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⊹ 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔞𝔰𝔥 & 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔲𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔡.
WHO: Childe + others.
WHAT: catch-all.
WHERE: Various.
WHEN: end of Firaseri & all of Sekiseri
WARNINGS: tba— see top levels for exact thread warnings.
WHAT: catch-all.
WHERE: Various.
WHEN: end of Firaseri & all of Sekiseri
WARNINGS: tba— see top levels for exact thread warnings.
.ᴋᴀᴇʏᴀ
𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦 𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱—Feeling empty has its merits, especially now. Retreating to his room, unable to remove his armor, Childe resigns to letting go and collapsing to the floor in his solitude.
It's a dreamless sleep, or at least full of ones he does not remember. Childe doesn't know if it's minutes, days or hours but when he wakes up he notices his armor has disappeared. Without much thought on the matter, he immediately gets up to go distract himself by bathing and scrubbing himself raw before finally proceeding to to tend (and retend) to his various injuries, particularly the deepest and largest one down his torso. It is painful, he supposes, but not nearly as much as the pain curling at the edges of every nerve ending he has. It's only now that his adrenaline has run dry that he feels the familiar for relying on his delusion for too long. Although it was brief usage of his Abyss Form, his body still feels like sludge, and he half wonders if it's because of his sudden mental breakdown somehow. Truthfully, he doesn't want to think about it— he doesn't want to think about her. His mind has already reorganized itself to automatically rob him of the feelings he was experiencing so intensely during the battle within the time of his unconsciousness, filing them away and compartmentalizing them until they're mere blurred instances in his mind that prick and sting but don't truly hurt anymore.
This isn't any different than coming back from a Harbinger mission, he reminds himself. Even the aftermath is the same: him alone in a silent room after having walked completely empty hallways as if no one else in the world exists. It's fine like this. It's always like this, and it will always be like this. Usually he is carefree and unaffected by his mission, but things happen sometimes. He's not naive enough to believe he is somehow exempt. If he just focuses on this empty hollow reality he has temporarily created for himself, then nothing that happened seems like much of a big deal afterall. It's almost nice—
—and the song of silence through all his mechanical actions of tending to himself is truly beautiful like no other.
Childe could spend days like this while he's not being summoned, and perhaps he will.
—but just like all the others, this world is not so kind. Something eventually shifts, a cog falls out of place, and that safe, isolated, fragile reality shatters into a million pieces.
He sits up right in bed, gasping for breath as he's jerked from a nightmare he can't fully remember. All he knows is it was one, and it has unsettled him in ways he didn't think possible. Luckily, it's only a nightmare, though. There's nothing here but himself in the room. He's not a little boy anymore. He's overreacting. There are no monsters under the bed or in the closet.
A sigh of unnerved relief escapes him as he glances to the nearest his bed as his eyes fully adjust to the lack of light. His walls have been pristine since he arrived in Achamoth with refusing to decorate or make any of this room feel like a place he could call his own because that's not what he's here for. He's here to ensure his best possible chance of going back home where he— even as stigmatized as he is—does actually belong in some form. The bareness keeps things simple and uncomplicated.
It's the sound of the Innocence's voice that he hears, suddenly ( not the one in battle but from when they first met in that brief instance) sobbing faintly in the relative darkness before Childe notices something dripping down those said walls that doesn't quite belong. Before he can get up to take a closer look at what it is, he feels something splatter on his head, liquid dropping gently on the top of one of his hands and then onto the white blanket amidst the black sheets he's sleeping on.
Childe stares, eyes narrowing further and further as he watches multiple droplets hit the bedding. He refuses to look up, instead grabbing at the blanket and bringing it to his face in order to see if it smells like something (anything) especially if familiar— like blood.
It doesn't.
It's also too black to be blood in this amount ( the light is pretty lacking though, how can he tell so easily?), and he's reminded again that that sobbing hasn't stopped, even now.
...That sobbing that is now coming from right above him.
He knows this scenario. Whatever is above him is something his mind has decided is awful, because none of this could actually be real. Steeling himself, Childe pulls his head back to look up, just in time for his face to be splashed on, the liquid dripping onto his lips and into his mouth. For a dream, it's surprisingly vivid in ways he didn't expect and it clearly tastes of blood now; but it's not just blood, is it?
She never had a form that he could identify as hers beyond the wings and the hands, but his mind is well prepared to substitute a woman in her place. It's hard to tell who, but he feels the dread in his gut intensify as each time the face he thinks he sees is someone that is or was important to him.
And who it looks like doesn't really matter at this point.
What does matter is that body, pinned to the ceiling trapped by black heavy sludge that clings and drips, is mangled and broken even as the girl clearly continues to sob. Her limbs are twisted unnaturally to a point they are at the very least broken, and at the worst completely severed from the get torso and stuck in places they shouldn't be.
All of them still attempt to struggle and move, anyway.
He sees feathers plastered along the sludge like they've been ripped off to make some inhumane and fully obscene art, and the sickening twisted bones of what were wings are stripped of feathers and skin, reminding him of what his own had probably looked like back in Venera when he was infected. They are little more than bloody skeletal remains now, like a tree in winter that has been crushed by a storm's wind and snow, a few tears of bloodied skin dangling in places while a feather here or there remains defiant to stay where it belongs to its last.
It is something truly macabre. It's unnecessarily cruel to a point that even Childe could never attempt to justify or understand the rationale of, but he recognizes that this scene that is in front of his eyes is his fault. Somehow, this is what he did to her— that Innocence Entity.
Somehow, this cinches in place as fact and reality that even the notion of this being a dream can unsnare. It's bad enough to see, but it's made worse by the fact that she's still squirming, still somehow alive in some sense— and sobbing even still, but he senses it isn't sobbing just from physical pain.
Ajax... Ajax, why... why, I wanted to help you, why did you do this to me?
Hearing it speak his real name, even though he is almost certain that she never knew it throws him to the edge of his sanity limits almost immediately. He can't deal with this. Not now. He's not ready. He won't be forced into doing this until he's damn good and ready.
He's had enough of this.
Childe immediately goes to get out of bed, ignoring her pleas so that he can leave the room, but the door won't budge. He continues to attempt to pull the door open stubbornly and aggressively, ignoring her even with her sobbing coming closer and closer until black sludge starts to leak out the door from its various orifices, and the Kenoma (he gets that it's the Kenoma essence now, he can feel it without a doubt) starts consuming his hand and traveling slowly up his arm.
He goes to jerk back from it, but Childe's suddenly frozen in place by the feeling of something... arguably warm, but not in a comforting way, against his back, noticing the dismembered elongated arms slowly coming into either side of his vision to wrap around him like a tender and affectionate embrace. Her head is at his shoulder, sobbing into his shirt still, but he feels the dripping of the essence towering behind him as if it's meant to be her form itself. He can see it despite not seeing it: an irreconcilable mess of wings and limbs, of eyes and teeth and entrails, of her head crooked while having nothing attached except a disfigured spinal cord held up improperly by the mass of black essence. They are more limbs, now, from victims he's brought to their ends, good or evil, over the years of his life. From the victims of the Kenoma's entropy— reaching, grasping despairing.
No, why are you leaving?... Leaving ... me... you said ... we'd go to together but you .... you ....lied to me, didn't you...
The limbs embracing him suddenly become possessive and angry, furious and sorrowful and clawing at every part of him. You sacrificed me! I just wanted peace and no more fighting, and you did this to me, and now you won't even stay with me like you said! Why would you do this? WHY?
He feels her agitation and panic suddenly calm then, her sobbing becoming pure and unadulterated once more and he hears her apologizing, her grip moving back to trying to be soothing and comforting, because she's not mad at him... She's not mad, because he wouldn't lie which means he's staying here with her. She'll keep him close and she'll keep him safe in the peace and serenity she promised him that he rejected—
—right before all too familiar draconic claws go straight through his head and throat.
Childe jolts from bed in panic, dry heaving right over the side of it and momentarily thinking he sees familiar drippings yet again before his eyes readjust.
There's nothing right now. There's noise, though. Why is there noise? Breathing heavily and still gagging, Childe jerks his head towards the door, even as he hears the familiar knocking that was the pounding force that he felt when the Kenoma-corrupted vision had skewered him in what was apparently another dream.
Go away! he tries to say, but no words come out of his mouth, his body reacting as if he really did get impaled through his throat despite there being no damage. Unable to risk that they'll keep knocking until he answers, Childe drags himself up to get to the door and open it before immediately turning around to head back to the bed without bothering to see who it is and curl up as he buries his eyes. He doesn't trust his vision to not fuck with him despite being pretty sure this is actually the real reality finally and not another dream inside a dream.
cw: suicide ideation, blood, twisted imagery
He finds himself in the outskirts of Achamoth, standing atop one of the walls that protect this mighty and ominous stronghold, watching as the last few of the Pleroma escape to the skies that no longer show him what the stars once looked like. The beat of dragons' wings is so powerful, their roars both mournful and threatening, and it reminds him of the time when Estinien condemned him to die. No, that doesn't sound quite right— the man stole the piece of him that mattered the most, his shard, his soul, everything that made him Kaeya Alberich locked away in a jagged piece of rock, crystalline black and blue. He was asking for punishment back then, he thinks. He's still asking for it now. There's no way any of this is going to get better; it can only become worse, a nightmare of a reality that he has to learn to live with unless something snuffs him out of existence too.
( And wouldn't it be so easy to simply just take one step forward, lean right into the edge, and let himself fall? )
—but just like all the others, this world is not so kind. Somehow he's still alive, left to wade through the rot and decay of this despite no longer wanting to have anything to do with either.
He's tired.
How much more of this is he meant to endure?
—
The streets of Achamoth are in a complete disarray. Hundreds, if not thousands of Horosians band together to drive away what's left of the invaders, but the worst of them are those that are not so easily seen. It almost seems like the shadows have lives of their own, flickering, wavering, and slithering about as it chases after whoever was unfortunate enough to be left behind. Kaeya passes by as if he was one of the ghosts himself, quiet steps leading his way back to the Citadel, unheard and unseen. No one pays him any mind, and he does the same thing to everyone else, unaware that the darkness that comes so easily to this city is about to get a whole lot darker. Pitch black. Just like the void with no exit offered.
There is only silence, save for the soft rise and fall of his own breathing. And even if he wanted to say anything, shout anything at all, be as loud as he could possibly be, it's not like there will be anyone around to here him. His only saving grace is knowing for certain that this none of this is real. Something must have fallen apart along the way, he thinks, maybe his own sanity, the clarity of his own mind, broken into pieces like the fragments of Amos' skull and jaw. There are bits of brain matter strewn across the concrete, and with every step he takes, the squelch of something wet and messy is enough to make him look down.
Blood, and so much of it. Bright red and fresh, it stretches out as far as the eye can see, and given the lack of light here, it seems endless. If he follows it like a guiding trail, he knows that this isn't going to lead him to anything good, but there he goes regardless of his own doubts. It's not long after he comes upon the sight of Himeka and Abel's broken bodies, spliced not-so-cleanly into several pieces while parts of them have been eaten away by a corrosive substance that leaves their flesh smelling like something burnt. What's worse is when one of them — and it doesn't really matter who — looks at him with betrayal written all over their eyes, their mouth open to ask him why? Why did you let this happen?
We had faith in you. It wasn't too late back then, but it is now.
There's no turning back, not anymore. He knows this, he knows, but he can't help but wish there was another way. If only there was a way to put an end to this without needing so many others to die, and yet he knows enough to understand that this isn't the way things go. Maybe if fate was kinder, maybe if this world wasn't so cruel, then maybe there could have been a chance, no matter how slim or impossible.
But there isn't.
He has no other choice but to follow the road paved (paid) with their blood. If what's waiting for him at the end of this isn't the outcome he wanted, well, then he'll have to learn how to live with it.
—
His fight with Ryunosuke had left him with fresh wounds, but none that he thought was necessary to see another healer to deal with them. After a quick trip to his own quarters, he freshened up, exchanged his battered clothes into something more muted and comfortable, and then he was on his way again. The Citadel's halls are as vast and empty as ever, no thanks to everything that must be done after an invasion like the one they all just experienced. Perhaps he should have found something to do to help, go somewhere that he might needed, but he doesn't think he is in any condition to deal with others right now — save for one.
It's not long after that he is now knocking on Childe's door, once, twice, and again until it finally swings open. He sees the mess that the Harbinger is in, the haphazard state of his wound dressings, his hair, his eyes; one glance is enough to tell Kaeya everything he needs to know about how he's doing. Maybe there's some truth to that one saying, that misery loves company, and the two of them are the most miserable they've ever been.
He follows the other Kenoma to his bed, watching as he curls up and hides away his eyes. The supplies he'd brought with him are set aside somewhere nearby before he settles on the edge of the mattress, allowing his weight to let the other know that he's here. He's close.
And he isn't going anywhere. ]
... I won't ask how you're feeling, [ he begins, brittle with exhaustion and unable to mask it with anything else, ] but will you at least let me look at you?
[ It feels like he's talking to a child, and in a way, he knows he is — if a boy who chose to be a monster because he was afraid still counts as a child, anyway. Difficult to say if that's exactly what happened, but it's the only thing he has to go on for now. Maybe it's what helps him sympathize with someone he barely even knows.
After all, he understands what that feels like, to have no choice in who you should become. ]
I know you're hurt.
[ He meant to say that he knows Childe is injured, but he supposes this means the same thing. It even carries a hidden meaning, if one cares to look. ]
no subject
What is it that he is attempting to look at? Pain? His wounds, then? In response, the Harbinger moves one hand to clutch and feel about his bandages. They're fine, aren't they? It's then that he feels the stiffness of the fabric where blood has seeped in and dried, as well as some newer damp spots that are starting to come through. Did he reopen the wound during his nightmare or the frantic movements upon waking? He doesn't know.
However, he also knows he doesn't have the energy to fight the other on this so he slowly uncurls himself and eventually comes to sit up. He musters a sigh before speaking up.
His eyes are purposely closed, his brow creased in pain, thought, or concentration or somewhere in between where they all meet. ]
What about you? You sound like you're ready to collapse. You went after the Pleroma, right? Haven't you ever heard of giving yourself a break?
[ shouldn't he be resting or something and not here with him? Why is Kaeya even here again? Did he really think Childe believed he had intentions of coming back? ]
If you're here out of some weird sense of obligation, don't be silly. I know you had no intention of returning.
[ He means coming to see him, but while his senses and intuition have dulled severely with the deterioration of his sanity, he still remembers those sad eyes (even if he could actually only see one) from their earlier encounter. Those aren't the eyes of someone who wants to deal with more pain like coming to tend to Childe. Those... aren't the eyes of someone who is looking to come back from wherever they are headed. Kaeya isn't the only one here who has commanded and watched after his own troops, afterall.
He can only assume the calvary captain got "unlucky" with his opponent(s). ]
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Rather than answer the questions, Kaeya remains silent as he surveys the extent of the damage. There's blood all over the bandages wrapped around Childe's chest — both old and fresh. He doesn't need to know what happened to realize that this is going to be bad, but he might as well tend to it now that the other isn't refusing his help. Carefully, he slips his hands right where the sleeves rest on the other man's shoulders, pushing the shirt down until it folds by his waist. This gives him an easier time unravelling the gauze until he can finally see the nasty gash that the Sanctifier left behind.
He frowns, brow creasing with concern. ]
You should really see a healer for this.
[ Whether or not Childe does is something Kaeya will leave up to him, but for the time being, he supposes he can clean up the blood. He brought a towel with him that he now dampens with the little bit of hydro energy he can do, keeping it lukewarm and unlikely to shock any nerves. When he begins to wipe up the blood, he is both methodical and attentive, taking care not to aggravate it or cause further bleeding. He's keeping a close eye on Childe's reactions if there's more damage he should be aware of, but if nothing happens, he tends to his wounds until he can finally wrap them in clean, fresh bandages.
The whole time, he never once stopped looking like he was about to collapse from exhaustion, but he powers through it like he always does. This is no different from all those times he pushed himself to handle Jean's excessive workload on top of his own so it's not something anyone, especially Childe, has to worry about. The worst of it is probably just how empty he feels on the inside, but maybe it's for the best. Better this than be constantly on edge and feeling like you have no control over yourself.
As he continues his handiwork, he brings up something else. ]
... You're right, by the way. [ He looks up from what he's doing to watch Childe quietly. ] The Lumine you and I both remember— she told me to watch over you too.
[ Just as she made Childe promise to look after Kaeya, she made the former knight promise the same thing regarding the Harbinger. Sometimes the Traveler can be so cruel. Or maybe she just has a weird sense of humour. ]
Where else are you hurt?
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I don't think so. I can barely walk in a straight line to my door without seeing things. And I'm not going to die from it, so that means I can handle it. Which means you don't have to be changing my dressings, either.
[ Beyond complaining, though, Childe is a good patient in terms of cooperating. Perhaps a part of him feels guilty enough that Kaeya looks so worn down yet still is doing all this for him that he can't bring himself to physically complicate things.
At Kaeya's confirmation of Lumine's meddling, he can't help but look unimpressed and snort defiantly. ] I knew it. Well, don't take her too seriously on it, she still knows I'm an enemy to the both of you.
[ it's somewhat obvious he rattles on wherever he can, more than likely because conversing requires his full concentration and that means he has less opportunity to pick up things that might start feeding on his emotional vulnerability again.
Unfortunately... he can't rattle very successfully in the end, and the way he starts off strong but relatively quickly lets it go into silence suggests he's heavily smothered from the reality of things by whatever is going on his mind. It's almost like someone who is on the cusp of sleep attempting to take part in meaningful conversation before losing the strength to commit to even making noise in favor of the consuming sensation of slumber.
It's only once Kaeya asks him where else he hurts that he offers any reaction, this time moving his hand to pat on the empty bed area next to him. ]
Here, that tired face of yours hurts me really bad to have to look at. Take a rest, already, and bother with the other stuff afterwards.
no subject
Maybe he shouldn't have expected any better. He only has himself to blame, really.
When Childe keeps rattling on, Kaeya appears to be content to let him do so. If it keeps him distracted, then who is he to stop him? The only time he comments is when the topic of Lumine comes up again, something about how Childe is considered an enemy to both of them. He sighs again, but continues with the rewrapping adventure he's given himself. ]
As it stands, we are allies now. [ Given his dour mood, he isn't above parroting the other man's words in order to prove a point. ] What was it that you said? You mean more to me than any non-Teyvatians.
[ He finishes the last of the dressings before glancing towards the empty bed area next to Childe. While the thought of collapsing into a dreamless sleep is tempting right now, he still has some unfinished business. ]
And, I'll entertain that thought if you tell me where else you're hurt. Sound fair?
[ He won't mention that he's noticed all the little moments that Childe has lapsed into silence, but he still won't let the man avoid a quick check-up. ]
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[ this is helping, though. It's helping distract his mind, even though he can see severed limbs dripping Kenoma essence dangling at the corner of his vision right past Kaeya. He just can't linger too long or his mind will catche up to the rest of him trying to get away until things settle down.
So ... where else it hurts, the other wants to know. After a moment, Childe offers his shoulder where Hayame got him with a few arrows during the battle. He knows it's more his fault than hers that his muscles there burn hotter than hell and are torn up at this point, so it didn't register as much to him as a real injury to be concerned with. ] Everything else is pretty much minor, achy, or bruising.
no subject
[ One of these days, Childe will learn that he can't bullshit the No. 1 Bullshit Master. Kaeya takes pride in being more perceptive than most, so he can only roll his eye when the other Aion tries to act like those words didn't belong to him. He's sure that Childe remembers, anyway. They wouldn't be in this situation if that wasn't the case.
If he notices the man seeing things that aren't there, he makes no mention of it for the time being. Right now there are more pressing matters he needs to look at. Namely, the shoulder presented to him. This is one of those moments where he wishes he was a healer, but...
He places a hand over the noted area. ]
This won't fix what's wrong, but it should help.
[ A delicate blue glow emanates from his palm, pure cryo energy mixing in with heated and frayed nerves in an attempt to smooth out the pain. It's a temporary relief that should help make it more possible to move the joint around without making things worse. He'll even extend its reach to manage wherever else that Childe is hurting, a cool and crisp feeling being the most prominent sensation that he'll experience from all this.
Once done, he retrieves his hand and starts putting away the supplies he'd brought with him. ]
This will last until you're able to fall back asleep. Call for me if you need it refreshed.
[ Both words and actions that say he isn't planning on staying. ]
no subject
[ the bullshitting, he means.
He wants to thank the other beyond a simple word of "thanks" after the other has performed that ice which actually does seem to already be helping with the pain which is great, but with Kaeya suddenly making it clear he's going to be leaving, Childe can't find any words to do with the subject any longer.
Instead, he immediately focuses on Kaeya's technically unspoken but plenty obviously intended departure. ]
It probably took you longer to get here than you've stayed, but you're leaving already?
Hnmph. I'm guessing that means you're going straight to bed, at least? I'm not joking you look like you're going to fall face first if you do more than a few steps.
no subject
He huffs softly, but there's no malice when he responds to Childe's words with a simple question. Time to reveal that he has noticed the other Aion seeing things that aren't there— not to mention the way Childe lapsed into odd silences earlier on. ]
Are you that afraid of the dark?
[ He wonders if he's touching on a sore spot, well aware that whatever reaction he gets should tell him everything he wants to know. A part of him is curious why someone from the Fatui is capable of wielding the power of the abyss in this matter, but maybe he should ask after Childe has slept some more.
He sets aside the box of supplies on top of the dresser before pulling a chair closer to the bed. ]
I'll stay here for a while. Go get some sleep.
no subject
This isn't quite the same: the fear of the dark usually comes with the double-edged sword that there's nothing he can see— and right now he would take that anxiety and loneliness for the solace in being blind over what he sees with the smallest amount of light.
He'll look down to his sheets again to avoid seeing too much even if the corners of his vision tells him the nightmare is still in the room; even if his ears tell him no matter how he tries to ignore it—her— the presence has never left even with the intrusion of someone from reality instead of hallucination.
That realization sinks into him, his throat suddenly heavy as he attempts to swallow only to be met with an undescribable pain as if swallowing a large rock. Childe attempts to say something to not let the silence stretch because he knows each second is stepping away layers of himself despite how many have already been burned off between the fight with the Sanctifier and now. He can't let himself just fall apart now, after years of doing fine, of perfecting his masks so he can hide the vulnerable little boy that met his gate to the harsh reality that the world is cruel and unforgiving. Heroes don't come to save you when you're weak and in danger, afterall. No one comes at all, and you're left to die by yourself.
The world is cruel, the reality is that the only one that can protect him is himself by joining his skills and fortifying his walls so nothing and no one ever gets in.
Yeah, even so, he can't get his mouth to open. He hears that voice of the Innocence again, asking why he pushed her away, why he couldn't have just opened up and saved them both. Why did he strike down the one thing existence that gave a shit about what happened to him?
He breathes out a shift hiss through his teeth as his jaw starts to ache as he refuses to vocalize the tears stinging his eyes. Shit, wasn't he done with the uncontrollable tears? He doesn't even know what reason he's crying for.. How much longer is his body going to torture him with this in addition to his mind?
(Why is nothing on his side ...?)
He grips the sheets in his hands suddenly but ultimately lets go to ease into a lying down position. With no way to say anything to Kaeya, he can't tell him to just leave. He also can't say it's stupid for him to stay awake and watch Childe when Kaeya himself needs rest badly.
There's nothing he can do but silently accept that Kaeya is going to stay in the room in that chair for now unless he changes his mind.
Childe rolls onto his side to have his back to the other man even though it means rolling onto his injured shoulder. It's still preferable to letting the other see him even more of a mess than he already noticed on his own so far. ]
no subject
It seems there's more than meets the eye with the Eleventh Harbinger. Tonight alone has proven as much. Kaeya wonders if he should leave him alone or not, but deep down, he already knows the answer to that. He knows he can't leave him, not when he's like this. Maybe he isn't the best person for it, but — who else is there? If only Lumine were still here, he thinks. She would know what to do.
Since she isn't... all he has to rely on are his own experiences. He'll deal with the consequences later.
Quietly, he brings himself to a stand and walks to the other side of the bed. Childe might not want to see him, might not want to let him see more cracks on his facade, but there's no impact if he doesn't do it this way. The mattress shifts to accommodate his weight, and soon enough, he is lying right next to the one who is afraid of the dark, face to face. Close. ]
... It's alright.
[ He leans in until their foreheads touch again, ignoring all signs that point to how strange this arrangement might be. Even if this doesn't bring Childe any solace, at least he doesn't have to be alone tonight.
(In the back of his mind, he can hear Diluc tell him: I won't let them get you. If only it would be so easy to promise the same thing now.) ]
It's alright. I'm right here.
[ It's all he has to offer. ]
it's light years between me and your fears
Childe? Tartaglia! Childe! Can you hear me? Please. Meteion's mental voice is pleading. She's only heard the vaguest of news, so far, and he's told her to be wary of contacting him. And yet...
Please, answer me! I need to know if you're all right!
Physically, at least. Meteion can't know much else, from the distance she's at, but the entelechy can still reach out...and so she does.
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Leaning forward, Childe reaches behind him to grab at his shard and remove it so he can return the communication. She still sounds underwater, but that's not surprising to him considering his mental state. Pausing a moment he takes a deep breath and focuses on pushing everything into the nearest proverbially closet. His response doesn't attempt to be cheery or make light of her concern, but he does feign ignorance on why she could contacting him.
I'm fine, Meteion. You don't have to worry. What made you think something was wrong with me to begin with?
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I was at our portal from Godsblood. Little pitchers have big ears, as they say. I have very big ears. Even if they're actually wings.
A lame joke, but it's fairly accurate nonetheless. Meteion persists.
You don't sound all right. She's heard him when he was all right. Well, since she'd been fleeing Achamoth at the time, it might not have been perfect then, but now is much, much worse. And it bothers her. It feels like she's reaching out a hand to a drowning man, and her fingers are brushing against his. If she lets go, loses concentration, there won't be any way to catch him again, and he'll drown.
Meteion can't let that happen.
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There's a momentary lightening of the dense and murky miasma of concentrated feelings encasing his mind liks a fortified cocoon.
Some weird stuff happened with the Kenoma during battle, and I think it did something to me, but I don't know what. It's probably not something to be overly concerned about, but I guess after what Estinien went through with being affected by the Innocence
In his room, Childe rolls over onto one side to curl up up into fetal position trying to relax in the comfort of the pillow and his blankets. It's not the same as his room in his house back home. Then again, no place ever is even when that place is somewhere in Teyvat. He holds his shard loosely to not give himself any ideas to try.
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Yes, after what Estinien has been through with the Innocence...it meant well, but it had still done things to the dragoon that were horrible. The entelechy had been a witness to some of it firsthand. So to be told that? It does not make Meteion any less concerned for Tartaglia, now.
She trusts the Kenoma even less than she trusted the Innocence. It, at least, had only wanted peace, driven by a collective consciousness that meant well. Meteion cannot think the Kenoma has anything resembling that behind it. And she feels a pang of fear--though not directed specifically at Childe. For Childe. She shoves it down quickly, though.
In contrast, Meteion shifts to a more comfortable seated position in her location, and grips her own shard more tightly. She concentrates--as an empath, she's always a bit guarded, because should she let her feelings free, they could be overwhelming to others. Now, Meteion feels the need to let Childe feel what she does for him. Words are possible, but also underwhelming. In this moment, she both thinks and feels that they would mean less. He needs to be unable to lie to himself. It's too easy to do so when there are only words.
It likely is not easy to penetrate that miasma that ensconces him, but Meteion will try, anyway. It's not intended to destroy that shield that encases Childe's mind, nor does it reinforce it, truly. Just gently infiltrate through whatever cracks are there--not to destroy. Just--I'm here. I'm here for you. Whatever you need, if I can give it to you, I will. We are friends, and I love you. It isn't truly words, per se, but Meteion has always been better at speaking through more than mere words. Her emotions are balm, simply offered without price to soothe his battered soul.