bakerstreet | Started at the bottom, now we're still here.

[She's fine, everything's fine, ignore this spoilery gif from the end of No Way Home, because as far as she can remember MJ absolutely did not say that, did not think that, and did not shed a Single Solitary Tear™ ever in her life, nope.]

[She's just... dead, y'all. Not permanently. But it still doesn't get much worse than dead.]

[It's mental breakdown time, fam. Becca bottles up a lot of her feelings, they're bound to come exploding out sooner or later.

Part of her would prefer anger, rage, and violence, but instead it's just ugly crying. She's hugging a bottle of wine, a tissue in one hand. And sobbing.

But only because she thinks she's alone.]

(( Bio-. A man from a world where once a month, somewhere in the world is struck by a reality-altering event. He has recently joined the organisation that combats paranormal events and supernatural criminals, using his transmogrification powers. ))

[ Yamada likes to give the impression nothing bothers him but when he goes, he goes. He shrieks at the top of his lungs, on his knees, hot tears flowing between his fingers as he holds his hands to his face. Terrible failure on a mission, letting people down, it's more than he can bear. The tears sizzle as they hit the ground, his subconscious starting to morph him. It feels like he's full of acid- so he is. And that's just the start. ]

[She's not sure what he's mourning, having only gathered enough information so far to be aware his last mission went sideways. She was prepared to be a shoulder to cry on--so much so that when he starts to break down, her first impulse is to move closer and reach out to hug him. Fortunately for all concerned, the scent and sizzle of acid alerts her that perhaps physical contact is a bad idea just now.

She steps back, hesitating, because sure, she has potions of acid resistance in her pack (like who doesn't carry resistance potions everywhere?), but he's nothing if not mercurial. Acid could turn to fire, to cold, to electricity. It must be so unfair, to be someone who can't break down when they deserve to, for fear of the damage they might cause.

In motion, she sketches out a perimeter, making a space around him with a ten foot radius or so, shoving furniture and living things aside with Mage Hand hastily. It has the side effect of building a weak barricade.] Yamada? Sweetheart, can you hear me? I need to you to talk to me.

[Maybe while he's talking, he can't collapse into something that can't speak. One can hope.] You want to tell me what you're thinking? Because if not, I'm going to start asking you the dumbest riddles I can come up with to distract you.

[ It takes a lot to get Yamada into this state, where thoughts and feelings override his body. The fear it will take more to stop, the shame of being like this, just makes it even harder to compose himself. He pulls one hand away enough to see what Tieve is doing, and it's a mixed feeling because it's a perfectly sensible thing to do, but it hurts that it has to be done. That he's such a mess he can't even cry right fills him with self-loathing. He holds his hands away from his face, trying to catch the deadly drops. His body morphs more on its own, the hands becoming sketchy and imprecise. As if his blurred vision is replacing his reality. ]

Why did I ever think I could do this? [ He asks himself as much as he reveals his thoughts at Tieve's request. It takes so much effort to speak his teeth feel like jagged needles and thus are. His beautiful green eyes swirl in a spiral pattern, reflecting his inability to focus on anything. Her instincts are right as he starts to heat up, glowing orange cracks spreading over his skin, lined with scorched black. Maybe he can melt a little hole in the ground and close it up around him, and then no one has to see him again. ] Why did I try again? I shoulda have seen it all coming!

[ As much as he fully believes he ought to give up, that he can only ever make things worse, that he should have stayed some anonymous, insignificant speck that never ruined things by touching them... a part of him places hope that Tieve can bring him a little comfort. It sickens him to rely on her, but what else can he do? ]

[Maybe it's something that she seems so matter-of-fact about this, about his malleable state and the potential danger he poses because of it. She's not afraid, merely cautious, and practical, and concerned for him. Watching him, she wishes he could have met Karlach. When she lost her temper there was quite a lot of heat, and open flame, and it would have been nice to have someone around who could have hugged her in spite of it. Maybe there's a chance they'll still meet some day.

Meanwhile, she's not sure how delicate his mental state is. It seems unlikely he could erase himself completely like this, but he might be able to retreat into something so far away she couldn't reach him.] There will always be people we can't save, but if no one tries at all, they're just as lost. When you volunteer to do what you do, you're not just putting your body on the line. You're putting your heart on the line, because when things go wrong, you're bound to feel like this.

[She keeps a safe distance, unwilling to add to the scarring already on her body, but she crouches a little, too, trying to meet his eyes, dizzying as they are right now.] I remember, after we saved the tiefling refugees in the Grove, we thought they'd be all right going on ahead of us to the city, but they were attacked halfway through the shadowlands. We found their corpses on the road--not all of them, some did make it--and I remembered their names. I must have spent hours that night going over everything I might have said to them. Hoping it was worth something, even if it wasn't much.

You're doing this because this is who you are. You have to try for your own peace of mind, and when it works it's beautiful, and when it doesn't you break a little. I know. I do the same thing.

[ If the roles were reversed, and someone in crisis was in front of Yamada, he'd find a way to comfort them regardless of flames, acid, or large axes. That innate urge to help is a burden to him or has been for a long time, a weakness that hurts him. His only solution was being away from others so he doesn't have to help.

Having someone else who cares like that didn't seem an option. In that paradoxical way only emotions can be he feels better and worse simultaneously. Better he has her care, worse that he needs it. He listens to Tieve, though silence is broken occasionally by sobs and hics. ]

What if it’s not a little? What if I just keep failing until I break, and there's nothing left of me?

[ As he says it, he shrinks and becomes less distinct overall. An odd, blobby, pear-shaped approximation of a person, neck seamlessly merging into torso, sat sadly on his bum. He can't be more than 3 feet tall, though the heat has gone- the black scorch colours spread across his skin, keeping him indistinct. The tears have changed to cold little drops that turn to snowflakes as they fall.

The very picture of a sad lil’ guy without a single feature otherwise. ]

Then you'd still be the person who was willing to try, regardless of pain and personal cost. It would hurt. I don't wish that on you, and I would mourn for you, but no one could minimize or take away how much you cared. That part's beautiful, even if it fails.

Even if you lose. It has to be enough to stand up, for the sake of being one of the ones who are willing to stand. [Wins aren't guaranteed for the loving, the innocent, the righteous. The only guarantee for the good is that there will always be a new battle to fight.

She kneels on the ground near him and offers out her hands, since it doesn't look like his form is immediately dangerous now.] You need rest right now. You can be anything, but you can't be everything at once.

[ Her choice of words does set something off- when she rightly says he can't be everything his subconscious briefly tries. It's a bizarre moment where nothing makes sense. His body blooms like a flower into a nonsense shape, an M.C Escher nightmare of things that can't co-exist, hot, cold, soft, hard, animal, mineral, vegetable, everything he remembers being before tries to happen at once. It only lasts a second before it snaps back to his more stable sad form. Squishing his stumpy, indistinct fingers on the sides of his head, trying to keep all that swirling mess inside. The main change is that the tears, once cold, are now searing red streaks down his cheeks. Once more too dangerous to comfort. ]

Mmmn...ah...ah... S-sorry, I... ah... [ He babbles for a moment, some words overlapping in ways he shouldn't be able to. With a gasp, he forces air into lungs he maybe didn't have a moment ago, trying some breathing exercises that make him look much like a suffocating fish. ] I... I want to... I want hold you and feel comfortable again...

[ She is a comfort to him, she always is. He doesn't know why, but it's like they fit neatly together. When things go well, that is. When they're playful and flirty and cuddly and joking. And yet, he fears he's ruined it forever. He illustrates it would be an awful idea holding his hands in the streams, holding the nasty looking bubbling fluid up. ]

C-can't even do that right...

[ That said- he is changing on instinct now. And he'd never hurt her. Might be worth a risk to try. ]

[She might be the best possible person to have this kind of breakdown in front of, truthfully. All her time in the Feywild has left her relatively calm in the face of non-Euclidean angles, twisting eldritch shapes, and shades of color and light that shouldn't be perceptible to human eyes. She watches, cautious but calm. There's no hint of horror, only worry, and curiosity.]

Sssh, sh, it's okay. You're going to be okay, I promise. [Can she promise that? Maybe, maybe not, but the fact that he's responding to her as much as he is tells her he's not distraught past her ability to reach.]

Silly boy. You're all dream logic and feelings now, and that's exactly what I'm used to. You'd only hurt me if I got careless. [She moves closer, but more to the side of him, hands coming up to rest where his shoulders should be, would be, if he were in his more human shape.] I'll hold you until you get yourself solid again. You're not going to hurt me.

[Saying something makes it so, if you say it with enough conviction.]

[ Tieve's choice of words is very effective. In an emotional state, his body is open to suggestions. When she says he's not going to hurt her, his first thought is that he can't let down someone who trusts him. Not again. The second her hands touch him, changes start. In appearance, it's like she touched the surface of water, the way it ripples out. The uncomfortable, raspy texture is replaced with fuzz, and the overlapping waves change his colour from pure black to white base with angular, black patterns. The searing fluid reverses course and pours into his eyes, the same way one might sniff while sobbing.

Perhaps more important, his short arms extend significantly so he can loop them around Tieve, to hold her tight. His basic shape wobbles and tries to find something that makes more sense. The pear shape goes, more humanoid and sized. All that he has for a face is his big green eyes, until with a poof his messy hair comes in all at once. He seems to have settled on this alien shape for now, but at least it isn't actively dangerous. The tears he's dripping are just wet, not acidic. He doesn't even know what he looks like^*. He has his eyes closed and head pressed to her shoulder. ]

((*But he looks like Powered Dada, I realised halfway through describing this.))

[She might be more cautious if she knew the full extent of his past experiences. Then again, she might not. She's been known to be reckless in the face of a worthy cause or a dear friend, and as she's just said, his strangeness is well within her wheelhouse. She trusts him, and more importantly she trusts herself to be able to handle him in any shape. Some day she'll tell him stories about the feywild.

In the meantime, she touches him without fear, stilling for only a moment as he transforms again beneath her palms. It means something, she's sure, that he's softer at once, easier to touch and cuddle with every shift. She lets him hold her and drapes her own arms around him in return, patient and reassuring. After a moment she kisses the top of his head and tucks her chin over it, holding him like a mother, or a lover, whichever he needs to see in her more right now.]

((Black and white is always stylish?))

[ He has been without a mother or lover for a long time. He's had a few odd flings in his time, but they've been the sort of thing that stops as suddenly as it starts, always other lonely people who wanted to feel desirable or to forget everything for a moment, or even to spite someone else. He administered that medicine a few times, but it was nothing compared to Tieve's embrace.

He noticeably heats up when her lips touch him, but not to the threatening level of before. No, it's more like a nice hot water bottle. It's something of a full body blush, as Yamada feels and becomes warm and fuzzy. A little dizzy, and ashamed, and confused, and sad, and excited and... and... complicated.

In other words, he feels- ] M'okay now.

[ That isn't true. But he is about back to his normal, but he spares Tieve a joke. She's earned some honesty from him, and the grip loosens a little. His extra long arms let him hold her gently, and lean back a little to look her in the eyes. They've cleared up a lot, though there's a wavey bullseye pattern in shades of green. He grows a mouth, black-lipped against his white face, just so she can see his sad smile. His tears are drying up, but shimmering. ]

Sorry... You shouldn't have to do this for me. [ He thinks he's got her pegged well enough to intercept a possible objection. ] And I know you didn't have to anyway. But we both know you did, because you wouldn't have done anything else.

[ He tops this sentiment off with a sweet little forehead to forehead touch. ]

I like you.

[ Simple words, complicated feelings. Ain't that just being human? He sure feels human right now, even as a mostly monochrome surrealist painting come to life. ]

[He didn't have to say it, that 'I like you'. It's obvious in his body language, which is a more literal language than most peoples'. When someone turns soft and warm just because you're close to them, that's a pretty clear signal. She almost wishes she had the same skill. Maybe it would be easier to convey these things without words getting in the way? But the drawbacks he suffers are more than a little daunting. What would she look like, she wonders, if her outside was compelled to reflect everything, instead of just what she wants to show? Soft petals hiding bitter thorns? Would there even be roses?

Something to think about later. She smiles at him, a little weakly because he's still in distress, but it feels good to have been able to help this much.]

You don't have to be sorry. [There's a flicker of amusement, because he's cut off her objection before it starts, but she shakes her head a little, denying it anyway.] You'd do the same for me. That's the point.

I like you, too. In case that wasn't obvious yet. I mean, I... [Sigh.] People are difficult for me. I can look at someone and convince them what's right, what's the cleverest move, make them see the world the way I want them to for a few moments. That's easy. It's hard to look at someone and say what I want, or feel, or need.

[Sooner or later, she'll realize her difficulty is with herself, not with other people, but maybe there have been enough revelations for one day.]

[ Yamada is slowly gaining more emotional control, and with it more physical control- yet his loose grasp on his shape remains. It's an odd feeling, being honest and letting everything show. He holds her in a warm embrace, as ribbons flow from his shoulders, black and white, spiralling into a hollow shell of additional arms that fill in smoothly.

It lets him delicately stroke her cheek without breaking the hug. And slightly awkwardly scratch his cheek with one of his long, flexible fingers. ]

I... like being liked by you. [ He admits, like it's some shameful secret he's sharing. As if it's weird to want the people you care for to reciprocate. ] And I want to know what you want, and feel and need. I want to see you.

[ He doesn't say he wants these things so he can provide her what she desires. To turn that weak smile into something unstoppable. But it radiates from him. ]

[Rather than strange or unsettling, the extra arms strike her as terribly useful. To be cuddled and caressed by so many hands--it feels nice, maybe even a little decadent. If she were a cat, she would purr.

Her lips twitch into a little grin. I like you; I like being liked by you...if they keep on like this, it could get downright recursive. But what he says next is less funny, and more touching, and she ducks her head a little to nudge it into his shoulder.]

I don't actually know what I'm doing, is all I mean to say. With you. I'm just good at faking it. But if you can be a little patient with me while I figure it out? This feels right. [Her arms squeeze him a little tighter.] I'd like to stay like this for a while.

Are you feeling better?

[ When she nuzzles her way against his shoulder, his four arms set to work. One around her shoulders, one around her waist, one stroking her hair and one cupping the back of her head, making sure she's nice and cozy. He's covered in a layer of thin, warm fuzz but there's defined, slender muscle in this shape. Whatever it is. His black and white patterns shift, slowly and steadily, like a relaxed heartbeat. He's gone a little cuttlefish, as the patterns flow gently downwards and seemingly loop back around the top. ]

I'm better. [ He doesn't say he's good- just better. He expects she'll get it. ] You're welcome in my arms any time. Maybe I'll figure you out first, and let you know.

[This must be rewarding for him, too, she assumes. Closeness, trust, affection. It won't fix things, and he may need to cry again later on, and she would understand. Still, he's calmer for the moment, and if he didn't like cuddling her, she suspects he'd be willing to let go.

She pets his back in response to his stroking, fingers following the ripple of the patterns.] It's always you, isn't it? No matter what shape you're in. There's a lot in your head, and your heart, I think.

I want you to feel safe being yourself around me. No matter what self that is. [She tilts her chin up to kiss his cheek--the fuzzy texture is a little odd and ticklish on her lips, not quite like a human beard, but not unpleasant.]

Good luck figuring me out. I don't think anyone else has yet.

[ The patterns don't change his texture with them, but the white stripes are notably a bit warmer than the black. 'It's always you' makes the ripples speed up. He doesn't actually have a heart in this bizarre form, but whatever process is going on there replicates it. It hurts to hear it, because he's wanted those words for so long, but couldn't even articulate that was his desire. No one was there to listen, even if he could.

Who even is he, that he's always that person? ]

I don't know who that is. [ She gets to hear it aloud, his most horrifying truth. His tears come back a little earlier than she perhaps predicted, but they're a bittersweet sort. One of his four hands leaves the back of her head to sweep them away but he's smiling anyway. The touch of her lips has left a pink, glowing spot right where they landed. ] We're a pair of mysteries, huh? Maybe all that's left of us is the bit that wants to be what we needed, for someone else.

[ Like most of his actions right now, it's pure instinct that leads him to place a spare hand gently atop her facial scars. He will never, ever forget their first meeting and how she exaggerated them. That no one knows their own face is a comfort, in some ways. It makes it matter less that he lost his over the years. ]

[She worries, silently, when the flickering speeds up, when he starts to cry again. Not for her own sake; he seems calm enough, in control inasmuch as he can be. For his sake. He's been through so much, more than she knows. Once again, she can't help but think of Karlach, who had every reason to be bitter and closed-off, but spent all her energy on upbeat exuberance instead. She's going to have to introduce them. They'd be best friends.]

I think...that's normal, when your life gets interrupted. To not know who you are, or where you're going. [She ruffles his hair gently--or, at least, the fuzz at the back of his head.] But it's there, even if you're not sure what it is. Like the sun behind clouds.

[The bit that we needed for someone else. Now, that hits home, and even if he wasn't touching such a sensitive spot, she'd have a hard time not responding to it. Her eyes fall shut, tightly at first, but the tension eases after a second or two and she tilts her cheek into his hand.] That makes a lot of sense, too.

[ He pauses, fearful that he's misstepped and ruined it all when she reacts to the touch of his hand. When she accepts it, turning her cheek into his soft, strong palm it's like the sun starts shining in his chest. He grows a heart then and there just so he can feel it thud. His hand gives up trying to sweep away his tears, so he can hold both her cheeks, stroking her cheekbones with what could be called thumbs. He's got hair atop his fuzz, and it's nicely ruffled. The tears sparkle, like they have flecks of gold in them. ]

Do you think we'll ever get there? Somewhere we're meant to be? [ He doesn't believe in fate, or anything like it, but that doesn't mean there isn't somewhere he's supposed to be. Someone he's meant to be. He feels closer to both now, than he has for some time. ] And... can we go together?

[For the first time, she wonders how old he actually is. It doesn't matter so much, in the grand scheme of what they appear to be becoming to one another, but his sorrow makes him seem ageless, and his sensitivity makes him seem terribly young.

She makes a little humming noise and leans her chest closer to his, as if to feel his suddenly rediscovered heartbeat.] I think we'll build where we're meant to be, step by step, as we go. We have to be the ones to make the destination, since we're going to be the first ones to get there. [She does believe in fate, to some degree. You can't spend any length of time camping out with the Scribe of the Dead and not hear an awful lot about destiny. She just thinks there's a lot more active participation in getting there than most people want to believe.]

But once it's built, maybe it will help others, too, after us. [Her smile is wider now, bright and tender.] Together sounds like a good plan.

Incidentally, if you were considering kissing me, now would be a pretty good time.

[ The thud of his heart is easy to feel, thumping in his chest, a powerful beat that makes his stripes flow. The patterns shift to start from that spot on his chest, in ripples that stream steadily out. Her smile does it to him, on that lovely face of hers, scars or not. Beauty is a strange notion to him, like art above instinct, and hers strikes a chord with him- it's what art is for, isn't it? His lips part to say something, but what is erased from his mind when she brings up kissing.

The patterns change again, from circles to squiggly shapes that just might be hearts, but his lips are turned up into a smile. ]

Every five seconds since we met.

[ The exaggeration is only minor- he's not had many sensations of deep attraction in his life, but Tieve is ahead of the pack. The permission is all he's needed, and that misery of his is obscured by a warm, pink mist. Yamada's many hands pull her to him, cupping her face and squeezing her tight. His lips are soft and fuzz-free, and he's gentle with it, a bit tentative. There's a tension in his muscles that just screams that he's holding back. ]

[The truth is, he's just rewarding to be close to. She's not as much a creature of whimsy and light as she seems. Gods know she blazed a path down the Sword Coast, and left a lot of bodies in her wake. Most of them were the bodies of killers and cultists, but still, a delicate lamb she is not. But the part of her that always just wanted to help people finds comfort in him, because he's reaching for the same thing.

She feels like a better person with him. It's a good feeling, and maybe she's a little greedy for it, but he doesn't seem to mind. The smile he was looking for, a flash of uncomplicated delight, shines across her face. Every five seconds is surely a figure of speech, but she'll take it as the compliment it is.

She makes a soft, pleased noise when their lips meet, a purring hum of encouragement. She kisses slow and sweet, unhurried and attentive to how he moves, and breathes, and how his pulse flutters. She only has the one set of arms, and that's all she's going to have, but she squeezes him close with them, a wordless signal that she has no intention of letting go any time soon.]

[ Yamada loves her smile. He knows life, his, hers, and many others can be grim. His smiles are often a shield from that, a barrier from grief and attacks, but causing them in others for real is a thrill. He's still getting used to making things better.

He certainly doesn't mind her apparent interest in indulging in him. In fact, the way she revels in the decadence of his shape is fascinating. Some are repulsed, or constantly encouraging him to just be 'himself', a concept he doesn't truly resonate with. His arms explore, following her back and figure while still cupping a cheek and stroking hair. His heart slows, not due to a lack of passion, but a sense of comfort. Yamada stops sitting up, pulling her with him to settle atop his tall body. When his lips pull from hers, it's breathless but cheerful, and comes with a snuggly nuzzle. ]

Mmm...Okay...now... give me five seconds...

[ His voice is a little wobbly. Dazed with joy. ]

[Maybe a smile on another person's face is some kind of proof that the world can get better. Gods know Tieve is a caretaker in her own right, ready to check in and feed and coddle those who'll accept her affections. Different approaches, similar reasoning. Maybe that's why they get along the way they do.

She has seen so much of faerie, shapechanging fey, fey who wear forms that are utterly inhuman on a daily basis, fey whose bodies are merely a mask for something bigger than her mind could comfortably adjust to. By comparison, he's comfortable, safe. His powers are big, the crisis that sparked them must have been unimaginably traumatic, but as she said, he's just...him. His body isn't a mask, it's a reflection of what's in his head. There's something about that that's incredibly honest, incredibly pure.

He can touch her however he likes.

She leans forward willingly when he sinks back, stretching her legs out behind her so she's prone, half on top of him with her knees to one side. The break in the kiss frees her mouth to make a happy humming noise, almost a trill in her throat.]

Haa, mm! You want me to count them down for you? Four...three... [She interrupts herself, though, taking the initiative to kiss his cheek and nuzzle her way beneath the line of his jaw to his throat.]

[It's not just that Edwin is ~~basically naked~~ in his edwardian undergarments, he is also covered in blood. This is his true form, the form he died in. He is not doing well. Some visuals here. (CW blood) ]

[ her being seen for what she is and losing everything as a result is a nightmare for her. she cares singularly and obsessively, with violence, and her worse nature winning over her agency scares her. being truly mad. ]

[He looks the absolute same, but it's as if the light's been sucked out of his eyes. Dishevelled, dead-eyed, bored. But he's still smiling, just enough to keep people from asking about him and getting in his way.]

[His clothes are caked in blood, dirt, and god knows what else, and above that--Li Xiang's currently wide eyes are a bright, glowing gold that keeps flickering to a sinister shade of red while his single black wing that appears when he uses the power of the Dreamless, well... It's not going away, or showing any signs of fading. One hand is gripping the side of his head as if it's going to silence the maddening whispers driving him to some level of madness.]

--Don't look at me.

[The 'hero' of Jinzhou all but rasps the words out, wing moving to obscure him and only making him feel worse in the process--The voices won't stop.]

[This is... definitely stepping into something Ed doesn't need in her life, but she's bad at walking past someone who needs help. Plus, well, seeing someone mostly human-shaped with a wing makes her think of chimeras (play with me, big sister?), and that's even harder to walk away from.

Maybe most importantly, though, this person makes her think of how she felt and what she looked like after she and Al attempted the transmutation. No one should have to go through that.

She kneels down, partly so she can get a better look at him (sorry), and partly so she's not towering over him (not that she's very capable of towering over anyone, thanks to her not-so-great height). She pitches her voice soft and low:] Hey, buddy. Looks like you could use some help.

[A part of him wants to recoil, and honestly--Li Xiang does, just a little, until he hears how she speaks. It's gentle, reminding him just a little of Yang Yang, comforting and yet simultaneously making his stomach churn at the thought of her or Chixia seeing him in this state. Those two trusted him, cared for him, accepted him, and the thought of them seeing him for the monster that he's been scared for quite some time that he might turn out to be--He's not sure if he'd be able to swallow that sort of rejection.

As he catches a head of blonde in his peripheral, Li Xiang turns his head to better hide his face at least, even if it's the least of his worries in comparison to the black wing on his back and the floating collections of sound made solid in the form of feathers wafting around him.]

...I'm fine.

[The way he says it with such profound hollowness all but screamed he was anything but. Honestly, he can just barely hear her and himself speak above all that maddening whispering in his head. Part of him wishes he hadn't sold those masks from the Fractsidus off, he heard those help turn off certain parts of your brain or at least suppress the emotions one feels. He could use that desperately right about now.]

I'm.... I'm fine. You need to go.

You don't really look fine.

[Truthfully, there's no reason Ed has to stay and help. This guy's clearly not okay, but he's also rejecting her, and that's his right or whatever. If it was Ed lying on the ground in pain, she wouldn't necessarily want some stranger around, either. But at the same time, she might need some stranger around if that was her only choice.

So... she doesn't leave. Instead, she goes from kneeling on the ground to sitting, legs crossed under her.] Are you hurt? Cause I'm not really a medic but I might be able to do something.

...

[He can't deny that, not when his body is currently having one hell of a time processing this 'power'. Jue's prophecy had claimed that it belonged to him, but with how it rages inside of him, and he recalls the words of the Dreamless before he and 'Abby' had taken that power for themselves: It feels like it belongs to anything or anyone but him.]

--I can deal with it.

[...Yeah, even he doesn't believe the words that just came out of his mouth; How is he expecting anyone else to?]

[She just. Snorts a little. Maybe not meanly!! ...Okay, a little meanly, but it's born of worry. She just doesn't believe that he's okay, which is why she's still firmly refusing to leave him alone, even if she also doesn't know what's happening.]

If you tell me what's happening, I might still be able to help.

[Scar steps closer, hand sliding over the black feathers as he circles around to get an angle to see Li Xiang's face. He's smiling, wide and hungry.]

Ah, why would I want to sacrifice such a beautiful sight, A-Xiang? Look at you, unleashed.

[He cups Li Xiang's cheek, thumb deliberately near the corner of his mouth.]

Man and monster, just like me.

[An involuntary shudder wracks Li Xiang's body feeling those fingers slide along the surface of his wing's curve, feeling it as if it's a part of his own body rather than a temporary appendage that obeys his will. It's a sensation of overstimulation while simultaneously making him feel sick, visible eye shutting tightly as he blindly and desperately feels around the ground with his other hand.]

I'm not.

[The way he grits those words out is telling enough on its own, a good dozen different emotions poured into those two syllables.]

My...mask... Where is it....

[Scar sighs--he won't even properly lash out.]

Stop fighting it. It only hurts because you're trying to reject it.

[His voice deepens and distorts as his body changes, as he embraces the discord and grows into the four-eyed Aberrant Nightmare, now nearly crouching to keep his hand on Li Xiang's face, a hand large enough to nearly engulf his head.]

Let go, or tear yourself apart.

[Li Xiang groans aloud, the sound guttural as the pain he feels is deep-seeded into his very bones. The way that he hears Scar's voice begin to distort, deepen, and feel a different hold on his face that doesn't become any less gentle--Nevertheless, he shuts both of his eyes that are currently flickering an unearthly red behind their lids. Despite that warning, despite the fact he knows Scar is trying to help him as his own gloved fingers dig painfully into his scalp as if that pain will distract him from the agony screaming in his veins?]

No.

[His voice quivers in a low rasp, and as if to confirm the consequences of refusing to allow this power to run amok--The sound of a crack fills the air, and with it the cracked, white light like fractured glass appearing across Li Xiang's skin.]

A-Xiang.

[His voice is low, with echoes of discordance behind it, overlapping in it.]

Look at me, A-Xiang.

[He knows that tone. To some, Scar might sound enraged, but.... Though his jaw is still locked, his temple throbbing while those voices continue to become so incessantly loud and chaotic that Scar's sound is the only thing that keeps him anchored: Li Xiang finally deigns opens one gleaming, sinister red eye.]

There you are, my A-Xiang.

Remember yourself. Don't try to deny that it is a part of you. It threatens you because you try to hold it away.

Clutch it close, claim it, and claim your dominion over it.

Li Xiang. The Discord is a part of you. It is yours.

Make it kneel.

I...

[This time, he finds no quarrel with Scar's declarations, with his guidance in an effort to control this flow rather than to find himself flooded by this dissonance. One with the sounds, that was what he always said. ...No, there was something else he had also uttered, perhaps to himself in an attempt to keep this power under lock and key.

'Enough.']

.....

[The grinding of his teeth is all but audible by now, the cracks still visible on his skin; But there is at the very least a change in the air around Li Xiang, less resignation and something more along the lines of determination. Perhaps even rage. That much becomes more obvious as his free hand gradually begins to curl into a trembling fist, nails digging into his palm through the fabric to sober himself up rather than to search for his mask while the sounds that compose his wing shuddered.]

[a flashback to the failed human transmutation - her eyes wide with shock and horror, trailing blood and viscera from the open wounds where her right arm is missing below the shoulder and her left leg below the thigh.

whatever's causing this particular flashback has her scrabbling frantically to draw a new transmutation circle out of her own blood.]

Al?! Where's Al! I can't lose him again, please! It's not fair, I can't - I'll give you anything you want, just let me have my brother back!

Left to die in a seaside shack, bleeding and cold. No longer a cop, no longer a man, but a dog. Yes, nothing more than a sick animal who outlived its usefulness.

Option 1 (pact)

It was dark when you parted ways with her and went off to sleep, and that was only a few hours ago, but outside your tent it looks like dawn is breaking early, the clearing around you filled with light. Did the campfire get out of control?

No. She's standing where the circle of the firepit should be, but the embers swirling around her aren't natural ones. They look unlike earthly fire, a color without a name somewhere in the center of a Venn diagram overlapping pink and orange and gold. If peaches were hot coals--that's the color. Everything is burning. The lines on her skin where the Astral Tadpole once made its mark are almost too bright to look at. Her scars are glowing.

The ground under your feet, and hers, seems like it's tilting sideways, like the energy she's holding in her, around her, is so solid and fierce it makes reality itself weak and grey in its light.

Her eyes are black when she tilts her head towards you. "...sorry. They're calling. I can't say no when they call me. You should probably go back inside."

Option 2 (nightmares)

In the aftermath of the defeat of the Netherbrain, there are celebrations and mourning, wakes and burials, repairs and healing to be done. Most of the heroes of the Gate have gone their separate ways, but perhaps not far. Many of them were Baldurian in the first place, after all.

Tieve is around, and available for drinks and chats whenever a friend, old or new, invites her. She was vivacious and bright over dinner, almost too upbeat, as if the high of being free of the tadpole has her ready to take on the rest of the Sword Coast single-handed. When things quiet, though, she drifts off without much preamble. A little too much wine, maybe.

Or something else. She wakes after less than an hour, screaming, actually screaming, but it's hard to tell if it's rage or terror, or a mix of the two. "He's not dead! He's not gone!"

Edited 2024-07-25 16:37 (UTC)

[ he sighs.

finally in his own quarters for the night, he doesn’t bother with his pilot suit and lays down on the cot. soft light from the computers illuminate the room just enough for the pilot to relax. even if this was meant to be a time for peace, his swollen face and black eye doesn’t hide the truth of earlier events- how his teammate tore him a new one for doing what he did, punching him repeatedly until there was nothing left. his pilot suit does a good job hiding the rest of his bruises- but doesn’t tend to them. not yet, at least.

setsuna doesn’t regret his actions, but he doubts the others really care. he’d rather carry the burden rather than let others do that. besides, what’s more blood on his hands? forty minutes in, he finally takes out a first aid kit and gets to work. he can’t pilot if he’s sore in the morning. ]

Started at the bottom, now we're still here.

MJ | MCU | OTA

Claire Bennet ∞ Heroes ∞ OTA

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Yamada 💭 OC - OTA

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Edwin Payne | Dead Boy Detectives

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rui kamishiro | project sekai

Li Xiang (Rover) | Wuthering Waves

canonblind and don't know what I'm doing, but.

EEYYY HELLO FELLOW FMA APPRECIATOR

:3 not gonna lie I'm still new to fma but loving it.

It's a heck of a ride but a fun one, I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it!

:D

hello gorgeous

he is like PRAYING u will stop calling him that but knows u will not

absolutely never <3

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edith elric | 63!fma

Harrier Du Bois | Disco Elysium | OTA

Tieve (Tav) | Baldur's Gate 3 | ota

setsuna f. seiei || gundam 00