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

[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.

[This conversation is taking a dangerously serious turn considering Matt's determination to relax and Liem's determination to not become drunkenly morose in his presence for a second time in a row. He can't stop the thought that conviction of that kind seems unnervingly rare, even among the others of their sect. The Citadel is so filled with damaged, disparate people; how many of them really believe a better world is even possible?

But the contact is soothing. Liem shifts automatically to accommodate Matt's weight leaning against him, tipping his head so he can press his cheek against his hair. He smells clean and warm and human, comfortingly familiar despite the gulf separating their last meeting in Venera and this very Achamite evening.]

I am. [Murmured against the top of his head.] And I will. For another century, if I must.

[ Matt sighs pleasantly as Liem moves to accommodate him, as his cool cheek presses to his hair. He sinks gently to settle more fully against his side. He's not quite relaxed; he's too keyed up after their dance for that. This intimacy makes him itch, each point of contact sparking deeper hunger. Still, he can be patient. He even likes it, the ache of wanting without satisfaction.

He just doesn't want it to last all night. ]

Another century? [ he says. His eyebrows arch, perhaps unseen to Liem but likely audible in his tone. ]

Mm.

[Liem’s confirmation comes out as a small hum, nuzzled into Matt’s hair. He probably shouldn’t hurry through his second drink; the first is already making him want to tangle up in Matt like a cozy, sexy blanket.]

Almost exactly. Since I finished my training, I mean.

[He lifts his head reluctantly in order to peer over at Matt, unsure whether his surprise indicates some kind of problem. It should have been abundantly obvious well before this point that he wasn’t human, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Matt is automatically okay with hooking up with someone old enough to be his great-grandfather.]

Should I have… mentioned that earlier?

Oh my God, [ Matt--doesn't quite giggle. But if that sound isn't a giggle, it's hard to qualify what it is. ] You look so good! I guess you've got a bit of [ distinctive, silver-foxy ] gray, but seriously, you look great for a hundred plus.

[ Matt's taking care not to let his drink spill, but he's also not really drinking from it at the moment. His cheek brushes absently to Liem's shoulder, a lighter version of the way an affectionate pet might rub against you. ]

Vampires don't live any longer than anybody else where I come from, [ he adds, in a thoughtful murmur, ] so I didn't really think about it. [ A beat. Then, cheerful: ] I'm 25.

[Liem is grateful for the immediacy with which Matt makes it clear exactly how much his age is not a problem. The tension that had crept back into his shoulders softens; his expression relaxes into one of dry amusement. “You look great for a hundred plus” is not exactly a glowing compliment in and of itself, but he grasps the sentiment easily enough.]

Well you look great for twenty-five.

[Without stopping to think about it, he angles his head slightly to press a kiss against Matt’s hair. Then he pauses, frowning.]

What do you mean, “vampires don’t live longer than anybody else”? You’re saying they’re… alive?

[ Matt chuckles, the sound softening at that brief kiss. A small pang pierces his heart. Maybe it's selfish to keep chasing little tastes of Liem's sweetness, but he can't help it. These touches and kisses feel, however fleetingly, like being cherished.

Liem's question gives Matt as much pause as his observation gave Liem. He blinks, a set of heretofore-unexplored metaphysical questions bubbling up in his brain. ]

I ... yes? [ he says. ] I mean, as distinct from spirits, yes, definitely. Born or bitten, age, die ...

[It should be easy to imagine a world in which vampires live and die just like people do, given that Liem's father was one, but it takes Liem a beat to really process this concept in a meaningful way. The concept of vampire is so tangled up in death that the concept of a living race of them resists logic. He tries not to give any mental bandwidth to the frankly abhorrent idea of vampire children.]

I see, [he says instead.

Then, into what is rapidly threatening to become an awkward silence, he adds,] That's not true where I'm from. Wasn't, I mean. My father was killed by a vampire. And turned. And then… I was conceived.

[ Matt breathes, ] Oh.

[ His head turns, and his chin lifts--not to pull away from Liem, but to be able to regard him face to face. He doesn't think he entirely understands the mechanics of Liem's situation, but he's positive he doesn't need to know. Not right now. ]

That sounds ... like it'd be really hard to go through.

[ For Liem, or his father, or his mother? Yes. ]

[When Matt turns to meet his gaze, Liem searches his eyes, not sure what he’s expecting to find there. Matt had, apparently, assumed he was a vampire. Is this better? Worse? At least in his world vampires evidently weren't sired by walking corpses.

He doesn’t have the emotional fortitude right now to talk about it at all and still pretend that it wasn’t a big deal, that it didn’t end both his parents’ lives and make orphans of their children. Instead he just says,]

That was a long time ago.

[More than a lifetime, for any normal human. He can’t say it doesn’t matter any more—but it doesn’t matter more than the subsequent death of his entire world.]

Ah, but… it wasn’t a common circumstance. Suffice to say, I don’t often meet peers my own age.

Okay. Yeah.

[ Matt's eyes are a bit wide, now that the full weight of what he's stumbled into has hit him, but the look in them is all tenderness and sorrow. He wants to comfort Liem, but still has his fucking glass to hold onto. He feels acutely, guiltily, that he doesn't have enough hands.

Matt pulls back. Takes a gulp from his drink, the fruit and herbs warm and stinging down his throat. He sets the glass down and reaches up to touch Liem's cheek with the tips of his fingers. ]

I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you sad.

[When Matt's fingertips find their way to Liem's cheek, the sober, searching look in his eyes falters into surprise.]

You haven't.

[When has Matt ever been responsible for his sadness? They don't know each other well enough for that to be true. The roots of his melancholy are all older than his relationship with one kind, lonely man. A candle isn't responsible for the darkness stretching behind the one who's holding it.

Reaching up, Liem peels the mask from his eyes and puts it down next to his drink. Then he meets his gaze again, his cool, bloodless fingers sliding over Matt's warm ones.]

You have always been far kinder to me than I had any right to expect, and I enjoy your company immensely. I promise.

[ Matt's pleased to hear Liem say this--who doesn't want to be told their company is immensely enjoyable?--but his true, gut-deep relief comes when Liem takes off his mask, and one more small barrier between them is removed.

Liem's fingers cover his own, a cool balm in the body-packed heat of this place. Matt smiles softly. ]

Okay. Good. [ He leans gently forward, tipping his head so their foreheads just touch. ] I enjoy yours immensely too.

I like you.

[ Wanting someone to be happy doesn't feel entirely congruent with this goals. But Matt wishes Liem peace, at least. A satisfaction in knowing he's doing the right thing. ]

Is that so?

[Liem finally smiles as Matt leans closer to rest their foreheads gently together. Their intimate proximity—brow to brow, hand to cheek—seems almost conspiratorial amidst the press of music and voices in the club: the words, I like you, like a secret meant just for the two of them.

He strokes along Matt's knuckles, peering at him from beneath his lashes. His face feels very warm—almost electric—where it contacts Matt's skin.]

Tell me more.

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