Prepare for the #LodanRespawn2024 Existing characters may choose to be displace from/have memories of different timelines, thereby allowing returning members the option to retcon their whole character. These changes are the result of the "Unnatural Fog" plot device that is running between now and the Respawn. The plot is simple: no matter where your character is, that place is shrouded in a thick fog that suspends time, but not thoughts or memories, so even if they're repeating the same day over and over again, they continue to remember, so each time feels like a new day. For those retconning OCs; this is where new versions of themselves have the opportunity to replace the old versions. Official lore and tree updates will be announced asap
Lasair’s voice, normally soothing, placed the feline on edge, every word, weighing him down. Once the younger man had finished, Sayvahn stopped, fingers, drumming against the handle of his bag. He had come to terms a long ago that Corey would forget him. That they would do this, change little parts, little aspects of the past to smooth the “transition.” The boy would still remember the barber, but as a shadow— as a fragment. Maybe the child would think that the blond had died, at Castamere, perhaps— that would be for the best. Yet, there was one part, one part that the older man had been arguing back and forth about for some time, too timid, to uncertain whether he wanted to ask this of Lasair, but, at this point, he had to— no, he needed to.
“Lasair, can I ask something else of you?” Sayvahn began, eyes, focused on the ground, only to rise to meet the other’s gems. “I… I want to talk to him. I want to say goodbye, to him before you knock him out. You can linger on the sidelines, in case…. In case something happens. I can look out for myself in the meantime—deflect his weapons with magic or something. I just… I just need closure before.... before it's too late.” Sayvahn muttered, back tense as he felt Damien lie against it, the smell of fire, of blood, lingering in the blond's nostrils. It won’t do anything. It won’t redeem you, Damien spoke, his nails, grazing along the feline’s spine. But the barber didn't want to be redeemed. He just wanted to say goodbye.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 4, 2016 9:04:19 GMT
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder at the other. The way Sayvahn looked right now, it was as if he were showing his weakness; showing that this boy that he cared for was something he didn’t want to let go of. And that was okay; Lasair could understand that. It was just…odd seeing it from Sayvahn, the man who was more than a decade his senior. “Sure. I’ll be right there if anything happens though. And if you want me to jump in without him knowing, slip the word peanut into on of your sentences. You can take all the time you need otherwise.” He reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. As the training had progressed, it became more and more obvious how Sayvahn felt. And as the training went on, Lasair couldn’t fault him for having the feelings.
Peanut? At the mention of the word, Sayvahn let a smile cross his features, a dry laugh, accompanying the action. “That’s an interesting word to choose from.” The feline chuckled, freezing slightly as the hand was laid upon him. The blonde looked to the limb, uncertain of its presence, but it wasn’t negative. In fact, he relaxed under the touch. Knowing that Lasair was there, that Lasair could support him— was a nice feeling, one that made the barber smile. “Thank you. For everything, Lasair. You are a good man.” A good man, a good friend, a good guild leader— so many words to associate with the fox, yet, Sayvahn didn’t want to define their relationship as any of them. At least, not yet. “You didn’t have to go through all this, but you did. And…you are still helping me. And I just… I just appreciate it.” The feline almost whispered, as if the words were too heavy for his tongue to carry.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 5, 2016 6:54:51 GMT
He shrugged a little. “First thing that came to mind,” he spoke in defense of the odd word choice. At the very least, it should confuse Corey should it need to be used. “You’ve been there for me in a lot of ways too. I’m just happy I could return the favor. You’re a good man too, whether you realize it or not. You’ve taken in young ones who needed a home. One of them turned sour, but that’s not your fault. You did all you could and that was all anyone could ask of you.” Letting his words sink in, he took a step forward to pull the front door open. Crisp morning air met them on the other side, followed by trees, and then beyond the trees, the city that housed so many feelings.
A good man? If only Sayvahn could believe that of himself. The fox knew too little of him, too little of the real him. Lowered eyes traced the path as they walked, words, on the edge of Sayvahn’s tongue. He wanted to correct Lasair. To tell him the truth. To tell the redhead that another reason held the feline back, another, darker reason taunted him and made him want to leave MI. But to admit that, to face that conclusion would spell the end of everything. And who knows. Maybe Sayvahn wouldn’t have to say anything. Maybe Corey would.
Because that was the problem. Corey… Corey knew somewhat of the real Sayvahn. Had seen it, the pieces, locked away, the drawings, once just abstracted nightmares were really in fact fragments of the older man’s past, and Corey— Corey must have known that as well. And besides. The blonde was at fault for this current situation. As much as Lasair would deny it, the fact remained. Maybe he was at fault for many things, too. Like the way that Lasair now looked at him, caution, interlaced with concern. “Perhaps.” Was all that the blonde answered, for he doubted the words. Doubted the possibility that this was all that he could have done. If it was, then why did he feel so empty?
For the rest of the walk, Sayvahn tried to keep any discussion, and exchange, short and sweet, trying to focus his energy, his strength, into the task at hand. The deceit magic danced on his fingerstips, ever so light, as if the older man was trying to keep the magic alive, to keep the spell, lingering. Yet he had to stop. Had to conserve energy, yet that anxiety, it pulled and pressed against him. And so he focused on his only comfort then. On Lasair, on the red tint of his hair, melting into his skin, where blue eyes glowed and echoed the blue in the piercing above his eye. At a glance, people could presume the guild leader as a reckless youth, and perhaps, Lasair had been at one time. But grief and the flow of time had embedded that away. How cruel, it was, the passage of fate. Entering the town, Sayahn glanced around, eyes wandering for a certain bed of hair- with a figure with a certain gait, a certain limp, but it was so hard to track, so hard to see, such a movement in the crowds and crowds of people. Could he have changed? Could EIRAL have shaped him into a different person in such a short time? Maybe. And the thought, the possibility that Corey would be different intimidated the older man.
“You know, I’m quite the fool.” The barber admitted, clenching his fist, not bothering to look at the man beside him. “I’m so nervous I’m shaking.” It wasn’t a lie. For a long while, his hands shook, the guilt, already biting into him. And with every turn, with ever look, his chest clenched, his breath caught with every new figure wondering, could that be him? And then, the wondering, the guessing, stopped.
Leaning against the edge of a building, dressed in EIRAL blue, hair, trimmed, face, stern— he must have been on patrol, or scouting, or something. Sayvahn didn’t know, didn’t want to know. All he could process was that there was Corey— healthy, finely dressed, safe, surviving—without him. The barber didn’t know whether to feel relieved, or betrayed. But the pain in his heart, it pulled, ripping down deep into his stomach, making his body shiver, one hand, steading his stomach, the other, over his mouth as if to queit the name that left his tongue. “Corey.” He breathed. Oh god. Was he really going to do this?
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 7, 2016 0:27:04 GMT
It seemed that the feline didn’t much want conversation at this time. Which sat fine with Lasair; silence was a good friend of his these days. He was meant to be a shadow, an instrument, a tool to alleviate the pain tearing at Sayvahn. And that’s exactly what he would do. He walked behind the other as they scoured the streets, looking for a face that Lasair had only heard a vague description of. The searching was left to the one who knew what was being sought after, and Lasair, he merely traveled in the wake of the hunt.
It stopped when they found the boy, standing against a building without a care in the world it seemed. So that was him, the one putting all of our guild at risk? It was temping to simply glare toxins into his soul and be done with it.
But no, that wasn’t what Sayvahn wanted. And to keep Sayvahn in the guild, to keep him with Lasair, it had to be done his way. So Lasair patted his shoulder one last time and then stepped back, to hide in a literal shadow like the metaphorical one he was. This is where he would wait until it was time to act further; one ear on the conversation and one to the street. Someone had to keep guard, after all.
If only Sayvahn could have held onto that touch, the one that pulled the feline out of his nervous stupor. Tense shoulders relaxed, and the older man found himself reaching to hold onto that gentle caress. But soon, it was gone, and so was Lasair as he stepped away, giving the space that Sayvahn had asked him to give. But now—now the older man regretted that request.
Swallowing, Sayvahn took in a deep breath. Then another, stepping forward, remembering, trying to remember, why he was there in the first place. To resolve this conflict, to make the fear, the nervousness, finally end. And so the barber stepped closer until he was a descent distance away, and with fists clench, he spoke. “Corey.” It was too soft. The boy couldn’t hear him— and he was looking the other way. In the few months apart, it seemed the boy had grown up to be even more of a man. “Corey,” he repeated, louder this time, and that— that caught the young EIRAL’s attention. He turned and, for a moment, they stared at each other, as if neither recognized the other. And perhaps that wasn’t too far off. Sayvahn had changed. Ever so slightly, not only on the inside, but on the outside. Hair, slightly unkempt, face, paler from fear of going outside, the possibility of being caught by the other to burdensome on the older man. But the barber must have looked worse than what he thought. After all, the boy frowned, worry and fear mixed upon his features. “Sayvahn?” He questioned, and the feline nodded, if ever so hesitantly— and then, movement. Sayvahn braced himself, magic, telepathy, coating on his features but he didn’t need it. Not when the boy wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re safe.” The child wept, and the older man froze, unsure, uncertain of what was happening. He looked to his side, at the boy’s ruffled hair, lying ontop of his shoulder.
Corey…. Wasn’t…. angry? The thought—the worry— lifted from the blonde’s body, and Sayvahn shook, returning the hug, tears, welling. Had this worry, this pain, all been for naught? Had the feline misunderstood this whole time? And now, now that everything was said and done, things were at long last, at piece? It didn’t matter, not right then. Not when the child, the child that told Sayvahn he hated him was back in his arms, just like how he used to be. And maybe, maybe they could go back to the way that they used to be. The thought made a smile cross Sayvahn’s lips, and he sighed, body, easing. Yet that relaxtion faded as Corey pulled away, head, turning, looking around for who knows what. “I need to talk to you— but not here. I’m on patrol— I can’t be seen lingering in once place for too long. Come, come— let’s go into the alley.” Corey stated, already pulling the blonde into the adjacent alley. Wait— Alley? No, not yet, that wasn’t a good idea. “Wait— Corey—“ Sayvahn began, brow furrowing but the boy’s grip was tight on his wrist, and even though the feline could break away, he didn’t want to— he didn’t want to upset what was happening, the concentrated look on Corey’s face, the smile. It was like how they used to be. But instead of Sayvahn leading the way, it was now Corey. Maybe Eiral was good for him, the feline thought. Had made him grow up. Made him see the error in his ways. But, maybe it hadn’t—because once in the alley, a switch was flipped.
The light grip on his wrist turned forceful, and Corey slammed the older man against the wall, causing Sayvahn to let out a gasp, shock and pain rendering him useless as Corey pinned him against the wall, arm, pressed against neck. “Where the hell did you go, Sayva?” The boy hissed through clenched teeth but Sayvahn could only cough in response. Corey pulled away, enabling the other to breath, yet the grip on Sayvahn’s clothes, on his shoulder, still lingered. “Corey— why—?” Sayvahn asked, but Corey screamed at him to ‘shut up” head, leaning forward again, body, bent. “I was so worried. I was scared you got caught. That something had happened to you.” A harsh grip loosened, and Sayvahn stared, confused, uncertain, at the man before him, at the man who clung to him. The barber didn’t know what to do, what he should do— speech, rendered useless. And so he let his hands caress the other’s back in an awkward attempt to calm the boy, Corey own arms, encircling around the older man’s waist as he wept. “I went to the shop, and it was closed— and your apartment, it had been emptied. Where did you go? Why did you leave?” The soldier begged, and Sayvahn bit his lip, fingers, cautious yet willing enough to run through the boy’s hair to calm him. “S-shhhh, it’s alright Corey. I-I’m here now. I had to go away for a bit.” “But why? Was it because of me?” Now, the other looked up, his golden brown orbs, staring up into the blonde’s face, and the older man frowned. Sayhan wanted to tell the truth: Yes, it was because of you. Yes, it was because of what you said to me. Yes it was because of what you did to me, what you are doing to me, even now. But he couldn’t say any of that.
“No— I mean, yes. Not exactly. Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here now. That’s all that matters.” Sayvahn wrapped his arms around Corey, urging him to get up even as his own face contorted into a troubled frown. This wasn’t healthy, this isn’t healthy, this isn’t what he wanted, but maybe the feline could salvage this, could put together the pieces and return to how things used to be, and maybe, if they talked, then the deceit would not be needed, after all this was ahuge misunderstanding. But the boy had slammed him against the wall, had hurt him— even now, the feline’s back hurt, a bruise, bound to be found forming. But, maybe they could work on that, make it better. Maybe Sayvahn could help him, make things right again. “I—I guess you are right.” Corey muttered, his body, loosening as he calmed, and the boy rose, a sheepish look, lingering on his face. Sayvahn noticed, remembered that look. It was the one the boy had worn when he didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know how to proceed after something embarrassing happened to him. And the look, it made Sayvahn smile. Maybe, deceit wouldn’t be needed after all, Sayvahn repeated in his mind, body, relaxing, even as Corey took the barber’s hand from his side, holding onto it, pressing it against his cheek, and Sayvahn smiled. Even if Corey had gone to EIRAL, he was still a child, still so innocent. Sayvahn drew him back into a hug, pressing the boy’s face into his shoulder. “Oh Corey. It'll be okay.” The feline sighed, and the boy nodded, returning the hug. “I know.” And they stood like that for a minute. At ease, at rest, until Corey spoke “Because this time, I won’t ever let you leave.”
Sayvahn heart slowed, body, tensing, freezing. Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t sound right. And he was going to draw away, but, movement. Hands reached out, grabbed at his hair, and Sayvahn, he gasped, gloved hands, rushing to undo the grasp, fear, enlaced in emerald jewels as he stared up into Corey’s face, at his grin, mixed with gentleness in his eye. “I’ll take you somewhere nice, Sayvahn.” The boy hummed, and Sayvahn, he, staggered. “I know a good place, in the hovel. No one will find you there. And I can protect you from EIRAL, from everyone. Give you shelter, food, clothing, just like you gave to me.” Sayvahn couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, eyes, widing as the boy spoke, Damien, laughing in the back. The corpse had been so queit, but now, he was chanting, was screaming. “I’ll make an exception with you. I’ll only protect you. I won’t hurt you. I’ll hurt all the others, but not you.”
Sayvahn had to think. Had to process. Had to push out the pain, the everything. What was the safe word? What had Lasair told him to say? He couldn’t remember. He could barely speak. Could barely think. Why was he so terrified? “We’ll be together Sayvahn. Just like you wanted.” This isn’t what he wanted. Not what he wanted at all. “Corey.” The older man was able to spill, but the boy hushed him, pulling on his hair, pulling Sayvahn’s head back so that Corey could reach down and— wetness dotted on Sayvahn’s lips, while hands ran across his back. And Damien, he wouldn’t stop laughing, and Nia, she was screaming, so many people, were screaming. And he, he couldn’t say anything. Not even, help me.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 7, 2016 2:32:44 GMT
The hug surprised Lasair, but he didn’t let his guard drop. Not yet, not after the way Sayvahn had seemed so plagued with fear and worry. He watched as his friend was pulled in the alley and a moment later, he stepped forward to follow them, to keep his vigilance.
He was a moment too slow, however, as he missed Corey forcing an arm against Sayvahn. Instead, he saw the arm fall and another hug occur. It was strange, it wasn’t natural, Lasair didn’t like it. He bit his lip as he continued to watch, having promised both Sayvahn and himself not to step in until there was call for it. Whether that be an action or a word.
Action is what it ended up being. The moment of intimacy, at least, that’s what it would have been if not for the words that preceded it. The look on the feline’s face doubled the sentence as well, as that look said the moment was anything but what he wanted.
So Lasair silently dashed forward, mentally reminding himself to thank Edelweiss for teaching him how to walk without a sound. He was normally so loud as he stomped around. He stood behind Corey, a shadow that was just a few inches shorter than the boy in a man’s uniform. The guild leader only needed to wait a moment before the guard pulled away from Sayvahn, and as soon as there was space in front of his face, there was a hand pulling his head back and a hand pouring a small amount of liquid down his throat. The boy might try to retaliate with a punch or a kick, sure. But that would only last a few moments before the toxins in the water took their effect. Then the boy would fall asleep, a sleep too deep to easily wake from.
Everything hurt. His body, his mind, his heart. Sayvahn wanted it all to end, wanted it all to just go away. And it did. He hadn’t seen Lasair approach, but he did see Corey. And for a moment, the feline thought he was going to hit him. He instinctively cringed, instinctively backed away, but it wasn’t him that the boy was after. No, instead— Lasair. Lasair had come to save the blonde, had come to rescue him. The very thought, the very principle, made Sayvahn sigh, to at least breathe and that this was over, that this hell, this anguish would finally rest. And as Corey fought back against Lasair, trying to negate whatever he was doing— for Sayvahn couldn’t watch, couldn’t see, couldn’t do anything as he slid to the floor, body, tense— face, frozen in a look of surprise, of betrayal. Things would never be the same, would they. No. Not as the boy seem to crumble in the redhead’s arms, punches, kicks, slowing down to mere jabs with no power behind them to at last, nothing at all. Nothing. That’s all Sayvahn could do— nothing.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 7, 2016 3:01:24 GMT
Thankfully Corey didn’t seem able to land a strong blow on someone standing behind him, meaning all Lasair had to do was take a few kicks as the flailing from the other slowly died down, sleep forcing its way into his brain. When at last the boy went limp, Lasair gently set him on the ground so that he lay on his back. Glancing up, he realized that the encounter had been taxing on Sayvahn; that was to be expected, and Lasair had already taken it into account while making his plans.
He reached forward, soft magic on his fingertips as he touched Sayvahn’s forehead. It was the same spell he has cast on him multiple times in the past couple weeks; the one designed to soothe a troubled mind. And each time Lasair cast it, it seemed to do more good for the feline. At least, that was what it had seemed like. “Sayvahn, I need you to take a deep breath and remember what we came here to do. We’re not done yet and we need to work together to finish what we’ve started now.” His eyes stayed transfixed on the other’s, hoping that the visual focus would comfort him in some way.
Stilness. The laying down of a body, heavy, of a body, troubled. Sayvahn watched, flinched as another form approached him. Yet he recognized this one. Recognized, remembered, and was comforted by this one. Yet the touch, yet the movement, made him tremble. The feline tried to breath. But tears welled up instead. He tried to speak, but sobs pulled at his throat. What had he done wrong? The spell relieved the pain, relieved the ache in his back, at the back of his head, but it didn’t do anything for the turmoil wracking his mind. No, that was numbed. Now, Damien, hovered over Corey, no longer laughing, but smilng, ever smiling, hand, reaching into the boy’s body, as if to adorn his skin, as if to say, “I’ve claimed him now.” But Lasair was taking to the blonde. Was telling him to take a deep breathe, to remember, but the feline couldn’t remember. But he did know. He did know what to do. Body nearly limp edged upward, staggering to rise, hands, once more lacing with deceit. “I’m done.” Sayvahn started, back, hunched, body shaking. “I’m done, Corey. I tried. I tried, I tried.” The barber cried, body, shaking, his voice, splintered with gasps, as if voice, damaged. He wanted to bury himself, wanted to bury himself away from all this, to be enveloped, to be cast in loving arms that held him and told him “it’s alright.” But there was no one like that now. No one. And he wouldn’t let Lasair take on that burden. "Please, let's just end this” The man begged.
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 7, 2016 3:31:10 GMT
The magic did little to soothe the pain this time. And the words, the words hardly penetrated his mind. The eyes weren’t even glanced towards. Sayvahn wasn’t doing too good, and he certainly wasn’t sound enough in mind to cast a spell as intricate at this. Risking it wasn’t worth the cost of failure, not in something this important.
Lasair stepped forward, pulling Sayvahn into a hug and holding him there tightly, he refused to let go even if Sayvahn tried to pull away. Gentle words were whispered in his ear. “You’re doing well. You did well in the past. Your feelings are valid and what’s happening is hard on you. That’s okay. You need to remember that you’re not alone. You have support through me. I am here for you. Please, don’t let the turmoil eat away at you. Please, find peace of mind, if only for a little while. You can do this, I know you can.”
Again, touch— touch, lingering: on back, on stomach, pressed against another body. Another form. Sayvahn froze, breath, stagnate. The touch, it felt awful, felt cold, felt dirty, but the heartbeat, it echoed, reverberating in the feline’s body, and the barber, he tried to match it. Counted, one two, listened, three four, the words, interlacing with heartbeat. But only anger rippled through the cat.
“You know nothing.” The blonde hissed, his voice, finding life again, but only through malice. “You speak the words but you can’t follow what you preach, can you? You, who hasn’t even moved on, even though it’s been months— even though I’ve been here, trying to bring you back. But that’s it, isn’t it? Because I’ve been here. I’m the problem in all of this. Always been. He wouldn’t be like this if it wasn’t for me.” If it wasn’t for Damien, if it wasn’t for the Raven, if it wasn’t for any of them. Things would have been better, things would have been easier. We could have died together, Ineijwa, Damien called, and the deceit on Sayvahn’s fingers faded, because he realized the fact of it all. “I won’t find peace until I die.” The feline spat, and with that, the magic roared once more upon his fingers, and, turning to Lasair, he glared at the man. “Now, you do this with me now, or I’ll have to make you.”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Post by Lasair Landevier Lupen on May 7, 2016 4:00:05 GMT
“If you weren’t here, I’d still be soaking in my tears six times a week.”
Then, a pause.
“You can’t make me do anything, Sayvahn. You can try, but that’s not how this works. I’m ready to start if you are, but your mind, it has to be clear. It can’t be tainted, can’t lose focus. Otherwise the spell, your thoughts won’t match my own. And then the new memories, they won’t stick. All this, for nothing. I hope that isn’t what you want.”
Despite the words, he held a hand out to the other, invisible magical aura building on it. Lasair could feel it twisting, turning, aching for the freedom of escape. But he couldn’t release it, not yet. Not until his companion was ready for him to.
Staring at the other, Sayvahn tilted his head away, already knowing, already understanding that. But he— he just wanted to get this over with. “My mind has been tainted a long time ago.” The blonde admitted, looking ahead, to the boy, where deep inside, Damien must have been lying, must have been laughing. “But I still go on. And maybe that’s why we get along, hmmm?” The feline chimed, though to who he was talking to, was not certain, even to himself. Taking the others hand, emerald orbs matched blue. “I’ve lost what I wanted the moment I agreed to do this. Now, I’m ready, whenever you are.”
“In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught." ― Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
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