( open and closed starters )

[wrists]

WHO: laurent & friends (questionable).
WHERE: here and there in stygia.
WHEN: december.
WHAT: catch-all for monthly tidings. plotting comment is here.
WARNINGS: mentions of csa and the ongoing trauma surrounding it, bloody violence, angst and general unpleasant fuckery.

Comments

[chokuto]

[It's an answer to the question he had not wanted to ask.

In that delirious confession, he's found access to the private, deeply buried understanding — the compass behind Laurent's decisions, every incendiary taunt and self-protective enmity. Laurent weighs almost nothing on his shoulder. It's easy to take him across the snow, back toward the meager village of outcasts. No one stops him as he carries his burden toward one of the dark, empty canvas tents; there is little inside but a few cold candles and a bare patch on the ground. He places Laurent down, then spreads his cloak out and rolls that slight, shivering body onto it, wrapping the woolen fabric around him. Except for these near-surgical tasks, he does not touch Laurent more than necessary.

Afterward he lights the candles and sits in the warm light, thinking. Night has fallen on the other side of the tent, but he can hear the snow in a whisper against canvassing as it falls harder now. He should go and fetch his supplies where he left them hidden in the forests of Serene. If he does, however, it's possible Laurent will wake and wander into the cold night to his death. Better to wait. Then perhaps in the morning he can turn him over to one of the Restless here.

Prince Damianos of Akielos. The name is like a shadow, but even that is obstructed by the other one: Uncle. Sasuke feels sick with realization. He forces his thoughts blank, but in his own harrowed state, he can feel himself circling back over and over again.

Unable to find peace in the attempted meditation, he shifts over and removes Laurent's injured arm from the cloak — and while Laurent is somewhere else in his own mind — snaps that socket back into proper place. This much is within his ability.]

[wrists]

[ it's been some time since he's been assaulted by this sort of pervasive dreaming, memory after painful memory unearthed for him to relive in a feverish haze. his uncle. damen. nicaise. auguste. one after another, relentless. he normally avoids the worst of these nightmares by simply sleeping very little, but now, he doesn't know how long he stays unconscious.

a sudden grind of pain shocks him to the surface, his breath ragged and his eyes blinking rapidly to clear the film from his vision. he comes awake in the silent, wordless grip of panic, his mind fluttering uselessly before he forces himself to think. a voice in his head screams in uncontrolled hysteria. he cuts its throat, then takes stock of his surroundings. a dingy tent. he's injured. the pervasive cold still permeates the air, but his clothes are damp with sweat. he's wrapped in something. there's someone else here.

laurent's gaze flickers to sasuke and holds, now clear-eyed, flinty. sasuke's fingers just barely brush his arm, his dislocated shoulder now back in place, the sharp ache fading to a dull throb. laurent does not move, but where his body had previously been limp with unconsciousness, he now lies rigid with tension.

he looks more like the boy who'd treated his wound in the streets, who'd shown him how to use a washboard, who'd promised to show him more. but laurent has already been bitten, and he knows the serpent's name now. ]

If you're still here — [ slowly, never taking his eyes from sasuke, he rises on one elbow, his injured wrist cradled gently against his chest. his voice is cold, smooth, perfectly in control despite his haggard appearance. ] Either kill me, or fetch me a horse. Express haste with your choice. We will not be spending the night together, I'm sure to the disappointment of your poor, virgin cock.

[chokuto]

[The cloak has slipped far enough down Laurent's slight shoulder, and his tightly-laced shirt has tattered enough, that Sasuke catches a glimpse of mottled skin around the joint when his work is finished. It is an ugly, violent color. It will bruise sorely for days, to say nothing of the broken wrist or invisible damage leftover from chidori. Sasuke acknowledges all of this as he retreats to the other side of the tent, expression shadowed in the low light from the candles.]

You can't ride a horse in your condition. And I will not kill you. [Laurent is watching him like a wounded animal, addled by injury and possibly fever — letting him leave unsupervised is a negligence as severe as killing him all the same.] I understand both of these realities are disappointing.

[For the first time, those vulgar words successfully disturb Sasuke's composure. He's frowning deeply, brow furrowed, and his eyes flinch off of Laurent at poor, virgin cock. It has nothing to do with his own lack of experience and everything to do with what he's just learned.]

I'll leave the tent, but I'm going to remain outside of it. You need a healer.

[wrists]

[ the concern is grating. after everything — he doesn't understand the presence of it, except to lead him down the same duplicitous path once more. despite the lull in this particular storm, despite the distance sasuke puts between them, he does not feel the winds have settled. ]

Don't worry. These realities are not as disappointing as you have been. [ he says it with a light inflection, as if it's nothing more than a joke, whatever thing previously budding between them now easily discarded, forgotten. ] Naruto is still gone. Nothing has changed for you. You're not fooling anyone with this act. It’s very pretty, though.

[ but there's something... misplaced about this moment, laurent's carefully scrutinizing glare picking up a thread of discord he cannot quite trace the origin of. he struggles to stay upright, unwilling to succumb once more to the rest his body desperately craves. if only sasuke would leave. if only he’d never met him in the first place. something aches in his chest, unrelated to his injuries. ]

If you call a healer in here, even better. They can get me a horse. [ slowly, painstakingly, he rises to his knees, calling on every ounce of his own discipline and fortitude. his face is ashen, the candlelight casting the lines of his cheeks into something sharply fragile. still, he pushes himself up to sit, pulling the cloak around his shoulders with his one hand, arranging himself as if he’s been invited to tea. ] Let’s chat a moment. I never wish to see you again. I won’t speak of what happened here if you and your miserable Shadow stay out of my sight. Go rot in a hole somewhere, preferably, or go ruin someone else’s life for fun. Those are my terms. If you don’t abide by them, everyone alive or dead, drunk or sober, and with or without ears will hear of your indiscretions. I will wreck your life in ways you cannot imagine. If you want to play this game with me, you will lose. You are good only for violence, not thoughtful warfare. So agree to my terms, fetch me a healer, and leave with your tail between your legs. Or kill me now.

[chokuto]

[If it is a pretty act, then Laurent's is prettier still — regality in the rigid movements of rising and dressing himself, hair long and gold in the light, lean body cut by shadowy lines. It must hurt to stand. Watching him, Sasuke remains on his knees, stripped of his cloak in a plain shirt with a loose left sleeve where his arm should be. He endures all of those words until they're finished. In light of his own actions, he finds them reasonable.

Nothing has changed, and Naruto is still gone. The likelihood of his Shadow making more violent appearances is certain now. He needs to accept this fact and move himself away from Stygia as a protective measure until his eventual end. If it isn't Oblivium, it will be the illness of his unreciprocated feelings; both are a suitable fate.

Laurent might have become a friend. Only the second of his life that he's attempted on his own grounds, with intention. Perhaps his goal of atonement is unreachable in this bitter and meaningless afterlife.]

Don't worry. I would never abide that game. [He stands, finally, at Laurent's height but unwilling to meet his eye. Every piece of discipline is gathered, and he speaks in a flat tone.] I understand your terms and accept them so long as you remain here until the night has passed.

You won't see me again.

[He slips silently from the tent, into the cold, cloak abandoned where it was left on the ground. Moments later, one of the local Restless appears to prevent Laurent from exiting if he tries — they are a voluntary healer on duty to attend to those whose Shadows, like many others, have begun to slip.]