extramural | CONTACT ;; eachdraidh

[ Observation is his forte. He seldom interferes, but this world has changed things -- changed him, in its own ways. And it is difficult now, he finds, to only watch when he wants to touch. The magic of the sigil all but sings to him, resonating and filling the small clearing his shrine is in; he thinks that its magic might linger long after the sigil is gone.

It is terribly strange to watch Grell push the sigil inside herself. Her ability to do so despite the pain it causes is commendable, though no expression flickers across his face until it is in at last and she is finally done. She will not, he thinks, like the news. ]

No.

[ He raises a hand, as if he can touch the power pouring off the sigils, as if it truly is water. ]

It has simply made your entire being a target.

[if she was a lesser woman, this would have been where she punched something in frustration. extraction is not going to be easy either, and she can't hide herself in Redgate. she closes her eyes, taking off her glasses, and rubs her temples.

she can't hide this on her own, then.

an idea blooms in her mind, and she puts her glasses back on.]

Outsider...how well do you deal with pain?

[it's probably a bad idea. but then, she'd thought the same thing about taunting Reynard, about leaping from a mile high in the sky, about making promises to people she might not be able to keep. and so far, her luck had held out. the question was, was someone willing.]

[ She could, technically, but it would hardly be living. She would be a prisoner to the sigils inside of her, and one such as Grell would not enjoy it.

Still. Her question takes him off-guard. ]

Fairly well.

[ He hasn't felt it in a long time since before coming here, but if nothing else, he's very hard to do any permanent damage to. ]

I am not certain if my vocal cords remember how to scream.

[ He's not actually certain if he really has vocal cords or if his entire appearance was just put together by the Void based off what he looked like when he was human. ]

If you've forgotten, this might jog your memory.

[despite her appearance, she smiles, and there's something terrible in it. sharp like a knife dipped in poison before her features contort in pain again. there's light in that area again, and instead of pushing, she's pulling. outward instead of inward. if it's any easier than placing it she's not sure, and she would challenge even the most masochistic to find something good about this.

but eventually it's back in her hands, and she looks from it to the Outsider.]

You're going to want to bare your chest a little. Over where your shard is.

[a pause.the ease at which he's agreed makes her feel like she did something right, contacting him about all this.]

Do you want to do it yourself, or do you want me to?

[ He watches again, intently. She seems to handle it better this time, but perhaps she's simply getting used to it. Either way, when she tells him to bare his chest he does so. His hands raise, being to unfasten buttons and clasps from his jacket (he wears no more clothing in winter than he does any other time, and no less in summer). When it's undone, he does the same with the white shirt he wears underneath.

The skin beneath his clothing is, if it's possible, even paler than the rest of him. ]

You, I think, [ he says, eyeing the sigil in her hands. ] If only to ensure that it is done.

[ A pause, and he asks- ] What is this one called?

Disconnection.

[it's whispered the name to her over time, pressing up against her consciousness, hovering in the doorway but never quite being let in. (because letting it in means using it, and she is no sorceress powerful enough to contain that.) still, she says it gently. if it knew enough to talk, it knew enough to be offended.]

You will have to be strong. It will likely speak to you, on occasion, try and tempt you into using it. I have no certain idea what will happen if you give in, but the words another used to explain them was that they "disrupt what is real, alter the very fabric of what is."

I ask you to carry such a thing until the place where they are meant to be hidden is established -- it is being constructed, but its completion is some weeks off. Blood granite is a slow thing to work with.

[she explains it all now not to have the chance to hold the sigil longer, but to give him the last chance to back out. it was power at the price of so much danger, but it didn't have to be forever.]

[ Disconnection. Fitting, for a being like him -- a being that does not truly belong in the physical world.

He nods. ]

Like my Void. [ His Void, because it is not the Void of this world. ] Dreams and magic and power... The sigils are truly ancient bone charms, in a way. If what we are told of all worlds coming from this one is true, I suppose it makes sense.

I will carry it. I may seek my own ways to hide it.

[ If only because he's seen some of the magic people here use, and- well, the Brucolac's was really sloppy. ]

I trust you.

[again, that half-trance, rejecting and explaining -- i will still love you, but go, go here and be, until later comes, promise -- until it accepts the bargain struck, and they both know it's in the proper mind to go ahead.

she doesn't smile when she brings it to his exposed chest, begins to press it inwards, and it begins to tear and break, slightly altering him to exist as it will. a spike with jagged edges relentlessly being pushed deeper, reaching past blood and bone and ripping its way through. power being forced along unfamiliar channels, protesting by way of pain crackling across his body. not so much changing what is as making it to work in new ways.

even if he screams, she won't stop. if he falls, she'll catch him. but this cannot be halted halfway. this light must be eclipsed by his own.]

[ He does not scream. There is a sound that escapes from his mouth, though -- a low, animal sound, something mournful and ancient. It's what the whales sound like when the butchers cleave through their flesh, a few notes out of a dying song.

He does not fall, but his feet are touching the ground and his hands find Grell's shoulders, grip them. Pale lids close over all-black eyes, his head dropping, forehead touching hers. As he has for thousands of years, he endures.

It is not pleasant. But it never has been. ]

[finally, it is all the way where it should be, left to settle in, its light vanished behind his own. it's done, taxing as it was, and her hand rests on his chest for a moment.

they both survived. why, she cannot say, be it that they are shardbearers or that they aren't mortal, but it is now their shared secret.]

Are you all right?

[ He does not need to breathe. He does so anyway, drawing in a breath to test and see if the sigil's entrance has left any noticeable strain. It hasn't, as far as he can tell, though he can feel it sitting within him if he focuses. ]

Yes.

[ Both hands flex on her shoulders and he pulls away, abruptly realizing that he may have squeezed rather hard. ]

Yes, I am- I am well.

[if he did, she didn't even notice, being so intent on the work. walking, she could warn him, might be a little odd until the strength returns entirely, but then she remembers he usually hovers anyway.]

Good.

[for a moment, it's concern that shows itself most strongly, until she drops her hand.]

And in one act, you've gone and very possibly saved my life. I don't know how to repay you.

[is it a joke? maybe, or she could be dead serious.]

I am certain we can think of something.

[ It's also very hard to tell if he's serious or joking -- then again, it usually is. ]

You are well, then?

[ After all, she'd had to put a second sigil in herself, pull it out, and then shove it in his chest. ]

[she smiles just a touch but shakes her head. it was draining work, if she was to be honest, but she can teleport back.]

It will take a little time. By tomorrow, at the latest.

The sigil itself does not alter your healing?

[ Something that he maybe should have asked before agreeing to get one shoved into his chest... but that hardly would have been as interesting as experiencing it himself. ]

Oh, absolutely not. It's simply a matter of lack of energy. Which is why it can be fixed so soon.

[even an immortal was tested with all this. if she had been mortal, she thinks she would have fainted.]

I suppose I should let you rest, then.

[ And he should... make sure his puppies haven't destroyed anything. ]

[ He watches again, intently. She seems to handle it better this time, but perhaps she's simply getting used to it. Either way, when she tells him to bare his chest he does so. His hands raise, being to unfasten buttons and clasps from his jacket (he wears no more clothing in winter than he does any other time, and no less in summer). When it's undone, he does the same with the white shirt he wears underneath.

The skin beneath his clothing is, if it's possible, even paler than the rest of him. ]

You, I think, [ he says, eyeing the sigil in her hands. ] If only to ensure that it is done.

[ A pause, and he asks- ] What is this one called?

CONTACT ;; eachdraidh

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