assist (but the faster she may unravel). It is going to be a long night.

The sound he hears through the door has Devin pushing off the wall immediately and approaching the bathroom. This part of the process, the emotional blowback, is where he is least experienced. He recognizes the feeling behind that sound, though, even if he's never properly learned how to deal with it himself. "Aly?" Devin flounders over what to say for a moment. "You're not going to have to deal with this alone. All you have to do right now is breathe."

Breathe, and try not to drown in the sorrow and guilt and anger.

Aly's bent over the sink when he comes in. Her hands are washed clean of the blood - mostly. There's still crust where it had dried around the edges, and there's some under her fingernails. She's shaking, and tears are making tracks down her face, mingling with the blood around her mouth and chin.

"I can't let it come off," she whispers. "I need to...this needs to be a reminder of what I did, because if I let it come off, I'll forget how I failed!" The last word upscales to a scream.

It couldn't be more obvious to Devin that there is no way in nine hells that Aly will forget this, but telling her so isn't going to sink in right now. He knows the look of a turning point in someone's life. Those moments remain keen at the edges with whatever emotions carved them, remain crystalline in the memory longer than anything else.

Gently, slowly, Devin takes Aly by the shoulders and tries to coax her back, away from the sink and onto the edge of the tub. Kneeling in front of her, Devin holds her hands firmly in his for a moment. "Your hands are not so dirty as to be full of ruin."

If he lets her, he'll grab a washcloth and soak it, and begin cleaning what remains of the blood on her fingers. As he does so, he murmurs softly and steadily from Eliot's poems: "Time present and time past, are both perhaps present in time future, and time future contained in time past. If all time is eternally present, all time is unredeemable…" And he'll keep going while he works, the words for Aly as much as himself this time.

She almost snaps at him that he doesn't know what ruin her hands have wrought, but she falls silent as he recites the poem while scrubbing her hands. She recognizes the general tone, but not the specific words themselves.

"What's that?" she says after a moment, quietly, hoarsely. Her anger is running out and transmuting into lead, a feeling like nothing that might be worse than her screaming hate and guilt.

"Four Quartets," Devin answers simply, standing briefly to rinse out the cloth before resuming cleaning off Aly's fingers. He'll see if he can find a nail kit, if she'll let him go so far as to use it to scrape away the last remnants of blood. Later, when he's a little surer of her mental state. If he can be sure; they may react similarly to some things, but they are different enough that Devin has to be careful not to lend her his worst habits.

"I find repetition helps," he says without context at first, wondering how best to explain. After a few seconds, Devin continues: "It's like listening to the same song before you go to sleep every night; eventually, the brain associates the song with sleep, and it helps you drift off. I use the poem for something similar. For those times when I have no other solid ground."

In the eye of a hurricane, there is quiet, for just a moment, a yellow sky...

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