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sticksandbones2025-03-05 10:07 pm
bajamutblast) wrote in sticksandbones2025-03-05 10:07 pm
A Moment Sat With Our Sentencing
Who: Dion, Clive, and Joshua
What: Someone has a nightmare, whuh oh
When: Some time after bar log and other nonsense
Where: The Inn
Warnings: Death, dying, and all that fun FFXVI stuff.
[Dion is no stranger to vivid dreams. In the days that followed his own brutal attack on Twinside, his mind had been wracked with the replay of what had happened. With each passing night, he was helpless to reliving each and every scream he had drawn out from the people he had so desperately tried to protect. Running from them had done nothing, nor had seeing the wreckage for himself. The dreams kept coming night after night.
Not that they were unfamiliar, even then. He had been on the battlefield for well over a decade by this point. The horrors of war and battle plagued him even in his early manhood. The only difference was that he could not justify these deaths.
Tonight, however, is different. He dreams not of his early battles, nor his betrayals, but of the yawning expanse of Origin. Only this time, it is not his body that falls. Ultima ignores him, an any flares Dion fires off seem to glance off of him. It leaves Dion helpless to watch as both the Phoenix and Ifrit are stricken from the air, plummeting toward the ground.
Try though he might, his wings are not fast enough to save him.
When Dion wakes, he finds himself drenched in sweat. He throws himself from his bed, grabbing his lance not as a weapon, but to help him hobble. His body is often sore and stiff after waking anymore, and so he leans heavy on it as he makes his way from his own room and through the inn. So rushed is he, that he doesn’t bother to throw on his shirt. The bandages cover up most everything anyway.
Finding the brother’s room takes longer than he would like, but before long, he is pounding on the door. There’s urgency to it, and he won’t stop until someone opens it.]
What: Someone has a nightmare, whuh oh
When: Some time after bar log and other nonsense
Where: The Inn
Warnings: Death, dying, and all that fun FFXVI stuff.
[Dion is no stranger to vivid dreams. In the days that followed his own brutal attack on Twinside, his mind had been wracked with the replay of what had happened. With each passing night, he was helpless to reliving each and every scream he had drawn out from the people he had so desperately tried to protect. Running from them had done nothing, nor had seeing the wreckage for himself. The dreams kept coming night after night.
Not that they were unfamiliar, even then. He had been on the battlefield for well over a decade by this point. The horrors of war and battle plagued him even in his early manhood. The only difference was that he could not justify these deaths.
Tonight, however, is different. He dreams not of his early battles, nor his betrayals, but of the yawning expanse of Origin. Only this time, it is not his body that falls. Ultima ignores him, an any flares Dion fires off seem to glance off of him. It leaves Dion helpless to watch as both the Phoenix and Ifrit are stricken from the air, plummeting toward the ground.
Try though he might, his wings are not fast enough to save him.
When Dion wakes, he finds himself drenched in sweat. He throws himself from his bed, grabbing his lance not as a weapon, but to help him hobble. His body is often sore and stiff after waking anymore, and so he leans heavy on it as he makes his way from his own room and through the inn. So rushed is he, that he doesn’t bother to throw on his shirt. The bandages cover up most everything anyway.
Finding the brother’s room takes longer than he would like, but before long, he is pounding on the door. There’s urgency to it, and he won’t stop until someone opens it.]
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It's thrown open and his sword is raised - only to pause as his sleep fogged mind recognizes it's Dion. He steps aside without thought, his stone hand reaching out before he catches himself with a curse and he tosses the sword to the side to reach out with his left instead, gripping Dion's arm and pulling him into the room. Into safety. He looks around quickly through the hallway, trying to spot what hunts the other, before closing the door.
Then stops as he begins to realize the other was leaning on his lance, not hoisting it up as a weapon, and he looks wane and sweat drenched. His voice is rough as he finally speaks, confused. ]
Dion?
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--to see Clive pulling Dion into the room, his spear in hand. But Dion, too, is disheveled, and hadn't even bothered to properly dress. He lowers his blade, resting it on the edge of the bed. ]
Dion? Are you all right?
[ He looks... ill? No, that isn't quite right. But something is clearly wrong. ]
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His gaze then shifts to Joshua. Turning from Clive without a word, he stumbles over. He makes it as far as the bed before his body threatens to give out, and instead half sits, half collapses against it. His lance falls by the wayside for the time being, discarded as Dion finds himself desperately searching Joshua's face. Much as he might prefer to feel the signs of life beneath his skin, he'll have to settle for the distance. And if Joshua is up and moving about, it's probably a good sign.
Which... brings Dion soundly back to reality. He realizes that he is half-dressed and now sitting in their room, having thoroughly scared them both from their sleep. Shame creeps up from within him, and though he opens his mouth to try and explain, the words fail him for several seconds. How could he ever justify any of this?]
I- had to be sure. [While he tries to pull himself together mentally, he makes an effort to at least fully sit up against the bed.] That you both yet lived.
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He drags his hand over his face, fingers digging into the corners of his eyes to rub sleep away, moving to fetch Dion's lance and set it up against the wall, then fetch his sword where he threw it to set it back. Like the Dragoon, he's dressed in only a pair of pants, and he doesn't bother to throw anything on. Instead he moves around to light come lanterns in the room, then move to the small kitchenette, pulling out some tea, squinting down at it.
And there it is, the confession hesitant from the other man, Clive nodding in understanding. ]
We're both still here. Alive and well.
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Clive gets a glance, but he's already doing what Joshua was going to ask. Good. That's good. He lets out a soft breath, giving Dion a quick inspection. Sweat, clammy skin, unstable on his feet. He presses the back of his hand to Dion's forehead, checking for a fever - but nothing, thank the Founder.
A nightmare, perhaps. Goodness knows he's had his fair share, and Clive, too. ]
Yes. We are all right.
[ Here, Dion. Take his blanket. It's still tucked into the bed, but he pulls the ends of it up and around his shoulders anyway. Hopefully, it will give him some measure of comfort. ]
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He does start to protest the presence of the blanket — he isn't feverish, but he does feel warm and certainly sweaty. The weight of it against his shoulders, however light though it actually may be, is grounding. So, to, is the way Joshua checks on him.]
You needn't dote on me. Either of you. [But even as he protests, his body continues to relax. His kneejerk reaction now having passed, he tries to focus on something a little more kind.] Grateful though I am for it.
[He glances about the room. His intent isn't to pry, but to ground. It was a technique some of the more rattled dragoons had taken to — identify and label your surroundings. Remind yourself of where you are, not where your mind had gone.
Breathe in. Hold. Breath out. Hold.]
I am sorry to have woken you.
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This is hardly doting.
[ He closes his eyes and folds his arms over his chest, head bowing a little. Just to be support for Dion, without being overbearing or overwhelming. The apology makes him grunt, lips quirking up at the side. ]
It's fine. I had to pee anyways. Don't worry about that, by the way, you scared it out of me.
[ A crude joke, maybe, but that's Clive. And Dion is one of them now, so he gets the crudeness. He gets Clive. Not Cid the Outlaw, the Leader of the Hideaway, Ifrit. Just Clive, whose shaking the edges of sleep off. ]
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Dion, you came stumbling through our door in the early hours of the morning. It would be remiss of us not to be concerned for your wellbeing.
[ But he also doesn't want to overwhelm again, so he doesn't let his touch linger, and gives Dion some space. Standing from the bed, he takes a couple of steps back, focusing on smoothing out his feathers and hair from their rumpled state.
And wrinkling his nose at Clive, but otherwise not saying anything about the joke. ]
Clive is boiling water for tea. You are welcome to stay here as long as you need.
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Charming.
[Still, Dion knows he has no place to make faces at Clive's demeanor. It was as Joshua had said: he'd come stumbling through their door in the early hours of the morning. He earned whatever he received. That the man leaves it at urine and nothing more is a blessing. And maybe there is even further comfort to be found there. They are well-acquainted enough for Clive to be so casual with Dion, which surely means the last few days have not been the actual dream. They were alive.
Dimly, Dion turns to Joshua and... simply gives a nod for the time being. With the adrenaline high rapidly fading, he feels his exhaustion more strongly than ever. It isn't enough to sleep — his mind whirls even as his body balks — but at least he isn't so keyed up that he feels the need to sprint about to release some of it.]
As long as you both do not mind the imposition.
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Dions comment makes him sigh and push himself to his feet to check the water, grimacing down at it. He sort of wants to use Ifrit to make it heat up faster... ]
Relax. It's not. You're one of us, now. Joshua, which one of these-
[ He lifts the teas with an annoyed look. One of them is coffee, he already figured that out, so he sat it aside. He likes it, but not late at night, and he doesn't know which teas are Soothing for Sleep and Wake Up. ]
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Our room is yours. If you need anything, we are always here. We are brothers in arms, are we not?
[ He gives Dion a warm smile, then looks up to his brother. Ah, he should label those more effectively than just with names. ]
Chamomile. It smells a bit like dried flowers.
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[He's tired enough that it slips out before he can stop it. It wasn't that Dion didn't already treasure their camaraderie. Whether they knew it or not, Clive and Joshua had given him something to fight for, an avenue for his redemption. Moreover, they had introduced him to the potential of him not being a weapon, or a tool. Clive himself had outright refused to let Dion sacrifice his own will for the sake of another.
Yet in the grand scheme of things, they were but strangers. No normal, sane person that Dion had ever met would have done so much for him. The question of "what could be done for Dion" had never been asked by those closest to him, so why ever would two men of whom he barely knew do the same for him?
Deep down, though, he knows it's for the same reason that Dion had only just come running. He had known them for equally as long, and yet he already feared for a future in which their flame did not burn.
After a silent moment, he glances up through his lashes. Shame briefly burns hot through him as he realizes how ungrateful he sounds. As if afraid of their reproachful gaze, he lets his head bow.]
My apologies. I do not mean to question your good will.
[It's new. It's all new, and it chafes against him in a way he both doesn't understand and doesn't hate.]
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You're right. We're barely know you. You barely know us.
[ He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, head tilting as he frowns a little at nothing in particular, tail thunking against the counter behind him. ]
Yet I know you enough to gladly call you brother. I know your struggles far better than you may think.
[ Not just as one soldier to another, but as one tool to another. One more cog in Ultima's machinations. He glances up finally at Dion, frown deepening a little. Torgal, who had been curled up by the window this entire time, finally stands, stretches and pads over to Dion to lean the full weight of himself against the others legs. Have a wolf. Hello. ]
I've seen a man repentant, chased by guilt and ghosts, but I've seen a man who jokes over carrots. Who accepts the hug of a young girl worried about his safety, despite not knowing her. A man who fights not for himself, but the world around him. And what I don't know, I'd be glad to learn.
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And only once he's finished does Joshua pick up the line, as Torgal tries to solicit pets from their company. ]
Nightmares are terrible things... assuming that is what brought you here to us, because that is what it sounded like. But Clive and I both have them. You aren't alone in that.
[ He looks at his brother, recalling their conversation from earlier. Dion deserves space, he doesn't want to unsettle or upset the man any further, but... he still reaches out, placing a hand delicately on Dion's shoulder. ]
And you aren't alone in general. It is not a terrible thing to want to help, and it is not a terrible thing to ask for it, either. Even if that comes in the form of checking in on someone to soothe your own fears.
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He does listen too, of course. Clive speaks so highly of him, and not in any of the ways he's used to, either. He is a tool, a weapon at best, and yet the other man refers to him as something human. Aside from Terence, he can't recall how long he's gone without a reminder that he's more than just his Dominant.
The weight on his shoulder, the presence of Joshua's hand, is yet another reminder. He hardly thinks as he leans into it, shoulder lightly brushing against Joshua's own. Even as he does, he meets Clive's eyes in a silent acknowledgement, before speaking:]
Forgive me, if it takes time. [He looks down to the floor, once again feeling the heated prickle of shame.] I am not certain I know myself anymore. Even the man you knew feels like but a shadow. I was driven by vengeance, and I have had it. Now, I know not what there is. But.
[He lifts his hand, briefly making contact with Joshua's own. Then he reaches out to grip Clive's forearm.]
If ever there were two stubborn men, capable of dragging me from my senses, it would be you two.
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Though the grip to his forearm startles him for a moment, and he blinks, then reaches out in return to grip Dions other shoulder. It's a firm touch, a squeeze of reassurance. ]
You will find the Rosfields have always been stubborn, and fiercely loyal. You've met our Uncle, after all.
[ He squeezes again then pulls away so he can pour the tea, doing it as quick as he can and passing the cups out to Joshua and Dion. He doesn't pour one for himself, he won't need it. ]
It'll take time, but take all the time you need. You'll find yourself again, find who you want to be, and not who everyone demands of you to be. And we'll be by your side.
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If it is any comfort, we, too, are finding ourselves. A purpose, now that our task is complete. It isn't easy, but it is easier when you have those you can trust at your side.
[ He gladly accepts the cup from Clive, murmuring a soft 'thank you' as he does. ]
Here. This tea will help you to relax. I often drink it before I force myself to go to sleep.
[ He will not move away from Dion's lean, so long as the man wishes to uphold it. If he can be a pillar of comfort, he will do his utmost to fulfill the role. ]
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It is a strange comfort, to know that I am not alone.
[He isn't surprised in the slightest. Clive had been a slave underneath the boot of Dion's own country for so long, and Joshua had been... doing whatever it was that he was doing. Dion wasn't abundantly clear on that. Either way, it's clear that Dion isn't the only one at a loss. Maybe it feels a little foolish, now, to think that he's so emotional when the brothers seem more composed. Still, even he can acknowledge that they've had a bit more practice.
Even if Dion isn't wholly aware of his own proximity at the moment, some part of him still manages to be grateful that Joshua goes to such lengths not to disturb him. The cup is accepted, and though he does sit up for a moment to avoid slurping in Joshua's ear, he finds that it's just as easy to settle back down. And while it might be the power of thought, Dion does find that the tea relaxes him.]
Thank you, then. For your offerings. Your kindness. Your understanding. You have both been far kinder to me than I ever would have thought myself deserving.
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Torgal says you have him too, and that he's a very good cuddler.
[ The wolfs tail wags, Clive shaking his head a little to the wolf. He snorts softly to Dion, tilting his head back... arms folding again. Listen it's the best position to be in when you need to rest. ]
We forget we're deserving of it as much as anyone else. We focus on our own failings and the burdens we bare. Until someone comes along and punches sense into us.
[ He tilts his head a little to give Joshua a bit of a smile around Dion. ]
Luckily for you, I'm far nicer than my brother.
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Clive's words make Joshua blink, tilting his head to look at his brother behind Dion. What is he-- oh. The rest of Clive's words catch up with his wandering mind, and he snorts softly. ]
One time, Clive. It was one time. And, might I add, my hand was sore for hours afterward.
[ He wouldn't do it again. Not unless it was a dire necessity, and even then, he'd be hesitant. He sits forward again, taking a sip of his tea, and then settling back to bear the weight of Dion's leaning once more. ]
You weren't there to hear it when I told my brother before, but the battle we have waged... We have fought long and hard for the right to deny our fate as Dominants, and in coming here, we have that right. We can do with our lives what we choose, not what fate dictates for us. And you deserve that right just as much as any of us.
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But - wait a second.
Dion can barely mask his bewilderment. He nearly finds himself spitting his tea back into his cup. Glancing between Clive and Joshua, he forces himself to swallow before leaning back to stare at them both with incredulity.]
Did you say the Phoenix punched you?
[Look, he knows the man is a capable fighter, he wouldn't be alive if that weren't the case. But never once has he struck Dion as someone to throw a punch.
The good news, though, is that he at least settles back in. And though he is a bit more conscious of his movements now, the warmth and comfort of Joshua's form calls him in. Since there hasn't been a single complaint thus far, he lets himself ease closer once again.
It's fine. Don't worry about it.]
You say that, and yet I still feel the call to do as I have always done. If that wretch who pretends to be divine continues to threaten us, then what else can I do but lift my lance and take to the field once more?
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[ He spots that lean and tries not to smirk... no, fuck it, it's 3am and he's smirking. It could be about being knocked on his ass, or it could be because Dion is leaning in to his brother like Torgal leans when he desires a hug. His eyes flick up to Joshua, he arches an eyebrow, then looks away to keep his smirk from turning into a grin.
But his tail thuds heavier against the bed, betraying his amusement, the spikes flaring a bit. ]
For that, we're all on board. You still won't be alone. We're all fighting against it, and we recently came off an attack on it. We failed but we learned enough that next time will be better.
[ He touches the large, ugly scar on his chest. Made by something with a beak large enough to open his entire chest in one hard rip. He shakes his head. ]
We'll always feel that call. But Joshua is right. The difference is the fact we choose to answer it. And, in those moments where there is nothing, then we are free to do nothing. To simply rest, and stretch our hands out to our friends.
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[ He sees that eyebrow arch, Clive. But he says nothing, because the lean is... It's something precious. Dion clearly feels comfortable, and he isn't about to call the man on it. But all the same, due to it being so early in the morning and sleep still vaguely clinging to his mind, he finds it incredibly difficult to keep himself from matching the lean.
He manages, but only just.
As Clive touches the scar on his chest, however, Joshua glances away. It is still difficult to look at, knowing that his body caused the wound. If only he could heal a scar away... ]
We are not bound by the will of another. Only our own. There are no schedules, no orders to follow, no protocols or responsibilities but the ones we choose. We could stay in bed and sleep all day, should we decide to do so, with no repercussions.
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Regardless, he can tell that whatever has happened, neither man wants to talk about it. He can respect that by not pressing, even if a silent note is made to kill whatever beast inflicted such a wound.
(Haha, he doesn't know)]
I'll admit... I cannot remember a day that I slept past sunrise in the last decade. [A half-smile is cracked, before a yawn abruptly breaks it. Speaking of sleep...]
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[ The yawn makes Clive set his jaw in a clench so he doesn't return it and instead push himself up to his feet. ]
Would you like to stay the night?
[ He's already moving over to the couch to push Torgal off, and strip the blankets to toss them to the floor, before getting new ones from the small linen cabinet. Thankfully the wolf wasn't on the sheets, so they're still clean. And the fresh blankets can be set on top.
It's clear he's making it up for Dion to take, and if it wasn't, it becomes obvious when Clive moves over to join Torgal with the wolf fur covered blankets to flop into the floor. Torgal is delighted, and allows himself to be used as a pillow. Clive only gets one (1) slobbery lick to the ear. ]
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