aionlogs | [open] post-imprisonment log

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liem talbott: champion

[open] post-imprisonment log

WHO: Liem & you!
WHAT: Liem is released from the naughty-Kenoma dungeons
WHERE: The Citadel, possibly Achamoth proper
WHEN: After his release on Firaseri 6th
WARNINGS: References to Liem’s imprisonment, including brainwashing, torture, & self-harm

I. The Wounded Option

[Liem is released from the Citadel’s dungeons without fanfare, staggering from his audience with the Regent back to his own rooms and sequestering himself there to recover from the most immediate after-effects of Dionys’s ministrations—or to at least attempt to. Rest is out of the question; the stings and aches throbbing through him would make sleep a struggle even if he could close his eyes without being transported immediately back into Dionys’s clutches. His mind feels like a sieve, his thoughts slipping away from him like water and leaving him only with the jagged edges of the past ten days. The best he can do is nurse his filthy and abused body while he tries to piece his mind back together.

He spends a lot of time alone over the ensuing days, but the observant or well-informed may have noted his return from the occasional servant delivering food or medicine to his room, or from hearing the sounds of activity within it. The sounds of running water are especially obvious, should one happen to walk past while he’s washing.

But of course, he has to tend to his injuries all over again once he’s stripped off the bandages and washed away the salve. Some of them are easier to reach than others, especially given the lingering pain involved in moving around too much. After bandaging his arms and tending the half-healed cuts and bruises on his chest, a short hiss punctuates his attempts to minister the lashes on his back.

Any knock on his door is meet with a brief silence, followed by the door cracking open and Liem’s dark, tired eyes peering out from it.]

Can I help you?

II. The Insomnia Option

[It doesn’t take all that long for restlessness to lure Liem out from the confines of his rooms. The walls start to creep in on him after just a couple days; the quiet starts to become oppressive. It’s too much like his cell in the depths of the Citadel, and it’s too much like his cell in the cathedral back home. Leaving the barren stone and cold, empty bed behind, he ventures out into the Citadel at large, seeking something to keep him occupied.

a. The middle of the night is a strange time to find anyone in the kitchens, but that’s where Liem is right now, smelling of oranges and cinnamon, his sleeves folded back to the elbows and his head bent over a small pie filled with some kind of soft white cheese. Flour dusts the bruises and half-healed bites on his wrists and forearms as he carefully lays a lattice of dough strips over the top, lifting his eyes from his work only briefly as he hears someone come in.

b. Regardless of how sleepless his nights (and his days) have been, or how residual aches from his injuries still plague his waking hours, Liem still turns to training as something that can occupy him even while he’s only operating at 50% at best. Target practice is something he could do even in his sleep, so the deep shadows beneath his eyes and the lethargy in his movements don’t stop him from finding a target to practise with in the pre-dawn hours when most of the Citadel is still dreaming. Stress and exhaustion have made him jumpy, though; the sound of approaching footsteps filters into his awareness slowly, and then in a rush all at once as he whirls to point his crossbow at whoever just walked in.

c. During the day, Liem mostly keeps out of the way in parts of the Citadel that don’t see much use. There’s a spare room near the top of a tower that stays empty for hours at a time, and it’s here that he can be found curled up on a window seat, gazing out of the narrow window while he scratches at a notebook with a stick of charcoal. Or at least, that’s what he’s been spending much of the afternoon doing, if the formless doodles and patterns scrawled across the pages are any indication. Liem himself isn’t available for comment, leaned as he is against the cool stone wall in the grip of a shallow and uneasy sleep.]

III. Wildcard

[Liem can be found around the Citadel or, later on, even out in Achamoth itself. His inbox is also open for post-imprisonment communion! Feel free to hit me up on plurk at Sporelett or DM me on discord if you want to hash out something else.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Matt sighs against Liem's ear. Liem's fingers move at his back, their touch intelligent and inquisitive, and as he says distracting, Matt makes a pleased hum of satisfaction. ]

Good.

That's good.

[ It's not, he can't help but notice, an answer to whether Liem wants Matt to distract him. But Liem wouldn't be here otherwise, would he? Here, now, in Matt's arms, inclining gently towards the ghosting touch of his mouth. Matt's teeth graze Liem's ear, barely firm enough to be felt; as he sways, his lips and nose brush at the crook of Liem's neck. Matt wants to kiss him. He wants to rock his hips against him. But for the moment, he lets the wanting stay where it is: under the skin, unexpressed save for these fleeting half-touches. He lets his mouth glide along the length of Liem's neck, as if the terrain is some delicious treat he can't decide where to take a bite from. ]

[Despite the ache in his chest at Matt's nearness, despite the shiver that travels down his spine at the brush of teeth over his ear, despite the way the room around him seems to soften into irrelevance in the face of their embrace, Liem tells himself that he hasn't pulled away simply because there's no need to. A relatively chaste brush of lips is nothing to be worried about; it isn't as though they're making out in the middle of the dance floor. He would obviously never do something like that, anyway. He isn't in any danger of being led around by the nose because he's so desperate to be touched, to be kissed, to be held. This just isn't an especially big deal.

Never mind the flutter of his lashes as Matt nuzzles into his neck. Never mind the soft, almost plaintive wanting sound that slips out to get lost in the club's noise. Never mind the way he pulls Matt a little closer, or slides his thumb down his hand to stroke the underside of his wrist. They'll be back to dancing in just a minute, in any case.]

[ Oh--that noise slides right into Matt's belly. Liem's thumb on his wrist turns his skin into something that buzzes and thrills, electric with sensitivity. Matt's mouth stays where it is, lips pressing together in a slow, lazy drag that is only not a kiss on the barest of technicalities. His heart has started beating faster against Liem's chest.

He could slow it down if he wanted to. But there's a thrill in letting himself feel exactly what his body wants him to, a thrill only sharpened by his suspicions about Liem. Liem's pallor, the memory of his teeth on Matt's thigh, his remarks about blushing--Matt's suspicions began as vapor, but over the weeks, they've condensed to a near certainty. Despite his history, he doesn't mind. It'd be shitty to judge Liem based on something a totally different person did. And maybe it's fucked up, but even after everything, he still loves being drunk from. ]

[The slow, swaying rhythm of their dance may ill suit the bold strain of music accompanying the current act, but the insistent heartbeat fluttering against Liem’s chest provides a most compelling accompaniment. It’s terribly, irresistibly exciting, making him feel hot and nervy and impatient. He swallows as lips caress his neck, the skin there alight and begging for touch, and the fingers of his right hand itch with the desire to slide up and into Matt’s hair. He’s having a hard time thinking about dancing very much at all.]

Oh…

[His voice sighs fretfully out as he forces himself to loosen the arm around Matt’s shoulders by approximately an iota. His body desperately wants to find out where this might be going, but his dignity refuses to entertain a potential future where he gets a boner in the middle of this dance floor.]

Distract me much more, [he teases gently,] and I won’t be fit for civil company.

[ Matt chuckles into the crook of Liem's neck, the sound slightly breathy. With what feels like a great effort--both to pull his mouth away and to not immediately kiss Liem somewhere else--he lifts his head to tease back, directed once more to Liem's ear. ]

Oh no, [ he murmurs, amused and affectionate. ] Why, do you see civil company anywhere?

[ He has some very pleasant memories of Liem referring to his own company as "shameless." ]

[The soft laugh breathed against Liem's neck does unfair things to his heart, foolish and vulnerable as liquor tends to make it. The portion of his wits that hasn't yet succumbed to his single drink wrestles the unruly organ back into submission.

Very deliberately, he leans back enough to look Matt in the eye, and asks with mild accusation,]

Are you always this pert when you drink?

[ Matt's so surprised by the remark that he can't help a gust of bright laughter. He stares back into Liem's eyes, his own sparkling with mischief. His cheeks a touch more flushed than they looked a few minutes ago. ]

Pert? [ he repeats, delighted. ] You can't tell how pert I am from here.

[ That's like an ass thing, isn't it? Pert buttocks, or something? Matt's almost 100% certain that Liem means something closer to impertinent, but not understanding him is way more fun right now. ]

[At first, Matt’s reply just makes Liem blink, caught off-guard by its unexpected direction—but the implication is easy to glean from his mischievous expression. Behind the thin black barrier of his mask, he raises an eyebrow. He silently adds incorrigible to the list of adjectives Matt has earned this evening.]

I’m inclined to think the answer is yes, [he murmurs, his gaze dipping to brush the glow in his cheeks.]

Unless you simply delight in being saucy with me specifically.

Well, [ Matt says with an undimmed grin, ] I have to admit ... being saucy with you has its perks.

[ He leans slightly forward to brush the very tip of his nose to the very tip of Liem's. The contact only lasts for a moment, but Matt lingers with their faces a little closer than they were before. ]

I'm sorry, [ he adds softly. He doesn't sound sorry at all, though he does sound warm. ] I know I'm ruffling your feathers. But you look so good when you're ruffled.

[Liem's eyes follow Matt keenly, with a glimmer of unexpressed anticipation as he brushes their noses briefly together. His head tips ever so slightly to pursue the fleeting contact, the corner of his mouth lifting as he regards him across the breathtakingly short distance between them.]

I look good all the time, [he informs him in a perfect deadpan.] But I forgive you, because…

[With a deft motion, he shifts his grip on Matt's hand and coaxes it between them to brush his lips gently against his knuckles.]

I still find you charming, even when you're being cheeky.

[ Matt's eyebrows arch for his hairline, his grin blooming suddenly brighter in surprise. This is the other reason it's fun to poke at Liem, to be honest: Just when Matt thinks he knows how he'll react, he does something different. Rallies that dignity and composure in service of the shared joke.

And just as Matt's reflecting on that, Liem gently takes his hand to press a cool kiss to it, like he's a noble knight or landed bachelor out of a story. The gesture is entirely surprising. Entirely irresistible. Matt's breath melts out of him on a soft oh; his heart, once again, starts to beat a little quicker. ]

That's ... very generous, [ he decides, once he can form words again. ] Maybe I can try and make it up to you, though? Buy you another drink?

[ A drink would be great right now. His mouth feels dry. ]

[Liem allows himself the pleasure of letting his lips linger near Matt's skin, watching the breath melt out of him, soft and surprised. He draws back just enough to replace the soft contact of his lips with his thumb, brushing it gently across warm knuckles as he continues to regard Matt with a measuring gaze.]

That would be very gracious of you, [he says, a small smile flirting with the corners of his mouth.

Slowly, he surrenders his hand back to its original position at their side. Although he's not in any great hurry to get another drink just yet, he should probably take the excuse to unwrap himself from Matt's embrace sooner rather than later.]

I couldn't possibly refuse such a thoughtful offer.

[ On the way to the bar this time, Matt holds onto Liem's hand as long as he'll allow. Only once there does he stop touching him. He orders two more of their first round, that same mixture of fruit and subtle herbs, and hands Liem his glass before claiming his own.

Luckily, no one has taken their couch in the interim. Maybe the staff and clientele are aware there are Aions in their midst, or maybe they simply aren't inclined to seat-poach. Matt weaves his way back across the dance floor, barely a tremor passing through the liquid in his glass. He stops only once: at the peak of the performance, when the two dancers clutch each other in a fierce, passionate kiss. ]

Mm, [ he sighs, pleased, and retakes his seat. ]

[Liem wasn't expecting to be led by the hand back to the bar—but he finds that he likes it. A warm little glow nests behind his ribs as they make their way there, coaxing his gaze Matt's way even as they weave their way through the crowded space. The dance floor is too densely-packed for him to reasonably take Matt's arm on their way back to the corner couch, but he still entertains the idea for a brief moment as they head back with their drinks.

Perhaps because he's had a little while to acclimate, or perhaps because of the buoying presence of his first drink now swimming through him, the dance on the stage doesn't seem as shocking to him on their way back—but he still flushes beneath the edges of his mask when he follows Matt's gaze and catches the dancers' kiss. He slides gratefully back into the couch, newly appreciative of the relative peace and privacy of their chosen seat.]

I wonder where they learned to dance like that.

[He liberates the slice of citrus from the rim of his glass and nibbles contemplatively at it.]

If they came from an academy around here, I would visit it.

[ As Liem settles onto the couch, Matt moves to meet him. He doesn't sprawl into his lap or anything, but he shifts close enough for their calves to brush without much trouble. He can't imagine being further away from him after their dance; even this scant distance feels like an unreasonable concession to decorum. Matt is breathless and warm, charmed and pliable. His body could shift into any shape it needed to, if that shape put him closer to Liem.

At the remark, he smiles at him over the rim of his glass, playfully aimed like a skipping stone across water. ]

Would you? Even though it's so different from how they dance where you come from?

That's awfully flexible of you.

[Liem's body angles automatically toward Matt as they settle closer together—still poised, but not so impossibly tense as he'd been earlier in the evening. He tips his head to one side as he meets that playful look, dropping the fruit slice into his glass with deliberate care.]

Student productions can be very enjoyable, [he says, unperturbed.] The atmosphere tends to be a bit less intemperate at such events, as well.

[He lifts his glass slightly in emphasis of the rather free-flowing state of liquor in their present location. The performance at an Achamite performing academy might end up being immodest, but he doubts their schools also double as bars.]

Have I seemed inflexible to you?

[ Matt chuckles, taking a sip of his new drink. ]

You are the kind of person who says "intemperate," [ he notes. ] But for the most part ... no, honestly.

I mean, I think you have values that are important to you. And a strong sense of etiquette. But honestly, I think those things being the case make you mmmore flexible? For coming out with me, but also adjusting to this place in general. Everything it requires.

[Matt’s initial statement brings an amused smile to Liem’s lips—he is that kind of person, isn’t he?—but the expression softens a bit with surprise as he continues. He’d been expecting more playful flirtation, rather than what appears to be a very genuine compliment.]

I do tend to avoid places like this one, usually, [he confirms, and takes a small sip from his glass.] You could say it’s habit. It’s poor form for a priest of Abadar to be spending his free time drinking and flirting with half-naked men and women.

[That would be completely acceptable behaviour for a priest of Cayden Cailean, or a priest of Calistria. Expected, even. But for his own church, more temperance is expected.]

But… you asked. So here I am.

Here you are, [ Matt agrees. He ducks a smile down into his glass, taking another contemplative sip.

He's not sure whether to press on the matter of Liem's god--it seems to cause him so much grief. But maybe a little talk would help him work through things? Paul has discouraged Matt from lingering on the past, and as the only advice he's received on the subject, he's mostly followed it. But different people need different things, don't they? ]

What kinds of things would Abadar consider good form, by the by? [ A quick smile. ] Just so I know exactly how bad I'm being.

[The last time Liem mentioned his god while talking with Matt, it had been in an embarrassing lapse of composure that had led to him needing to be comforted like a child. He’s since reevaluated his thoughts about the Regent, but the sting of Abadar’s death is still there, and his expression does grow a bit quiet at the question.]

Good form would mean… careful consideration in all matters. [A small, rueful smile curves his lips.] Promoting peace. Avoiding impulsiveness; not catering to primitive needs. Condemning gambling, and excessive indulgence in drink or drugs.

[As if to punctuate this last item on the list, he pauses to take another sip from his glass.]

Use of discipline and keen judgement. And of course, respect for all sensible, just laws.

[It’s not an especially Achamoth-friendly list, nor one that well suits a soldier in an existence-wide conflict. But the good news is that Matt hasn’t failed on all of the listed counts, at least so far.]

[ Matt listens carefully--not quite with reverence. Abadar isn't a god of his by any stretch of the imagination, not even in the borrowed way that Kali and Agni and Aphrodite could be thought of as his, so a show of devotion feels like a little much. But he's serious as he listens, as sober as he can be while actively drinking, to give Liem's answer the weight it deserves.

After a moment, though, he smiles. ]

Well ... I carefully considered how to ask you out. And I waited until I thought it'd be a good time--that's low impulse behavior. I never drink or do drugs to excess--you want the balance, you know? Where you can ride a nice high but don't have to worry about like, loss of function. [ Matt doesn't have a spare hand to tick items off on his fingers, but he manages to give off that impression. ] I believe in making love not war in general, so I'm gonna call that promoting peace. I can be very disciplined.

[ He doesn't quite flutter his lashes at Liem? But they dip low for a moment as he smiles into his glass. ]

I don't know. I think I'm nailing it.

[After knowing Matt for all of three months—and having him pounce on Liem for a date and drag him here to this excessively indulgent club—he isn't expecting him to have any real reverence for Abadar's dogma. He's already seen quite clearly that Matt has a rather different set of priorities.

So when he gives his own assessment of how bad he's actually been, Liem aims a fond look his way, like you'd give a child who very earnestly told you something patently ridiculous.]

Hmm. I hadn't considered it like that. [He says this soberly, setting his glass down on the table.] Here I was thinking you a bit unruly and disreputable. But that was uncharitable of me, clearly.

Oh gosh, [ Matt frets, beaming, ] all I've ever wanted is for somebody to find me ruly.

[ He shakes his head, the wattage on his smile dimming somewhat but his amusement lingering in a soft glow. ]

I like the thing about just laws, [ he adds in a quieter tone. ] I mean, the rest is all respectable, but that makes heart sense to me. There has to be something apart from "might makes right."

[Matt’s beaming response gets a raised eyebrow and a small, huffed laugh from Liem: first for the use of the word ruly, and second for the idea of Matt being orderly and obedient. Matt, who introduced himself to Liem as impossibly stubborn almost before he even knew his name.]

Well, I don’t know if has to be is right. But there should be, don’t you think?

[This, at least, he seems to mean earnestly. Isn’t that the point of civilization? To bring order to the chaos of an otherwise unforgiving world? To build a haven in the darkness?]

In a perfect world, there would be.

Mmm. [ A pleasant hum, for should. For perfect world. That's their task now, after all.

Matt takes a long swallow (some would say "thorough") from his glass. Then, with movements that are gentle but indefatigable, he leans to the side, tipping his head to rest against Liem's shoulder. ]

Hold onto that, [ he says. ] Okay? Not everybody has that kind of conviction.

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