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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.

[ The moment he's emptied his bottle, Bariyan immediately reaches for one of Koltira's. The cap twists off. He flicks it away, watches it bounce over brick and vanish into the debris. ]

Neither can I.

[ He drinks more slowly now, leaning back to look around as he does so. He can see a few shadowy figures far off, moving further away. Otherwise the block remains quiet and empty. Almost unnaturally so. Hardly any sign of life, in all this destruction. Certainly no sign here....

He misses Martin, suddenly, sharply. And inexplicably; he'd just seen the boy hours ago. And would likely see him again, very soon. But a part of him remembers that Martin had died, or was dead....

Bariyan finds that he is done with his drink much sooner than he'd anticipated. He goes for the next. ]

Can you still taste, Koltira? [ He holds this bottle up, swirling it, inspecting the liquid inside. ] How well?

[It admittedly surprises Koltira to see Bariyan without Martin. But though he answers questions fully and honestly, and gives of his own story to a point, he is not the kind to pry into someone else's business--especially not now, not when he feels he has no right to anyone's story at all.

So he just drinks.]

It depends. If the flavor is powerful--certain spices, for instance--it will come through. But most food is ash in my mouth. And this-- [he shakes the bottle] tastes only of a pleasant burning.

Burning.... [ Bariyan echoes the word, trying to feel the syllables as they leave his mouth, if they leave at all; gods knew he didn't always have the breath with which to form them. And he tries to remember what burning feels like, fire at his fingertips, against his skin, mouth, throat.... no, but he forgets everything now. so quickly.

he sighs. ]

That's still more than I taste. [ He looks at his hands; he thinks. ] I miss....

[ He misses quite a few things, none of them worth saying aloud. And quite a few of them painful to think about. Perhaps that explained this sudden, keening yearning for Martin....

But no. Not yet. Gods knew Bariyan spent enough time hovering over Martin these days.

With that thought, he sighs and tips his now-empty bottle over, and sends it rolling with another flick of his wrist. Then reaches for the next drink. ]

[Koltira watches Bariyan, wanting to hear more, but, again, balking at the thought of intrusion.

He can feel a light buzz at this point; gentle and barely noticeable, but present nevertheless. It's enough to push past at least one social inhibitor.]

... go on, Bariyan.

[a beat, then, more quietly.] If you would like, I mean.

[ Bariyan keeps his silence. Not quite buzzed enough for that yet. So he waits, and he gets about three-quarters of the way through this next bottle in the meantime, and stops to let it settle in.

All right, now he's buzzed.

Bariyan leans back, holding a hand in front of his face. Clenching and unclenching his fist. ]

Sensation, mostly. [ A small lie; he does miss it, but not as much as other things. ] It was strange. At the beginning. Having to walk without feeling. I spent months trying to cope. [ Months, too, trying to avoid the rest of the world. Hoping that it had changed, and hoping that it hadn't. ] And. That's done with, now, but I still miss it all, even.... [ Pain, he's about to say, before he realizes that might be just slightly insensitive. Considering his current company.

He grins emptily. ]

That. Among other things. People. Dead, mostly. [ Or not. Bariyan turns away. Time to finish this bottle, too. ]

[That pain begins to dull as he continues on, though it's not nearly as much as he'd like. The only solution is more, of course, and fortunately that little fridge was just about full--though not, at their rate, for long.

He listens carefully to Bariyan; nods, but doesn't press.]

I understand. I miss many people, as well. [a long drink.] They were all slaughtered in the invasion that killed me.

[ Bariyan turns back to look at Koltira, then. The man is familiar now, strange and out-of-place but familiar nevertheless. And always singular, in Bariyan's mind. He finds it hard to imagine more like Koltira -- not just in undeath, but in life as well. Always alone.... ]

They were not raised, as well....?

Some were, yes. But no others in my family.

[staring up at the shattered ceiling, at the clouds roiling in the bleak sky above them.]

They were simply killed, and their corpses left to rot. [he pauses, murmuring, because he is alone, and has been for quite some time.] It was years ago.

They found rest, at least. [ He's most certainly buzzed now, otherwise Bariyan would have taken slightly more care to be considerate. But really, dying, decaying away -- an end. A proper one. They were lucky.

Bariyan frowned as he set upon the next drink. So... ]

Why just you, then.

[he's talking about himself again thIS IS NOT FAIR, BARIYAN. But he answers, regardless.]

Because I was a warrior, and the man who killed me saw that, I suppose.

[ SORRY, MAN. this one's not terribly fond of talking about himself, neither. ]

Unfortunate. [ Reason. At least there is one, for Koltira. There was some thought, some greater goal in bringing Koltira back. Someone had plans for him. Whereas Bariyan -- Bariyan, who knew so little about his own raising -- he could find no reason for his continued existence, except to cause one man unease. Unease, not something greater, not even fear. Cat had never feared him.

Reason....

Bariyan spends the next few minutes brooding into his newest drink, saying nothing. Until he's wound himself so deeply into his own thoughts that he's all but dying to claw his way back out. So he speaks, again: ]

Is there anything that justifies bringing the dead back?

[his gaze slides over to Bariyan.]

There is no justification for undeath. But priests and the like resurrect the fallen with little consequence on Azeroth, provided they are able to reach the body in time.

[a pause to drink--he's starting to feel it now, truly.]

--Why do you ask?

[ Bariyan grabs a new bottle and shifts, moving away, seeking support against a section of fallen wall. He leans his shoulder up against it, pulling one knee up, stretching his other leg out. And he resists the urge to reach for the medallion around his neck.

Revenants, undeath, resurrection and revival; none of them things that Bariyan had ever even believed in, let alone wanted any part of. Death used to be sacrosanct to him. He used to hold so fiercely to the belief that all things were to someday wind their way down to an end. The mortality of things was what made them precious. What made every day worth waking up to. His faith in the finality of endings had made up the entirety of Bariyan's outlook on life, gave him reason to exist, to be who he was....

Now that man is dead, and in his place some empty shell. This entire existence a mockery of everything he'd believed in, as if the circumstances surrounding his death had not been punishment enough.

And now. Now Bariyan's grasping at the chain around his neck. Staring blank-eyed and frozen into the distance. ]

I may have done a terrible thing.

[well, that kind of talk is definitely alarming. Koltira's progress into inebriation is painfully, frustratingly slow, so he's still very much sharp enough to focus in on what Bariyan is saying and doing. His gaze flicks from Bariyan's face to the medallion between his fingers, and Koltira frowns.]

... what do you mean?

You all-- after I. Recovered. I still don't know why you all thought that I-- [ He cuts himself off. This isn't about that. Bariyan distracts himself by drinking. When he comes back down, he looks away, slumping against the wall with his forehead pressed to concrete. And the rest comes out not in a rush, but in a slow drip. ]

But Martin did die. I killed him. He died by my hand. [ He sounds strangely flat. ] I've done so much wrong by that child, and I thought that was the worst of it, but -- it was over, then. I thought I was done. I thought -- at least -- I thought I had finally sent him home. As I had promised.

[ He is silent for a while.

Over. He had thought it finished. Eight months and then some, and done. He had thought it a passing moment, Darkov blinking in and back out of his life before he could even start to reach for the boy. Eight months. Not even a year. Nearly nothing, and had Bariyan gone on, he knew that he would have forgotten the boy's voice and his face and all his sadness, and he knew that his grief would have eventually faded to a dull ache. As all things did. He would have moved on. There would have been more mistakes, more sorrows, other children, other chances for a redemption that he would never achieve. He knew all that, even then, but he did grieve, and he had left the city, and he had found....

He looks at Koltira, now, eyes dull and spiritless. ]

I brought him back, Koltira. He was dead, and I brought him back.

And I-- [ Once more, Bariyan turns away. His next words come quiet and slow, heavy with guilt. ] --I do not know that I did the right thing.

[so RIDICULOUSLY IN DENIAL, but Koltira isn't going to press it. There's definitely something more pressing here, and it's always seemed difficult enough for Bariyan to open up to anyone, about anything. So Koltira responds carefully, keeping his voice as gently neutral as he's able.]

You say that you brought him back, eh? Tell me what happened.

[ Bariyan stiffens at the demand, and for a second he threatens to shut himself down; and then he does, a little. His heart quickly closes itself off from his mind and his words come hard and flat. ]

I don't know. You would have to ask him.

[ But he can't just leave it at that. He blinks, turns, looks back at Koltira. ] I called him back. I asked him to return. I made a contract. I am his anchor here, I... [ and, with something like a sneer: ] I keep him here.

[ Whatever expression there was on his face fades as fast as it'd come. He resumes staring at the wall, dead-eyed as ever. Done. ]

[Koltira is on his eighth bottle by now, and continuing to work quite rapidly through the collection he found in that fridge. It's not near enough for inebriation, but it's the most solid foundation for drunkenness he's experienced in--well--since coming to Exsilium, really.

He exhales as he feels the beginning of a more persistent, pleasant burning, both because of the feeling and because of how Bariyan has shut down. He stands up, stretches, and then moves to sit beside the other man--not so close that he's invading personal space, but close enough to suggest some intention of support.]

My apologies. I have never been an expert with words, and I am less so now.

[Undeath had not completely stamped out the speech patterns and mannerisms of his race, but it had done a good job of altering them irrevocably--especially when it came to any notions of subtlety.]

Bariyan ... the magic about him in the tunnel was some of the purest I've ever seen. He seemed at peace.

[in other words: Why does this distress you so?]

[closed] a long time coming

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