ioduanlogs | [OPEN] an adjustment period

Entry tags:

[OPEN] an adjustment period

Characters: The Fool, FitzChivalry Farseer, Devin Parker + OPEN
Date: The first week of March.
Location: Around Aifaran.
Situation: The Fool is having a rough time.
Warnings/Rating: None currently, will update as needed.

I. CRIME 3 - INSURANCE [DEVIN]

The Fool's clever tongue has often been weapon enough to fend off sticky situations, but as the end of the previous month demonstrated to him, a barbed retort does little to repel an assailant bent on roughing him up in a back alley. He still sports the evidence of the assault on his face now; some stitches just above his eyebrow and a discoloured bruise on one of his cheekbones, to say nothing of what the fabric of his clothes conceals.

This 'insurance policy,' offered to him so candidly by a deceptively kindly neighbour, sends a shock of dread rocketing through him.

His first impulse (once he has been divested of what little money he possesses in order to pay for that 'protection' for the month) is to seek out Fitz, because in the throes of a crisis they have always sought each other out. But that very instinct that compels them to aid each other has resulted in catastrophic recklessness in the past--and, if he interrogates his concerns deeply enough, the Fool knows that he still harbours deep fear over what his close proximity to his Catalyst in Aifaran might spell for the future of Konryu. No, he decides, better to choose a cooler head, one less inclined to settle the dispute with an axe.

That is how he ends up outside Devin Parker's door. He knocks once, and waits, straightening his tunic. (It won't at all distract attention away from what has been done to his face, but there's no helping that now.)

II. THE DREAMING BRIDGE [FITZ]

He masks it well, but the Fool is not sleeping soundly. If he were to be truthful, he has not slept soundly since before Aslevjal.

The injuries he sustained at the end of the previous month were just severe enough for him to seek out the assistance of a healer (Eiji had said something about a hospital, which put the Fool very much in mind of the sick rooms where the ill and dying were housed in his own world, but the sight of his own blood was enough to force him into it). Now, in addition to a small line of stitches above one of his eyebrows and a bruise forming on one of his cheekbones, the Fool cannot sleep.

That is, perhaps, not strictly accurate. He can fall asleep. His nightmares prevent him from staying asleep.

His restless feet carry him out of his rooms and down to the cafeteria, where he fumbles with one of the machines until it manages to produce a cup of tea. This he clasps between two hands and approaches one of the windows to look out towards the lights of the rest of the city. It's raining; else he might go for a walk.

III. ARTS 3 [OPEN]

If fate has decided to do him one kindness over the past week, it is this: the approach of a cafe owner who, having glimpsed some of the Fool's carving, offered to put some of the pieces on display in her business. The money gained through selling a few of the pieces to her is enough to put his mind at ease; it more than makes up for the money taken from him by force earlier in the week.

He's seated at the cafe terrace now with a cup of tea in hand and a few other pieces on display; perhaps he'll attract the attention of someone willing to invest in more than just one of his pieces.

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Perhaps there was such a thing as being too forthright.

The Fool sits very still for the period of time he requires to process precisely what is being offered to him, and what it would entail from him in return. A wearer of many masks he may be, but for a moment, the one he presently wears seems to slip, revealing a flicker of deep vulnerability. Just as quickly, it's gone, however, and he wears a light smile for his visitor.

He spreads his slender hands to either side of himself. "Then I find myself in the hands of a trusted expert," he replies, lifting his chin. He draws a breath and then lets it out. "What do you require of me?"

She doesn't miss the slip, however slight it might have been. Years of practice at reading and observing others. It had once been life or death, now it is simply useful. Valdis arches a brow, less trusting people would have asked more questions, would want details, reassurances. Perhaps the man is actually a fool as his name suggests, or perhaps he simply places enough faith in Devin that he isn't concerned. Whatever it is, she at least doesn't have to explain the origins of her magic.

"I need you to stay still," she says, "If you break the connect before I have returned to myself, bad things will happen."

The Fool is many things--among them, quite foolish indeed.

"I shall endeavour not to squirm," he replies mildly. On instinct he sits up a bit straighter, as though something like this should require good posture. He considers Valdis expectantly.

Her surprise at his instant acceptance most likely showed in her eyes, but she simply shakes her head again and walks over, sitting next to him, pulling her legs up and crossing them, lifting one hand.

"I'm going to touch your shoulder," Valdis warns, keeping him in the loop, "But after that, I'm not on this plane any longer. Careful which memories you recall and try to stay detached, it makes things easier."

She gently settles her hand on his shoulder, just as she said, closes her eyes and reaches for the pathway into the soul plane.

In response to her clear surprise, the Fool merely arches his eyebrows, in a decidedly, 'would you prefer an argument?' sort of fashion. When she joins him at the end of the bed, he shifts over enough to better accommodate her, listening attentively to her description of what is about to transpire. In many respects it puts him in mind of Fitz's description of the Skill river... though he doesn't suppose this is the right time for that discussion. (Nor, he thinks, is he the best one to bring it up.)

"...Careful which memories you recall and try to stay detached, it makes things easier."

"Detached from my assault in the street," he says dryly, then sighs. "I shall try."

Then she touches his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, and the memory that flickers into existence is, thankfully, the one that he sought.

His attacker is, as he'd described to Devin, an Erol'an--and the attack itself seems to take place within the streets of the market closest to the Dreaming Bridge. The Fool experiences a visceral stab of panic when an amphibian fists connects with his face in the dream; he digs his fingers into the blankets atop his bed, struggling to maintain control over his feelings, his breathing. Stay still, she'd cautioned him.

It is always difficult to relive the memories of others, her inability to change what she sees. It will happen, no matter what, so Valdis does her best to release the useless instinct. The Erol'an isn't familiar, but she notes everything she can, doing her best to ignore the unimportant things, such as the beating itself. Once the images are fixated in her mind, she begins to trace her way back to herself.

This is the way with trauma, unfortunately: one memory awakens another, and the chain reaction that follows is entirely beyond the Fool's ability to control it.

The details are hard to parse at first, but the prevailing sensation experienced is cold. Cold beneath the Fool's feet, frigid air against his skin, sucked into his lungs. He's been bound with chains to the bulk of a strange pillar of stone, and is currently straining his every muscle away from it as though even the slightest touch against it would be like touching the surface of scalding water. It might as well be. The Fool can only hold himself in this position for so long before his trembling muscles grow too weak to hold themselves apart anymore, and he collapses back against the stone. The contact screams along his nerves with something worse than pain: it's the loss of self, a fraction at a time--pieces of the Fool's memories, his emotions, being stripped from him, absorbed by the stone. It hungers.

Through his eyes Valdis should be able to see an exceptionally pale woman garbed all in soft white furs; she's pacing around FitzChivalry Farseer, who is looking at the Fool with abject misery on his face, witnessing his torture. The sight of his anguish leaves the Fool stricken--in his memory, as well as in Aifaran. For the moment, he seems to struggle to differentiate between the two.

The last time she'd walked though memories, it hadn't ended well, so Valdis doesn't know why she thought this time would be any different. The Fool's dive into another memory catches her off guard and she loses sight of the pathway that she needs to get back to herself. The vision she sees through his eyes isn't nearly as concerning as the memory of the feelings. Pain, dread, a sense of being drained of everything that makes one human. Except she isn't human.

Confusion between two worlds and two minds continues to grow, at least for her, she has no idea if the Fool is having a similar experience. Valdis can't find a voice, she doesn't have one except for what the Fool can offer, and memories aren't exactly malleable. Everything seems fixed, she hadn't been lying to the Fool when she said that was no risk to him. But risk existed for her and it seems that this wasn't going to be the easy in and out that she had expected.

The Fool's pulse is a thunderous rush in his ears; in the real world, he sits rigid and motionless on the edge of the bed, his pupils blown wide and his jaw clenched in a rictus of fear and pain.

It is going to get worse long before it gets better.

It's as though his fear of what followed one horror makes it impossible to avoid reliving it. When the memory shivers and shifts around them, the Fool voices a soft, feeble protest of "no" that transforms with uncanny swiftness into a sobbing scream. His eyes are open, but the agonizing pain that starts just above his shoulders and radiates across every nerve in his back renders him nearly blind from it. Someone has bound him expertly in place to do this grisly work, and even in the frigid cold of this glacial cave, he can feel hot blood running down his skin, matting in his clothes and hair. Behind him, a woman laughs as he tries and fails to thrash in his bindings; she takes her knife to him again.

His despairing, anguished scream of, "Fitz--" dies in his throat. He remembers his death; the screams hadn't helped him then, either.

Edited 2018-03-25 02:10 (UTC)

Valdis isn't even aware that her heart is racing in time with the Fool's, though unlike him, tense and stiff with the memory, she seems oddly relaxed. The pain, however, she feels, not once, but twice, both his current anguish and his past. The ability to flee is nonexistent, because she feels little separation between herself and him. The memory is too dark, too raw and far too real. Cold, pain, hot liquid oozing down her back. Pain wasn't supposed to stay, except it did. Her strength should be enough to break these bindings, except it wasn't. Helplessness turns to panic.

***

The fluffy white cat shoves open the door, purring madly at the sight of Valdis and the Fool. He trots over, tail up, jumps onto the bed and shoves his face against her back. When there isn't any response, he mews loudly and tries again. He repeated the action with the Fool, but stops and hisses, his fluff rising. He jumps off the bed and tears into the hall, yowling as loudly as his little lungs can manage, hitting a small rug so fast that it slides, with him still on it, down the hall and into a door at the far end with a loud thump.

The memory changes again, and in the way of both dreams and nightmares, the transition is seamless.

The torture has ended, but the pain and cold persist; beaten bloody and mangled, the Fool's back is a raw slab of meat, and the blood loss has left his mind in a state of shock. Two armed men are dragging him by his bruised arms down a cold, icy passage--dragging because he has no strength left to support the weight of his slender body, let alone fight back. His eyes are open and stare blankly at the elegant hem of a white dress that precedes him through the corridor; his ears hear her steps on the floor, but all of his senses are muted now as his body's last attempt to shield him from the full extent of his agonizing injuries sets in.

It might surprise Valdis to realize, considering all of this, that the Fool feels relief--vindication, even--though it is a distant, hazy thought that lacks the clarity of an alert mind. But he foresaw this. He prophesied his own horrific death and went to it knowingly, recognized it as a necessary part of bringing about the best possible future for his world. So whatever pleasure the Pale Woman derives from his torment, whatever private satisfaction she gets out of murdering the person she'd viewed as a rival since he was just a child, he knows that he has won. He and Fitz have saved their world from her.

Fitz. How can someone think of a name with such combined love, and regret, and despair and desperation? The Fool manages it. The wounded animal in him still craves rescue by his beloved; the prophet knows rescue won't come.

--

Around their physical bodies, the Fool's quarters in the Dreaming Bridge have changed. They resemble the inside of a cold prison cell of ice, filled with filth and garbage and refuse. And curled up on himself with his back against the wall, a memory projection of the Fool himself, his arms wrapped around his own bloodied, tortured body, his long hair in tattered mats against his skin. He'll die that way--cold, and alone.

Devin is camped out in one of the lounges reading a book when he hears Anani's yowl. There's only one cat in Aifaran, and it belongs to Valdis. He can't recall if he's ever heard the creature so riled, but that sound means Anani has encountered something he is deeply frightened or angry about. He leaves the book on a table and goes out into the hall just in time to see Anani slide into a door.

Glancing down the hall Anani has raced down, he realizes this is where the Fool lives. He had asked Valdis if she could help him identify his attacker and very quickly he's running the length of the hall to the Fool's room. The sheen of ice emerging from under the door gives him the very briefest of pauses, but it's the sight that greets him when Devin enters that stops him in his tracks.

This has to be a memory, but it makes Devin's stomach drop towards his ankles to see the Fool curled in on himself. The despair in his posture is almost as horrifying as what's been done to his body. Christ he wants to go to the projection and help him, save him from the fate that's laid out so clearly now, but this is a memory - he can't change the past. Tearing his gaze from the tortured Fool, Devin darts to the bed, where the present Fool and Valdis are sitting.

"Shit," Devin whispers, recognizing that Valdis must have suggested soul walking. That had not been his intent, and now-- well, this repeat of trauma is his fault, but the guilt can come later; right now he needs to help them both.

Breaking the memory's hold on the Fool is going to be difficult, and Devin isn't certain exactly how to draw them out of this. Separating them is probably a terrible idea. Valdis needs to find a way back to herself. Logic is telling him that bringing Valdis to her senses is the safer option, and so he puts his hands on her shoulders.

"Valdis, you need to get your ass back here right now," he commands loudly, shaking her as though to wake her from sleep, careful not to do anything that would take her hand off the Fool. If he can ground her in the present, maybe that will be enough. "This isn't your memory, now come back."

Unfazed, Anani scrambles off the rug and darts after Devin, quiet now that he has gotten someone's attention. He jumps on the bed again, mewing and moving between the Fool and Valdis, nudging each of them.

***

There's no strength left to fight with, everything is broken beyond repair and the only thing waiting is death. She knows it won't be quick. They will slowly succumb to the pain and cold. The idea of Fitz is both relieving and breaking, but there's no hope left, maybe there never was. Yet she's ok with that, this was supposed to happen, and perhaps that's where she can find peace.

The sound she hears doesn't fit in with her surroundings, a voice she feels she should recognize, but there's not a name that comes to mind. It's an aggravating voice, with a very demanding tone and she's not sure how she feels about it. But the name spoken belatedly makes sense, and the rest of this doesn't. The room, the pain, the cold, the emotions...none of them belong to her experiences, do they?

Come back.

She hasn't gone anywhere, not to her knowledge anyway, but Valdis doesn't want to stay here, and the familiarity of that voice bothers her. She takes a breath that isn't ice cold, but it should be considering her surroundings. That fact, with a name that is hers, and that voice belonging to a man she's wanted to slap on multiple occasions is enough to grab hold of.

The world refocuses and Valdis is left with a dreadful headache as her hand lifts from the Fool's shoulder. "That was definitely a trip I could have done without."

Like someone parting a curtain to let in the light, the Fool squints painfully against the sudden intrusion of reality upon his mind. For a moment he looks between Valdis and Devin with the open vulnerability of a wounded deer in his large amber eyes, seeing them but not comprehending why they're here, what has happened. (And it is Devin who he regards the longest, watching him with both relief and pain.) He's gone as pale as one of his complexion can manage; now that Valdis' hand is gone from his shoulder, he trembles from the vividness of what he just relived.

It was only a memory, but it followed him here nevertheless.

He stares beyond Devin's shoulder at the memory projection of his beaten, bloodied body as it succumbs to death against the far wall, and sucks in a sharp breath, a hand flying to his mouth. To experience one's own death is a trauma unique unto itself, but to witness it from this perspective is--

The word, "No," is pulled out of him, half choked, and he starts up to his feet--too quickly, given how he stumbles sideways and has to catch himself against a table. His hands fumble for his cloak, ignoring his absence of shoes; he gives every impression of preparing to leave in a hurry.

Devin stares helplessly at the Fool, lifting his hands from Valdis' shoulders. She's alright enough to speak, but the Fool-- he has no clue how to ease this kind of pain. If this had been his memory of Bobby, he'd want to run, too. He'd done that when the ghosts of his family had tormented him for weeks in Keeliai.

So it's with uncharacteristic hesitation that Devin approaches him; he knows better than to chance touch, or to come too near. He has to say something, not to keep the Fool here but so there's a shred of distance to separate him from the memory. There is no comfort that will suffice, no words to make this hurt him any less, and Devin is hardly a pillar of emotional strength.

"Take your time, Fool," is what he says softly. "Just-- take your time."

It's all Devin has to offer him: space, until the Fool is ready to speak to them on any subject, much less this one.

Fear is the overwhelming sense that washes over her. The Fool's fear, a brokenness, a bitter weakness that leaves a poor taste in her mouth. It isn't fair what happened to him, Valdis recognizes that, but this fear is pure, it lacks the bite that should follow, the bite that leads to survival. She stays silent, watching as the Fool struggles with the realization that he has escaped nothing. Devin seems almost as lost as the Fool, but it's more that he has no idea how to help the strange man with this.

Anani is still purring, rubbing his head against her arm as she fights with her disgust. Weakness such as this is repulsive, past conditioning or not, she dislikes being around it. Yet the horror of that memory should inspire at least some sympathy.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, adding the sound of sorrow to her voice, "I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

Even the softness of Devin's footfalls on the bedroom floor is enough to see the Fool shying like a spooked horse, a hunted look thrown over his shoulder. "Take your time," the vampire says, and, "I'm so sorry, I had no idea," Valdis says, and suddenly the combination of their eyes upon him and that spectre of himself decaying against the wall is too much. Remembering his past torment would have been far, far too much all on its own.

"Of course you had no idea," he spits with sudden, defensive bitterness (which he realizes is unfair, yet the words come anyway), but that does nothing to still the tremulous quality of his otherwise melodic voice. He jerks the cloak around his shoulders, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings. "Had I any choice in the matter, you still wouldn't know. No one would ever--" He stops himself from saying anything else; he has enough presence of mind to know that his words are coming too quickly for him to have much control over them.

"I need to go," he decides abruptly instead, looks once more at Devin before flinching away from the uncharacteristic softness in his eyes, as though it burns him to feel compassion. He slips past the vampire and out the door.

Devin remains stock still as the Fool rushes from the room, squeezing his eyes shut and balling his fists. Following him is not a wise decision.

Hells. Devin is smart enough to know that the Fool's bitterness is not because of him, that he's unable to bear any kindnesses in the face of such an utter violation, but the words and the way he flinches sting nevertheless. He's been on the other side of this with his ghosts, and Devin had been almost violently reactive. This had not been his intention, and it remains to be seen whether or not the Fool will be as angry with Devin as he is with himself for putting the man in this position.

How can he feel safe now? At least Devin hasn't given in to that illusion, Konryu has never truly been safe to him. He runs a hand over his face-- this train of thought isn't helpful to anyone, least of all the Fool. He has no claim on being miserable in the face of what's just happened.

"Shit," he says again, tiredly, and turns back to Valdis. "Are you alright?"

Even the Fool's anger is overrun by fear, understandable, considering that humans are fragile creatures and his torment has followed him here. Valdis knows that she should feel something else, that the correct response should probably be equivalent to Devin's. Luckily the Fool flees before she has to fight with herself any longer. Anani doesn't seem to care about the mood of the room, climbing into Valdis' lap, tail flicking back and forth.

Valdis looks up at Devin when he speaks, but she doesn't answer right away. Devin prefers honesty over lies, yet the truth in this instance doesn't help anyone and will only anger the vampire. Luckily, revealing the parts of the truth that are less controversial is something of s specialty.

"For a given definition," she says, stroking her cat, "I suppose we're lucky you showed up."

Devin would probably not take favorably to Valdis' reaction, no.

"You can thank your cat," he replies, peering at the feline in her lap. "He started howling like the sky was falling, and I just put things together." Devin sighs, glancing at the spot where the projected memory of the Fool has now faded. That image will never leave him.

"Perhaps we should go somewhere else," Devin suggests. This is the Fool's room, after all, and therefore not the best place to talk without him present. "If you're up for walking."

Valdis looks down at the silly creature in her lap with one brow raised, she's really starting to wonder about him and his levels of intelligence. Devin is correct, staying in the Fool's room after what just happened wasn't exactly appropriate.

"I didn't die," she answers without much thought, "So walking shouldn't be an issue."

She reaches down to pick Anani up, but he hops onto the floor and trots out the door without them. She watches him go, then unfolds her legs and easily stands.

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[OPEN] an adjustment period

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cw description of torture

Yikes

continued cw for descriptions of torture

Double Yikes

a little reprieve (.....sort of)

;______; o,.,O

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