withintenfeet | TLV Inbox

So. The crisis is over. How are you doing?

I was kind of hoping you'd forget about that.

[ He says it with good humour, even though his voice is strained with aching exhaustion.

He's quiet for a moment, still; it's not even that he doesn't want to talk, really, he's just - very much out of practise. ]

That was...horrifying.

Felt like home for a little while. Which says something about why I came here, I guess.

What happened to you during it?

It won't be like that once you're finished.

...There was - rage. Visions. Some of them were good, especially in the beginning. Voices I've wanted to hear again.

[ Voices he never will, for the most part. ]

But mostly, it was - I heard him, and I kept seeing - it was like I was in Hell, instead of here. [ A beat of strained silence, and then some awfully bleak laughter. ] So. Home.

But not once you're done here, either.

[Although Jesus is pretty sure he'll never be able to fit into a world without the walkers again.]

[ He...swallows hard, because this is not really a conversation he's had.

But he probably should, right? He should say it out loud. Someone he cares about - so quickly and so deeply because apparently that's never going to change - ought to know. ]

Jesus, I'm - I'm not changing anything, with the Barge. I know where I'm going, when I leave.

What do you mean?

[He thinks he knows. And good lord are there some complicated feelings churning in him at the thought of it.]

I...accepted something, when I died. Chose something.

The Barge is a reprieve, not an escape.

[ What hurts, right now, is saying this to someone. For all the dread, all the regret, his voice is steady with unwavering conviction. ]

[It hurts to hear. He thinks of Maggie, who cried as he told her...well. This same thing.]

Zerxus...

Me, too.

[ The sharp intake of breath is -

Deeply hypocritical, probably. ]

...Can I come see you?

Please.

I'm in 201.

[ ...Jesus gets a knock on his door in like two minutes, because Zerxus is literally a door down. ]

"That was fast," Jesus says when he answers the door. "Did you run?"

He's teasing. He knows where everyone's cabins are.

Edited 2023-10-25 23:53 (UTC)

"I was going to ride Tempus, but he's in a mood." He can tease back, but he's staring at Jesus with a profoundly vulnerable expression. (It doesn't help that he's dressed down - a loose vest and trousers, that's all.)

Maybe he's overstepping. But he can't see that look on Zerxus's face and not hug him--so he pulls him close, just wraps his arms around him, just holds him. Two dead men walking.

He feels, instinctively, that he should pull away. But he's too damn tired for that, so he closes his eyes and returns the embrace instead.

"What's wrong?" He asks softly, still holding onto him, just for a moment longer. Who knows how long since Zerxus has been held?

"We decided the same thing. I didn't expect that. I'm...worried about you now. Isn't that stupid?"

People have been more tender with him on this ship than he'd ever expected to experience again, but he's never allowed himself to linger in it like he does now.

"I think..." He chews on what he wants to say as he finally steps back, just far enough to meet Jesus's eyes. "I think we're both much better at accepting our own fates than anyone else's."

Suffering has always been so much easier to bear than to witness.

It's been such a long week. He's relived the worst moments of his life, at least some of them, and he hasn't had time to so much as begin to process them.

And a good man is going to Hell. And Jesus himself is going to die. And none of it is right but they've accepted it, and it will happen.

He holds Zerxus's gaze, feeling his heart sink. "I think you're right. I don't want you to suffer, Zerxus. I don't want you to be dead."

"The universe will be a worse place without you in it." He can't say that for himself, not anymore; he has so little control over what he will become, what he will do.

"And that isn't even why I hate the idea so much, not really." The knight in him baulks at one less compassionate warrior, certainly; the rest of him just can't handle losing another friend.

Knowing they would part for good eventually was one thing; it surprises him, a little, how much worse this feels.

"I'm a drop in an ocean." He's done all he can for the Hilltop, for the colonies. He was miserable trying to fit a role he was never built for.

"I told someone that this way my death means something. I wouldn't have been able to come here if things weren't over for me back home." It didn't help make it any easier for Maggie but maybe it will for Zerxus.

He does nod, because that's at least -

It was better, the second time he Ring of Brass fell around him. They walked in with clear eyes, ready to die for something that mattered.

"I know what a difference that can make." But there's more he wants to say, and after a beat of strained hesitation, "And only you get to decide what you're ready for. When you're finished. But there are more choices here, more paths to take -"

It's the first time his voice loses some of that gentle steadiness, starts to turn rough with emotion instead.

Edited 2023-10-26 23:37 (UTC)

No one will cry for him at home. He's a body in a box in the ground when he would have preferred to be burned, and things will go on without him.

Here on the Barge two people are so moved by his death he can hear it in their voices. It's startling.

"There are for you, too," he says, and if there's a note of pleading in his voice, who can blame him? "The mistakes you've made, the choices you made, they don't have to lead you to Hell. Not anymore."

He isn't hearing voices anymore, but that almost doesn't matter because Evandrin's, tender and desperate as the embraced between the planes, rings so fiercely in his mind. We can fix this, we can find another way, please. At the time it was the only way to save his son.

But there was another moment - a gift, from his brother, the mercy of a clean death - where he could have let go. Dead, but far beyond the devil's grasp; dead, but perhaps not forever. "I know I don't. I knew that before the Barge."

It sounds absurd, he knows, and his best explanation is, "I can't just leave. I don't know if it will matter but I have to try."

He understands that. He's been the one doing the absurd thing, the desperate thing. He's' seen it pay off. He's also seen it fail. He doesn't regret trying but he never would have been able to live with himself if he'd stopped before he tried.

Sometimes, every now and then, he sees little glimmers of truths beyond his natural aversion to getting close to people. Sometimes he can hear a warning in his head: This one will hurt you.

Zerxus could fuck him up bad, just with the earnestness in his voice. Just with the fact he'll face down the Devil and try to make things change.

Yeah. Getting close to Zerxus would be a mistake.

"So," he says anyway, knowing all this. His smile is soft and heartbroken and strong. "The Barge is all we have, then. It's all we get. I think we should make the most of it."

Come watch a movie with me and my sister?

[ Pause for a moment of adorable befuddlement - ]

...I'd love to.

Great! [He's relieved] I'm on my way. She lives on the same floor we do.

Sometimes I think the Admiral does these things on purpose.

[ He can't talk about the Admiral without sounding a little bitchy, but mostly it's warmly amused. ]

What, like he's matchmaking his passengers in his free time? [Teasing]

I'm at your door. You ready?

Gods have had worse hobbies.

[ He's smiling when he opens the door, and looking - well, more relaxed and well-rested than before, at least. ]

[Jesus has had a rough week, but he's going to spend tonight relaxing. He has a weekender's air about him, someone tired but eager for a well earned break.]

C'mon. Have you met Maggie Garcia yet?

[ Zerxus shakes his head as he closes the door behind him, but his smile deepens. ]

Not personally, but I've seen her on the network. I'm not surprised you found someone who takes care of people while the ship descends into chaos.

She adopted me. I've never had a sister before so there's a bit of a learning curve. She makes it easy though.

She makes a pretty good bowl of popcorn, too. You ever had it?

That's how you know you've done it right. [ He's definitely speaking with experience there.

...And then his eyes light up a little. ] I have, and I miss the real thing.

Nothing but real junkfood tonight.

[That's a promise, sealed with a wink, and then they're at Maggie's door and he lets them in]

Maggie?

Maggie's in the kitchen, which smells of mingled chocolate chip cookies and butter popcorn. She's just leaning over the oven to retrieve a cookie sheet as they come in. "Hey, darling. Get some drinks while I get these out of the oven."

And to Zerxus, she adds as she straightens. "Hi, I'm Maggie. A pleasure."

Zerxus breathes deep as they cross the threshold, eyes alight with almost boyish excitement. His expression turns a bit shy, once they land on Maggie, but he smiles and nods his head. "Zerxus, and the pleasure is definitely mine. You have cookies."

Real baking. He hasn't tasted that - the steady work, the individual flare - for seven years.

"That's how I tricked him into coming here," Jesus teases. "I told him about the first cookies you gave me."

How it stopped him dead in his tracks to smell real sugar after so long.

"Come sit down I'll get you some." He's in Maggie's kitchen often enough that he moves through it like it's his own.

Maggie laughs brightly.

"It's all part of my cunning plan to lure people over so my house is hardly ever empty. I'm very bad at solitude. Also to spoil my brother; I was an only child and I've never had a brother to spoil before. Have to be strategic about these things."

It feels dangerously like slipping back through time, but Zerxus already agreed to come and refusing to enjoy himself would just be rude. So he sits down, and lets himself reminisce a little. "I found mine when we were teenagers."

"I was a rotten teenager, Maggie wouldn't have wanted me," Jesus laughs.

He gets a plate, loads it with cookies, gets a glass of milk to go with it. "What was your brother's name?"

"Nydas, and he was also a rotten teenager." It's impressive, how fondly he manages to say that. "He stabbed me the first time we met. Not on purpose - he was trying to be intimidating and got carried away."

"Screw you, I love all sorts of difficult people." Maggie gives Jesus a quick hug on her way to put water on for tea, then leans against the counter as she waits for it to heat. "But I was a minor disaster then anyway."

She's settled into her skin in the years since, sure of who she is and what she wants. Sure that the people in her life are there for her.

"I feel like it happens less, off of the Barge. My team are my heart's family, but they're not... siblings. They're just mine, to protect and take care of and keep together." She asks Zerxus, "How did you get from stabbing to brotherhood?'

"Yeah. The colonies used to call each other family, but." Well they aren't talking now and Jesus has always felt outside of them anyway.

He looks at Zerxus. "I want to hear this story too."

Some of the weight seems to lift from his shoulders as he watches them, as he thinks back to a time before all of the grief, all of the mistakes, all of the compromises.

"It wasn't a deep cut, but there was quite a lot of blood, and he was terrified - apparently being a pirate is one thing, but actually stabbing someone is another." He smirks a little, smugly playful in a way that only surfaced with certain people. "I calmed him down, we wrapped the wound, and he looked like he hadn't a good meal in weeks so I invited him for dinner."

Maggie laughs. "You're like me. Adopting strays and feeding them a good meal. I decided Jesus was mine the second I saw his face when he got a whiff of my baking."

Wryly, she notes, "Although your particular story wouldn't translate to my world. We're all so blood averse, nobody'd follow me home for dinner if I were bleeding. Too much infection worry."

"Every good friend I have at home has held a gun to my head at least once," Jesus laughs. "Or punched me in the face. Sometimes the strays are just rabid."

He winks at Maggie.

He's grinning even as he shakes his head. "It astounds me that you both lived through that in worlds without any magic at all."

The idea of realms where he can't burn away infection with his touch alone is deeply stressful. Especially with undead hordes to deal with, which frankly seems unfair.

"I don't know anything else. I was born during the first couple years of the Rising, after the dead started walking. And technically, these days my disease kills fewer people than one of the diseases it was meant to cure used to."

Maggie shakes her head. "That's why my deal isn't for a full cure. It's to change the virus, keep the benefits but eliminate the nasty side effect. No more walking dead."

Jesus could argue that he didn't live through it; the dead caught up with him in the end. But it's a melancholy thought and he's here to have fun.

"Whereas mine is to make all living people immune. I can't turn back what happened and I can't undo the billions of undead, but I can make it so we stay dead. No one will have to put their loved ones down again."

Thinking about Nydas in the context of killing the people you love, because you love them -

There's a moment where his gaze turns inward, and there's unspeakable pain there. Then it passes, because he learned how to do that a long time ago. His smile is still sincere, looking up at them.

"Both good worlds to work towards."

Willa meant to find Zerxus earlier in the month. She'd been reading some of the magic books her dad already had, reading them to him when she can't stand the quiet in the cabin any more. But it's not enough. And after the breach, with the fact that Arthur hasn't been answering her knocks or her messages, she needs something to do.

She spots him on deck, finally, after checking a few other places that seem like Him Kind of Places. There's a bruised anxiety around her heart on approach, fear that he'll disappear like Arthur or tell her to go away. She knew him for almost eight years. Except she doesn't know him that much at all.

It's weird.

"Zerxus?" Willa winces at how timid it comes out.

He hears someone coming, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the stars - right up until Willa says his name, and he turns instantly. It's a little disconcerting, because it feels both like an instinct born from another life and what he'd do regardless, but that doesn't really matter.

"Willa? Are you all right?" It was her first breach. He's pretty sure that all the warnings in the world aren't enough to prepare you for that.

Oh no. Her lower lip gives a tiny tremble and her eyes fill with tears and she clears her throat firmly. "Yeah. I just. I had a question, something I want to ask you about? About magic."

His heart twists, the way it always would have; in the breach, in the circus, he'd have felt comfortable just pulling her into a hug, but -

But what? No, they don't know each other the same way; no, it hasn't been nearly as long. But she's never been scared of him, either.

As he holds out his hand, "All right. But I need you to do something, first."

If she takes it, he's embracing her as warmly, as fiercely, as his breach self ever did.

She takes his hand, and then they're hugging, and Willa presses her face against Zerxus's shoulder and lets out a tiny little sob.

"We're still-- I know it wasn't real, but you're still okay with being friends, right?"

She figures he has to be, with the hug, but she'll better hearing it.

"Who says it wasn't real?" There's something strained in his voice, because processing all of it is...difficult, but there are too many things about that life he refuses to just throw away. The memories don't quite feel like his - and it's starker than last time, because Earth is so different - but they linger like...

Like a dream.

"I think we get to decide what's true and what isn't."

Well, there it goes. That's the rest of her composure, right out the window. She clings tighter and starts bawling.

There's no trace of hesitation this time; he just holds her close and lets her cry, pulling one hand free to gently stroke her hair.

The gentle touch makes her cry more, and she can't shake the guilt simmering underneath it. That she's sobbing on him without explanation, that she's sobbing on him and not her dads-- not her dad or Arthur or Lester. That Arthur might not want her any more, Lester might not either, that she's too afraid to face either one of them and find out, that her dad hasn't woken up and she's starting to think again about asking Johnathan Strange for help after all because it keeps her from panicking, mostly.

At having a whole different life, that was for the most part happy, and the sin of forgetting her actual father. At waking up this morning confused in her cabin and not thinking about him first, but wondering why she didn't wake up when Arthur and Lester did. It's how she keeps referring to them in her head now, determinedly, Arthur and Lester, because it's entirely too easy at the moment for the thought of them to be framed by 'my dads.'

It's a very different kind of upset than what she felt after the cursed sword, or Kikimora's destruction of the wardrobe. She thinks she prefers horror and fear over shame.

He's murmuring to her now - nothing specific, because he doesn't know the shape of her pain yet, just gentle assurances where the tone matters more than the actual words. They fall from his lips with the sort of ease he knows he doesn't have anymore, not really; that might well fade, in the coming days and weeks.

But for now, at least, he remembers how to be a father.

(Not to Elias, not this time, and he doesn't know if that's better or worse but he can't dwell on it now.)

Her sobbing eventually eases into that uneven hitched breathing that comes after tears, when she's in that place of being self-aware enough to try and make herself calm down.

"Sorry. I wasn't--this definitely wasn't... I didn't mean to start cr-crying."

She's still got her face on his shoulder.

"You're welcome to cry on me any time you need." He's aiming for a light tone, but it's strained with his own guilt, his own failure.

He knows, deep in his bones, that his other self never would have chosen responsibility to a city over responsibility to his family.

"I just. Don't know who to talk to." It's quiet and a little desperate. "My dad is still asleep. I don't want to annoy people or make them think I'm going to like, be weird, after the breach, or something. I can talk to John but Arthur is already really upset and John never lets himself be upset when Arthur is upset, not in a way that lets anyone help him. I don't want to make him have to help me too. And there's not even anything to help, I'm fine, nothing's different."

Gently but sternly, "You are very clearly not fine, and there's nothing wrong with that."

He reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder, and speaks with the hard-won confidence of his other self. "Breaches are hard on a lot of people, and that was your first one. You're allowed to struggle with it. That doesn't make you a burden."

She gives a tiny, tiny sniff, squeezing him for a second. "You're still warm."

"I am." For once, acknowledging the change in him doesn't weigh down his voice. "...Ah, not immune to fire, though."

Does your magic do anything for the death toll, do you know?

Not directly. I can help people get to sleep, that's about it.

Hakkai's sleeping okay so far.

How are you feeling?

Let me know if that changes.

I'm - I feel strange, mostly. That life was...very different. Much worse in some ways, far better in others, and...well, Earth is about as ridiculous as I thought it was.

What about you?

[It's almost a minute of indecision before Jedao responds.]

I've never had parents who loved me before. It made me into a completely different person.

[ It's about twice as long before Zerxus replies. ]

I'm glad I've been able to know both versions of you.

Feels weird to be fucked up about being happy when other people

you know, died.

Or - not even happy all the time, obviously. You got some of the worst of me. But I was...brave, there. Braver.

[He kept jumping, even when it sometimes went all wrong.]

I think it's - easier to be brave, with stronger foundations to leap from.

I had to build those with the circus, and you were a big part of that.

[ It all feels a bit like living in reverse. He had a good life when he was young; there were struggles that didn't quite end and questions no one could quite answer but overall, he was happy. His family loved him, and did what they could to support him. He knew what he wanted to be, and nothing stood in his way, not until - ]

Coming back to who we really are is...

You shouldn't feel guilty for struggling.

I don't feel guilty, exactly. More just

awkward.

You really did deserve better. I'm glad I could be good for you for a little while.

So, I'd like to get drunk, but that's off limits these days. I will probably stop talking to people on the communicators until I feel like being nice and diplomatic again.

And possibly bake cookies. Willa deserves some goddamn cookies.

Want to keep me company? [Someone ought to. Maggie might keep calling people until someone comes over. And since she'd been meaning to spend more time with Zerxus, two birds and one stone.]

...Depending on why you shouldn't get drunk, I might be able to help. [ There's so, so much sympathy in his voice. ]

But - regardless, yes. [ Also, awkward about it! ]

Hits me harder than it used to.

Werewolves have to be really careful about substance use, and enough to feel it might also be enough to erode my control. Iris turned me a month and a half ago. She drinks like a fish, but she's a special case. And even she had to build her tolerance back up.

Come on over.

[ He's already moving, judging by the gentle creak of wood and leather, but as he does - ]

If you ever wanted to risk an exception, with a guarantee that you could stop being drunk very quickly, you can always call me.

[That startles a laugh out of her.] Good to know. I might take you up on it sometime.

I have this sneaking suspicion that the Barge will give us plenty of reasons for it.

[ Yeah, he's just talking as he goes. It's not a long way to her door. ]

"Unfortunately true. No shortage of those here."

Maggie and Fetch will both be on hand to greet him when he knocks.

Edited 2024-01-04 05:12 (UTC)

The knock comes barely a minute later, as he slides his device into a trouser pocket. He looks horribly tired, but he does muster a rare smile as he holds a hand out for Fetch to sniff.

"I don't know why I thought this place would be less stressful."

"Alas, interdimensional afterlife space prison isn't always a good time. Usually I find it less stressful than the last few months at home, but then it makes up for the breaks by clobbering us."

But she's observant enough to ask, "Speaking of, what's your preferred form of stress relief? I have alcohol, tea, cookie dough, a garden, and a dog to pet. Or a wolf to pet, but I can't bake cookies with paws so that's a later-offer, not a now-offer."

"I think I can make due with a dog," he says, as he kneels down to scratch said dog's ears properly. "And I can - roll dough, probably? It's been a while. I don't want to mess up Willa's cookies."

He sounds as weary as he looks, but his voice shines with affectionate pride.

[Well, she has noooooo idea how to start This Conversation either so: tally ho.]

I think you should apologize to Hilbert.

That definitely wasn't where I wanted that conversation to go.

[ Wry, and weary, and not unapologetic, but... ]

But I wouldn't take any of it back.

I get that. But you get that you agreeing with Jedao is completely totally irrelevant to him being upset his friend died when he didn't have to, right?

[ Death is better catches in his throat and stays there, roughening what he chooses to say instead. ]

Of course he's upset. Diminishing that - was not what I meant to do.

[ And yet. ]

[...Yeah that roughness kind of confirms a suspicion.]

I read about-- okay I didn't choose to, my therapist made me read about these things called spheres of grief once. Where when something bad happens or you lose someone, the person it happens to, those are the people in the center of the middle sphere. And every layer outward is like, people who are less and less directly emotionally related. So like... if someone dies, their family is in the center, then friends, then acquaintances, and so on, you get it.

But the thing my therapist said was that the support is supposed to flow inward, right? Hilbert and Eiffel are from the same place, they've been through stuff we're never going to hear about together, they've been here for ages with each other, they're probably closer to each other in a lot of ways than anyone else on board, right?

[She pauses, trying to think her way through how to put this.] So. They're the center, I guess, you know? And Eiffel seems like the kind of person who's going to probably brush it off, which means Hilbert is upset about it by himself. You and me--or I guess me, I don't know how well you know them, but anyway, I'm third or fourth or whatever number of rings out from emotional ground zero. Maybe I've got stuff that makes me feel some kind of way about how stuff went, and that's fine. But no one in the middle should have to give a crap about my feelings, not while they're still figuring out their own.

[ His mind is cast back seven years as she speaks, and the devastating ripple effects of grief. ]

...And tearing each other apart?

[ Wistfully mournful, but not argumentative; in fact, he switches to video so she can see him shake his head immediately afterwards. ]

But I didn't make that any better. You're right, Willa.

[ There are ways, still, in which he is entirely too proud, but this is not one of them. ]

[She switches to video too, her expression clearly relieved. Mostly at the fact that he's not angry.]

I told Hilbert what he said to Jedao was cruel and probably super hypocritical. But also...

[Another pause, another flounder through the deep water of trying to sort out her thoughts on things.]

...When I was-- I still do it sometimes, actually, but... When I was little and upset but I couldn't be upset in a way that fixed anything, I would just try to mess up as much shit as I could in any relationship I could reach with my fat baby hands. I kind of think that's part of what Hilbert was doing, now that I've had a chance to consider it, and stuff. And also-- It feels like people are picking sides in this, like really picking sides, which is stupid. Jedao panicked and did his best. But if he waited, Eiffel could probably have been helped without the fatality. He's definitely, definitely right to want Eiffel back to being his own whole free self and all, but he also wasn't like, right to dive in by himself when we're on a boat full of super-people. I don't think it's one or the other. I think everyone screwed up, including Hilbert. I think we're really lucky it happened here. Eiffel definitely is.

Not to mention, that's another thing, people who are like 'Jedao is right!' Or 'Hilbert is right!' are also missing the point that it's not about them being right or wrong either. What Jedao did was for Eiffel but probably it was also for Jedao. Because he decided on the dangers being worth it and acted without backup. What Hilbert said was for Eiffel, but it was also definitely for Hilbert, because he didn't even have a chance to try and help.

Edited 2024-01-04 08:18 (UTC)

[ It's not the first time this expression has crossed his face as he listened to her, but it's the first time she's seen it: intently engaged and quietly impressed. ]

That's a valuable perspective to have, in situations like this.

[ And it's been made abundantly clear that he doesn't, not this time. There's too much resonance with his own baggage. ]

...This isn't a deflection, we can steer back around. But how would you feel about doing this in a more structured way? Reaching out to people, and helping them get past hurdles like with each other.

[She shrugs when he says it's a valuable perspective.] I was pretty good at being in the middle on stuff before and then I came here and realized even the thing I wasn't in the middle on was my dad doing his best for me. So I guess like... I'm trying to be there, more. To think about people doing their best before I get mad about it not being what I want.

[She frowns.]

How d'you mean?

I mean being a mediator officially. Or as official as we can get, at the moment.

[ And he's just - going to send over a link to Neal's post, if she hasn't seen it yet. It's a good outline both on why it could be very helpful and why it's not going to be easy. ]

You don't need to answer right now, it's - going to take a while to get this started.

[She holds up a finger--one second--and turns off her camera to read Neal's post, if not the comments. When she finishes she has to take a few alarmed seconds to process the fact that Zerxus is suggesting she would be good for something like this. Her, probably the youngest person on board.

She has to get her nerves under control before she can turn the video back on.]

You really think I could do something like that? I mean--most people... Hunter already gets crap from people for being a teenager in the infirmary, you really think anyone would listen to me when they're upset? Talking to you is-- That's different, you know me. I mean I guess Hilbert didn't and I said things anyway but I don't think he actually listened even if I did say we weren't done talking about everything, that's why I said we weren't done to be honest.

[ With a slight arch of his eyebrows - ] I know you remember that I wasn't exactly pleased when you arrived. You have a way of winning people over.

But even if you don't, that's why we're giving people options. Different ages, different genders, different - species.

[ His lips twitch with wry amusement, a brief but genuine smile. ] And I'd call Hilbert a...harder case than most.

[ Expert Mode right there. ]

[She bites her lip. He thinks she can do this. He really does? She's been thinking about it, thinking about why she's here and what she wants, and this is something that could be... really important.

It's also scary in ways she's not used to.]

Yeah. That... That makes sense, having options.

[ He nods, falling back into projecting steady reassurance. It doesn't come quite as naturally, since dying, but with some people it's easier. ]

You can communicate with people in ways I can't - or Xie Lian, or Jedao, or John Doe. ...Not that we've asked them yet.

[ And he is definitely holding off now. ]

How are you?

[ He just kind of stares for a second. People just straight up asking him that is still weird. ]

Um. Tired, mostly.

[ Helpless worry is exactly as exhausting as he remembers. ]

Mm. You're not alone.

Would you like to have some tea?

[ There's another pause, stretching longer still. This is the second offer for company he's been given, and that probably shouldn't feel so overwhelming. ]

...Yes, I would.

[ Firmly, as if he's just had to have an argument with himself about it. ]

Should I. Meet you at your cabin?

[Xie Lian gives him time, space without expectations.]

Thank you, it's nice to have company. Yes, I'm in the 14th cabin on level 3.

[It's the one with the best door you could ask for in a previously falling down shrine. Objectively.]

[ He does, in fact, admire the craftsmanship as he knocks. ]

[Xie Lian opens the door with a warm smile.]

Hello, Zerxus. Please, come in.

[ His return smile looks as stiff and weary as the rest of him, but there's warmth to it all the same. ]

Thank you.

[ For - well, he's sure Xie Lian knows.

His eyes widen, slightly, as he steps inside. ]

Is this - your shrine?

It is.

[He looks around it, fondly. With San Lang's help, it's certainly in far better shape than the broken down shelter the villagers had given him, but that just means it's a small shrine that's in good repair. It's not impressive, but it was a good home.

Well, apart from the painting over the table. But that's impressive because of San Lang's talent.]

I've started some tea, so it shouldn't be long.

It's...nice.

[ Awkward but earnest, as he takes everything in. The modest serenity of it reminds him of the shrines he'd see on Domunas, sparse but well-loved. ]

I've never asked what you're a god of.

[He smiles at Zerxus, pleased to see him taking it in, as a lot of it has marks of San Lang's handiwork. He doesn't look any older than he had during the flood, if you only looked at a picture, and yet he's equally far older - especially if you're used to immortals.]

I'm a Martial God, and also a god of scraps. Picking up what's thrown away one place and seeing if it can be sold in another.

[ He doesn't smile as easily as his younger self did, so it says something that this startles a genuine grin from him.

Gods of war can be kind.

He doesn't try to hide the depth of emotion, but he's not going to address it, either. ]

Everything is valuable to someone.

Mm. The basis of my business, though it was mostly just... wandering.

It could be a pleasant existence.

Please tell me you made it back okay.

[ He looks physically, emotionally, and existentially exhausted but he musters a rare smile regardless. ]

I'm all right.

[Oh, Zerxus.]

...I'm bringing soup. Do you eat soup?

...I do. And I probably need it.

[ Not the sort of thing he'd readily admit to most people, but he's mostly been relying on quick snacks since he woke up again, both because there was so much still to do and because eating felt...kind of weird, after the week overboard. ]

[He turns up in five minutes, knocking quickly on the door, balancing a pot of stew on one hip]

[ Zerxus opens it immediately. He does not look any better in person, but he still leans forward to grab that pot. ]

Here, let me -

I can-

[But Zerxus takes the weight of the pot and Jesus lets him]

I just wanted to make sure you had enough. And I'm here to make sure you don't eat just like, a little cup full. You need your nutrients.

[ He handles it easily, at least, even seeming to relax a bit as he steps back. The gentle warmth is - it's a welcome change, because it still feels like he spent decades as a raging inferno and a frigid shadow all at once. ]

...I want to argue about my self preservation skills, but -

[ Yeah he's just gonna smile crookedly and step back to let Jesus enter properly, before leading them to the kitchenette. ]

How were you, in all that?

[he likes that smile on Zerxus, feels good own smile turn warmer because of it

Then he has to duck his head, guilty]

Will it make me sound like an ass if I tell you I had fun?

It really won't.

[ He does look a bit jealous, though, as he puts the pot down on the counter. A sigil flares to life beneath it, keeping it hot as he reaches up to grab some bowels. ]

I might have, too, if I was myself.

[ He does sound wistfully envious, as he imagines the two of them fighting side by side. ]

One of these days, you and I are going to get real time together out there in some wild Port.

[He reaches to help but doesn't know where anything is so he stands and waits patiently]

How...bad was it for you?

Careful, the Admiral will hear you and decide to be funny.

[ It doesn't take long, at least; it's all organised with spartan efficiency, and Zerxus knows it like the back of his hand. There don't seem to be any personal touches in here, not until he actually sets the bowls down on the table. They're both deep blue, painted with glimmering silver constellations.

He's focused on those, as he answers the question, rather than meeting Jesus's gaze. ]

It was - worse than the breaches.

[He likes them. Blue is his favorite color anyway, but the bowls are beautiful. Very unlike the simple white porcelain ones Jesus has--everything he has was scavenged rather than really chosen. The personal touches he leans towards are whimsical but easily discarded.

These bowls, though. He'd keep them safe and he's glad Zerxus has them.]

I'm sorry.... What happened?

Well. I was dead, first of all.

[ That's so, so far from the worst part; in fact, his offended grimace is almost theatrical. ]

That's an awful thing to do to a paladin and I bet he knows it.

[ Zerxus isn't actually sure how much, if any, control the Admiral has over their borrowed lives.

But if there's an excuse to bitch about a god he's going to take it, even if he actually kind of likes them. ]

[He chuckles] I don't know, I think the Admiral was booted out of control in this world.

What makes death so hard on a Paladin?

Right, yes, because he can't drive.

[ He sounds more fond than annoyed, but don't tell anyone.

Besides, his expression turns grim again very quickly. ]

Divine magic can harm anyone, or protect anyone. But it's most effective against two things: fiends... [ And he gestures up at his own horns with his spoon. ] And the undead.

[ Not a bucket list he really wanted to finish. ]

[He winces in empathy but he doesn't fully understand it.]

So you were without your magic entirely?

...My magic, yes.

[ He swallows hard, then remembers he should probably be eating right now so -

Well, he only meant to take a spoonful before continuing but he finishes three. ]

This is amazing.

[Jesus grins at him]

It's meant to pack in calories. Lots of energy for fighting walkers and building a new society. But since we're here on the Barge maybe we could just burn it all off in the Enclosure together...?

Less satisfying but much safer.

[ It feels strange, to be smiling like this after a life that ended so horribly and a death that he made everyone else's problem and all of the deeply unfortunate echoes in there. ]

That's not a no. [He's chuckling] All right. Come explore with me. We'll hunt dragons and demons and walkers.

All at once? [ There's a glint in his eyes. ]

All at once! A...banquet!

Like a date.

[A pause, a nervous grin]

Could we call this a date?

[ His eyes widen, and for a moment he looks -

Well, like a ram in headlights. ]

I -

[ He can't help but imagine it even as he blanches from the idea, and his expression turns wistfully strained. ]

I haven't...done that, for a while.

[ It isn't a refusal, and there's more yearning than he'd like in how he says it. ]

[A soft, nervous laugh]

I haven't either. And I think in the old world I wouldn't ask for a date out hunting monsters. But-

That seems right now. It seems fun. I want to have fun with you. That's what makes this trip...special.

So- is that a yes?

[ He doesn't actually realise it, because it's been such a long time since it even happened and he runs hotter these days to begin with.

But he is definitely blushing. ]

That - does sound like what I'd want a date to be.

[ It's not like he doesn't remember. Of course, that's part of why he's floundering right now, anxious and awkward and painfully uncertain.

May as well just take the plunge. ]

Is it - strange. To say that I know that Evandrin would like you?

[He feels victorious but dammit he's blushing, too. He can feel his ears burning]

Only if it's strange to say I really hope that's true.

[ He did not expect the relief he feels seeing that, strained and delicate as it is. ]

Well. [ His mouth has gone dry, just gonna...lick his lips and try again. ] You're kind, and stubborn, and you can laugh at yourself. You kept a community going after the world crumbled. You aren't intimidated by mystical nonsense. You didn't let me starve myself in self-indulgent melodrama.

[ Oh hey! That stew is still here. It's not going cold, the bowls see to that, but it is suddenly very important that he focuses very hard on eating some more of it. ]

[A soft laugh] I like you and your melodrama. It reminds me how much things matter. But no, I won't let you drowned in it. At least, I'll try to help you out of it.

Tell the truth--does it need more salt? I think it needs more salt.

[ He takes a thoughtful sip, as if he didn't know his answer immediately.

With an entirely straight face: ]

You made it on the Barge, so I think it's salty enough by default.

[ He has, perhaps, spent too much time around bards. ]

[Startled laughter]

Well fine you're not wrong.

[Who taught Zerxus about salt??]

You holding up alright?

If the answer is no, let me know if there's anything you need.

And if the answer is yes, let me know if that alcohol offer still stands. Got my heart a bit broken so I'm slowly scraping myself back together. I can just go sprawl on Jesus or Iris if you're not up for it. Which I'll do anyway, let's be honest, it's just a question of when.

[ There's that silent beat of surprise, but it's quickly followed by gentle sympathy. ]

I'm holding up well enough to share a drink.

Iris turned me and could probably kick my ass if I lose control, but I'd prefer not to test that theory.

My place or yours? I can deliver.

That depends on if you want extra company.

[ He's just gonna direct the camera at Tempus, who's sprawled in front of the fireplace. ]

That raises the very interesting question of whether my fear of large mammals carries over to gryphons, who are only half mammal. Canines have always been an exception for me personally, because I loved them, but my world's virus infected all mammals, not just humans.

Fuck it. Sweeney's been working with me for months. I can even ride a horse now. I can deal with a gryphon.

I'll be there in a few. [And she's bringing him cookies as well as alcohol.]

He'll be on his best behaviour. Right, Tempus?

[ Tempus makes a point of rolling his eyes at Zerxus but dipping his head to Maggie. ]

[That startles a laugh from her, and they'll hear a knock as soon as she's had time to gather cookies and a couple liquor options. Also salmon jerky. Does she know what Tempus eats? No. But she'll bring it just in case.]

[ The door opens immediately, though it's just Zerxus in the doorway; Tempus is hanging back, curled up next to the fireplace.

His head does jerk up when he catches that scent, though, and Zerxus's eyes widen slightly in what, for him, counts as delighted surprise. ]

He already likes you best, I think. [ He steps back to reveal - well, very obviously a bedroom in a Knightly Tower, from the meticulous stonework to the rack of armour to the grand balcony. ]

"I'm used to bribing my way into canine affections," she tells Zerxus. "I hardly ever show up empty-handed. You get cookies, and alcohol if you want it. Tempus gets homemade salmon jerky."

To the gryphon, she'll add, "Which I assume you're interested in from that look you're giving me?"

Despite the intent interest, Tempus rises slowly and pads towards Maggie with a gentle, languid pace. He doesn't step into her space, just chirps his agreement and tilts his head up towards her and, of course, her treats.

Sotto voice, Zerxus says, "He doesn't actually have to eat, he just enjoys it."

"I'll keep that in mind if the Barge ever has another food shortage. But in the meantime..." Maggie appreciates the reprieve of Tempus's manners. She has a second to take a slow breath, to brace herself as she reaches into her bag. And then she'll hold out some jerky, hand steady even though she's biting her lip at first.

"You know you're gorgeous, don't you?" she asks him. "Bet you charm everyone. I'm half scared and half charmed, so thank you for your patience."

The sound Tempus makes is strange - half avian chirp and half feline huff - but it's low and soft, and his head dips in understanding before he reaches for the jerky. That gleaming beak is wickedly sharp, but he plucks the treat from her fingers with delicate precision.

Then he tosses it into the air and swallows it whole. He's already purring by the time he's finished, gaze blazing with delight as much as starlight. There's a reflection of that in Zerxus, significantly muted, but his tone is warmly amused.

"He wants you to know that it was delicious, and that you're a better cook than I am."

Maggie laughs softly. "That's how I lure friends out for visits back home. I live in the woods miles from anywhere most people want to go, and I'm extremely bad at being alone. So I make sure my house is as comfortable as possible. Which includes good cooking."

She'll offer Tempus one more piece before she brings out cookies and passes them to Zerxus. "Company is always appreciated."

His expression turns gently wistful. "That sounds kind of like paradise, honestly."

Growing up, he couldn't wait to leave his quiet little village on the edge of the forest, yearning for the bustle and bombast of Cathmoíra. He'll never regret moving to the city and becoming a knight, but he misses that steady, solid tranquillity.

"Especially with these. Who taught you to cook?" As he asks, he gestures for Tempus (who has already gobbled down that second piece of jerky) to step back a bit, so he can lead Maggie to the drawing room.

"My parents taught me a little, because they were very against bringing up a spoiled brat. The rest is self taught from recipes. My abuela wasn't around to teach me, but I live in my grandparents' old house and some of hers were still in the kitchen when I inherited it."

She takes a bite of a cookie and offers the container to Zerxus as she elaborates, "I am super privileged, just not a complete brat. My parents offered me anything I wanted for my twenty first birthday, so I asked for my grandparents' house and enough security to make living in the middle of nowhere safe even with the walking dead. Dad must have bribed people. My security system is military grade, not available for general sale. He's a little overprotective." She raises one hand idly to her collarbone, where a microchip monitors and transmits her vital signs, so her parents never have to wonder if she's still among the living.

"...I think that's actually the correct amount of protectiveness." He's trying to keep his tone warmly amused, but there's a strain to the words; his son is going to grow up in the midst of an apocalypse, too.

He distracts himself with a cookie (just as delicious as he remembers, unsurprisingly) and steps through the archway into the biggest room in the tower. There are two armchairs in here, along with a sofa and side tables. He puts the cookies on one of those, after snagging a second one.

It's also the most personalised room, mostly because he hasn't changed anything Evandrin did. There are paintings on the walls of the two of them - with Elias, with Nydas, with Laerryn - and a bookshelf full to bursting with not only novels, but journals and sketchpads. The same starlight of the deck streams through stained glass windows, each portraying something different.

"Fair," Maggie concedes. "The point where most people start looking at me like I'm crazy is when I mention the device in my body broadcasting my vital signs so they never have to wonder if I'm okay. Which I did consent to, when I was old enough to understand what that meant, but I lobbied for no location monitoring. Otherwise my teenage rebellious phase would've been cut very short."

But the room brings a slow smile to her face. "This is lovely."

Is it bad that he is not, in fact, looking at her like she's crazy? "We would use magic for that."

The we in question is - very clear, from those paintings, and he does his best to muster a smile. It's crooked, strained, but warm all the same. "All my husband. Well, Laerryn did the windows for us."

He gestures to one of the paintings. Evandrin in is it, wearing a beautifully intricate leather armour, but at his side is Laerryn in her work clothes wielding a gleaming golden wrench. The artist has captured their connection, in the way they're leaning against each other with exhausted, satisfied smiles.

Maggie's lips quirk into a crooked smile. "Pre-Rising, people only microchipped their pets, not their children. Even post-Rising, it's not especially common. So from the background half of this ship came from, it's disconcerting." But not really important right now.

"Also lovely," she tells him when he points out the painting, her voice soft and warm, appreciative with a touch of reverence. She loves it when people manage to capture care and emotion properly. She knows there has to be a heavy dose of grief there, with the strain in his voice. She recognizes that tone well enough - after Buffy, after Dave. And she hadn't even settled down and built a life with either of them. (The voice in her head whispering 'maybe' about Dave, if Iris can go back and save him like she offered to, needs to quiet down. At least until she has him back and she's made sure she won't wreck Dave and Alaric's friendship by staying with one or both of them.)

With how clearly parts of his life are written on the walls, she's grateful Zerxus was willing to invite her in at all.

He is trying to imagine, gazing at that portrait, what it would have been like if they had the chance to keep raising Elias together, in a world that wasn't broken. Avalir was one of the safest places to do that, at least when it came to physical danger, but how long would it have taken for their son to start taking risks every time the city stopped, and he could experience the rest of the world?

Laerryn didn't really consider herself his mother - he was Evandrin's son, and then Zerxus's as well - but oh, she'd have whipped up a marvel of arcane ingenuity just to alert them the moment his breath so much as hitched, and if he was ever in real danger -

"We would probably have driven him insane." His voice is rough, and he swallows hard before tearing his eyes away from the past and heading towards the sofa, which Tempus is already lounging in front of. "Ah - you can sit anywhere, obviously. And let me know if you want - tea, or water, or - "

It is painfully obvious that entertaining guests is not a skill he's had to keep honed.

Maggie folds herself into a chair. "Tea later, maybe. In the meantime, I would like to drink my feelings about being left behind again. ...If you're still sure you don't mind babysitting in case I wind up an angry drunk wolf. Or transform and start howling, or something. Not that that isn't a valid coping mechanism, but I'd prefer to do it in the Enclosure, or at least out on deck, like a considerate neighbor."

His sympathetic grimace shifts into something gently wry as he shakes his head. "I honestly don't. For a long time a lot of my neighbours were druids."

A moment later, when he realises she probably doesn't have the context for that explanation, "They can also turn into wolves whenever they like, at least if they've seen one before."

Maggie laughs softly. "Well, at least I came to the right place."

She pulls a bottle of tequila from her bag, because even though she won't even make a dent in it, just a few sips at her lowered tolerance (the bottle will be drunk mostly by Iris, she's sure), she wanted something with a kick. Something she could feel going down. No mellow red wine today.

"I brought enough baggage about losing people with me. And the thing that eats at me the most is... I have a girlfriend with a ship that could take me anywhere and anywhen. Transportation is sorted. But until I have a deal safely in hand, this is it. I can't even promise visits; my virus is airborne back home, and the only reason it isn't here is weird Barge magic. I visit anyone, or anyone visits me, I doom their whole world. So every time someone I love leaves absolutely guts me. And then I feel guilty because my inmate feels guilty, and he has enough damn pressure on him already without me adding to it."

His expression is already sympathetic, but it strengthens into a grimace by the end; it's hard, knowing your pain can worsen someone else's, someone you're responsible for.

There are two lives he remembers, now, where he tried to be strong for Elias. He did well enough in the first, but the latest, in this port - well, there's a reason he's reaching over to grab his own bottle.

"The Barge is harder on him than most of us." There's an aimless, helpless frustration in his voice. "And it isn't really anyone's fault, except maybe the Admiral's." Even then, his tone lacks the harshness it once would have had. He's starting to believe the Admiral really is doing his best, and that does matter even when it falls short.

"I think - venting like this, with other people, is probably the best thing you can do." It's certainly a healthier option than he's ever taken.

Hey. You got a name?

Zerxus Ilerez. How are you feeling?

Like I miss having a real team.

How many people did you have?

Four. Plus a couple others that we brought in sometimes. We didn't always agree on methods, but we always worked together.

[A brief pause.]

You know, I've been without friends a lot in my life, and during those times I never felt like there was anything missing. I don't know if I could say that to the friends I have now without making them feel like they don't matter to me-- and they do matter; it would mean something if they as individuals were gone. But the, uh-- the platonic idea of Friends, capital F, just the concept? I'm not lacking without it. Can't say the same about Team, capital T.

...A good team is better than the sum of its parts. It makes sense to feel - lesser without it. Like you're navigating with half your senses, or fighting with a hand tied behind your back.

Or trying to do a job and dealing with people blocking you at every turn because all they can think about is your personal safety. And I get that most people would see that as a good thing.

[But she doesn't. ]

Not when taking the hits for other people is literally your job.

Exactly.

Being valued is important. But I want to be valued for doing my job well; I don't want my perceived value to be a reason to wrap me in bubble wrap.

Letting people you care about walk into danger is - a learned skill.

Which the Admiral clearly did not select for.

[ Not that it isn't good, to have variety in a ship like this, but fuck if it isn't exasperating in a crisis. ]

No kidding. You know what you do when you're worried about someone fighting on their own? You back them up.

He's shivering with misery, half a dozen death tolls stacked on top of each other, but worse than that is the crawling, absolutely helplessness of knowing what's coming for him, clinging with all the strength he can muster to Zerxus because he's there, solid and warm and someone.

Then - the weight shifts, and he still feels utterly ruined, aching everywhere, head crushed in a vice. And he was still helpless, in the end. Brought down before he could change his fate. Dead and bound.

He doesn't move much, despite suddenly taking up twice the space where he's curled up on Zerxus's chest - and becoming heavier, too. He closes his eyes uselessly against his headache.

"Thank you. For trying," he whispers.

Zerxus has been bracing himself for this, but he still isn't quite prepared; all at once he's seven years older, profoundly changed in ways he never could have grasped from secondhand knowledge.

There's no difference in how he holds Kahl, steady and gentle; there's no regret when he says, "You're welcome. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

His voice is still a bit raspy around the edges, but he only had the one toll to contend with. Mostly, he just feels tired.

"You could've let me stay dead for few days," he rasps, grumbling and exasperated. "It would have basically been like nap."

"I did consider it." It starts off wry - that would at least have given him a break - and then his tone softens again.

"But it felt like stealing time from you. Days where you weren't alone."

"It felt like that to you. It's not stealing to not shove something back into someone's hands after they've thrown it into the sea." He coughs a little, one hand gripping tighter on Zerxus's shoulder, then releasing, muscle trembling with weakness.

"I didn't have to spend those days...overwhelmed," he says. And afraid, he doesn't say. "I'm not alone now."

"Point taken." His hand rises, a little, to cover and steady Kahl's. "And no, you're not. I don't - there's nowhere I need to be."

"Okay," Kahl croaks. His arms ache; when he reaches with divine will to tug the blanket up a little farther he feels like his whole soul aches. He's going back to sleep.

Maybe it's because he was still in his twenties a few minutes ago, but Zerxus feels an indulgent smile tug at his lips. There are - so many ways in which this is nothing like a kid collapsing onto their dad after a horrible few days.

But it's close enough that he knows what to do; that it's easy, to curl his arm back around Kahl, sturdy and safe, as he lets his mind drift.

Someone knocks shave-and-a-haircut on Zerxus's cabin door before pausing to wonder if that's even a reference that he'd get.

Either way, it's a knock.

Weirdly enough, he does, and at this point he's stopped trying to make sense of that sort of thing. He just goes "well that's definitely one of the bards", which is why he looks wryly amused when he opens the door. Yep, sure was.

"Neal? Is everything all right?"

Up close, it's easier to see the little changes in Neal's appearance--the delicate arrival of crows feet, the deepening blush of white at his temples. There's also an ease to him in person that's a sizable shift from the tense energy he carried the last time they saw each other face-to-face. Between that and the turtleneck sweater and jeans he's opted for over a three-piece suit, he's clearly let a few anxieties go.

"Yeah, I just figured we were overdue for a deliberate in-person visit."

It's good to see, honestly - it's what he wanted, when Neal told him he was leaving, and he definitely hadn't expected confirmation this soon. There's an ease to him, too, as he nods and steps back, relief he doesn't feel the need to voice out loud.

Tempus immediately barges in between them to inspect Neal personally.

"Tempus - "

Neal lights up, eagerly reaching out to touch the creature before pausing with a glance at Zerxus to make sure it's okay. ~~He doesn't know how this works, maybe it's like daemons or something BADUMPTISH.~~

~~Look, we all know Tempus has entirely too much sense to literally be part of Zerxus~~

Zerxus's nod is made slightly redundant by Tempus just nudging his beak into Neal's hand.

"He can understand you. And he - well, usually we have the same taste in people - " Translation, Tempus has already decided he likes you.

Neal runs his hands gently along that massive, razor beak, boyish delight erasing any pretense of maturity the gray at his temples might of let him borrow.

It takes a good minute for him to make himself focus and gesture toward the cabin's interior. "May I?"

Zerxus isn't quite smiling, as he watches, but his gaze is tender and fond, if a bit wistful.

"Of course." They step back in tandem, revealing a bedroom lit both by the starlight streaming in through the balcony and the fire crackling in the fireplace. There's a chair drawn up to it, with both a book and a mug balanced on the cushion.

"...Do you like hot chocolate? That's a thing on Earth too, right?"

"It is." Certain pleasures are apparently pleasures regardless of what world you're from. He scratches the back of his head a little awkwardly. "I'm not much of a sweets guy, to be honest. Water or tea would be welcome. Coffee, if that's a thing. Or nothing--I'm good with that too."

He stops, mentally rewinds, tries that again. "Whatever you've got on hand is fine, thank you."

He steps inside, eyebrows raised as he looks around the space. He reaches out a hand to pet Tempus absently when he's in reach. "Your cabin is beautiful."

The longer Neal goes, the more Zerxus actually relaxes. "Coffee is very doable."

Then his expression turns rueful. "I'm only responsible for the balcony." He nods towards Tempus, who is very much enjoying the attention. "Welcome to the Tower of the First Knight."

There's a marked lack of pride or accomplishment in his voice.

"I'll just be a second - " But, if nothing else, it is fully stocked.

The way Zerxus says it certainly paints a picture of his relationship with the station in one broad, tidy stroke.

Neal wanders to the balcony to look at the view, even though there's a part of him itching to see what Zerxus's kitchen is like because kitchens are great--and you can also tell rather a lot about someone from their kitchen. But he's not here to snoop, and the view is better than the kitchen to keep him from trying to puzzle Zerxus out from his spice collection or lack thereof.

"I saw your reply to Arthur's announcement."

Arcane cookware means he really isn't gone long before he strides back in with a steaming mug of coffee, though he freezes in his tracks at that.

"That - um. The Barge always has more surprises." Perfectly neutral surprises that definitely did not threaten to give him a panic attack.

Neal closes the distance instead, gently taking the mug.

"Thank you." He can't help stealing a sip, immediately distracted by how good it is and how different it tastes. Like coffee, yes, of course, but the flavor notes are both familiar and different enough that he can tell it's not from any place he's ever been. The distraction maybe gives Zerxus a moment to gather himself.

Some of the renewed tension does bleed away, as he watches, expression turning wistfully fond and a little bit smug.

"Not made in Avalir, for the record." Yes, he's finally decided to claim Avalir as his own after failing spectacularly.

That doesn't mean he isn't still a bit of a petty bitch.

Neal grins, recognizing what's either an old grudge or a point of pride in the way Zerxus says that. He tilts his head toward the fire. "Wanna sit? I feel like this might be a conversation."

Zerxus feels himself grinning back, just a little, and it startles him - even though he's smiled more on the Barge than he had in...years, probably. He's not sure how he feels about the prospect of it becoming easy again.

"Let me grab that other chair - " With one hand, he slides a fairly hefty armchair over to the fireplace, before settling back into his own. His mug is still warm, of course, and he raises it in wry invitation.

Neal matches the toast, and settles into the chair with his eyes on the fire. "You want to talk about why the possibility of demotion scared you that badly?"

A pause, and the corners of his eyes wrinkle in quiet amusement. "Let me rephrase. I'm here to talk about that, if you're willing to."

He's braced himself for it, so the question doesn't land harshly. But then Neal softens it anyway, and that's what puts a lump in his throat.

Entirely but coincidence he's going to sip some of his cocoa first.

"I am not - going back to a good situation." Whether he disappears or he chooses to leave; whether he remembers the Barge or he doesn't. "I don't know how the Admiral - or the Barge itself, or however it works - will judge all of that. And then the problem is twofold, because it would take Kahl's warden away and it would stop me from doing what I need to do at home."

He pauses, then, and amends, "What I want to do."

Neal cups his hands around his mug, thoughts straying to nights on the beach with Raylan in front of a bonfire. The bare edge of a chill in the air, the uneven heat of the fire making the skin on his face feel tight.

"That's the problem. But why does the problem scare you?"

"...Because I can't fix it."

He thought that was self-evident.

"What makes you think that?"

Sorry Zerxus please articulate your specific concerns.

Zerxus looks away, after a moment, staring into the fire and grappling for an explanation that's true without -

No. No, if he's agreeing to talk about this he ought to do it properly. "There is...a lot I haven't told you about what happened to Exandria. What happened to me."

With some effort, he tears his gaze away from the flames and meets Neal's gaze again.

"I'm dead, Neal. I'm dead, and I know exactly where my soul is going, and I'm not here to change it."

Neal studies his face without flinching.

"So--genuine question. Is the thing that scares you not being able to fix the things you came here to fix, or the idea that being an inmate means you get a second chance at life whether you want it or not?"

Neal will see his expression shift from grim resolve to desperate yearning, just for a moment. He settles easily back into fierce conviction, but there's a ragged quality to his voice that betrays the level of emotion.

"I came here to help people. That is my second chance."

"No it's not," he says, tone shifting from neutrally inquisitive to gentle. "With that approach, it's theirs and only theirs. This is limbo, Zerxus. Purgatory, the place of proving, whatever you want to call it. You're here to help people, yes, but it's not a second chance for you if you don't take it when it's offered. Then it just becomes a deferral of whatever debt it is you think you owe."

The laughter tumbles out before he can catch it, low and hoarse and just this side of manic.

"What I think - " Oh, that sounded just as bad. He swallows hard and tries again, summoning steadiness through sheer force of will.

"Do you remember - I know it was a much longer time ago, for you. But I told you about a bard you reminded me of, and what he did with the last day of his life."

It takes him a moment. Zerxus hadn't said bard at the time, that Neal can recall, but that doesn't particularly matter. He recalls the rest of it.

"'The best liar in a city of liars,' I think is how you put it. Someone who cared when other people should have, who saved as many lives as he could with the time he had."

His expression softens a little, as he nods, but his voice is just as heavy.

"Between him and the rest of us, I think we got at least half of Avalir out, and most of Cathmoira." Not just the Ring of Brass, but everyone they inspired to fight for each other.

"Two cities, out of dozens." Domunas wasn't the most populated continent, especially as it began to decline over the decades, but it wasn't sparse either. Hopefully, most of them died in their sleep. "And letting all of that be destroyed - was the best we could do, to try and fix our mistakes. To mitigate the damage, and doom Exandria to centuries of horror instead of eternity."

"Your mistakes?" It's a gentle prompt, without judgment, as heavy as the thought of dozens of cities wiped off the map sits in the pit of his stomach and the base of his throat.

"Yes." He stares down into his drink, now, as he tries to figure out where to start. "...Your world doesn't have gods. Not obvious ones, at least."

"Not obvious ones, no." He wouldn't discount the possibility entirely, that they're out there, but as for their interest in earth and its population--that's another question.

"And people still devote themselves to them." It continues to boggle his mind! But that isn't the point, so he shakes his head. "Ours - they have their own realms, their own planes, but they can walk among us whenever they like. Well, most of them."

He remembers what was, in retrospect, the first hint of Asmodeus as he truly was; the contemptuous growl of prime deities.

"Thousands of years ago, the gods - twenty of them, at the time - found our world and started changing it. All the life that exists there was shaped, at least in part, by them. But then it all went wrong, and they started fighting over it, and about half - eight of them - were banished. Not together, but alone, for...eternity, apparently."

And even now, even now his voice is taut with sympathy. As he lapses back into silence he seems fragile again, but then his shoulders straighten and there's steel in his voice, a glimmer of starlight in his gaze.

"I never cared about gods in general. But I care about people being condemned and forgotten just because it's easier that way."

It would seem our lives have once again become intertwined, in an altered version of reality.

[It's not a complaint, by the tone of his voice. But if his breach self is anything to go by, there's almost certainly a reason he thought it worth speaking about.]

Willa doesn't normally stop over unannounced. Even if her version of 'announced' is a text ten minutes before she knocks on the door. She loves her mother, no question or doubt, but she always has been a daddy's girl.

Especially today, when she's stopping over unannounced to... use his bathroom in the hope that he is not home. So she can clean herself up a little from the bare-knuckle punch up she had with two other girls behind the school after hours.

...She lets herself in.

Alas, his hours can be unpredictable, so he is in fact lounging in an armchair scribbling in a journal when he hears the door open. He's on his feet in seconds, worry and wariness guiding with equal force - is his family in trouble, is someone trying to break in, did something happen to Jedao and Edwin, did -

It's not a relief to see Willa stained with blood and dirt, exactly. But she's whole and upright, and a lot of tension leaves his shoulders even as his eyes go wide.

"What happened?" He's already striding forward to see if he's missed anything, if it's worse than it looks -

You want to go to the Enclosure and beat the shit out of each other, maybe?

[ It's as much a ragged exhale as a word. ]

Yes.

Now?

Pick us a nice spot.

Do you mean actually nice, or satisfying to tear apart during a fight?

That one, yes.

Then we're spoiled for choice and I'll definitely come up with something.

[ He's already moving, armour be damned. ]

Jedao puts on some of Hakkai's mostly-already-ruined maintenance clothes, grabs his sword, and heads upstairs.

Zerxus is still keying in the details, and it's quite a sight; his actual clothes are loose and casual, but he's got a sword strapped to his side and a shield to his back.

He doesn't turn around, but his hand pauses as he says, "You'd tell me if you had a problem with fire, right?"

(He didn't in the ~~dre~~ nightmare, but that doesn't mean much.)

"I feel like I have a normal amount problem with fire, combat wise, in that it hurts like fuck. But not specific trauma, no. Anything I should steer clear of for you?"

His sword is, of course, just a handle at the moment; he feels absurdly underdressed.

"Not that I can think of."

He does look back, this time, and his expression is on the grim side of playful. It's probably the closest he's come to light-hearted since the week ended.

"And most importantly, is there anything you really want to wreck?" The incongruity won't matter; if anything, disrupting a certain devil's ridiculous taste in home design will be satisfying by itself.

Jedao shakes his head.

"It's not really about stuff for me. I just want to - move my body that way. You know?"

Edited 2024-05-10 02:00 (UTC)

Emphatically, if quietly, "I do."

He'd be happy doing this in the gym too, really, but with the opportunity at hand... Well, when he leads Jedao down the stairs, it's into a replica of a room that featured in his nightmares.

It's beautiful, is the thing. The arched walls are pristine, gold-veined marble, lined with masterworks of art. Stained glass windows reveal the burning planes outside, but the heat isn't oppressive here. The tables are ebony embellished with rubies, set with cutlery so delicate it barely looks real and dishes from every age and corner of Exandria.

The entire ballroom is bathed in warm golden light, but it gleams brightest in the centre. The dance floor is a precise nonagon of polished wood, lined with gently simmering flame.

Zerxus is surveying it all with a mixture of disdain and excitement. "The fire can be stepped over, I don't think it was that hot."

"Nines, huhn," Jedao observes, holding his sword in an easy low stance to ignite it, sending harsh white and red light skittering off the calendrical blade.

"We're okay to kick over plates?" Jedao checks, because destroying the place is one thing, but he knows some people have a thing about wasting food.

"Ninth layer of hell." Zerxus draws his own with a flare of harmless flame; it throws light, but not heat.

"If we shatter every inch of porcelain here I'll be happy."

"You might have to do most of the heavy lifting," Jedao admits. "Calendrical swords only work on flesh."

He starts moving on work, a viciously fast low swing, without a hint of the shift in his voice.

It's effective; Zerxus doesn't quite block in time, and it earns him a shallow, stinging slice across his arm.

This doesn't seem to bother him; in fact he visibly relaxes, even smiling as he leaps backwards and pulls his shield from his back.

"You could always throw them at me."

It's a good thing he does, because Jedao is making the best of the momentum, surging forward with another riposte, fighting mean and dazzlingly quick.

"We'll see," Jedao murmurs, grinning.

It definitely puts him on the back foot at first, but it's exhilarating rather than frustrating; every time Jedao slips through his guard he smiles again, and the more they move together the harder it gets. Even without armour he's nowhere near as fast, but he wields both sword and shield like extensions of himself.

He's still been playing defence, right up until he steps right into a strike so he can get close enough to batter Jedao with his shield.

Shields aren't part of calendrical dueling, so it definitely catches him - not precisely off-guard, but without a reflexive countermove, especially since he can't even strike the shield with sword. Build for killing in the presence of life-sustaining ship hulls or delicate calendrical devices, the sword only damages living tissue.

So he takes the blow on his forearm, a deep jarring that will bruise wonderfully, buying himself the time to skitter to back, jumping onto a chair and then the table, the better to bring down a high strike above and around the shield.

The move clearly delights him, because he bounds forward with a fierce grin that doesn't falter when Jedao slices right through his guard and deep into his shoulder.

Trying to raise his sword arm would probably hurt him more than Jedao, so he relies on his shield again; as he drops to one knee he jerks the shield upwards. Either it will collide with Jedao's arm, or he'll have to yank it away himself.

Well, that's the hope, but he won't be too mad if it goes wrong.

He'd hoped to kick under the shield, which Zerxus circumvents by dropping down. Jedao kicks out anyway, hard, pushing to pivot the shield or twist Zerxus's shoulder, whatever it takes to get the shield halfway horizontal.

Then he jumps on it with his full weight.

Zerxus is strong and stubborn enough to keep a grip on the shield, but that may not have been the right call; his knees buckle and he topples backwards, entirely unable to catch himself.

The horns make a decent buffer, at least; his head is ringing, but his gaze doesn't lose focus.

"If you break my shield - " His arm whips up again, doing his shoulder no favours; he means to slam his sword down on any part of Jedao he can reach.

Jedao has to scramble not to go ass over teakettle himself, victim of his own success as Zerxus destabilizes underneath him. Zerxus gets in a slash deep into his calf as he stumble-hops back to the ground, twisting to get himself turned around to face Zerxus again.

"Oh, does it break?" he asks, only slightly ruining the cavalier tone with breathy panting - with excitement, more than exertion, even as the pain in his leg oozes, wet and warm.

"Hmm. Looking back, I didn't actually ask."

Springing to his feet looks very badass, but his head is in fact still ringing and he stumbles immediately.

"So it needs a field test, is what you're telling me."

Jedao springs forward on his good leg, feints low - where it will be easier, tempting to block - and then slashes high, despite Zerxus's height advantage.

Zerxus might not have fallen for that, if he wasn't still a bit dizzy. As it is, Jedao's blade catches him right across the chest. Leaping from the blade backs him right against another table, and he leans against it as he tries to catch his breath.

Equally pained and amused, "That - was not - the shield."

"Zerxus, darling, I'm a fox," Jedao points out, pressing forward again, trying not to give him that chance, but his injured leg betrays him; he wobbles hard for a moment, leaves himself open as he regains his balance.

"Oh, well, in that case - " He drops the shield entirely, and uses his hand to thrust away from the table back into Jedao's space. He hasn't lost the playful lilt to his movements, but he's faster and more vicious now.

Of course, trading defence for speed has its inevitable downside, especially when he hasn't bothered healing himself. Zerxus couldn't say how long they've been going when he starts to flag, but he's definitely too stubborn to stop at the first stagger.

Jedao operates on speed, distraction, and a mean ruthless daring, rather than strength or power or any particular durability. Any time he doesn't dodge quite fast enough, or leaves himself open to press a sudden wild attack, he bleeds thick and black and strange, his body seemingly undifferentiated beneath the skin, even though he moves like he has muscles, tendons, bones.

He know Zerxus has already seen it, but it still makes him feel feral, exposed and on edge; it makes him want to howl and bite. He pushes through the pain, moves faster, scrambles and chases, overturns tables. He kicks golden goblets at Zerxus's head and dives in low to slice at his belly while he's still getting wine out of his eyes; he goes white and gasping when Zerxus bashes an his sword arm with the shield, tries switching it to his other hand on a whim, and is nearly as good, although he sways drunkenly once or twice, disoriented.

His eyes are sharp enough to cut, and Zerxus's growing unsteadiness might be a feint but it doesn't matter. By the third or fourth stagger, Jedao is coiled tight as a viper. He spies one of those teetering moments and lunges in, the shining white and red sword of light and time flickering into nothing as Jedao slams the empty hilt into Zerxus's chest, hard enough to bruise, closer than an embrace, and doesn't care anymore what it costs him.

"Got you," he whispers, panting, still so deep inside Zerxus's guard that Zerxus can feel the heat of his breath.

The brutal exhilaration is taking its toll - he's relished every slam against opulent scenery that cracked it down the middle, every skillful strike that penetrated his guard - and he's not even slightly prepared. In a real fight instinct would thrust his blade through anyone who got this close, but it's one thing to know Jedao would survive that and another to really believe it in the moment.

The hit steals the last of his breath, and he's still blinking the greyness away when he realises what's happened. Both his sword and shield drop to the floor, and he shudders with the knowledge of how keenly vulnerable he is right now.

"Yeah," is all he can manage, low and rough.

Jedao could core his heart out as nearly as a baker punching rolls out of a sheet of dough, with nothing but a flicker of will to reignite the sword. Instead, his chest roaring with adrenaline and his legs skaky as jello, Jedao rises up onto his tiptoes - groaning softly at the ache in his calves and core as he does it - and presses a soft kiss to Zerxus's mouth with the sword still firmly wedged between them.

The noise he makes is soft and startled with a ragged edge of sheer yearning; this is so clearly a man who hasn't been kissed in years, outside of dreams and nightmares and lives he didn't truly live.

His heart pounds against the hilt, and his shirt is torn enough to see hints of the scars tangled thickly across it. A hand rises, hovers - he feels like he should pull away, he desperately doesn't want to, he's aching so beautifully - and ultimately, it falls again to rest, feather-light, at Jedao's hip.

Jedao makes a soft noise too: warm, welcome, pleased. Jedao tilts his head, kisses a little more firmly, sweetly, deliberately. He reaches with his free hand and settles it on the back of Zerxus's neck, and after the second kiss drops the hilt and reattaches it, blindly, to his belt, so they can step in closer.

did you dream that we were on the same team last month, or was that just in my head

it was in both of our heads

those were - some of the better ones, i thought

who were your friends?

[ It's a good few minutes before he answers, but when he does...]

Our city had tiers of power. The Ring of Gold, the Ring of Silver. 'Ring of Brass' was meant to be an insult.

Laerryn was the Architect Arcane, and she kept the city in the sky. Loquatius, her husband, was the Herald - he ran the newspaper, decided what information got out and what didn't. Patia had dual roles - Keeper of Scrolls and Archmage of the Libarium Incantatum, the library that stored all magical knowledge. Nydas was the only one, besides me, born on the ground; he was a pirate when we met, but in Avalir he became the Guildmaster of the Golden Scythe. It was the most powerful bank in the city.

Cerrit was the Senior Sightwarden of the Eyes of Avalir, detectives who didn't rely on magic as much as everyone else. He's the one you remind me of, most of the time. I think he might have gotten out, at the end, but I'm not sure.

I was First Knight, which was the highest martial position we had. Evandrin had it for two and a half years, but he died before the ring was official.

What about yours?

Edited 2024-05-13 21:27 (UTC)

[The straight-forward, non-flowery descriptions are appreciated, because they won't make Shaw's own descriptions feel cold and impersonal in comparison. She doesn't do flowery, even when talking about people who matter deeply to her.]

Finch is a tech genius. he created the artificial intelligence that gave us intel on people who would need our intervention. he brought Reese on first, because he needed muscle. then they ended up intervening for me, and brought me on for the same reason. Root came later. it took a while for her to really become a part of the team, and even now she's more of an independent agent than the rest of us. the AI talks to her directly, and sends her off on special missions.

That sounds a bit like the oracles, except - much more helpful, honestly.

She must feel lonely, without that connection. ...Laerryn had a spell, that connected all of us mentally. I still expect to hear them, sometimes, until I remember.

Yeah, it really gets to her. More than she lets on.

Is she making connections here?

She had people she likes okay.

She doesn't make connections easily, though. We have that in common.

...Do you know how she feels about the dream sharing?

the flood? she didn't hate it as much as I did but she wasn't a fan. why?

I didn't love it either, but - it's a connection. If she remembers, and she wants to talk about it.

do you want to talk about it?

...No.

But I'm pretty sure I should, and it's easier if it's helping someone else.

look at that emotional intelligence

i think you should give it a try

And all it took was the end of the world.

...How sneaky should I be about this?

[ Spoilers: he is not and has never been the sneaky one. But he isn't sure "hey Root, let's talk about grief" is the way to go here. ]

she appreciates sneakiness

but if you want to actually have an honest conversation with her, i'd stick to bring straightforward

Pyotr, dressed in 21st century clothes from a local secondhand store, is just sitting down to play cards when Zerxus enters the bar. Good Lord. Is he stalking him? Of course he is. The idea was probably to wait until port, hoping to catch him relaxed and with his guard down.

Well, it's not going to happen—he doesn't ever relax—but he may as well act the part, especially since it's similar to the one he was playing anyway. He takes a long sip of his drink and cheerfully waves him over, grinning with slightly unfocused eyes.

"Hey, it's you! Hey, how is it that we never talked since that time on deck?" That's just to throw him off, but he looks earnest. "I never did thank you for that, did I? This guy saved my life!" He waves his arms as the two men across watch with growing impatience. "I've got to buy you a drink," he cheerfully prattles. "Do you want to play with us? It's poker."

Zerxus isn't exactly fashionable, but his outfit is at least less conspicuous than a full suit of armour. There's nothing he can do about the horns, of course; hopefully the Barge is either making them invisible or convincing people that's definitely just a normal mutation going on.

He wasn't looking for Pyotr specifically, but he is trying to keep an eye on inmates in general; he pivots towards him immediately after that first sweeping glance of the bar, which handily bolsters the assumption. He's successfully thrown off, too, at least for a moment, expression shifting from bafflement to exasperation to . Okay, fine, if they're doing this -

"I'm not much of a player myself, but I'll definitely take that drink." Zerxus manages to sound casual, if not quite cheerful. He's trying not to think about trailing along after Nydas when they were young, arguing with him about cheating but backing him up every time, so obviously he does.

He steals a chair from another table, sliding it close enough to Pyotr that he can pull off a few tricks of his own.

Pyotr's smile never wavers. Zerxus' slightly ambiguous answer is close enough to a 'yes,' so he gestures animatedly for the dealer to include them both. It's easier to cheat with two people, so while the sudden appearance of another player has raised some suspicion, it's also a stroke of luck—for a couple different reasons, annoying as it is to be followed like a child who can't be left unchaperoned.

Well, being treated that way is just part of the reality of his situation. Better to get used to it and make the best of it.

"What do you like to drink? I'll buy us all another round." It's a worthy investment, if it puts the other men at ease and gets them drunker. He'll make some mindless chit-chat, fish for more interesting information about what's going on in the city, and let them win at first.

Meanwhile, he'll count cards and the first Ace he gets is going straight up his sleeve.

It's an art he perfected mainly through evenings in taverns with Stavrogin, helping the aristocrat cheat. Those are bitter memories, given Stavrogin's betrayal, but he isn't about to let Stavrogin ruin the pleasure of scamming people.

I spoke with your son, while he was here.

[It's not offered in a tone of voice that suggests he was in any way bothered by it, or that the conversation was anything less than perfectly polite. Instead, it's merely an offering of fact (and another of Lahabrea's somewhat unusual choices of ways to start a conversation).]

...He told me as much.

[ His own voice is soft and strained. ]

Thank you. I think he -

You reminded him of some people he hasn't seen in a very long time.

He was... easy to speak to. More so than I might have expected.

[And curious, too, in a way that Lahabrea had responded to.]

Though I know something of what one might call longing.

Sorry about... putting you on the spot. I just... Neal worked so hard on that. I didn't want to see it just... fizzle out without him. Like it was all for nothing.

Apology accepted, but I knew where you were coming from. I don't want to let that happen, either - Neal deserves better, and so does the Barge.

If you want his notes, I have them. And if you need someone to help you, I recommend someone who's a graduated inmate that people like. Someone like... Jedao or.... Florian..... or Norton.

Good suggestions - those are all people I'd want to talk to.

But I'd like to have your perspective on all this, too.

...Mine?

Yours.

...When you're trying to improve a place, you don't just talk to the people who are flourishing. You talk to people who are struggling, who have to work at it, and you learn from that.

The Barge isn't a comfortable or easy place for you. You've graduated two people anyway. That's a valuable voice to have, even if you want to keep it behind the scenes.

It’s more like… I have to keep it behind the scenes. So it can succeed. Wardens struggling… it doesn’t really matter to a lot of people. Unlike inmates, wardens can leave. There’s nothing to complain about that isn’t self-inflicted by choosing to stay. If you’re a warden that’s never been an inmate… well, I’m used to existing with a stigma I earned by just… being. Maybe that’s why he invited me.

…I actually… I didn’t know you noticed me. I mean beyond… there’s a guy that Neal knows.

Edited 2024-09-24 02:45 (UTC)

We can, and that matters, but - there are also inmates who want us to be honest about being upset or uncertain. I know it's hard, when there are so many strong opinions flying around and half of them contradict each other.

...I try to pay attention. I know not everyone sees it this way, but for me, we're all in this together. [ ...And considering all this talk about being open and vulnerable, he may as well put his money where his mouth is. ]

When I was alive, I had people who took up that slack for me. When I couldn't - when facing the world as a public figure was the last thing I wanted to do. They gave me space, and time, usually without saying anything. I'm sure there are rumours they killed and walls they tore down that I'll never even know about. [ His voice goes taut, in the end, before he takes a moment and smoothes it out again. ]

There are too many wardens for us to be a team like that, but we can do more for each other than we are. And leading by example - showing inmates that we aren't perfect and we know it, that we're finding ways to make up for that - can't hurt.

Demonstrating I’m not perfect isn’t where I fall down. …I’ve always said we’re all on the same team. We’re in this together. Can… can you get people to hear that?

I... [ He just sighs, scrubbing a hand back through his hair. (It's been a mess ever since the Not-Flood; he could swear it was easier to tame before the horns, but maybe those are rose-coloured glasses.) ] I can keep trying. If nothing else, I'm very stubborn.

Neal always knew it would be an uphill battle. Between the turnover, and the chaos, and the Admiral not exactly encouraging us to act like a team.

The messages in his work… they have to be conveyed by someone that people will listen to, if they’re going to be heard. New people won’t be the problem if we can establish it. New people will use it as a facility the same way they learn to use the Enclosure: they’ll see other people do it.

I agree. We just have to get to that point, which felt a lot easier with him here.

[ His eyes widen, suddenly, and then he looks wistfully rueful. ]

I've given up on changing things before, when...something like this happened. I don't want to do that again.

We ought to have a port soon. We can go through his notes, and hopefully people will have time to relax and recover, and then - it could be the best time to broach the subject.

I like that plan. Thank you so much.

...So that port seemed, for a minute, like it might be a place for people to relax and recover but... that isn't exactly what happened. It happened more at this last one, but it was still... fraught in some ways. Do you still want to do this?

It...definitely wasn't.

[ He'd drawn into himself again, after that, but now - ]

We should - change our approach, probably, but I think it's still important. Especially for people from the Narrenschiff, they have a lot to adjust to.

Yeah. You're not wrong. I've... tried talking to Sokie. She doesn't want to talk to me here. She seemed fine with me on the Narrenschiff.

Then it's probably more about the Barge than it is you. ...Is she a warden or an inmate?

An inmate.

[ Oof. ]

She went from a level playing field to something very different.

Yeah. But I just wanted to talk. Maybe help her, if she needed it. Or wanted it.

She might be able to accept that later, once she's settled more. It's not your fault, that you're a warden and she isn't, but -

It changes things.

A lot of inmates have said something like that. Yeah. Even Neal.

I'm pretty sure inmates make the best wardens, if they choose to stay. There are things they're going to understand that we don't, not fully.

...I'd make a horrible inmate, I think.

I've never really understood why I wasn't one, but... Will seems to understand why.

If graduated inmates make the best Wardens, why does the Admiral bring people here just to be Wardens? Inmates resent us.

The more responsibility you have, the more resentment you get with it. Especially if no one knows why we have more power than they do.

I'm pretty sure I understand why you're a warden, too. But there's nothing...objective or official I can point to. The Admiral isn't going to explain himself.

I’m not sure Walter - my Inmate - actually wants me to help him.

You, specifically, or anyone at all?

I’m not entirely sure.

He could be pinning any frustration about the Barge itself onto you. And then, any time you make a mistake or have a disagreement - that's just fuel for what he already believes.

It isn't fair, but it's normal. I know it's hard, not to take it personally, but sometimes...what people really need is someone who's patient and stubborn and won't let themselves be driven away.

That's what I've been trying to do.

Then I think you're on the right track.

...Remember to be patient with yourself, too.

I try to be. But... sometimes I try to be stubborn and not let myself be driven away and people get really mad about it. They say that not just... going away forever when they tell you to fuck off isn't respecting their boundaries. So... so how do I tell when I should be stubborn and persist in the face of being told to go fuck myself and when I should just... go away forever and never bother them?

Ah. [ It's the achingly sympathetic huff of a man who knows that struggle too well. ] That's...I think that's difficult territory for everyone. Especially if there are, um, mixed signals going on.

[ Like, wild example here, killing you three times and then making you immortal. ]

If it's a peer - someone who was a friend, or could have been - then the best response might be to just - honour it, but make it clear that if they want to reach out to you again, they can do that. You haven't stopped caring, you haven't decided they aren't worth it, you're just doing what they asked for however long they need. And if that's forever, that doesn't - that can be all right.

[ It's clear, in his tone, that he knows how difficult accepting that can be. ]

If it's someone you're meant to be responsible for, it gets harder. You can give them space, but only for so long before it feels like you've abandoned them.

What if... it's someone you just met and you think you just... got off on the wrong foot? Is there a way to get them to give you a chance or is it nor worth it? Or even... not possible?

On the back of the clearly hand-drawn card, he has printed the date (Dec 28) and time, as well as the location - the Enclosure.

[Continued from here.]

Well, it is a good thing I already don't acknowledge and don't respect your 'authority,' or I might start to have some doubts about the legitimacy of this vessel.

By the way, if you show anyone this conversation, or discuss it, I will consider it a violation of trust and yet another betrayal by so-called 'authority' to add to the long list I've already experienced, starting with my father abandoning me and continuing all the way up to Zavier killing me during the breach. 😊

Anyway, I actually kind of like it when one of you says that all of this can be justified because we're 'dead' (maybe). It's very revealing, though I suppose I can't judge. I'm ashamed to admit that I myself used to look down on dead people too until I (again, maybe) became one of them. Alas, it happens to the best of us!

But aren't even most of the other inmates at least asked before they're brought here?

The only time I'd ever share something you said to me in private would be if you were threatening people.

I'm dead, too, and I'm not above you in any sense. Between the two of us, only one is actually damned.

Apparently asking at all is pretty new, in the scheme of things. Most inmates still aren't given a choice.

Well, if you meant that it's normal for demons or 'other entities that aren't actually demons' to kidnap souls after their deaths, that'd be one thing. That'd be a frank admission of might makes right. But I suspect you meant it in a much more condescending way, which is why I got irritated.

Like I said, I can accept that nothing is fair, but that doesn't mean I'm going to listen to homilies from a bunch of hypocrites.

I meant that none of us, as far as I know, get to make decisions about our future after we die - whether that's a certain afterlife, or reincarnation, or oblivion, it's out of our hands.

The Admiral interrupts that process. The Barge is - or it should be - an opportunity. With more knowledge, more tools, more time - there's so much people can do.

Zavier was wrong, for the record. He should have been helping you tear that place apart.

That's what I meant. I'm not interested in this wonderful opportunity to do more, thank you, and it seems a bit of a contradiction to tell me that the Admiral is interrupting me not having a choice by not giving me a choice.

But it's as out of my hands as all those other things you mentioned, though I suppose it does at least make me value the choices I can make while I'm here.

[Like digging his heels in even deeper than he otherwise would over issues like the Stavrogin... thing.]

Why is Zavier referred to in third person but Pyotr the Interventionist in second person?

Edited 2025-02-09 05:05 (UTC)

I was trying to follow your lead, but I fucked it up.

That happens a lot in our conversations.

[ It's a joke but also it's true. ]

I was wrong, in that other life, or whatever they are.

Oh, don't worry. Pyotr the Interventionist is only 'me' when I want you to feel bad

I wonder if we're just someone else's 'breach self' and one day 'the real Zerxus' will wake up and say 'Good heavens, I was wrong about that boat, but I'm definitely right about this other strikingly similar system I'm participating in!'

like those dreams within dreams within dreams

Edited 2025-02-09 05:56 (UTC)

If it's any consolation, I've been feeling bad for the last twenty years.

When it comes to systems I'm a part of, it felt much closer to Hell than the Barge. Once they've decided you've strayed too far, there's no coming back from it.

I did hate that, but for some reason I thought we could keep the parts I liked and reject the rest.

It is no consolation whatsoever

You would feel differently if you were in my position, you hypocrite

but perhaps there is something you can do to make it up to me, like you offered

I wouldn't. But I would still be insufferable.

What is it?

I don't believe you. Perhaps you might still be foolish enough to think this place was 'helping' others. But for you, you would think there may as well be no way out since you would not be willing to 'graduate.'

Listen, I am not planning to hurt or kill anyone here so long as they do not attack me first. That said, I would like to know there is at least one warden - one who is not the one assigned to me - whom I can count on to speak up on my behalf. Do you understand?

I would believe there was a way out, I just wouldn't take it. Unless I got the right warden, I suppose.

[ RIP to that theoretical person's blood pressure. ]

I understand that, yes. And I have no problem being that person.

That is what I mean. You would, it goes without saying, have reasons that are far superior to those of anyone else who doesn't wish to 'graduate.' However, I didn't expect you to be open to a warden being able to deter you when the pleas of your own son couldn't. What faith you have in this place's ability to 'persuade.'

But on to more important matters... In that case, I will expect you to do what you can to defend me from unjust accusations, verdicts passed without proper proofs, and well-meaning meddlers. You are fortunate that you have the excuse that 'what you can do' amounts to 'not much,' but I will expect at least some valiant effort.

Do you think you can manage? I am not asking you to lie, though you have probably noticed that I myself lie to everyone since being honest about my opinions in regard to this place brought me nothing but trouble. I was attacked and stabbed multiple times over it. That is something for you to keep in mind.

You condescend almost as well as rich old wizards.

Yes, I can manage that.

Do you want to tell me who stabbed you, and if they're likely to try that again?

No. I already dealt with it. They are not likely to try again.

[Backdated to around the time of Kahl's aggression towards Collins and Trevor during the Sheehan network post.]

Do you have a moment? I have business with you to discuss.

Of course. Like this, or do you want to meet in person?

This is adequate for now.

[He'll agree to meet in person if Zersus requested it after he learned the nature of the call, but Collins was content steering clear for now. Not that it did him any favors or anything...]

It's about your inmate, Kahl. I have not interacted with him lately but he used high level magic or god-like abilities on me to disintegrate my tongue and hide my communicator for some time.

[ He stares at the screen for a solid thirty seconds. ]

I'm sorry. I didn't know he had any motive to do that, or I wouldn't have let it happen.

Were you able to have it healed?

I'm not looking for an apology from a man that didn't do anything to me. But it deserves action taken in response.

Regrown. John Doe. It's awful. [It's not awful, it's just weird and awkward. Not quite fully human.]

Kahl's actions are his own, but I have a responsibility to minimise harm. Falling down on the job requires an apology, I think.

What sort of actions do you want taken?

...It's always - strange. Losing a part of you, having it again, and knowing - it isn't yours, not really.

Noted.

It would seem to me that someone claiming to be a god of vengeance shouldn't have access to all their reality bending abilities, particularly one that still has no qualms in harming someone without just cause. It's waiting for trouble to happen, and so it has. I would have them taken away.

[Let's not talk about that. It hits too close to home about more than just the replacement tongue.]

I understand where you're coming from. ...One of the first questions I asked, of other wardens, is how the hell you decide to draw the line between "letting them learn" and "stopping them from hurting other people". If I strip all of his power away, he's never going to grow into the god he's meant to be. Vengeance doesn't need to be petty.

I can ask him not to attack you, specifically, because he does keep his word once it's been given. If you don't trust that, understandably, that part can be left to the Admiral. But as for Kahl himself -

Restricting him, I can and will do, and I'll let you know how once I've spoken to him. But I won't compromise his graduation.

The only way you can keep someone from hurting another person is to take away their ability to do so. Otherwise, there's always the chance for it. [Like with him and how he was restricted in various ways to make it stick.] And there's no such thing as revenge that isn't petty. I've seen it all. If that's what he wants to be, he'll never be what you're expecting. He'll just be another entity out there with too much power that shouldn't exist.

I don't trust anyone and certainly not you or him in any capacity at this point in time.

Wardens don't have anything to do with it in my experience. Good luck with that. [He doesn't mean it.]

Want doesn't really come into it. He can't choose not to be a god of vengeance, only how he plays that role. And while it's never appealed to me, personally, there are people who cannot feel whole or safe until retribution is done. Cruelty has been thwarted, tyranny has been toppled, through that kind of anger.

That's fair.

...No one got a deal off of the back of not actually helping you, I hope.

Edited (paragraphs! how do they work) 2025-03-05 21:10 (UTC)

[He thinks the first part is full of bullshit and ignores the total uselessness of it.]

I had a permanent warden at the time. What do you think?

I think I was already tired of useless colleagues getting rewarded for it.

Well get used to it like everything else around here that's ridiculous and unnecessary. Not everyone needs a permanent warden like some childish babysitter. Sometimes all they do is make things worse. [Or are just really annoying to the point of further contention rather than less.]

Changing isn't easy, and needing guidance - or support, or protection - isn't childish. What any given inmate needs is going to vary, though, and it sounds like no one was good enough at figuring that out with you.

...It would probably be an awful suggestion to say an inmate should get to veto their warden's deal. Especially considering I don't really have a stake in it.

It is childish when your warden acts like a naive child and is as useless as one. At the end of the day, I needed nothing but to wait for the bastard entity to grow tired of his own charade.

[Keep telling yourself that, Butcher.]

Then I suggest no one get a deal and we all go home.

[Because he's definitely not sticking around for nothing and he doesn't believe any of this is actually needed.]

Edited 2025-04-14 15:23 (UTC)

You really don't think you've changed at all?

No, I haven't. And if this place has taught me anything it's that there's no reason to once I'm back in my own space.

Then why stick around for a deal?

Because I'm selfish and don't want to immediately become some other bastard entity's plaything upon leaving. Leaving here isn't an option until that false god is destroyed by this worse false god.

[If this was audio this is where the scoff would be.]

Did you expect something else for an answer? Pathetic.

If I already had an answer in mind I'd just talk to myself.

Do you know what the consequences will be, when you get rid of this god?

It's not a god. It will die. Like everything does in the end.

Does it matter if it's a god, if it needs to be stopped?

Now you're just waxing philosophical for no reason.

You really don't think this is a question I've had to think about practically?

I don't know a damn thing about you. So, no, I don't know what you think of in your spare time nor particularly care considering it has no bearing on me.

We've spoken about devils. About what it means to serve a god who does more harm than good.

I could ask the Admiral for the same thing, and I've wondered more than once if I should.

That's your world and your problem.

I'd just kill it and get it over with. The rest doesn't matter to me.

It wouldn't bother you, breaking the world accidentally? The world you're intending to live in?

I'm not saying that's what it would do, just - to keep that kind of possibility in mind. Talk to people who could know, or who could find out. Plan for the worst.

It's not going to break the world to end something that shouldn't exist in the first place. They're unnatural creatures, not actual gods.

[He absolutely will not ask anyone who "could know" about it because he doesn't like them for ridiculing his own beliefs and being absolute bastards about it.]

[ His impulse is to argue. Then he takes a second, and looks at it objectively. ]

I don't mean to interrogate you about this. It's just that - in my world there are creatures like that, too. Aberrations, as opposed to something celestial, or fiendish, or fae. I can sense the difference, and it's...very important, for whatever plans you're making.

It has gone very, very badly when people haven't listened. But you're not any soldier of mine, and your world has its own rules.

I'm just...concerned, about removing a piece of it, even if it shouldn't have been there to start with. The Admiral's interference isn't natural, either.

[Softly amused:]

If I hadn't fallen in love with Taylor, I would think that's the only kind of marriage I could tolerate. I've only been attracted to two people in my life, and I didn't even recognize the first for what it was at the time.

You were a good friend. And family, for that matter. It was nice.

Edited 2025-06-01 04:27 (UTC)

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