— i'll say a prayer, as i cast it to the flame

[redsoil]

WHO: set & others
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: check headers for specific dates/times
WHAT: a catch-all for everything during his time in-game
WARNINGS: physical violence, mentions of sexual abuse, hanahaki syndrome, etc.

Comments

[redsoil]

[ There are more voices joining the din, angered ones. He is not afraid of anger, for anger has only ever brought the bite of a weapon or the lash of a fist; anger brings violence, and the physicality of violence is something he understands. As god of war, it is an intimacy both gifted to the people by him, and by the people to him. Such a burdensome thing, though, is to have to await the shopkeeper to finally cast aside his demands for remuneration, and simply demand his pound of flesh. It'd be easy to claw it out of Set, like this. His arm aches and bleeds, he could hook claws into the injury and rip scraps of himself apart and --

There is a hand, one he knows so well, thrust into his line of sight. Set curls around himself, seizing for breath in the midst of all that is occurring. He is cold to the heart, overstimulated in a way that makes everything too much, too bright and too loud, and Jonas has arrived to see him in such a state. Vulnerable and overwrought by something that might only be a mirror, but had rapidly escalated an already terse situation into one where Set is liable to be seized. He'll be grabbed, he knows. Someone will put their hands on him. ]

I can't.

[ He whispers it, hoarse and faint, as he pours his face into the palmful of flower petals and blood. It's all his, anyways. He can't look at Jonas. Surfacing from the things that grip him would be too much, too soon. If he looks at Jonas, he will snap and he knows it. If he pretends that it is a familiar, albeit disembodied voice, he may get out of this whole situation intact and unmolested. ]

I don't want you to see me like this.

[coherer]

(someone over his shoulder yells it must be paid for! and jonas feels his fingers begin to shake with the effort it takes him not to resort to physical force to silence the vendors.

there must be a threat in the furious look he casts over his shoulder because a few onlookers lapse into judgemental whispers. his back, broad and positioned like a wall before set to take the lion's share of the curses, hosts a strong spine. he can handle gossip as his hometown's pariah, having encountered countless instances of scornful once-friends and parents; rumours about him spread to camena, too, with no safe island for him to hide away on.

set is adrift in a sea so familiar to him, and jonas can't stand the idea of leaving him there.)

Then I won't look, (he decides, voice gentle. in his crouch, pulling his ballcap's brim low over closed eyes, jonas' hands return, blind, to where they were held palm-up in an offering.

it's a shot in the dark, but set has always been determined to take care of him. using whatever devotion exists there and manipulating it to do something good, he'll shift their roles into something familiar. then set—god of war, god of chaos, god of the desert, father and friend—can spirit him away from this hostile environment instead of having to rely on someone weaker.)

I trust you, so trust me now, okay? Grab my hand and take me out of the alley.

(his fingers curl, then extend, beckoning.)

Then we'll go to my place. It's only a couple blocks, and you can clean up there while I come to deal with these assholes, alright?

[redsoil]

[ What Jonas asks for is nothing less than the bare minimum he deserves, both as a youngling and as - a friend. He only asks for Set to trust him in this moment of heightened fear and a turmoil boiling away so deeply within him that he thinks if he required food, he would lose the contents of his stomach in the street. One more humiliation, revolting and mortal, tickling at the frayed edges of his nerves as his stomach flops and something deep within his chest ( a vine, likely; yet, was it a real one or the memory of one? the dark vine with the scarlet blooms that had flowed through him like blood -- ).

He forces his hand into Jonas's, wrapping his pale fingers around the young man's before he presses past him, threading his way - nimble and forced - through the slight gap between the bodies paused and gathered to witness the commotion. His shame. He seizes Jonas and takes him back into the street, his head low and shoulders squared as though to be a battering ram of a divinity -- and those who see him coming know, in this moment, to step aside and let him pass. There's no doubt he would sink claw and tooth into them; though his hair forms a bright curtain around his expression, the grim slash of his mouth is enough of a warning.

He leads, because to Jonas, he must not be the vulnerable one. Jonas is a child, one who already reveals much of his life simply by the way he seeks to care for others, more than be cared for. He is a boy without a mother, and while Set knows he is no goddess who has born young of his own -- a child, perhaps above all else, was always his desire. He does not treat Jonas the way he treats Anubis, nor does he think of this young man the way he has treated his son; Jonas is more like his nephew, hard-eyed and far-sighted, passionate in his care and difficult to ruffle. He is a gentle, determined boy.

( He would be a truly beautiful god. ) ] Leave them be.

[ He urges it, as he draws closer to where he knows Jonas makes his home. Set visits it, routinely, bringing food and clothing, supplies and little candies he's found that Jonas is partial to. ]

I will return to them when I am able to, and repay them for my error. Theirs was not the first reflective item I felt the urge to break, only the last one I could stand to see her face in.