exsiliumlogs | [closed] a long time coming

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[closed] a long time coming

Date & Time: 10/03, RIGHT AFTER GETTING OUT OF THE CATACOMBS
Location: Startin' off at Koltira's lake but probably eventually ALL AROUND THE CITY, they're bar-hopping.... or, er, scavenging, given the recent bombings....
Characters: Koltira Deathweaver (

deadelfwalking), Bariyan e Kodhi (

stonefaith)
Summary: Bariyan cries a lot and makes some long-overdue apologies, Koltira is forced to put up with this sad sack of shit
Warnings: N/A

[ The one good thing about the bombs is that it's temporarily alleviated Bariyan's (very recent) money problems. Clean-up of the destruction has hardly even begun, yet -- which leaves Bariyan free to pick through the ruins and collect alcohol that he would have otherwise had to pay for.

He's got about seven bottles and a bucket of ice when he's through. And that's what he shows up at Koltira's lake with, a few hours later -- having had to walk the whole way over -- though at that point the seven bottles have gone down to three-and-a-half, and Bariyan is well on his way to being stupid drunk.

Which is nice. Bariyan hasn't gone drinking since... before Darkov.

He pauses to look around -- at the broken trees, the scorched land, the ruined framework of Koltira's cabin, where he spots Koltira's silhouette -- and then approaches over one of the bridges. He all but drops the bucket at Koltira's side, melted ice splashing out over the sides, and nudges it towards Koltira with his foot. ]

You. The rest. Is yours. I've already drunk.... [ Bariyan coughs, and makes a vague gesture with his hand. Then he reaches down to snatch up the half-empty bottle. ] Except this one. [ He steps back, and takes a long drink. ]

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[Koltira had returned to his home away from home to find, unsurprisingly, that his hard work of the past month and half had been half-blown up by the United Earth's bombing efforts. He was thus presently engaged in fixing the damage with his usual grim determination, starting with the delicate carvings on the archway, the work that had taken him the most time and care to complete. At least it was a distraction.

When the bucket lands in front of him, he looks up in surprise, and the feeling doubles when he sees who brought it.]

--Bariyan? What are you doing here?

[ Bariyan has to stop drinking to answer, and he first nudges the bucket a little closer to Koltira, a little more insistently. ]

Looking for you. I have. Words. For you. [ Bariyan's certainly quite a bit more chatty today than he was back down in the catacombs. As if he'd been holding back for a while, and now he's knocking the dam down. He stares at Koltira. ] But you should drink first.

[He's conflicted, because on the one hand, just what exactly was going on here, and on the other ... free alcohol. Figuring it can't hurt, he sets aside the wood carving and reaches for the bucket, taking and uncorking a bottle in one swift, practiced movement. Koltira looks back at Bariyan over the mouth of the bottle as he drinks, wary.]

Is that right? About what, precisely?

About....

[ Finish that thought? Nah. Bariyan turns away, and finishes off his bottle. He looks around for a moment but finds no good place to put it, so he sticks it back into the bucket. He almost reaches for another bottle while he's at it, before he recalls that he'd promised the rest to Koltira. Right. He's probably had enough to drink, anyway.

He sighs. ]

The things that have happened. Over the past month... two months. [ Bariyan crouches down, bringing himself on level with Koltira. He uses the edge of the bucket to steady himself. ] This may be a while.

[He almost wants to send Bariyan away. What was there to talk about? The man had been right about him, after all. Koltira was a creature of war, a conduit for violence and destruction. Hadn't the past few days alone confirmed that?

He had killed and killed, and felt better with every death, at least physically. His ever-present pain was at its lowest point since coming to this island, and it was for all the very worst reasons.

Koltira stares into his bottle, which is nearly empty already. He doesn't speak.]

[ Under normal circumstances, the silence would have bothered him, or at least set him wondering. But inebriation erases those worries. He'd come here with a goal in mind and he was damn well going to see it through to the end.

He closes his eyes. ]

I have... misjudged you. Unfairly. Back then. [ A vague gesture in the air. Only a few months ago. The memory-walking, the wrecking that Bariyan had experienced at Koltira's hands, and Martin, always Martin. Too much at once to put into words. ] I was quick to judge. I was afraid. And....

[ Silence, for a while. He opens his eyes, but looks away. Then: ]

I have not treated you well.

[softly, speaking to the bottle.]

No matter. I deserved it.

[He had, at one point, felt righteous indignation over Bariyan's treatment. He had felt bitterly wronged, deliberately misinterpreted, all of that. But anger turned inward becomes despair, and Koltira's rage is a merciless knife.

He has tried to protect these people, to do right by them, and by Bariyan and Martin most of all. To his mind, these efforts have borne only rotten fruit; they have revealed that his sole use is in the measure of his brutality. Whatever else he wants or struggles to be does not matter.

Koltira finishes the drink, and takes another.]

You did not need to come here.

[ Bariyan listens carefully, to the words, to the underlying emotions. His gaze follows the movement of Koltira's arm as the other man reaches for his next drink, back up along the shoulder, stopping on Koltira's face. He tilts his head to the side, frowning. The other man's attitude is doing more to sober Bariyan up than anything else could.

He shifts position, going from his crouch down onto his knees. ]

No. I did. [ More so than he'd initially thought, even. Bariyan steels himself. ] Koltira, hear me out.

[ He reaches out to place a hand over Koltira's arm. And he bulls on, before Koltira can shoot him down. Martin had made his amends, days ago; now Bariyan makes his. ]

I had to come. To apologize. For the things that I have said, to you, and done. You have been... good to me, despite all... all of it. [ Trials and tribulations. And Koltira had come to Bariyan's aid, without his asking, without his hesitation. He'd been strong, when Bariyan had not, and he had turned out to be the one person whom Bariyan could have trusted Martin to. When everyone else had been ready to step away, or kill him, or otherwise cause hurt. Everyone, save for Koltira.

Even at the end. Koltira was not the one whom had killed the boy, after all.

Bariyan bows his head and clenches his teeth together, pained. ]

I am sorry.

[Koltira listens, too, and does not interrupt. He wants to, but he's lived long enough to know that an apology is often made to benefit the speaker just as much, if not more than, the person to whom it's spoken. It's also clear that speaking like this is neither easy nor pleasant for Bariyan, and Koltira respects that.

But even so.]

Your words are kind, Bariyan. But. [he shakes his head, glancing at the hand on his arm.] I'm not worthy of them.

[his gaze goes to his own hand, open and palm up on his knee.] My efforts to help you were in vain. I was no more than a terror to the child. And in my efforts elsewhere ...

[he curls his fingers into his palm, remembering the Barbary mission. Ashraf's face, Thrall, Chloe, others still. How many people here had looked at him with fear or disgust in their eyes?]

I have tried to defend this place--I have tried to--

[he draws blood from his palm; shuts his eyes. The plain fact of the matter was that just about everyone he's met here has seen a monster when they've looked at him, at least once.]

I am a terror; a creature of war. A monster. There's no escaping the truth of it.

[he looks up at Bariyan with a brittle, miserable smile.] And there's no need to apologize. You were right, after all.

Hey. [ Gentle, but obviously alarmed.

His fingers tighten on Koltira's arm. Worried. What happened here? Koltira had been so insistent on defending himself, before... where was that conviction, now? ]

You know that is not true. I was wrong. Very much so. [ He stops again, some part of him balking at himself. He'd been accused of being overly prideful, once, in another life... no matter. ] You have done well, Koltira. You should know that. You should know that... things would have ended badly, if you hadn't been there. For Martin. [ Worse. Ros could be dead, Adam and Barnaby could have killed the boy, the medallion lost....

Bariyan tilts his head to the side, as if trying to look past the glow of Koltira's eyes. ]

I was never right. You denied me before. What's changed since?

[He doesn't shrug Bariyan off, but he looks away, turning his head so that his gaze is fixed on some indistinct point across the lake. His echoing voice is quiet, bitter, laced with miserable resignation.]

Some of us were called to a mission. We had orders to overtake a pirate ship and sail its stolen goods to their rightful owners.

I assaulted the ship, along with the others. I--killed--no--slaughtered so many of them-- [he pauses, because it wasn't that. They were pirates; cutthroats, pillagers, base scum. He does not mourn their deaths. He mourns that he felt so alive while killing them.]

Some of them were young, perhaps prisoners, ... I was aware enough to push them away, send them to Chloe--another transport--but.

[He clenches his open, bloodied palm into a fist.] The rest I killed without mercy, with the terrible powers I was given, and in the only way I knew how. You don't know, Bariyan. You have not seen. These powers--they do not simply kill. They devastate.

[he grits his teeth; his sharp canines biting into his lower lip.]

A number of transports saw me, watched me. And--their faces--

[he stops again, shutting his eyes, and laughs weakly.] They looked just like you did. Like you always have, until this very moment.

[Even in the tunnels, Koltira had interpreted Bariyan's reaction to him as nothing but the most distant and deep of suspicions. As was right, as was proper.]

Edited 2012-10-01 21:11 (UTC)

You put too much stock in others. [ Brusque, matter-of-fact. But Koltira's ears echo in his mind: like you always have. Had Koltira taken that much notice of him? Had it mattered? Hard to imagine for Bariyan, who remained convinced that his opinions had little bearing on anyone or anything here. Not that that has stopped him from trying, anyway.

He pushes on Koltira's shoulder, trying to turn the man back towards him. ]

People will fix on your undeath. You knew -- you know this. But you are a better man than that, Koltira, and the rest will realize the same. Some day. As I did. [ with some distaste: ] Eventually.

[he does look back, because hey, man, what's with the pushing?! But he still averts his gaze, focusing the glow of his eyes to the side, or down; anywhere but on Bariyan directly. He is suffused with self-loathing, a feeling that had been previously omnipresent, but not overwhelming, not as it is now. Dully:]

You mistake me. I have only realized the truth--a truth that you did much to help me see. My undeath is not the problem.

[he lifts his blood-streaked hand, turning it this way and that; murmurs.] It's the particulars. Things that are fixed. Things that cannot be changed, or accepted. My blood will always sing for violence ...

[and for humiliation, cruelty, agony. These desires cannot be eliminated; only fought. It is a battle, Koltira realizes, that he should face alone.]

I was anathema to the child. I brought him nothing but fear and suffering. It seems all I am able to bring. I must thank you, thank this island, truly, for tearing away my illusions otherwise.

[ Every word that Koltira speaks twists against Bariyan, paining him. Oh, this is beginning to sound uncomfortably familiar. Different man, different reasons, same crushing guilt.

He'd tried then, too. But all the words and reassurances had not been enough to shift anything and in the end Bariyan had abandoned the cause. He does not believe that things would have changed had he persisted, even now. And so he gives up here, too; a little.

His voice takes on a harder edge. ]

Stop. Enough. [ He places his hand against Koltira's chest, an echo of a gesture he had made once before. ] Leave yourself be, Koltira.

[ He grabs the last full bottle and stands, then. He holds the bottle out, but keeps it just out of reach. Koltira's not getting it if he chooses to remain seated. ]

Get up. We are going.

[He's had enough of talking about himself, anyway. There was little point in it; he was what he was, and to his mind, accepting these 'truths' about himself would only strengthen his resolve to do what was necessary, what was right. Koltira has found that it's much easier and simpler to protect people who neither care about nor like you.

And he wants that booze.

So he sighs and gets up, brushing flakes of ice off of his tunic as he does so. He's still wearing his greaves and boots, but the breastplate and so forth are in a pile nearby; a full complement of armor was too cumbersome for delicate carving work. Holding out his clean hand, Koltira wiggles his fingers in a mix of anticipation and irritation. Take-backsies are not honorable, bro.]

Give me that.

[ Bariyan only draws his arm back further, his fingers tight around the neck of the bottle. He takes a few steps back. ]

Will you come with me, then? [ He raises his eyebrows, and swirls the bottle, letting the wine gently splash up against the glass. ] I promise there'll be more if you do.

[Koltira's long ears flatten against the sides of his head in agitation. The bombings had destroyed both half of his cabin and the collection of alcohol he'd built in that half, so he had gone even longer without much to drink than usual. Gritting his teeth, he takes as many steps forward as Bariyan moved back, his hand still extended expectantly.]

Yes. Fine. I will go.

[flexing his fingers.] The bottle, if you would.

[ Bariyan almost smiles. Then he extends his arm, handing the bottle over. ]

There. And now you come with me. [ He moves forwards, until he's just half a step behind Koltira. At which point he turns and gently nudges Koltira forwards. A sign to start walking. ] I'm taking you into the city.

[Koltira remains a man of honor, and so he nods and begins to walk--though not before taking Byfrost from the ground and strapping it to his back. He's learned his lesson, there. Unholy energy flares around his body as he moves forward, and the resulting spell makes both of their steps lighter, faster.]

Whatever for? Are we to help with the rebuilding?

[he takes a long, deep swig from the bottle. Ah, that's the stuff.]

[ Something close to derision edges into his voice. His lip curls. ]

No. That is not-- [ But it dies, quickly. Bariyan sighs. Never mind. His own bitterness can be put off until later. He shakes his head as he sticks both hands into his pockets, and finds that he has to increase his own pace in order to keep up with the other man. ] We're getting you another drink.

[ Or another ten, as the case may be. ]

Ah. [lightly, as he continues to drain the bottle, his neck arching back as he tips the thing, bottom up, into his mouth.] A worthy cause in and of itself, to be sure, though I imagine they are somewhat scarce at present.

Scarcer once we get there. [ Which, Bariyan thinks, had better be sooner rather than later.

He pushes them along quickly, saying little along the way, hardly even looking at Koltira. In the silence he becomes lost in his own thoughts, as usual, but refuses to let himself dive back into the depression that now seized him whenever he was away from Martin. Instead, he wondered about the man beside him... and tried to map out a plan of attack for the city.

He has trouble navigating the streets now, with once-familiar landmarks gone to dust and old routes now blocked and unusable. He thinks; chances are, half the places he's familiar with will have been ransacked by now, or reclaimed by their owners. And Bariyan does not feel like dealing with the living.

So he swings south, skirting the outskirts of the city. The way he and Martin had returned, a week ago. Here, the bombing had been heavy and the damage is bad and it was never a particularly nice part of the city, anyway. Bariyan grins mirthlessly. ]

I hope you don't mind scavenging....

[ He takes them deep into the damage, climbing up and through the rubble. There used to be a block of bars here. Most of them are completely gone, blown away; the first one that looks promising has had most of two walls blasted out, but Bariyan spots a sparkle of glass in the wreckage that looks promising and he leads them in.

The bar counter itself is smashed, the taps destroyed, but the shelf behind still stands. Its contents are spilled over the ground. Some bottles broken, some still intact. Bariyan toes at a few and finally picks up a bottle of whiskey, shallowly cracked but still holding up. He turns to Koltira, eyebrows raised, and tosses the bottle over. ]

[The man beside him has little enough to say, either, having said all he cared to back at the lake. He's grateful that Bariyan stopped him; his sense of self need not be anyone's concern, and he had poured out his veins to Blue already. Instead, he shifts focus to the task at hand, a focus which sharpens once the rubble actually comes into view.

The destruction dismays him--he had rescued what survivors he could, but in the end that amounted to only a handful, a little drop in the enormous ocean of people that inhabited this island.]

No. I've become quite good at it.

[As he enters the wrecked bar, he thinks that at least he can ensure nothing here goes to waste. Koltira clears away debris easily, lifting large slabs of plaster and wood without much thought, and catches the tossed bottle with one hand when Bariyan throws it. He drinks as he keeps searching, pulling apart a large mass of splintered wood, concrete, and chunks of ceiling in one corner. Miraculously, there's a steel fridge beneath all of this, largely intact.]

This'll do.

Edited 2012-10-04 00:04 (UTC)

[ Bariyan's picked up his own drink by then -- going for the nearest bottle at hand, not even looking to see what it was, hell, it could be poison for all he cared -- but he turns when Koltira speaks, and saunters over. He taps the fridge door with his knuckles and smiles, before pulling the door open to inspect the contents. ]

Suppose it will. Looks like the power's been cut off, though....

[ He shuts the door again and takes a few steps back, finishing off his current bottle while he's at it. Then he seats himself on the rubble, rolling another bottle his way with his foot and picking that up.

Bariyan makes a vague gesture back to the fridge. ]

Want to freeze that? Most of it might taste better chilled. [ Not that Bariyan would know. He shrugs, and knocks back his new drink. ]

Of course.

[he sets a hand on top of the fridge, and frost energy flows from his palm; in moments, icicles form on the handle and all around the perimeter of the door. Koltira pops it open and takes out half a dozen of the still-intact stock, then settles himself next to Bariyan. He stretches out his long legs as he opens a fresh drink, looking around the ruined bar.]

I can't recall the last time I was in such a peaceful establishment.

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