{o} Tooled Up Soft Machine

Peter

And I broke my promise on a very sharp rock
And I was possessed by something unfriendly

Death is not a stranger. In an old life, Peter had been It’s harbinger. That doesn’t make this loss easier. In an old life, he has been embraced by it’s cold touch. That doesn’t help either. He’s lived in a daze for weeks now, he thinks. Without the need to eat or sleep, without other people to mark the days with, they blur together. Right now, the moon is high and new, the world dark but not quiet. The runs never seem to be, not really. Rocks shift, moved by nature or magic, and bats hum their soft songs.

There’s no real goal in mind. No reason to linger here instead of somewhere else. There’s just an undeniable urge to move, to try and work out the lump in his chest. To move and scramble up the crumbled buildings until he reaches the apex, and with it, closure or relief or something. Solutions. A purpose. Anything.

Pet knows he’s in a bad state though, because he slipped and stumbled more than once on the way to this goal. Lost his footing and slipped back down to a shattered street. He hasn’t yet moved from his latest failure, laying sprawled out with dust sticking to the fluid scrapes left behind by other failed attempts. Dramatic gasps drag in and out of his mouth, not moving deep enough to move his chest, just enough to shift, to make a sound and a motion.

And I was haunted by a demon in my sleep
And that’s how I learned to survive

empires f a l l when we move the i m m o v a b l e

Death is a familiar shadow in the Grounds. In the before times, it had a place at every table and a bed in every house. It could linger, hunkering down like a rebel under siege or strike quickly, and you never knew until someone got that restless, mad look in their eyes or that spark faded out completely. Wessex knows the death rattle of the wasting sickness. She knows the cry of defiance as they hurled themselves headlong into the barrier. Like Peter, she is far too familiar with death and doesn’t help until he comes for you.

Sometimes she lets her feet do the walking - like they do now - clambering over the Ruins like an overgrown mountain goat, her feet find steady purchases in well-worn nooks and divots. This was her playground, once. The blonde demigod looks up to find Loki coasting overhead, hunting - she can feel the gnawing in her belly, almost as if she, too, were fucking starving.

However, it isn’t a tasty rabbit that Loki finds, but someone. Someone she doesn’t know. Swooping back to find her bonded, the black dragon insists on leading Wessex to the person, urging her on with little screes until she can make out a head.

“Hello?” she calls out, hearing the gasping fish sounds first. “Are you alright?”

WESSEX

Peter

And I broke my promise on a very sharp rock
And I was possessed by something unfriendly

There is a sound. Sharp. Different. It's not enough to shake him out of the silent breakdown, but it is enough to have his ears sharpening, his muscles tensing. A voice breaks over Peter, not familiar at first, but enough to silence him, the sudden quiet ringing in his ears. Recognition doesn't click until the second question, and all at once Peter is a mess of limbs pushing himself up, his feet under him and his arms behind his back in an instant.

"I'm fine." He answers, in a short, clipped voice that very plainly says he's lying. Peter's eyes don't shift over the Demi-god at all, avoiding the empty space around her as if he was afraid it would suck him in. "I-I... I'm sorry for wo... for worrying you." For being loud enough to have been found. For needing to be found in the first place. Pet's head is so low now his chin touches his chest, his shoulders rising up around his ears.

And I was haunted by a demon in my sleep
And that’s how I learned to survive

empires f a l l when we move the i m m o v a b l e

Nothing like a half-hearted I’m fine to trigger Obnoxious Mother Hen mode in the demigod. Clicking her tongue at the unmistakable sight of fluid, she is about to launch into a small lecture when Peter apologizes, the reflex discarded.

“Stop that. You clearly aren’t fine,” she says instead, and leaves it at that, disbelief dripping off every word. When she’s able to physically reach him, a tentative hand stretches for his shoulder. “Peter. I’m sorry we didn’t come looking for you sooner.” There are so many reasons why she didn’t think to - why she’s sure other’s hadnt. None of them were real excuses, but Wessex does her best to convey a sincere apology.

Loki swoops down - too large for the Wraith’s shoulders, she settles on the ground, looking up at the bedraggled Ascended with sharp, green eyes. Trilling in what seems like a friendly manner, the companion is almost thereafter immediately taken by a scrabbling sound in the nearby rocks and goes to find her dinner.

WESSEX

Peter, with his head on his chest and his eyes unfocused, will find himself tripping over his own feet and falling flat onto his face. Oh wait, no. It wasn't over his feet. It was over a thing. A thing buried in the earth.

Peter

And I broke my promise on a very sharp rock
And I was possessed by something unfriendly

Peter considers opening his mouth to argue, but he can’t. He isn’t, but he’d hoped to keep that under wraps until he was at least put together enough to be around other people. The hand on his shoulder is a clear surprise, judging by the flinch he fights against with every shaking bit of strength he has, but Peter doesn’t move away from Wessex’s hand, just sags a little more into himself.

“’M not… not your bu-burden.” He mumbles into his chest, clenched hands loosening so fingers can tug at the edge of his too big sweater instead. “You di-di-di,” whatever he’d been about to say trails off, Loki’s sudden closeness startling him worse than Wessex had, though his response is more instinct than training this time. A step to the side, to open up some space. He doesn’t account for his foot catching on something, doesn’t account for it not even being necessary to move, Loki already gone.

Once again, he’s in the dirt, and once again he’s struggling to find reasons to actually get up. “I’m sorry.” Pet mumbles again, not sure if it’s aimed at Wessex, or himself, or some grand cosmic energy that seems to think he should be here.

And I was haunted by a demon in my sleep
And that’s how I learned to survive

empires f a l l when we move the i m m o v a b l e

Not your burden? Fighting down the urge to slap him across the face for such a thing, Wessex pauses and tries to think of what their Lady would do. Where’s the line between comfort and commanding? “You’re not a burden, you’re family.” Half to herself and half to Pet, she adds, “And I’m more or less the de facto head, so, yes, you are my responsibility.” No repeat of the word burden though, best to get that thought out of his head if at all possible.

Turning to shoo her companion away (she saw the flinch - the dragon is apparently too much), Wessex misses him falling to the ground, rounding back only at the sound of a thud. Unable to hide the pity in her eyes (she can't imagine being scared of a companion, or being that clumsy again), she squats down and then scoots so that she ends up sitting on the cold, hard ground next to him. “It’s okay. We can stay here for a while.”

Until the sun comes up, if need be. But then they'll need to move.

WESSEX

Well, the thing is still there, but less of a trip hazard now that Peter has already tripped over it, I suppose.

Peter

And I broke my promise on a very sharp rock
And I was possessed by something unfriendly

Wessex claiming responsibility for him does finally calm Peter somewhat, his breathing seizing in his chest and stopping, and his eyes closing as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. There is an abruptness to the shift that seems practiced to the point of being hardwired into him, something from long before that description was literal.

Peter turns, and stares into Wessex’s face. There is not a hint of emotion on his face, but there is an intensity in his eyes that belies some great, internal calculation. His eyes are red rimmed but dry, unblinking. “I… don’t want to stay here.” Only the barest intake of breath precedes the words, whisper soft and urgent. “I don’t know… anything. N-nothing… nothing at all.” He is unmoored, directionless, and it shows in everything, his hysterics, his imbalance.

Though… this most recent fall hadn’t been just him. The sensation comes to Peter before sense does, and he turns away from Wessex again, scanning the ground. There has been something, and he’s going to find it, whatever the half buried thing is, and he’s going to pry it out of the ground with his arm blade just so he can blame it for some of his problems.

And I was haunted by a demon in my sleep
And that’s how I learned to survive

empires f a l l when we move the i m m o v a b l e

Wessex has never really known what to say to Peter. His nature is the complete opposite of hers. His mumblings, stumblings, his fear - it makes her feel lost as well, but in an entirely different manner. He is the kind of person she doesn't know how to help, despite recognizing that he might need it the most. The Wraith does her best not to look at him with pity and confusion, deciding that any verbalized want is probably a good thing.

Not knowing anything is ignored. “Okay. Then we won’t stay here.” She pushes herself up from the ground and offers him her hand, only to see that he’s scrabbling at the ground, digging for something, and she doesn’t stop him. Peering over his shoulder, she watches quietly to see what he might find.

WESSEX

From the earth Peter will find what looks to be a very old paper fan? You know, one of those strangely ornamental ones that can fold up.