01-18-2018, 02:23 PM
Adrenaline consumed, Jai wasn't feeling so great. He'd felt worse. He just couldn't recall any specific time when, though. The dribble down his windpipe continued. The lost molar not yet letting up the bloodstream. And every time his tongue wandered over to try and plug it, the empty prongs restoked the entire jaw's smoldering fire to a near unbearable blaze.
So he ended up tilting the corner of his mouth to the ground and let it ooze away. Didn't sores usually plug up by now? Maybe it just hadn't had enough time. There was no way to measure the seconds other than counting them, though it felt like an eternity passed. The epiphany flipped the ticker in one corner of his head and he remembered after all this, he still didn't get through those bloody forms. At this point, he'd take them with or without mistakes. His sliced hand numbly padded the ground within reach looking for the hilt he'd dropped. Again.
A shadow fell. Two shadows. The blue lurched then blacked out, and the features of a man in black overhead was far too obscured to know if it was the same Dedicated. Except he was frowning. So it had to be. The other guy? It was a guy. Yeah. Looked like he was talking. Looked. No sound reached Jai if he were. The sky hung heavy between them. It was so blasted bright! His lids smothered the glare and erratic trudging through smokey thoughts returned eventually to the need to complete the routine. Why do them?
He relived the feeling of perfect execution. A sword, silk cording criss-crossing the slender hilt, dug into his palms with the balanced blend of grip and reaction to every teasing twinge of muscle. From the first day to the morning of the last day he saw it, he struggled with Asad's decision to leave Malkier. To trade in duty for the devotion from which Jai was now descended. Of course, none of them would exist now had Asad chose the selfless path: Malkier was gone and living descendants were scattered to the four winds, endangered to the point of extinction.
The routine wasn't about finding joy in the forms. Though, with that sword in hand, it surged every thrust and sweeping arc with irreproducible life. Without it? It was just a means to contain his own insanity to acceptable levels. 'Count these instead.' The original man who'd given him a sword as a child finally bequeathed Asad's to him yesterday, claiming he earned it. Hours later, Jai let the steel drip through his fingers. Asad's noble legacy. Wasted.
One shadow left, the other knelt by him. He was speaking. Jai realized. Though the sounds were more obscured by the roaring in his own head than any deficiency in Araya's throat. It went well? Yeah. Just like he figured it would.
He had to push some room clear from his mouth, but he managed to get some gurgled words out:
"Nah. Wusffun."
He winced like a string of curses he couldn't say were flying through his head. The touch of Saidin was far more uncomfortable than the touch of saidar, and he had no chance at death-gripping the Power into his own hands to buffer it, either. No Healing came, thank the Light. Just the ripple of being delved and the looming threat exploding from another channeler's powers receded soon after.
With it over, he raised a hand to his eyes to shade the glare and look at the guy responsible. Pale. Paler than Nythadri even. Which was a feat to out pallor her porcelain, amazing skin. But Araya was fair haired where she was vixen dark. Smooth, high cheeks and a gentle jaw. Colors swirled from the neck down. Somewhere the whisper of paranoia gave him Araya's identity. The recognition crossed his expression, mouth up, at least. And he laid back in defeat. Too tired to think of a creative enough curse for the occasion: another anonymous body walking around Arad Doman suddenly conjured at his side. Again. Was he ever going to learn? There was always another plot.
He booted the knee that hadn't been kicked in against the ground and pushed with the propped leg to roll away, unbuttoned coat getting wedged under him in the process. The sword was there, still. Lennox hadn't so much as kicked it out of reach that time. Must have been satisfied with the defeat, then. Jai couldn't imagine why. He weakly tugged on the stuck coat, then grappled at the red-soaked leather wrappings. Needing to finish what he'd started. Still hadn't finished it.
Somebody, apparently, found this to be a bad idea. Araya hopped around and rather than reach for the hilt, Jai found his arm snaked around the other guy's neck and himself helped to his feet. The transition plummeted the blood from his head and he stumbled like he was going to pass out. Which wouldn't be so bad of a thing. Or at least vomit. No. His lips wouldn't open wide enough to let it out. And pushing acid out two narrow nose holes was never pleasant.
When it was safe to move, he took a step. Though it seemed Araya was the one to decide when that was. Jai just sort of followed the guy. He had no choice. The other Asha'man was holding him up.
Hope to finish the routine dribbled away about the same speed as what drained under his chin and behind his collar. It was still bleeding. Likely thinned out by the barrel of alcohol he'd bathed in the last twelve hours. Then the same breeze that kicked up dirt earlier fluttered the mismatched buttons on his shirt with air on wet skin, he realized he was drenched with enough sweat to worry a fever nurse. The sensation gave him only a moment's warning.
There was no stopping the rise in bile that time. He shoved Araya a step out of the way and sank to his knees to wretch. It wasn't the pretty, straight-forward expulsion of normal vomit. He had to hinge the unresponsive jaw open with a couple snaked in fingers over the lower teeth to get enough room to let the gruesome mess out. Then what came up was mostly the quart of blood he'd been swallowing, loose half of his jaw flapping in the current. Up and over his wrist, warming his skin with stink and color. Acid and alcohol swelled across his eyes , which were burning with the pain, and he ended up kneeling with his forehead inches from the ground feeling weak as a newborn kitten.
Until a ray of hope burst through. Stomach emptied, sitting back on his haunches some minutes later, he felt pretty confident he could refill it without too much trouble. Plans formed to acquire a fresh bottle of brandy until he recognized the sword left behind in the dirt. They must have only made it a few steps, then. Not the league Jai felt they must have walked. He sighed. The cheap sword felt heavy before. Now, his hands sank tired beside him just imagining holding it up.
He closed his eyes and fell into the sweet soothing pace ticking off in the back of his head. Compliant through someone pulling him up again. He even managed to hear his own voice muffling the count out loud every few numbers: the stream transitioning from measuring lung-filling, nerve-calming breaths to the steady focus of taking one step at a time. One step at a time.
So he ended up tilting the corner of his mouth to the ground and let it ooze away. Didn't sores usually plug up by now? Maybe it just hadn't had enough time. There was no way to measure the seconds other than counting them, though it felt like an eternity passed. The epiphany flipped the ticker in one corner of his head and he remembered after all this, he still didn't get through those bloody forms. At this point, he'd take them with or without mistakes. His sliced hand numbly padded the ground within reach looking for the hilt he'd dropped. Again.
A shadow fell. Two shadows. The blue lurched then blacked out, and the features of a man in black overhead was far too obscured to know if it was the same Dedicated. Except he was frowning. So it had to be. The other guy? It was a guy. Yeah. Looked like he was talking. Looked. No sound reached Jai if he were. The sky hung heavy between them. It was so blasted bright! His lids smothered the glare and erratic trudging through smokey thoughts returned eventually to the need to complete the routine. Why do them?
He relived the feeling of perfect execution. A sword, silk cording criss-crossing the slender hilt, dug into his palms with the balanced blend of grip and reaction to every teasing twinge of muscle. From the first day to the morning of the last day he saw it, he struggled with Asad's decision to leave Malkier. To trade in duty for the devotion from which Jai was now descended. Of course, none of them would exist now had Asad chose the selfless path: Malkier was gone and living descendants were scattered to the four winds, endangered to the point of extinction.
The routine wasn't about finding joy in the forms. Though, with that sword in hand, it surged every thrust and sweeping arc with irreproducible life. Without it? It was just a means to contain his own insanity to acceptable levels. 'Count these instead.' The original man who'd given him a sword as a child finally bequeathed Asad's to him yesterday, claiming he earned it. Hours later, Jai let the steel drip through his fingers. Asad's noble legacy. Wasted.
One shadow left, the other knelt by him. He was speaking. Jai realized. Though the sounds were more obscured by the roaring in his own head than any deficiency in Araya's throat. It went well? Yeah. Just like he figured it would.
He had to push some room clear from his mouth, but he managed to get some gurgled words out:
"Nah. Wusffun."
He winced like a string of curses he couldn't say were flying through his head. The touch of Saidin was far more uncomfortable than the touch of saidar, and he had no chance at death-gripping the Power into his own hands to buffer it, either. No Healing came, thank the Light. Just the ripple of being delved and the looming threat exploding from another channeler's powers receded soon after.
With it over, he raised a hand to his eyes to shade the glare and look at the guy responsible. Pale. Paler than Nythadri even. Which was a feat to out pallor her porcelain, amazing skin. But Araya was fair haired where she was vixen dark. Smooth, high cheeks and a gentle jaw. Colors swirled from the neck down. Somewhere the whisper of paranoia gave him Araya's identity. The recognition crossed his expression, mouth up, at least. And he laid back in defeat. Too tired to think of a creative enough curse for the occasion: another anonymous body walking around Arad Doman suddenly conjured at his side. Again. Was he ever going to learn? There was always another plot.
He booted the knee that hadn't been kicked in against the ground and pushed with the propped leg to roll away, unbuttoned coat getting wedged under him in the process. The sword was there, still. Lennox hadn't so much as kicked it out of reach that time. Must have been satisfied with the defeat, then. Jai couldn't imagine why. He weakly tugged on the stuck coat, then grappled at the red-soaked leather wrappings. Needing to finish what he'd started. Still hadn't finished it.
Somebody, apparently, found this to be a bad idea. Araya hopped around and rather than reach for the hilt, Jai found his arm snaked around the other guy's neck and himself helped to his feet. The transition plummeted the blood from his head and he stumbled like he was going to pass out. Which wouldn't be so bad of a thing. Or at least vomit. No. His lips wouldn't open wide enough to let it out. And pushing acid out two narrow nose holes was never pleasant.
When it was safe to move, he took a step. Though it seemed Araya was the one to decide when that was. Jai just sort of followed the guy. He had no choice. The other Asha'man was holding him up.
Hope to finish the routine dribbled away about the same speed as what drained under his chin and behind his collar. It was still bleeding. Likely thinned out by the barrel of alcohol he'd bathed in the last twelve hours. Then the same breeze that kicked up dirt earlier fluttered the mismatched buttons on his shirt with air on wet skin, he realized he was drenched with enough sweat to worry a fever nurse. The sensation gave him only a moment's warning.
There was no stopping the rise in bile that time. He shoved Araya a step out of the way and sank to his knees to wretch. It wasn't the pretty, straight-forward expulsion of normal vomit. He had to hinge the unresponsive jaw open with a couple snaked in fingers over the lower teeth to get enough room to let the gruesome mess out. Then what came up was mostly the quart of blood he'd been swallowing, loose half of his jaw flapping in the current. Up and over his wrist, warming his skin with stink and color. Acid and alcohol swelled across his eyes , which were burning with the pain, and he ended up kneeling with his forehead inches from the ground feeling weak as a newborn kitten.
Until a ray of hope burst through. Stomach emptied, sitting back on his haunches some minutes later, he felt pretty confident he could refill it without too much trouble. Plans formed to acquire a fresh bottle of brandy until he recognized the sword left behind in the dirt. They must have only made it a few steps, then. Not the league Jai felt they must have walked. He sighed. The cheap sword felt heavy before. Now, his hands sank tired beside him just imagining holding it up.
He closed his eyes and fell into the sweet soothing pace ticking off in the back of his head. Compliant through someone pulling him up again. He even managed to hear his own voice muffling the count out loud every few numbers: the stream transitioning from measuring lung-filling, nerve-calming breaths to the steady focus of taking one step at a time. One step at a time.
Only darkness shows you the light.