logs | (catchall / open)

[ It wouldn't be the first time Dimitri has regarded him with suspicion, and either way it goes right over Sylvain's empty head. He's feeling pretty good about the afterlife right now, enough tea and whiskey and whatever else in him to tide him over the worst of his regrets. ]

Who else would it be?

[ He grins and plants a hand on top of Dimitri's head, a single degree shy of ruffling his hair, as if sensing he needs additional proof that Sylvain is corporeal.

But really, it's been ages since they've been in such close proximity. Usually there's a war council table between them, or some five years of estrangement. It's nice not to care about any of that right now.

He squints at Dimitri, trying to recall what he'd been told. He's supposed to have both eyes here, isn't he? ]

Huh. Still wearing that outta habit...?

[ The (imagined) eyepatch. ]

[ After a moment or two, he makes the tactical decision to believe Sylvain is real. There's been enough strange effects floating about this evening to justify a little faith. Sylvain feels real enough that he wants to believe it.

Though that doesn't make his surprise ebb any. Now he just looks hapless and disheveled, some of his hair breaking free from his sad little ponytail. ]

Wearing...?

[ He has no idea what he means. He touches his scarf briefly in confusion? Yes, he's wearing his scarf still? Lamely, ]

Well, yes. It's a bit cold. [ ... ] Did you drink anything especially foul? Felix already gave me a fright earlier.

[ Felix scared him witless by being... chill. Maybe Sylvain drank whatever that was too. More gently, ]

You know he's here as well, don't you?

[ rather than a cozy lil' scarf, sylvain sees a mangy pile of furs pulled around dimitri's shoulders. he blinks, and the image doesn't budge. it's arguable if he even able to perceive the depression ponytail. (though, gradually... it comes into focus. weird. how did he not notice that before?) ]

Heh, did he now... Did you have some too?

[ Important Questions. he can't quite hide the amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes at the very idea. ]

Felix mentioned you to me first, actually.

[ some things never change, even in death... though, his expression sobers a little as he smooths dimitri's hair back in place like a mother hen. ]

...I just hope Ingrid isn't losing her wits, wherever she is. Or maybe she's finally breathing easy, now that we're no longer around to give her grief.

[ He sees the tiny glimmer of mischief in Sylvain's eye, shaking his head immediately to dispel any notion that he would do something like drink ambrosia. Though he's enjoyed enough of that odd, red brew that he isn't all wound up like usual.

Though he does still manage to be a rain cloud over the party. ]

I haven't seen Ingrid either. I... don't know if it's a relief or not that she's missing.

[ On the one hand, of course he doesn't want her to be dead. On the other, he can't imagine how hard it must be for someone like her to lose her friends, her comrades, and her liege in one fell swoop. Sometimes being the one left standing is worse.

Also, there's the possibility that she's dead and simply somewhere else, or lost and alone. But Ingrid is a faraway concern compared to the one in front of him right this instant. ]

I had hoped we would not be reunited so soon, Sylvain.

[ he hums quietly, expression uncharacteristically morose for a moment. ] ...Wherever she is, she'll find a way to move on.

[ maybe not always in the healthiest of ways, but they all have their means of weathering grief and loss. for sylvain, it's escape, surrounding himself with merriment and scandal, losing himself in bad decisions. (or at least, he once did.) for dimitri it's tireless industry; felix quite similar too with his incessant training.

...for dimitri, however, there were also the years he couldn't endure. sylvain studies him now for any signs of lingering madness, but, remarkably, he looks as relaxed as sylvain's seen him in a very long time.

maybe it's just the drinks here, but he does have to wonder if it was only death that could bring dimitri peace. he smiles wistfully, head canting to the side. ]

Wherever you go, we follow. Wouldn't wanna leave you all on your lonesome.

[ it isn't meant to cast blame on him, but as a reassurance. they (the handful of them) stuck together, through thick and thin. so often it's all they have. ]

[ Death has granted him some measure of release, though it's a little like a kite cut by its string—aimless and in a dangerous wobble at all times.

(Though the Dimitri that Sylvain knew really probably was better off dead.)

He sighs quietly. ]

That's precisely the sort of thing I don't want.

[ Dying alone is better than dying alongside the people you care for. But he understands the sentiment—the closeness they share is still a comfort. It's enough that he can see the melancholy in Sylvain and dislike it as much as he shares it.

He reaches for a mug full of warm, scarlet tea, pushing it towards him. Bluntly, in a way that he often only is to Sylvain, ]

You look different.

[ dimitri wants dimitri dead so bad

and sylvain doesn't mean it unkindly, but he does snort a little at the remark. (both of them.) ]

Unfortunately, none of us really have a say in the matter.

[ as far as he knows, there's nothing more they can do other than to keep their souls far away from the forges, their blood from being spilled in the woods. there's enough danger present here that they may as well continue to keep close. dimitri is more than capable of holding his own, but he isn't infallible—nobody is.

he accepts the tea and takes a sip, grateful for soothing aroma. blessedly, it washes away most of the taste of whiskey from his mouth. he notices that dimitri's features seem to suddenly come into focus...? he... isn't wearing an eyepatch...? sylvain blinks hard—though the tea helps soothe whatever shock of surprise he feels. ]

...So do you.

[ :O???? ]

[ He takes this as Sylvain sobering up some, not that he's been hallucinating smelly accessories onto him this entire time. Without his tea, Dimitri's own vision seems to mist a little, reality starting to separate into fiction.

Precisely why he's quick to pour himself his own brew as he speaks. ]

Felix seemed to feel the same way.

[ At least this is a much less terrible introduction than meeting in the Shadowlands. ]

Come, sit. We ought to discuss. [ He won't shake Sylvain off, but he's going to ease them onto a nearby bench for a dining table. ]

[ it's true, at least they both have clothes now and aren't being chased by soul-hungry reapers or dank badaliscus...

sylvain smiles, lightly teasing despite his mounting confusion as he tries to reconcile the visual information he has, now that he's no longer hallucinating an overgrown rat (affectionate). ]

As formal as ever. I'm not in trouble again, am I?

[ he plunkers down next to dimitri easily, enjoying the ambient warmth of the mug in his hands and the relative familiarity of his company. ]

What do you wanna know? Or has Felix already filled you in on most of it?

[ Yeah, at least their not naked. The bar is very low right now and that's okay.

Meanwhile, he ignores his silly question because he's too busy taking in Sylvain's features. It's a little hard to tell when Sylvain was already a bit older then them, shedding the last bit of youthful softness in his face at the academy, but he's still different. His hair is the obvious flag, but there's more signs of war on his skin, and the cut of his face is just that much sharper. He's worn, as they all are.

But his expression is a smile, and in a way, he's harder to have this conversation with than Felix was. At least Felix didn't hold anything back. He's not sure what Sylvain sees right now, or saw; Dimitri reaches out, putting a firm hand on his arm to ground them both. ]

He... told me his side of things.

[ It was not good. ]

But I'd like to hear it from your perspective as well. [ His next question is a little awkward, too. Mostly because it's a weird thing to ask someone who's known you since you were a pudgy-faced child. ] Do I look familiar to you?

[ from what he knows of felix, he's guessing he didn't spare dimitri any details. but that doesn't mean sylvain needs to go down that same rabbit hole right away, reopen all the same wounds. (he's a little too avoidant of his problems sometimes, the way felix can be too aggressive. it's... not entirely fair to dimitri, but as friends they've always been ill-equipped to handle matters requiring any modicum of emotional delicacy.)

he answers honestly, for the most part. ]

Not entirely. You've got two good eyes, for one.

[ his expression sobers a little despite himself. this dimitri he had not known at all—had been missing entirely in sylvain's time. it's... no small realization, or sorrow, that this is who their king might have become, had he only been given the chance.

(or perhaps he's yet to go down another dark path, just further down the road. he's still so young, and sylvain can't help but imagine the dimitri he knows haunting faerghus at this same age.)

sylvain pats the hand on his arm with a rueful smile, forcing away the melancholy that bleeds into his thoughts. he may feel regret for a past that can't be changed, but he also feels gratitude to know there can be a different future. ]

...I'd still recognize you from a mile away.

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