[The day dawns as it always does - sun shining bright and clear, gleaming on the spires of the city and echoing across her streets. They have been blessed with another beautiful day, even if he can't shake the feeling that it should be raining.
He can't say why. Merely that it does and the odd half-wrongness of it lingers as he walks through the streets, manifesting itself as tendrils of shadow that cling to his robes and drip slowly into the gleaming streets. It should be the first warning sign, a signal that something is wrong. It is not, and he doesn't notice as the shadows grow teeth and claws before scuttling away into the corners. He simply moves on, the streets blurring into each other until between one moment and the next he's standing in what looks like it might be a professorial office, albeit writ a fair deal larger and in the brass and steel of Amaurot, though it nonetheless manages to feel comfortable.
(It is, perhaps, a little messier than it might typically be, the gleaming crystal of a few spare concept matrices tucked away in a corner, and the desk dusted with paperwork besides, but no one had ever claimed holding the seat he does to be easy.)
There's a moment of silence, and then a sigh as he turns away from the paperwork and reaches for the first of the concept matrices.
His fingers have barely brushed the surface of the crystal when it keens, high and shrill and unearthly, the sound rising in both pitch and volume until becomes unbearable, all-consuming. All-ending, and he flees the room as the papers ignite behind him.
He flees into chaos. The once-calm streets are filled with the sounds of screams; the smell of burning metal and ash as buildings burn, battered by a storm not of water, but stone as meteors streak down out of a blackened sky.]
The screaming echo in her ears, but that is not new—it has never stopped. Not since she first heard it. The sound of her people dying is etched into her soul as deeply as the cracks that now run through it, threatening to tear her apart. She wishes that it would.
She stands still, staring up at the sky as her people flee around her, panicked and wholly unprepared for the devastation raining down upon them. For all that many are (were) much older than her, she can't help but feel as though they are no better than children; naïve, and incapable of caring for themselves. Her predecessor's eagerness to step down from his seat was something she understood far better now. It was impossible to protect them when nothing was done to help them protect themselves.
Regardless, she finally decides on her course of action. Hair long and loose behind her like waves of fire, she forms a golden longbow in her hand, nocks a golden arrow, then lets it fly with deadly precision at a falling meteor. She does this again and again, nocking arrow after arrow of her aether, shooting as quickly as she can at the meteors and any subsequent debris too large to be safe.
It's impossible to keep up. She knows this full well but doesn't care, far too relieved to have something to focus on. Something to do. A distraction from the all the sound.
It's not as odd as it should be, to find her in the streets of Amaurot. The sound might be everywhere, ceaseless and unyielding, but this, too, is her home. Somewhere where there are people to be saved. Lives to be spared, if they can be.
He doesn't need to even so much as think about stepping up to her side, uncaring that somewhere between the Bureau of the Architect and here his hood has fallen loose, leaving pale hair to spill down around his mask and over his shoulders.
The meteors fall, and he knows - without thinking - that they will not listen to even his earth magicks. No, if he is to answer them it is to be another way, and a lance of lightning chases after one of her arrows, all but vaporizing the resultant debris.
Hemera makes herself at home in Hades' quarters, curled up in the centre of his bed, wrapped in her brand new fur cloak that all but dwarfs her current form. She has her cheek pressed against the fur she's enchanted to smell faintly of Hythlodaeus, and her hands laying near eye level as she toys absentmindedly with the delicate, golden charm bracelet her dear friend had made for her before he died.
Finding Hemera in his quarters is not, at this point, any significant surprise. Finding her wearing naught but a fur cloak is a little more so, but past noting that she is comfortable enough with him to do so he thinks nothing of it. As no doubt she has, given the way she's all but made herself at home.
(He does not, precisely, expect that she has gotten to the point where she'd be comfortable with him joining in on the relative lack of clothing, but he's in no hurry, and she'll tell him otherwise, should it be the case.)
He cannot tell how she has enchanted the fur, not when his gift has ever favored sight over smell. But he can tell that she has enchanted it, and the way she's toying with the bracelet Hytholodaeus had made gives him some idea of where her thoughts might have turned, if nothing else.
"That's new, isn't it?"
He means the fur, more than the charm bracelet. But in fairness, neither has he directly asked about the bracelet, prior.
There is a shift in the atmosphere when Hades arrives; a displacement of sound and space she senses long before he deigns to speak. It causes a her to shudder as a reflexive chill runs down her spine, and she tucks her knees further up toward her chest in response. The fingers that were toying with her bracelet move to grasp the edge of her fur cloak, tugging it securely over her shoulders with a lazy motion, and obscuring her naked torso enough that she doesn't feel exposed.
"I purchased it today," she answers, resuming her idle fondling of a particularly sparkly charm. "It looked soft... It is soft, and receptive to magic."
Hemera had never purchased anything before. It was always ever gifts or trades or something universally supplied to their people. For now it remains a bemusing—if baffling—concept, though the novelty will likely wear off soon enough.
No doubt it will, in time. It certainly has for him, though in all fairness he has several more millennia worth of needing to bother with such things. Enough that it's simply part of his view on how the world works. Still, he remembers - if vaguely - what it had been like to find such things novel, and even if he had not, he's hardly about to keep her from doing so.
"What with? If you don't mind the question."
He's well aware that Navi provides them with some manner of currency, at least on the occasions when they stop at any given world. But he hadn't been aware of that same currency being worth much, anywhere else. Certainly not enough to fund something so fine, or not by his understanding of what it might be worth.
Given the size and quality of the pelt, she assumes it was a fair enough trade. Gold was always required a bit more aether than some other elemental metals to create, but it was nothing she couldn't recover with a nap and some coffee.
"It feels nice," she informs him, shifting enough so that he has a free swathe of pelt to stroke if he's so inclined. "I've made it smell nice, too."
[For all that it might have been nice to see Gaius relax in his presence, it's not any particular surprise that he wouldn't. To say nothing of the fact that even were it not for the situation at hand, Gaius likely wouldn't have been completely relaxed in his presence. At ease, certainly, but the ease of a soldier in the presence of his commanding rather than anything that could be considered more casual. Still, he can absolutely read the gratitude in Gaius' eyes and - for now - that will do.
(Will have to do, given that if he pushes too hard, the fragile deception he's been building could well come crumbling down around him.)]
Such as they are. There have been few enough answers given to how we have arrived, save that it is Navi's doing. Presumably either to assist Navi in their attempts to escape some manner of captivity or as a side-effect of same.
[Neither of which are particularly comforting answers. They're better than nothing at all, certainly, but given there has to be any direct indication of how long 'assisting' will take nor whether or not there is actually truth to the suggestion that they will simply be able to return home once all is said and done... he can't say that he's entirely thrilled about it. Least of all for the fact that he had rather been in the middle of something prior to finding himself suddenly pulled away to a living spaceship.]
And should it not be something that is under anyone's direct control it could be possible.
[It's no less concerning, of course. Not least of all for the fact that while he is no longer acting as Garlemald's emperor, that someone was able to successfully pull him away from his work - and without his absence being noticed - is still deeply concerning. Especially given that it almost certainly means that Elidibus will be left to his own devices, if he hasn't already. But that is something that is more his concern than Gaius' - and will remain so, if he has any sort of say in the matter.
Instead, he turns to Gaius' questions. He might not be able to tell what, yet, to make of the expression that seems to come with them. But the questions themselves are simple enough to answer.]
Not a one. Until you arrived, I was the only one of our people here.
[There is, of course, another of his people on board the ship. But though he might be cleaving very close to the exact truth of Gaius' words, he knows - assumes, rather, though likely correctly - that Gaius had meant to ask after Garleans. Not any other people he might happen to share kinship with.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Dream event; cw fires, apocalyptic imagery
He can't say why. Merely that it does and the odd half-wrongness of it lingers as he walks through the streets, manifesting itself as tendrils of shadow that cling to his robes and drip slowly into the gleaming streets. It should be the first warning sign, a signal that something is wrong. It is not, and he doesn't notice as the shadows grow teeth and claws before scuttling away into the corners. He simply moves on, the streets blurring into each other until between one moment and the next he's standing in what looks like it might be a professorial office, albeit writ a fair deal larger and in the brass and steel of Amaurot, though it nonetheless manages to feel comfortable.
(It is, perhaps, a little messier than it might typically be, the gleaming crystal of a few spare concept matrices tucked away in a corner, and the desk dusted with paperwork besides, but no one had ever claimed holding the seat he does to be easy.)
There's a moment of silence, and then a sigh as he turns away from the paperwork and reaches for the first of the concept matrices.
His fingers have barely brushed the surface of the crystal when it keens, high and shrill and unearthly, the sound rising in both pitch and volume until becomes unbearable, all-consuming. All-ending, and he flees the room as the papers ignite behind him.
He flees into chaos. The once-calm streets are filled with the sounds of screams; the smell of burning metal and ash as buildings burn, battered by a storm not of water, but stone as meteors streak down out of a blackened sky.]
no subject
She stands still, staring up at the sky as her people flee around her, panicked and wholly unprepared for the devastation raining down upon them. For all that many are (were) much older than her, she can't help but feel as though they are no better than children; naïve, and incapable of caring for themselves. Her predecessor's eagerness to step down from his seat was something she understood far better now. It was impossible to protect them when nothing was done to help them protect themselves.
Regardless, she finally decides on her course of action. Hair long and loose behind her like waves of fire, she forms a golden longbow in her hand, nocks a golden arrow, then lets it fly with deadly precision at a falling meteor. She does this again and again, nocking arrow after arrow of her aether, shooting as quickly as she can at the meteors and any subsequent debris too large to be safe.
It's impossible to keep up. She knows this full well but doesn't care, far too relieved to have something to focus on. Something to do. A distraction from the all the sound.
no subject
He doesn't need to even so much as think about stepping up to her side, uncaring that somewhere between the Bureau of the Architect and here his hood has fallen loose, leaving pale hair to spill down around his mask and over his shoulders.
The meteors fall, and he knows - without thinking - that they will not listen to even his earth magicks. No, if he is to answer them it is to be another way, and a lance of lightning chases after one of her arrows, all but vaporizing the resultant debris.
sometime after her generous purchase
no subject
(He does not, precisely, expect that she has gotten to the point where she'd be comfortable with him joining in on the relative lack of clothing, but he's in no hurry, and she'll tell him otherwise, should it be the case.)
He cannot tell how she has enchanted the fur, not when his gift has ever favored sight over smell. But he can tell that she has enchanted it, and the way she's toying with the bracelet Hytholodaeus had made gives him some idea of where her thoughts might have turned, if nothing else.
"That's new, isn't it?"
He means the fur, more than the charm bracelet. But in fairness, neither has he directly asked about the bracelet, prior.
no subject
"I purchased it today," she answers, resuming her idle fondling of a particularly sparkly charm. "It looked soft... It is soft, and receptive to magic."
Hemera had never purchased anything before. It was always ever gifts or trades or something universally supplied to their people. For now it remains a bemusing—if baffling—concept, though the novelty will likely wear off soon enough.
no subject
"What with? If you don't mind the question."
He's well aware that Navi provides them with some manner of currency, at least on the occasions when they stop at any given world. But he hadn't been aware of that same currency being worth much, anywhere else. Certainly not enough to fund something so fine, or not by his understanding of what it might be worth.
no subject
Given the size and quality of the pelt, she assumes it was a fair enough trade. Gold was always required a bit more aether than some other elemental metals to create, but it was nothing she couldn't recover with a nap and some coffee.
"It feels nice," she informs him, shifting enough so that he has a free swathe of pelt to stroke if he's so inclined. "I've made it smell nice, too."
thread continuation
[For all that it might have been nice to see Gaius relax in his presence, it's not any particular surprise that he wouldn't. To say nothing of the fact that even were it not for the situation at hand, Gaius likely wouldn't have been completely relaxed in his presence. At ease, certainly, but the ease of a soldier in the presence of his commanding rather than anything that could be considered more casual. Still, he can absolutely read the gratitude in Gaius' eyes and - for now - that will do.
(Will have to do, given that if he pushes too hard, the fragile deception he's been building could well come crumbling down around him.)]
Such as they are. There have been few enough answers given to how we have arrived, save that it is Navi's doing. Presumably either to assist Navi in their attempts to escape some manner of captivity or as a side-effect of same.
[Neither of which are particularly comforting answers. They're better than nothing at all, certainly, but given there has to be any direct indication of how long 'assisting' will take nor whether or not there is actually truth to the suggestion that they will simply be able to return home once all is said and done... he can't say that he's entirely thrilled about it. Least of all for the fact that he had rather been in the middle of something prior to finding himself suddenly pulled away to a living spaceship.]
And should it not be something that is under anyone's direct control it could be possible.
[It's no less concerning, of course. Not least of all for the fact that while he is no longer acting as Garlemald's emperor, that someone was able to successfully pull him away from his work - and without his absence being noticed - is still deeply concerning. Especially given that it almost certainly means that Elidibus will be left to his own devices, if he hasn't already. But that is something that is more his concern than Gaius' - and will remain so, if he has any sort of say in the matter.
Instead, he turns to Gaius' questions. He might not be able to tell what, yet, to make of the expression that seems to come with them. But the questions themselves are simple enough to answer.]
Not a one. Until you arrived, I was the only one of our people here.
[There is, of course, another of his people on board the ship. But though he might be cleaving very close to the exact truth of Gaius' words, he knows - assumes, rather, though likely correctly - that Gaius had meant to ask after Garleans. Not any other people he might happen to share kinship with.]