also im stopping myself from going on another 3-paragraph ipc worldbuild tangent this time or so help me--
[Well. The silver lining to this. Is that, at the very least, the coffin isn't somehow crammed in here with them too...
Closets are still not generally very well-suited to holding two people at once, though. Even unnatural closets manned by some incredibly rude invisible entity--"invisible", because there sure hadn't been anyone else in the room at the time, had there? When, upon opening this wardrobe's door to check inside--Blade hovering warily beside him--the both of them had been quite forcibly shoved in by a force unseen, the door slamming quite firmly shut behind them.
And now here they are.
It's quite dark, of course, save for the outline of the closet door in itself, the lighting of the room outside seeping through the cracks but illuminating little. No sign of a light switch even with some fumbling at the walls. Luocha sighs, and tries to turn around...whoops, accidentally stepping back into Blade. Also accidentally bumping an elbow into his--side, probably? ...Oh, alright, so that was definitely his chest he just accidentally put a hand on. Okay. Turning around may already be proving harder than anticipated...]
--My apologies. Are you alright? I can't seem to reach the door from here, so it may need to be you. [To find the handle, of course. To open this closet and get them out, of course!] ...Quite an uninspired prank. Rest assured this is not at all what I was looking for here...
[In fact, Luocha is starting to rather strongly suspect that this entire stop may have been a wash altogether in the business sense, but well. That'll be a bridge to cross in a few minutes, once they're back out. ...It should only take a few minutes, right?]
( ooc. your worldbuilding powers tho... eats them up )
[ It should only take a few minutes, and yet that's not what happens.
After the first few adventures, filled with shenanigans, Blade thinks he's grown used to the random odd scenario happening here and there. It seems to just naturally come with the territory, while he travels the galaxy with his current employer, especially given the myriad of planets they visit with their own set of quirks. Getting shoved inside a closet, however, appears to have caught both of them off guard. Blade even more so than usual, because it's new. A mercenary like him doesn't end up in situations like this quite often.
There's a first time for everything, he supposes.
The closet affords them very little space. It's proven easily when Luocha all but places a palm on his chest, but he barely reacts to it. No need to make this any more awkward than it already is... Then again, it's not like this is the first time they've had to get nice and cozy. ]
I'm fine. I'll have a look.
[ To the point, as always. His hand feels around for anything that resembles a handle and... finds none. It's a flat surface no matter where he touches. ]
... I don't think there's a way to open this. I can't find the handle. [ ... ] Is it not on your end?
[ If it's a prank, then maybe they've done things in reverse? The way out is actually in front of them? ]
RIGHT...lbr tho it could apply to p much anyone in blade's life not actively trying to kill him--
[Mercenaries don't usually end up in situations like this, and merchants generally don't either, all told. Honestly, closet-shoving probably shouldn't be that common in the known universe overall...surely. ...But that just means they've tripped upon a stroke of impressively bad luck here, yet again. Perhaps by now Blade has started to notice it, the paltry fortune Luocha tends to carry about on his travels wherever he goes...he might joke about it sometimes, but really though.....
At the least, Blade's agreeable traits of "not making things weird" and "going straight to the point" readily emerge in the sort of way Luocha has come to find reassuringly reliable. This sure isn't the first time they've had to share close quarters, at this point...but, still. For his own part he's not letting that hand linger on Blade's chest for longer than a second or so anyhow, though Blade's complete lack of reaction to it is also very appreciated. Instead he's moving right on to getting the door back open, which is just as well, since--
--Hmm? There's no way to open it?]
There is no handle over there? ...I suppose this might be a sort of closet with a one-sided entrance... [Since, technically, most closets likely aren't designed with closing in people as an intention. ...But that would mean rather unfortunate news for the two of them here and now, so. Yeah, hold that thought--] The other end, however--right, that's not a bad idea either. Let me try to check.
[There's even a couple of old coats hanging towards the back, because of course there would be, goodness forbid this whole affair be too easy. Anyway, pushing those aside, and then shifting forward to plant his hands along the closet's back...after a moment or two, there's a dissatisfied hum from Luocha's end.]
Hmph. It appears solid. I do not think there is a door here either...and so our options are--oh? [Hold up. There are a few more shuffling noises.] ...Wait, there seems to be something hanging here. Flat, with a frame...a picture? [????] Or--perhaps some sort of placard? ...A light would certainly be useful about now...
it's basically everyone who has a use for him, lbr
[ Since it has been happening more and more often, Blade wonders if there is some truth behind Luocha's statement regarding his bad luck. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but nowadays, it's looking more likely that they'll be haunted by this regardless of where they go. It's even hard to consider the fact that most situations they end up in are ultimately "harmless" when it happens so frequently. Alas, there's not much he can do about it now.
When Luocha confirms that there's no door on the other side either, he begins thinking about the best ways to break through their confinement. He's got the strength, after all, to destroy what needs to go down, but then— ]
A placard? Let me see.
[ He excuses himself quietly before he tries to shimmy his way over to where said placard was found. It's a tight fit, but neither of them is carrying anything to light things up in here, so his eyesight would be the closest thing. Even still, the complete darkness makes it a hard read. ]
... There's a story on it. It's hard to make out, but I think—
[ He narrates the part that involves two souls walking into a box where they need to pay a price. One kiss is all that's needed, and then they'll be set free. ]
Is it a riddle?
alas to be a man in high demand when all u wanna do is die 😔😔
[It sure is a bit of a tight squeeze, as Blade shifts over to have a look for himself. Try as Luocha might to flatten himself accordingly against a wall to one side...now that they're both occupying this end of the closet, their shoulders end up bumping a bit anyway--another mildly awkward thing to be happening twice in a weirdly short span of time. Let's worry less about that, though, and more about what Blade's able to make out a bit painstakingly--
Luocha's frown in turn is a practically audible thing.]
That's...well. Exceptionally direct language, for a riddle. If we take that simply as surface-level instruction, though, it would mean...
[...........Well.
Honestly, maybe. It's a bit of a silver lining after all, that it's rather too dark in here for either of them to see each other's faces. In the brief pause that falls, Luocha doesn't have to avert his eyes from Blade, and Blade doesn't have to see the look that crosses his face either, so all that's left to do now is keep his tone perfectly composed. Composed, and not hinting even a bit at the very weird combo of brief feeling he finds himself suddenly having: something that's somewhere between exasperated and...
No, surely, the solution can't actually be as compromisingly simple as that--]
Of course, conclusions shouldn't be jumped to in a situation like this. [Maybe that came out a bit too abrupt, after that pause just a bit too long, but let's not worry about that. More importantly!! There's a slight shift of movenent, where Luocha's standing, as he cranes his attention back in the direction of the closet door.] ...Let's properly assess our options first. Blade, do you think you may be able to break open that door by force? Provided I stay out of the way back here, to give you an optimal amount of room to work with...
[ It might be a tight fit, but it's not the first time they've had to share a personal bubble so Blade hardly pays it any mind. Of course, if he had a say in the matter, he would rather they weren't in this situation, since that would mean they aren't stuck in a closet with no easy way out. Until they locate this placard with the weirdest riddle known to mankind— and what's worse, Luocha is implying it might not even be a riddle in the first place. ]
... Right.
[ First things first: they might as well exhaust every other possible avenue. He moves towards the opposite side, right where the "door" closed shut behind them. There's not much room for him for him to simply slam into the wooden surface so he does the next best thing— which is punching it with all the force he can muster. Repeatedly. Which is growing sillier by the second, but hey. They might as well try this one before giving up.
But after a while, it becomes clear that this isn't going to work. His closed fist rests against the door before he shakes his head at Luocha. ]
Got any other ideas?
[ Because the alternative would be to consider the placard again, and surely...? There must be another way? ]
Unless you'd rather do what the story is talking about.
[Quite literally trying to punch a way out of this closet sure is kind of silly no matter how one really slices it huh.....the good news on that front, at least, is that Luocha is the only one around to see it happen right now. Not to mention the fact that it's too dark to actually see how ridiculous it looks either, and also sometimes ridiculous times call for ridiculous measures. This brief lapse of dignity will be a secret kept safe within the confines of this closet, if nothing else!
(Not that it'll be the only secret staying in this closet forever, as they're soon to discover, but anyway......)
The bad news, of course, is that the punching does not actually work at all whatsoever. Not even necessarily for a lack of strength on Blade's part, either. Luocha is sighing sharply himself afterwards, something a bit surprised in the draw of breath. Because--]
Hmm--just now, when you were making that attempt, I sensed...there is some sort of power at work here. Holding that door shut. Not the result of an individual, but... [Well, frowning up at the closet ceiling is also completely useless at the moment, but still.] This entire compartment might be some sort of...curio?
[He's ever heard of one exactly like this...though then again, it's said there are a countless number of curios in the universe, in countless variations. Not that he has the faintest idea what function a curio like this is supposed to have...
But this revelation doesn't exactly solve the problem either way, and Blade brings up the question of the hour. Luocha is quiet for another moment or so, clearly mulling for any other ideas himself...but, honestly, it's difficult to think of any other metaphor that placard might be implying. And physically breaking out in any other way doesn't seem to actually be an option. So much for other options to check first. ...Hmmm....]
...I do not want to do anything you wouldn't be willing to do. [At length the answer comes, the words set down slowly. But there's an audible shifting sound too, and a couple steps, as Luocha draws back over to Blade.] I'm still unsure of any other way to read that "riddle" over there, but. [....] May I see your hand, at the least?
[You know, the one you were just using to punch a door for a hot minute.]
[ Blade almost sounds exasperated at that point. It makes sense that it would be something like that, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. This just means that whatever logical solutions they may come up with will likely fall short of getting them out of here, which would typically be fine and dandy, except this particular curio is asking for an even more ridiculous exchange.
If the story is truly the key here, then it just means they'll have to do exactly what it asks, right?
He can't help but sigh again, but rather than voice his further frustrations, he gives Luocha his hand without much complaint. It's the gloved one so it's hard to see the bruises he might have gained after that brief punching session. You know he's really annoyed when he doesn't even cause a fuss over the other man offering to heal him up. ]
If it's the only way to get out of here, doesn't that mean we have no choice? We can forget about it after we're done here.
[ Surely that's also what Luocha wants to happen... Right? ]
[Ah, the true dire shape of the situation's definitely becoming clear indeed, with the way Blade gives over his hand without even a hint of the usual begrudging hesitation preceding a healing. Not that Luocha can blame the man in the least for his exasperation at this point...curios in action are, after all, either surprisingly good news or astoundingly bad news, with rather few exceptions between. As it goes, when common physical laws and logic are bent into strange angles. The one silver lining here is that this setup at least hasn't turned actually lethal, but...
Well, mortification is its own sort of suffering. Of a kind. And it sure is starting to look...like they're going to have to power through some of it.
Luocha mulls over Blade's words with a quiet hum. Slender but firm fingertips curl deftly over Blade's wrist, while he lifts his left hand and the charm hanging there over it. The bruises would have been hard to make out even in better lighting, yes, but Luocha can take half a guess that at least a few have formed. Punching immovable objects tends to do that.]
...A concession made that will be a secret kept later, hm? ...So, as things stand presently, you wouldn't find it objectionable...
[Even as he's coaxing up a small and brief sprout of healing--tiny petals of a very small phantom flower flickering a moment in the gloom between them--Luocha's thoughts are still rather elsewhere. Assessing the choice that now remains to them...and the fact that Blade, at least, seems willing to get flexible for the sake of thoroughly putting this behind them later. (Which, might, be easier said than done, but--) ...As always, the most practical and direct of sentiments. That really does make this easier, doesn't it? ...Yes...so, in that case...]
Edited (me finding typos like 15 hrs later, cries....dont look at this--) 2023-08-27 15:01 (UTC)
[ It's not as if Blade finds this any easier to push through. Despite being the first to make the suggestion, his mind is filled with thoughts that are racing around a mile per minute. This isn't the first time that they were forced into a situation that made them rely on something intimate in order to survive, but that doesn't mean he would be able to just forget about it later on. He can say that's what will happen all he wants, and yet he knows better.
Part of their dynamic will be changed after this. They no longer will simply be a merchant and his bodyguard. But who knows if he even wants to go and unpack that. He certainly isn't going to be the one to bring it up.
When he feels that familiar warmth take away the pain from his hand, he doesn't quite expect Luocha to plant a kiss on top of bruised knuckles either. He should be thankful that the glow from that blossom of the abyss doesn't illuminate the shock that crosses his face. He's not even sure how he would react to it if Luocha were to notice it. ]
... Let's see if that worked.
[ His other hand, the one not kissed by the other— the one Luocha isn't holding onto, scrambles for purchase in the dark, looking to see if the closet will set them free now that the price has been paid.
It doesn't budge. ]
:') gotta build up blade's tolerance for the Real kiss after all--
[--Well. Damn. It was probably a bit too much to hope that this would be so easy, huh...Luocha sighs, as Blade tests their barrier of exit and announces the result. (Though he still hadn't entirely lowered Blade's wrist from his mouth, yet, which means there's a bit of warm breath unintentionally painting over his knuckles as well now, whoops--)]
Hmmm. I had rather hoped the least intrusive option would be acceptable...but it seems not.
[The neutral musing of his tone is probably rather ill-befitting the increasingly obligated intimacy of the situation--but, that's hardly to say that Luocha himself is entirely unaffected. Not when it does actually take a bit of effort, to keep his tone so even. Not when he can't help but already feel a bit keyed-in to Blade's every reaction, as they begin to stray into this odd territory. In the dark his expression can't be made out, no, and that's certainly a small blessing in its own way...but there's other, subtler cues to work with--things that even holding a wrist gives away, just a little. Was there a stiffening of surprise, in Blade's frame? An uptick, in that pulse point still incidentally underneath Luocha's thumb? Even that reach for the closet door was a distracted thing. Little hints, that paint a little picture, filling in what the darkness cannot, and it almost makes Luocha wish he could see the look on Blade's face. ...Almost. Of course, not truly.
Not if they are still simply a merchant and his bodyguard. ...Where a merchant would surely not be entertaining even brief thoughts like these, about his bodyguard--
(Ah, there really is...going to be a lot to unpack, after this. How long will they be able to mutually avert their eyes from that luggage, before they're outright tripping over it?)]
Some trial and error may be warranted after all. ...I suppose I did not give you much warning, with that--my apologies. I was attempting to "nip it in the bud", as it were... [You know, like ripping off a bandaid, or something. That particular element of surprise is now past, though. Unexpectedly intriguing as it might have been to observe--] ...I think...perhaps I will try your cheek next. Would that be alright?
[ At least Blade can take comfort in the fact that both of them are aiming to make this as painless as possible. Perhaps they might not be able to avoid the awkwardness factor later on, but at least they can get this over with as soon as they can. Or so Luocha has tried, and then failed to do. It figures that it wouldn't be that easy, but sometimes... Sometimes, you can't help but wish that it was, you know?
He sighs. ]
It would have been nice if it worked.
[ It sure would have, but alas. At least he doesn't try to retrieve his hand from Luocha's grip. He is, however, looking at where the man is holding him, as if questioning why he hasn't let go. It's something that he'll be thinking about while he agrees with the next line of action: ]
... Go ahead.
[ He continues to be thankful that the darkness will hide away the look on his face. It's not quite shy, not really, because he doesn't know that emotion anymore, but it's something close to it. Who knew someone like him would find himself in a situation like this? ]
[There's really no need to keep holding Blade's hand at all. The bruises have been healed, and a chaste iteration of a kiss there has been attempted; there's nothing else to be done with it, all told. Blade has every reason to wonder about it...and Luocha wouldn't be surprised if he were. Yet he also doesn't pull away, and doesn't question it aloud, and so...Luocha simply doesn't release it either.
There's no good excuse for that. ......How long has it been, since he last held anyone's hand like this?
--Since he's done what he's about to try now?
--Since he was this close, to someone warm and breathing? Like this. Drawing a pace forward as he does, when Blade states his acquiescence, and thus reducing the already crowded space between them to practically nothing at all. In that ruined building on the icy outskirts of Belobog they'd been obligated to settle close, yes, but that was still rather different from what this is now. As one hand remains gently closed around Blade's wrist, and the other settles on his shoulder--the better to get an idea of where his head's positioned in the dark. You know. Then, gauging angle by his silhouette in the low light alongside that...
The kiss is still light and prudent, at least, a brief and warm press on his cheek. While the scent of white irises crowds in again.]
...There. [Though Luocha doesn't properly pull away just yet; he already has a bit of a suspicion where the results this time are concerned, after all, and in one sense he's resigning himself to the proximity of the inevitable. But since Blade is the one with his back against the door, and free hands nearest the handle--] Any change this time?
[In retrospect, this entire affair...will decidedly not be worthwhile.
All the signs were already there, after all--warnings that really should have been heeded. From the strange lack of detail in the business request, to Blade's disquiet ever since they'd first set foot upon the Luofu...truly, this is an occasion where Luocha's curiosity should have left well enough alone. But the odd framing of the trade deal had only drawn his intrigue; he always does have a bad habit, for this sort of thing. Stepping into false setups, just to find out firsthand where the aim really lies. Perhaps if he'd more firmly insisted upon investigating this on his own, this time--ah, but no. If he'd done that...
Well, it would probably be him dead on the ground right now. And not Blade, collapsed in a thickening pool of his own blood, a spear from one of the more heavily-armored mara-struck soldiers driven into his torso. ...A sort of wound even Luocha could not reach fast enough...
--Especially not midway through being restrained, after all. There's a large number of soldiers here indeed--a veritable ambush of them, springing forth from behind the containers in this remote corner of Cloudford where a meeting had been insisted upon. Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, as they now proclaim themselves, while two of them busy themselves shoving Luocha to his knees--twisting his rapier from his grasp, wrenching his arms behind his back, a third pair of hands fisting in his hair and yanking up his chin. "Speak," comes the demand, "Where is it? That coffin you carry?" They've been lead to believe it contains a fragment of Yaoshi's power, it seems. (Luocha had not brought it along to this meeting, on a suspicion. It sits inert in the inn they had earlier discreetly booked all the way back in Starskiff Haven...) "You'll lead us to it now, or you'll be joining your dead friend over there!"
Luocha can only laugh.
Which is a bit refreshing, the sole silver lining of this entire situation. There is nobody here to hear it in this moment, after all—-just as there's nobody here to see it, the sharpness of the smile that settles upon his features. Nobody who matters, anyway...not for the next several seconds. Try as his adversaries might, to force his attention upon them, Luocha's glance remains affixed upon Blade's form so carelessly left behind their backs. His posture is loose, hardly even pretending to struggle; his tone lilts amused, practically mocking.]
Oh? You certainly have killed him, it seems. ...Goodness, I rather wish you hadn't. You're going to regret that.
[What a mess this is about to be. Quite...unfortunate....]
Edited 2023-09-19 04:15 (UTC)
some minor gore + violence, but it's v. vague! i hope that's okay flsdkfm
It all started going downhill as soon as they stepped foot in Luofu's territory. Not only did Blade's memories start going haywire, but he kept quiet about it and didn't say anything until the mara's whispers grew louder. By that point, the two of them were already ambushed by the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and soon found themselves in the thick of battle. It should have been an easy thing to win— with Blade's prowess with the sword and Luocha's healing abilities, the two of them should have swept this up cleanly.
But Blade is distracted, careless. He sees and hears things that aren't really there, ghosts from a past that was long gone and dead. It's a miracle he hasn't lost his mind just yet, but when the spear is driven right through him, the sight of blood appears to make things even worse. His vision blacks out. His body crumbles to the floor, forgotten by those who killed him in the first place. It's not long before they're hassling Luocha, demanding they're given what they seek.
That turns out to be their first mistake.
When Blade rises, he is deathly silent. There's hardly any trace of himself left in his eyes, a vibrant blood red that betrays the monster that has finally been unleashed. He cuts down the men closest to him, killing them in one fell swoop. Once the others realize what's going on, it's too little too late: Blade murders them all too. This repeats until the only ones left standing are those who were wise enough to run away and the one who brought him here in the first place.
He's now focused on Luocha, but he doesn't say anything. His whole self is covered in blood from head to toe; most of it doesn't even belong to him. The spear's blade is still in his chest, but when he moves to remove that, it's almost mechanical. Automatic. The wound starts to heal itself just like it always does when someone is cursed by Abundance.
[It's a massacre, in the plainest sense of the word. ...Not unfamiliar on an objective level, by any means; Luocha had grown long accustomed to the concept of violence in the bursts of occasion where it might occur even before he first set out to travel as a merchant, and nowadays necessary combat is ever a close shadow in this line of work. Then there's Blade's brand of violence in itself, something that had also grown familiar to work alongside of late--that unique combination of technique and careless aggression which could truly only be taken on by a man immune to any permanence of injury. He's efficient and without hesitation, when death must be delivered to the enemy...and now is no exception.
...Especially not now, it seems...
The rising of a corpse is an incredibly effective distraction, at the least; Luocha is summarily unhanded and left where he kneels on the ground, while his would-be captors become thoroughly preoccupied with scrambling for their lives. The gold-black edge of Blade's namesake sings in the air; there is screaming, and flesh rent asunder, and a great deal of blood. Luocha retrieves his rapier carefully, but with little haste. After all, he can tell--and it is already so--that by the time he slowly draws back up to his feet...
Their surroundings are already littered with corpses--that will not be rising, ever again. ...But.
For a long moment Luocha is very still, though his glance alights quite intently upon the features of the last standing man across the way. ...This is a face he knows well by now, of course. The expressions it often makes...and the eye contact it often makes, or declines to. The eyes that look back now, however...
Ah, to say nothing if how very deafening this silence is, too.
...It's a sinking sort of feeling, that accompanies a certain conclusion already being drawn. But even despite that--even despite better judgment--(even despite himself)--the blade of the rapier remains at Luocha's side, pointed downward. While his left hand is what he slowly extends, instead, the charm wrapped around his wrist loosed from his sleeve.]
Blade. ...Come here.
[This is probably a mistake. He is well aware.]
ofc, anytime 💜💜💜 more minor cw 'cause blade, dying, and violence go hand-in-hand
[ The smell of blood is thick in the air, all metallic and dangerous. It continues to drip down from the tip of his own sword, pooling at a spot near his feet. The whole sight almost feels like a setup for something more sinister, but there's a split-second where something fragile flashes through those red eyes: a flicker of someone lost until it's buried underneath the noise of mara.
He can't hear Luocha, not anymore. Seeing the charm dangling from the man's wrist should have brought him comfort, and yet— what happens is that it lures him in like a moth to flame. A moth that doused itself in gasoline, ready to set itself on fire. If only it would be easy to snuff out his own life too, but that's not a blessing he'll ever be granted in this lifetime.
Still, he walks towards the other. One step forward, followed by another, lifeless and robotic. The silence would have been deafening if it weren't for his own footsteps, but even that doesn't last forever. All it takes is another second to pass by. He raises his sword, gets into the proper position; a stance beaten into his body until he remembers it even from the grave.
He gives no warning.
And then he charges at Luocha, sword raised until he brings it down in a sweep, aiming to cut across the chest. To get rid of that arm that's trying to offer him peace disguised under the cloak of Abundance.
The only thing that shows he might have been holding himself back is how much slower this attack is compared to how it should be. Perhaps he's still trying to win against the discordance.
Perhaps he might not be completely lost. ]
just lil blade things.....our man do be goin thru it always rip
[Still no response...still not so much as a sound made. Yet there's at least plenty of information to glean all the same, from every other cue practically dripping from Blade's body alongside the actual blood. Gone are the familiar tics, the reserved cadence of his pace, in the dragging mechanical deliberation of the approach he makes now--in the absence of expression upon his face--in the blank purpose with which he readies his sword. ...But Luocha did see it, that flicker in a breath of a moment. Of someone drowning, behind the crimson in his eyes...
Someone that could yet be pulled free. If only he could be reached--
Dragging steps quicken, staccato into a charge. The sword lashes out. But Luocha doesn't draw back so much as a pace, no, because it is a slower attack--far slower than Blade would ever normally permit, when truly set upon killing intent--another small evident crack, in the mara's tightening steel grasp. (Is Blade still trying to fight it, even now? Railing against the prison of his own immortal body, overtaken by the mindless will of another?) Something tightens very strangely in Luocha's chest, in noting this, entirely divorced of the lethal danger of the sword sweeping in. ...But there's no time to review such a matter right now.
The delay is taken full advantage of; Luocha's own sword arm whips up to meet Blade's, the slender line of his rapier flashing up in a narrow parry to bat the attack aside, open up his opponent to a counter. Muscle memory, but still no easy feat; even slowed, there's still no cushioning the vicious strength of even this attempted blow, most of the impact shed sidelong but the rest still a reverberating ache through Luocha's forearm, powered through with set teeth. Act fast. This could be finished now, a coolly detached part of him says, as his glance alights upon the split-second vulnerabilities before him. The gaps in the ribcage, the tender hollow of the throat, both unarmored. Impale the heart, pierce the windpipe--succinct deaths. Kill him if the mara ever gets out of control, Blade had told him once.
Though Luocha is no longer sure if death would actually remedy this--not when Blade had just emerged from death in this state. .......And there's that other notion too, stubborn, that doesn't...want to. Snuffing Blade's life by his own hand--the idea sits surprisingly repulsive, all objective judgment aside. After all the time they've been working together. (After other feelings that have started occurring, of late.) Besides. Had they not tested this together, once before? If he could invoke his own healing here...
But he'll have to get close.
--So that's what Luocha does, in the end, against better sense. A risk taken, when he declines to drive the point of his rapier into Blade's body after all, and instead drops it once more to close the remaining distance between them instead. One step, two--reach out with his left hand, and the charm that still glints--to grab at Blade's arm, hold him still.]
Blade, listen--receive-- [--But can he invoke the divinity of the Abyss quickly enough? Even as its symbol at his wrist flares, with the Abundance's healing power...]
he's trying his best.. also feel free to decide if blade does end up stabbing him or failing!!!
[ He'd once told Luocha to not hesitate when the opportunity arises. That it's better to kill him off when he loses himself to the mara, because who knows what would happen if he's left unchecked? The opportunity comes and goes, but the opposite is what Luocha ends up doing: he engages him. He gets close. He dodges his attack, but rather than delivering the final blow, he drops his sword and destroys what little distance they had left between them.
Blade hesitates once again, as though he realizes what's happening. Fighting against the discordant noise of mara is difficult enough to do once, but doing it twice is almost impossible— and yet he does it again, in favour of giving the other man the opening he needs. He grits his teeth. His eyes flash wildly with the madness that lurks deep within. But the warm glow of the Abyss is familiar. It's salvation, he knows that. Realizes that it's exactly what he needs.
But the mara barely listens to him.
It pushes forward evermore, forcing his hand to drive his sword towards flesh. This close, it's difficult to get the momentum he needs to plunge it deeper against a solid frame, and even then, there's the added struggle of the part of him that remains lucid holding his own strength back. The blade aims to graze along the other's side, a haphazard attempt to stab the other to get rid of every obstacle that remains standing.
It's difficult to tell if Blade even realizes what's happening. If he remains lucid enough to understand what would happen if Luocha doesn't move away from him—
He wants to tell him to run. To leave him here until the mara dissipates once its hunger for blood has been satiated. But he also knows that it's the last thing the other man will do.
After everything they've been through together, it's not surprising that he hasn't left. But that's why he tries, and tries, and tries to prevent any fatal blows. ]
slaps top of luocha's head, this guy can fit so many stabbings tbqh (It's Fine he can heal!! ✨)
[It would be kinder, perhaps, to take the more sensible course of action. If not to kill Blade outright, then to at least flee when the chance was provided--earlier on, and even now, the painful flickers of hesitation that are clearly taking every ounce of Blade's stolen lucid efforts. It's not as if Luocha doesn't notice them as they happen. That he doesn't appreciate it, the immense willpower it's doubtlessly taking. When all this is said and done, he will have to apologize to the man, for the selfish route he's decided to take in insisting upon staying close.
Indeed, were it not for Blade's agonizing attempts at restraint, that sword would have likely dealt a far more grievous injury. ...But it still--
--does plunge into Luocha's side, even if it lands miraculously shy of any vital organs. The burst of pain accompanying it is immediate, nearly wrenching out a cry that Luocha just barely bites back with gritted teeth, frame shuddering as crimson promptly blossoms through clothing. --But. It's nothing new, now is it? Hardly even something major. Painful, yes, but not the worst he has known. (Nothing like the first time, under the watch of white irises, when the contract was still freshly new and he hadn't yet numbed to the thorns that would accompany it--) The hand upon Blade's shoulder doesn't loosen...tightens, even, in tandem with the other hand that now grabs at the wrist holding that sword. Not even to pull it out--can't, not yet, or risk bleeding out--but to instead drag Blade closer. Pulling their bodies near flush together, a strange embrace. The purpose is two-fold: to rob the mara of any immediate chance to properly extend Blade's limbs for another attack, and also...to bring the Abyss properly and truly to them. To envelope them both...
For this close, and in a state this heightened within Blade, Luocha can properly feel the presence of the mara for the first time. A far cry from that stirring thorny prickle in that abandoned cabin back in Jarilo-VI--no, here and now it's fully unfurled, blazes with a violently demanding hunger clawing at the body hosting it. ...It's hard to believe, but it's unmistakable, the tones of the Abundance singing through it...yet another facet, of that ravenous power. Far beyond any typical instance of mara among the long-lived Xianzhou for a fact. The potency is...practically on par with that of an Emanator--and in a vacuum that would be incredibly fascinating. But here, and now, as it tears through Blade despite his most fervent efforts...Luocha cannot help but look upon it with a vehement contempt.
How dare it try to bleed him?
As if they don't both drink from the same poisonous well. As if it has a say. As if he'll be refused. No--so long as he must carry this power--his own resolve will ever remain the same. To use it to its fullest extent, for worthwhile means. And right now, what he wants, is to speak to Blade.
How dare it try to take that away from him?]
...Quiet. Quiet. You will listen to me. [No, Blade hasn't said a word. This isn't addressed to him. There is perhaps something rather distinctly possessive about the way Luocha's hand drags from the line of Blade's shoulder to his collar, to nearly cup at his cheek in the way it curves over the side of his neck--to hold him in place, and more importantly, press the flickering rosary wrapped about his wrist practically against his pulse. The way his tone drops is uncharacteristic, even compared to past occasions of battle, a shift in key from requesting to commanding; pairing alongside it is the intensity upon his features, pain promptly forgotten, and something aflame in pale green eyes as they lock with the crimson madness in Blade's.] Stand down. Repent.
[Overpowering even the blood and death that clings to Blade's frame is the heady scent of white irises; all about their immediate vicinity, the phantom flickerings of the flowers and fluttering petals that signify Luocha's healing field spring to life, that distant sound of faint windchimes accompanying. The mending sensation accompanying it has probably always felt something like a warm breeze passing over, but this time there is a renewed fervency and intensity here. Something that means to wash over the mara, overtake it, drown it. Will it struggle?]
LSDMFOSDFLS pls......... he can't keep getting stabbed like this
[ Blade's eyes widen as he stared in shock at the sword buried in Luocha's side. The fabric of Luocha's pristine white clothes is now marred by a rapidly spreading splotch of crimson, a grotesque tableau of violence that seemed surreal in its brutality. Time itself seemed to slow down as Blade grapples with the horrifying truth of what had just transpired. What had he done? What had the mara compelled him to do?
The world around him blurrs as a disorienting wave of nausea washes over him. He feels his grip on reality slipping through his fingers, like grains of sand vanishing between his clenched fists. The anguish wells up inside him, a sickening combination of self-loathing, guilt, and a searing dread that threatens to consume him whole. The mara has taken control of his actions, forced him into this situation. It's maddening, torturous even, to be a prisoner in his own body, a spectator to his own horrific actions.
His gaze shifts from the weapon lodged in Luocha to the man himself. His eyes, usually devoid of any and all emotion, now reflect a mix of disbelief and self-recrimination. He can't bear to look at the blood staining the other man's clothes, a stark contrast to the pale purity of Luocha's whole attire. The sight of that crimson stain, evidence of his own violence, is a haunting reminder of his own mistakes.
He wants to say something, anything, to break the deafening silence that hung in the air like a shroud of despair. He wants to beg Luocha to run, to escape while there is still a chance. The words form in his mind, a plea for salvation, for mercy in the face of this escalating tragedy. But when he opens his mouth, his voice fails him. Instead of coherent words, a strangled noise claws its way out of his throat, a desperate sound that conveys his inner turmoil.
The mara, ever wicked and tenuous, lingers in the recesses of his mind, a constant and malevolent presence that seemed to feed off the chaos and suffering it caused. It whispers in his thoughts, a sinister and persistent force that urges him toward more violence, more destruction. Its sing-songy pull, like a haunting melody, has always held him captive, a seductive and destructive force that seemed insatiable.
Yet, something is different now.
Luocha's commanding tone, so contrary to his usual demeanor, pierces through the chaos in Blade's mind. It carries an intensity that he has never witnessed before. Luocha's pain seems to be forgotten, replaced by an unwavering determination that burned in his pale eyes. The mara hesitates, its vicelike grip on Blade faltering for the briefest moment. It's as if it doesn't know how to respond to this sudden change in the status quo. Fear, or perhaps shock, is evident in the mara's presence, a response Blade has never experienced before. It's as if the mara, too, is struggling to comprehend the power that Luocha holds over it. The sinister force that has driven Blade to this point now seems to waver, caught between its insatiable hunger and Luocha's overwhelming presence.
Just as the other has commanded, the mara now remains silent. Blade is impossibly still. His grip on his own sword slackens just a tiny bit, and the crazed look in his eyes has now dimmed.
This just might be the opportunity they both need to drag Blade away from its siren's call— only to lure him straight into an entirely different one. ]
there's always room for future stabbing?? also jfc how has it been weeks since i hit this back 😭
The thorns of the mara waver, hesitate--recoil as if stunned, if such a thing had capacity to experience such a feeling. As it should, that vindictive part of Luocha thinks of its own volition, still heady with the cold fury of an authority refusing to be denied. Ah, if the say were entirely his own--if he were yet sure such a thing were in his power, and did not also carry with it potential repercussions too numerous to predict in this spur of the moment--Luocha would like nothing more than to purge this poison from Blade's person in its entirety. So that he would never be taken from him again--
--but, now is not yet the time to entertain such a thought, and he knows it. (It's a surprise that the desire has even arisen as fervently and suddenly as it does; something to pore over later, the implications of his own heart there...) Far more important are the results of the present, what has been affected. That Blade now falls still, as the mara does, the fire in his eyes cooling. The grip on his sword slackening. A vast improvement, over that pained struggling of earlier.
It should be enough this time.]
Good. Breathe, as you receive this. Listen to me...it is past, now.
[Heeded as he's been, the sharp command of Luocha's earlier tone softens now. Low, soothing. Reminiscent of the voice he had used that time back, on Jarilo-VI, talking Blade down through his mara in that abandoned building...a test of the past that's indeed proving quite fruitful now, applied tenfold as it is. For a few moments longer, his hand remains against the side of Blade's neck, keeping the charm pressed there; fingertips ghost in gentle contrast over the point of the man's pulse, more soothing measures, to settle him in much the same way the flickering of the healing field around them continues to.
And then, with his other hand, Luocha reaches for the hilt of Blade's sword, gently tugging it from his grasp.
A heavy thing, quite the contrast to the artisanal lightness of Luocha's own weapon of preference. Breaths slow and carefully controlled--as the fire in his side promptly makes itself known once more--Luocha pulls the blade out of his own body, in a swift and prompt motion that is perhaps a bit too well-versed...
There's only a bit more blood allowed to spill from the wound, at least, before an iridescent bloom of the Abyss flares over his frame. Mending that particular injury, at the least--though strength completely spent is another matter entirely. Hand slipping from Blade's frame at last, Luocha sinks down to his knees as he drops the sword.]
future stabbing, i see....... also pls it's okay!! u know i'll backtag into infinity 💜
He floods his lungs with air, settling with a deep inhale and exhale rhythm as if he's trying to flush out the mara from his system. The Abyss Flower, too, works its own magic, its warm and soothing sensation engulfing the entirety of the swordsman's being, leaving nothing left for the corruption to latch onto. He leans into Luocha's touch much like a dying man who's just been given his only lifeline. His fingers cling to him, unwilling to let go.
A part of him is afraid of what would happen if he did. Would he succumb to the mara and lose himself? Or will he do something much worse?
(Later on, it'll be something he has to think about: that he's more worried about hurting Luocha than his own body.)
He doesn't even notice when his sword has been taken away from his grasp, too focused on the soft glow emanating from the charm and then the sudden weight of the other man leaning against him. His hands scramble to keep Luocha steady, sinking with him to the ground as he tries to keep his steady. ]
Luocha—
[ He almost doesn't sound like himself. The concern is evident in his voice.
The likelihood of the other man being gravely injured is low considering the man's affinity with Abundance, but still... ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rencha energy. to me. is this anything
new curio unlocked: cursed walk-in closet
also im stopping myself from going on another 3-paragraph ipc worldbuild tangent this time or so help me--[Well. The silver lining to this. Is that, at the very least, the coffin isn't somehow crammed in here with them too...
Closets are still not generally very well-suited to holding two people at once, though. Even unnatural closets manned by some incredibly rude invisible entity--"invisible", because there sure hadn't been anyone else in the room at the time, had there? When, upon opening this wardrobe's door to check inside--Blade hovering warily beside him--the both of them had been quite forcibly shoved in by a force unseen, the door slamming quite firmly shut behind them.
And now here they are.
It's quite dark, of course, save for the outline of the closet door in itself, the lighting of the room outside seeping through the cracks but illuminating little. No sign of a light switch even with some fumbling at the walls. Luocha sighs, and tries to turn around...whoops, accidentally stepping back into Blade. Also accidentally bumping an elbow into his--side, probably? ...Oh, alright, so that was definitely his chest he just accidentally put a hand on. Okay. Turning around may already be proving harder than anticipated...]
--My apologies. Are you alright? I can't seem to reach the door from here, so it may need to be you. [To find the handle, of course. To open this closet and get them out, of course!] ...Quite an uninspired prank. Rest assured this is not at all what I was looking for here...
[In fact, Luocha is starting to rather strongly suspect that this entire stop may have been a wash altogether in the business sense, but well. That'll be a bridge to cross in a few minutes, once they're back out. ...It should only take a few minutes, right?]
that is the best meme ever, omg
[ It should only take a few minutes, and yet that's not what happens.
After the first few adventures, filled with shenanigans, Blade thinks he's grown used to the random odd scenario happening here and there. It seems to just naturally come with the territory, while he travels the galaxy with his current employer, especially given the myriad of planets they visit with their own set of quirks. Getting shoved inside a closet, however, appears to have caught both of them off guard. Blade even more so than usual, because it's new. A mercenary like him doesn't end up in situations like this quite often.
There's a first time for everything, he supposes.
The closet affords them very little space. It's proven easily when Luocha all but places a palm on his chest, but he barely reacts to it. No need to make this any more awkward than it already is... Then again, it's not like this is the first time they've had to get nice and cozy. ]
I'm fine. I'll have a look.
[ To the point, as always. His hand feels around for anything that resembles a handle and... finds none. It's a flat surface no matter where he touches. ]
... I don't think there's a way to open this. I can't find the handle. [ ... ] Is it not on your end?
[ If it's a prank, then maybe they've done things in reverse? The way out is actually in front of them? ]
RIGHT...lbr tho it could apply to p much anyone in blade's life not actively trying to kill him--
At the least, Blade's agreeable traits of "not making things weird" and "going straight to the point" readily emerge in the sort of way Luocha has come to find reassuringly reliable. This sure isn't the first time they've had to share close quarters, at this point...but, still. For his own part he's not letting that hand linger on Blade's chest for longer than a second or so anyhow, though Blade's complete lack of reaction to it is also very appreciated. Instead he's moving right on to getting the door back open, which is just as well, since--
--Hmm? There's no way to open it?]
There is no handle over there? ...I suppose this might be a sort of closet with a one-sided entrance... [Since, technically, most closets likely aren't designed with closing in people as an intention. ...But that would mean rather unfortunate news for the two of them here and now, so. Yeah, hold that thought--] The other end, however--right, that's not a bad idea either. Let me try to check.
[There's even a couple of old coats hanging towards the back, because of course there would be, goodness forbid this whole affair be too easy. Anyway, pushing those aside, and then shifting forward to plant his hands along the closet's back...after a moment or two, there's a dissatisfied hum from Luocha's end.]
Hmph. It appears solid. I do not think there is a door here either...and so our options are--oh? [Hold up. There are a few more shuffling noises.] ...Wait, there seems to be something hanging here. Flat, with a frame...a picture? [????] Or--perhaps some sort of placard? ...A light would certainly be useful about now...
it's basically everyone who has a use for him, lbr
When Luocha confirms that there's no door on the other side either, he begins thinking about the best ways to break through their confinement. He's got the strength, after all, to destroy what needs to go down, but then— ]
A placard? Let me see.
[ He excuses himself quietly before he tries to shimmy his way over to where said placard was found. It's a tight fit, but neither of them is carrying anything to light things up in here, so his eyesight would be the closest thing. Even still, the complete darkness makes it a hard read. ]
... There's a story on it. It's hard to make out, but I think—
[ He narrates the part that involves two souls walking into a box where they need to pay a price. One kiss is all that's needed, and then they'll be set free. ]
Is it a riddle?
alas to be a man in high demand when all u wanna do is die 😔😔
[It sure is a bit of a tight squeeze, as Blade shifts over to have a look for himself. Try as Luocha might to flatten himself accordingly against a wall to one side...now that they're both occupying this end of the closet, their shoulders end up bumping a bit anyway--another mildly awkward thing to be happening twice in a weirdly short span of time. Let's worry less about that, though, and more about what Blade's able to make out a bit painstakingly--
Luocha's frown in turn is a practically audible thing.]
That's...well. Exceptionally direct language, for a riddle. If we take that simply as surface-level instruction, though, it would mean...
[...........Well.
Honestly, maybe. It's a bit of a silver lining after all, that it's rather too dark in here for either of them to see each other's faces. In the brief pause that falls, Luocha doesn't have to avert his eyes from Blade, and Blade doesn't have to see the look that crosses his face either, so all that's left to do now is keep his tone perfectly composed. Composed, and not hinting even a bit at the very weird combo of brief feeling he finds himself suddenly having: something that's somewhere between exasperated and...
No, surely, the solution can't actually be as compromisingly simple as that--]
Of course, conclusions shouldn't be jumped to in a situation like this. [Maybe that came out a bit too abrupt, after that pause just a bit too long, but let's not worry about that. More importantly!! There's a slight shift of movenent, where Luocha's standing, as he cranes his attention back in the direction of the closet door.] ...Let's properly assess our options first. Blade, do you think you may be able to break open that door by force? Provided I stay out of the way back here, to give you an optimal amount of room to work with...
he just wants eternal sleep...
... Right.
[ First things first: they might as well exhaust every other possible avenue. He moves towards the opposite side, right where the "door" closed shut behind them. There's not much room for him for him to simply slam into the wooden surface so he does the next best thing— which is punching it with all the force he can muster. Repeatedly. Which is growing sillier by the second, but hey. They might as well try this one before giving up.
But after a while, it becomes clear that this isn't going to work. His closed fist rests against the door before he shakes his head at Luocha. ]
Got any other ideas?
[ Because the alternative would be to consider the placard again, and surely...? There must be another way? ]
Unless you'd rather do what the story is talking about.
dont forget tho, eternal sleep is not the end :^)
(Not that it'll be the only secret staying in this closet forever, as they're soon to discover, but anyway......)
The bad news, of course, is that the punching does not actually work at all whatsoever. Not even necessarily for a lack of strength on Blade's part, either. Luocha is sighing sharply himself afterwards, something a bit surprised in the draw of breath. Because--]
Hmm--just now, when you were making that attempt, I sensed...there is some sort of power at work here. Holding that door shut. Not the result of an individual, but... [Well, frowning up at the closet ceiling is also completely useless at the moment, but still.] This entire compartment might be some sort of...curio?
[He's ever heard of one exactly like this...though then again, it's said there are a countless number of curios in the universe, in countless variations. Not that he has the faintest idea what function a curio like this is supposed to have...
But this revelation doesn't exactly solve the problem either way, and Blade brings up the question of the hour. Luocha is quiet for another moment or so, clearly mulling for any other ideas himself...but, honestly, it's difficult to think of any other metaphor that placard might be implying. And physically breaking out in any other way doesn't seem to actually be an option. So much for other options to check first. ...Hmmm....]
...I do not want to do anything you wouldn't be willing to do. [At length the answer comes, the words set down slowly. But there's an audible shifting sound too, and a couple steps, as Luocha draws back over to Blade.] I'm still unsure of any other way to read that "riddle" over there, but. [....] May I see your hand, at the least?
[You know, the one you were just using to punch a door for a hot minute.]
wow don't curse him like this
[ Blade almost sounds exasperated at that point. It makes sense that it would be something like that, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with. This just means that whatever logical solutions they may come up with will likely fall short of getting them out of here, which would typically be fine and dandy, except this particular curio is asking for an even more ridiculous exchange.
If the story is truly the key here, then it just means they'll have to do exactly what it asks, right?
He can't help but sigh again, but rather than voice his further frustrations, he gives Luocha his hand without much complaint. It's the gloved one so it's hard to see the bruises he might have gained after that brief punching session. You know he's really annoyed when he doesn't even cause a fuss over the other man offering to heal him up. ]
If it's the only way to get out of here, doesn't that mean we have no choice? We can forget about it after we're done here.
[ Surely that's also what Luocha wants to happen... Right? ]
😌✨️ wouldn't! dream of it!! also 1/2
Well, mortification is its own sort of suffering. Of a kind. And it sure is starting to look...like they're going to have to power through some of it.
Luocha mulls over Blade's words with a quiet hum. Slender but firm fingertips curl deftly over Blade's wrist, while he lifts his left hand and the charm hanging there over it. The bruises would have been hard to make out even in better lighting, yes, but Luocha can take half a guess that at least a few have formed. Punching immovable objects tends to do that.]
...A concession made that will be a secret kept later, hm? ...So, as things stand presently, you wouldn't find it objectionable...
[Even as he's coaxing up a small and brief sprout of healing--tiny petals of a very small phantom flower flickering a moment in the gloom between them--Luocha's thoughts are still rather elsewhere. Assessing the choice that now remains to them...and the fact that Blade, at least, seems willing to get flexible for the sake of thoroughly putting this behind them later. (Which, might, be easier said than done, but--) ...As always, the most practical and direct of sentiments. That really does make this easier, doesn't it? ...Yes...so, in that case...]
2/2
Before he's lifting that wrist, and pressing his lips over bandaged knuckles.]
luocha's smooth...
Part of their dynamic will be changed after this. They no longer will simply be a merchant and his bodyguard. But who knows if he even wants to go and unpack that. He certainly isn't going to be the one to bring it up.
When he feels that familiar warmth take away the pain from his hand, he doesn't quite expect Luocha to plant a kiss on top of bruised knuckles either. He should be thankful that the glow from that blossom of the abyss doesn't illuminate the shock that crosses his face. He's not even sure how he would react to it if Luocha were to notice it. ]
... Let's see if that worked.
[ His other hand, the one not kissed by the other— the one Luocha isn't holding onto, scrambles for purchase in the dark, looking to see if the closet will set them free now that the price has been paid.
It doesn't budge. ]
:') gotta build up blade's tolerance for the Real kiss after all--
Hmmm. I had rather hoped the least intrusive option would be acceptable...but it seems not.
[The neutral musing of his tone is probably rather ill-befitting the increasingly obligated intimacy of the situation--but, that's hardly to say that Luocha himself is entirely unaffected. Not when it does actually take a bit of effort, to keep his tone so even. Not when he can't help but already feel a bit keyed-in to Blade's every reaction, as they begin to stray into this odd territory. In the dark his expression can't be made out, no, and that's certainly a small blessing in its own way...but there's other, subtler cues to work with--things that even holding a wrist gives away, just a little. Was there a stiffening of surprise, in Blade's frame? An uptick, in that pulse point still incidentally underneath Luocha's thumb? Even that reach for the closet door was a distracted thing. Little hints, that paint a little picture, filling in what the darkness cannot, and it almost makes Luocha wish he could see the look on Blade's face. ...Almost. Of course, not truly.
Not if they are still simply a merchant and his bodyguard. ...Where a merchant would surely not be entertaining even brief thoughts like these, about his bodyguard--
(Ah, there really is...going to be a lot to unpack, after this. How long will they be able to mutually avert their eyes from that luggage, before they're outright tripping over it?)]
Some trial and error may be warranted after all. ...I suppose I did not give you much warning, with that--my apologies. I was attempting to "nip it in the bud", as it were... [You know, like ripping off a bandaid, or something. That particular element of surprise is now past, though.
Unexpectedly intriguing as it might have been to observe--] ...I think...perhaps I will try your cheek next. Would that be alright?this is way to go tbh... gg luocha
He sighs. ]
It would have been nice if it worked.
[ It sure would have, but alas. At least he doesn't try to retrieve his hand from Luocha's grip. He is, however, looking at where the man is holding him, as if questioning why he hasn't let go. It's something that he'll be thinking about while he agrees with the next line of action: ]
... Go ahead.
[ He continues to be thankful that the darkness will hide away the look on his face. It's not quite shy, not really, because he doesn't know that emotion anymore, but it's something close to it. Who knew someone like him would find himself in a situation like this? ]
no subject
There's no good excuse for that. ......How long has it been, since he last held anyone's hand like this?
--Since he's done what he's about to try now?
--Since he was this close, to someone warm and breathing? Like this. Drawing a pace forward as he does, when Blade states his acquiescence, and thus reducing the already crowded space between them to practically nothing at all. In that ruined building on the icy outskirts of Belobog they'd been obligated to settle close, yes, but that was still rather different from what this is now. As one hand remains gently closed around Blade's wrist, and the other settles on his shoulder--the better to get an idea of where his head's positioned in the dark. You know. Then, gauging angle by his silhouette in the low light alongside that...
The kiss is still light and prudent, at least, a brief and warm press on his cheek. While the scent of white irises crowds in again.]
...There. [Though Luocha doesn't properly pull away just yet; he already has a bit of a suspicion where the results this time are concerned, after all, and in one sense he's resigning himself to the proximity of the inevitable. But since Blade is the one with his back against the door, and free hands nearest the handle--] Any change this time?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
ah...now it's blade's turn to be smooth.......
he's not doing it on purpose
accidentally smooth is still smooth too!!
don't give him too much credit
well now he rly is doing it on purpose clearly???
i'm sure luocha can out-smooth him
he'll try his best huffs
he's already doing it
:') well look......they're both just so thirsty ur honor,
the thirst continues...
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
are you tired of being nice? don't you just want to go ape shitt
All the signs were already there, after all--warnings that really should have been heeded. From the strange lack of detail in the business request, to Blade's disquiet ever since they'd first set foot upon the Luofu...truly, this is an occasion where Luocha's curiosity should have left well enough alone. But the odd framing of the trade deal had only drawn his intrigue; he always does have a bad habit, for this sort of thing. Stepping into false setups, just to find out firsthand where the aim really lies. Perhaps if he'd more firmly insisted upon investigating this on his own, this time--ah, but no. If he'd done that...
Well, it would probably be him dead on the ground right now. And not Blade, collapsed in a thickening pool of his own blood, a spear from one of the more heavily-armored mara-struck soldiers driven into his torso. ...A sort of wound even Luocha could not reach fast enough...
--Especially not midway through being restrained, after all. There's a large number of soldiers here indeed--a veritable ambush of them, springing forth from behind the containers in this remote corner of Cloudford where a meeting had been insisted upon. Disciples of Sanctus Medicus, as they now proclaim themselves, while two of them busy themselves shoving Luocha to his knees--twisting his rapier from his grasp, wrenching his arms behind his back, a third pair of hands fisting in his hair and yanking up his chin. "Speak," comes the demand, "Where is it? That coffin you carry?" They've been lead to believe it contains a fragment of Yaoshi's power, it seems. (Luocha had not brought it along to this meeting, on a suspicion. It sits inert in the inn they had earlier discreetly booked all the way back in Starskiff Haven...) "You'll lead us to it now, or you'll be joining your dead friend over there!"
Luocha can only laugh.
Which is a bit refreshing, the sole silver lining of this entire situation. There is nobody here to hear it in this moment, after all—-just as there's nobody here to see it, the sharpness of the smile that settles upon his features. Nobody who matters, anyway...not for the next several seconds. Try as his adversaries might, to force his attention upon them, Luocha's glance remains affixed upon Blade's form so carelessly left behind their backs. His posture is loose, hardly even pretending to struggle; his tone lilts amused, practically mocking.]
Oh? You certainly have killed him, it seems. ...Goodness, I rather wish you hadn't. You're going to regret that.
[What a mess this is about to be. Quite...unfortunate....]
some minor gore + violence, but it's v. vague! i hope that's okay flsdkfm
It all started going downhill as soon as they stepped foot in Luofu's territory. Not only did Blade's memories start going haywire, but he kept quiet about it and didn't say anything until the mara's whispers grew louder. By that point, the two of them were already ambushed by the Disciples of Sanctus Medicus and soon found themselves in the thick of battle. It should have been an easy thing to win— with Blade's prowess with the sword and Luocha's healing abilities, the two of them should have swept this up cleanly.
But Blade is distracted, careless. He sees and hears things that aren't really there, ghosts from a past that was long gone and dead. It's a miracle he hasn't lost his mind just yet, but when the spear is driven right through him, the sight of blood appears to make things even worse. His vision blacks out. His body crumbles to the floor, forgotten by those who killed him in the first place. It's not long before they're hassling Luocha, demanding they're given what they seek.
That turns out to be their first mistake.
When Blade rises, he is deathly silent. There's hardly any trace of himself left in his eyes, a vibrant blood red that betrays the monster that has finally been unleashed. He cuts down the men closest to him, killing them in one fell swoop. Once the others realize what's going on, it's too little too late: Blade murders them all too. This repeats until the only ones left standing are those who were wise enough to run away and the one who brought him here in the first place.
He's now focused on Luocha, but he doesn't say anything. His whole self is covered in blood from head to toe; most of it doesn't even belong to him. The spear's blade is still in his chest, but when he moves to remove that, it's almost mechanical. Automatic. The wound starts to heal itself just like it always does when someone is cursed by Abundance.
But something's wrong.
He hasn't said a single word. ]
you're totally fine!! ty for the discretion 💕
...Especially not now, it seems...
The rising of a corpse is an incredibly effective distraction, at the least; Luocha is summarily unhanded and left where he kneels on the ground, while his would-be captors become thoroughly preoccupied with scrambling for their lives. The gold-black edge of Blade's namesake sings in the air; there is screaming, and flesh rent asunder, and a great deal of blood. Luocha retrieves his rapier carefully, but with little haste. After all, he can tell--and it is already so--that by the time he slowly draws back up to his feet...
Their surroundings are already littered with corpses--that will not be rising, ever again. ...But.
For a long moment Luocha is very still, though his glance alights quite intently upon the features of the last standing man across the way. ...This is a face he knows well by now, of course. The expressions it often makes...and the eye contact it often makes, or declines to. The eyes that look back now, however...
Ah, to say nothing if how very deafening this silence is, too.
...It's a sinking sort of feeling, that accompanies a certain conclusion already being drawn. But even despite that--even despite better judgment--(even despite himself)--the blade of the rapier remains at Luocha's side, pointed downward. While his left hand is what he slowly extends, instead, the charm wrapped around his wrist loosed from his sleeve.]
Blade. ...Come here.
[This is probably a mistake. He is well aware.]
ofc, anytime 💜💜💜 more minor cw 'cause blade, dying, and violence go hand-in-hand
He can't hear Luocha, not anymore. Seeing the charm dangling from the man's wrist should have brought him comfort, and yet— what happens is that it lures him in like a moth to flame. A moth that doused itself in gasoline, ready to set itself on fire. If only it would be easy to snuff out his own life too, but that's not a blessing he'll ever be granted in this lifetime.
Still, he walks towards the other. One step forward, followed by another, lifeless and robotic. The silence would have been deafening if it weren't for his own footsteps, but even that doesn't last forever. All it takes is another second to pass by. He raises his sword, gets into the proper position; a stance beaten into his body until he remembers it even from the grave.
He gives no warning.
And then he charges at Luocha, sword raised until he brings it down in a sweep, aiming to cut across the chest. To get rid of that arm that's trying to offer him peace disguised under the cloak of Abundance.
The only thing that shows he might have been holding himself back is how much slower this attack is compared to how it should be. Perhaps he's still trying to win against the discordance.
Perhaps he might not be completely lost. ]
just lil blade things.....our man do be goin thru it always rip
Someone that could yet be pulled free. If only he could be reached--
Dragging steps quicken, staccato into a charge. The sword lashes out. But Luocha doesn't draw back so much as a pace, no, because it is a slower attack--far slower than Blade would ever normally permit, when truly set upon killing intent--another small evident crack, in the mara's tightening steel grasp. (Is Blade still trying to fight it, even now? Railing against the prison of his own immortal body, overtaken by the mindless will of another?) Something tightens very strangely in Luocha's chest, in noting this, entirely divorced of the lethal danger of the sword sweeping in. ...But there's no time to review such a matter right now.
The delay is taken full advantage of; Luocha's own sword arm whips up to meet Blade's, the slender line of his rapier flashing up in a narrow parry to bat the attack aside, open up his opponent to a counter. Muscle memory, but still no easy feat; even slowed, there's still no cushioning the vicious strength of even this attempted blow, most of the impact shed sidelong but the rest still a reverberating ache through Luocha's forearm, powered through with set teeth. Act fast. This could be finished now, a coolly detached part of him says, as his glance alights upon the split-second vulnerabilities before him. The gaps in the ribcage, the tender hollow of the throat, both unarmored. Impale the heart, pierce the windpipe--succinct deaths. Kill him if the mara ever gets out of control, Blade had told him once.
Though Luocha is no longer sure if death would actually remedy this--not when Blade had just emerged from death in this state. .......And there's that other notion too, stubborn, that doesn't...want to. Snuffing Blade's life by his own hand--the idea sits surprisingly repulsive, all objective judgment aside. After all the time they've been working together. (After other feelings that have started occurring, of late.) Besides. Had they not tested this together, once before? If he could invoke his own healing here...
But he'll have to get close.
--So that's what Luocha does, in the end, against better sense. A risk taken, when he declines to drive the point of his rapier into Blade's body after all, and instead drops it once more to close the remaining distance between them instead. One step, two--reach out with his left hand, and the charm that still glints--to grab at Blade's arm, hold him still.]
Blade, listen--receive-- [--But can he invoke the divinity of the Abyss quickly enough? Even as its symbol at his wrist flares, with the Abundance's healing power...]
he's trying his best.. also feel free to decide if blade does end up stabbing him or failing!!!
Blade hesitates once again, as though he realizes what's happening. Fighting against the discordant noise of mara is difficult enough to do once, but doing it twice is almost impossible— and yet he does it again, in favour of giving the other man the opening he needs. He grits his teeth. His eyes flash wildly with the madness that lurks deep within. But the warm glow of the Abyss is familiar. It's salvation, he knows that. Realizes that it's exactly what he needs.
But the mara barely listens to him.
It pushes forward evermore, forcing his hand to drive his sword towards flesh. This close, it's difficult to get the momentum he needs to plunge it deeper against a solid frame, and even then, there's the added struggle of the part of him that remains lucid holding his own strength back. The blade aims to graze along the other's side, a haphazard attempt to stab the other to get rid of every obstacle that remains standing.
It's difficult to tell if Blade even realizes what's happening. If he remains lucid enough to understand what would happen if Luocha doesn't move away from him—
He wants to tell him to run. To leave him here until the mara dissipates once its hunger for blood has been satiated. But he also knows that it's the last thing the other man will do.
After everything they've been through together, it's not surprising that he hasn't left. But that's why he tries, and tries, and tries to prevent any fatal blows. ]
slaps top of luocha's head, this guy can fit so many stabbings tbqh (It's Fine he can heal!! ✨)
Indeed, were it not for Blade's agonizing attempts at restraint, that sword would have likely dealt a far more grievous injury. ...But it still--
--does plunge into Luocha's side, even if it lands miraculously shy of any vital organs. The burst of pain accompanying it is immediate, nearly wrenching out a cry that Luocha just barely bites back with gritted teeth, frame shuddering as crimson promptly blossoms through clothing. --But. It's nothing new, now is it? Hardly even something major. Painful, yes, but not the worst he has known.
(Nothing like the first time, under the watch of white irises, when the contract was still freshly new and he hadn't yet numbed to the thorns that would accompany it--)The hand upon Blade's shoulder doesn't loosen...tightens, even, in tandem with the other hand that now grabs at the wrist holding that sword. Not even to pull it out--can't, not yet, or risk bleeding out--but to instead drag Blade closer. Pulling their bodies near flush together, a strange embrace. The purpose is two-fold: to rob the mara of any immediate chance to properly extend Blade's limbs for another attack, and also...to bring the Abyss properly and truly to them. To envelope them both...For this close, and in a state this heightened within Blade, Luocha can properly feel the presence of the mara for the first time. A far cry from that stirring thorny prickle in that abandoned cabin back in Jarilo-VI--no, here and now it's fully unfurled, blazes with a violently demanding hunger clawing at the body hosting it. ...It's hard to believe, but it's unmistakable, the tones of the Abundance singing through it...yet another facet, of that ravenous power. Far beyond any typical instance of mara among the long-lived Xianzhou for a fact. The potency is...practically on par with that of an Emanator--and in a vacuum that would be incredibly fascinating. But here, and now, as it tears through Blade despite his most fervent efforts...Luocha cannot help but look upon it with a vehement contempt.
How dare it try to bleed him?
As if they don't both drink from the same poisonous well. As if it has a say. As if he'll be refused. No--so long as he must carry this power--his own resolve will ever remain the same. To use it to its fullest extent, for worthwhile means. And right now, what he wants, is to speak to Blade.
How dare it try to take that away from him?]
...Quiet. Quiet. You will listen to me. [No, Blade hasn't said a word. This isn't addressed to him. There is perhaps something rather distinctly possessive about the way Luocha's hand drags from the line of Blade's shoulder to his collar, to nearly cup at his cheek in the way it curves over the side of his neck--to hold him in place, and more importantly, press the flickering rosary wrapped about his wrist practically against his pulse. The way his tone drops is uncharacteristic, even compared to past occasions of battle, a shift in key from requesting to commanding; pairing alongside it is the intensity upon his features, pain promptly forgotten, and something aflame in pale green eyes as they lock with the crimson madness in Blade's.] Stand down. Repent.
[Overpowering even the blood and death that clings to Blade's frame is the heady scent of white irises; all about their immediate vicinity, the phantom flickerings of the flowers and fluttering petals that signify Luocha's healing field spring to life, that distant sound of faint windchimes accompanying. The mending sensation accompanying it has probably always felt something like a warm breeze passing over, but this time there is a renewed fervency and intensity here. Something that means to wash over the mara, overtake it, drown it. Will it struggle?]
LSDMFOSDFLS pls......... he can't keep getting stabbed like this
The world around him blurrs as a disorienting wave of nausea washes over him. He feels his grip on reality slipping through his fingers, like grains of sand vanishing between his clenched fists. The anguish wells up inside him, a sickening combination of self-loathing, guilt, and a searing dread that threatens to consume him whole. The mara has taken control of his actions, forced him into this situation. It's maddening, torturous even, to be a prisoner in his own body, a spectator to his own horrific actions.
His gaze shifts from the weapon lodged in Luocha to the man himself. His eyes, usually devoid of any and all emotion, now reflect a mix of disbelief and self-recrimination. He can't bear to look at the blood staining the other man's clothes, a stark contrast to the pale purity of Luocha's whole attire. The sight of that crimson stain, evidence of his own violence, is a haunting reminder of his own mistakes.
He wants to say something, anything, to break the deafening silence that hung in the air like a shroud of despair. He wants to beg Luocha to run, to escape while there is still a chance. The words form in his mind, a plea for salvation, for mercy in the face of this escalating tragedy. But when he opens his mouth, his voice fails him. Instead of coherent words, a strangled noise claws its way out of his throat, a desperate sound that conveys his inner turmoil.
The mara, ever wicked and tenuous, lingers in the recesses of his mind, a constant and malevolent presence that seemed to feed off the chaos and suffering it caused. It whispers in his thoughts, a sinister and persistent force that urges him toward more violence, more destruction. Its sing-songy pull, like a haunting melody, has always held him captive, a seductive and destructive force that seemed insatiable.
Yet, something is different now.
Luocha's commanding tone, so contrary to his usual demeanor, pierces through the chaos in Blade's mind. It carries an intensity that he has never witnessed before. Luocha's pain seems to be forgotten, replaced by an unwavering determination that burned in his pale eyes. The mara hesitates, its vicelike grip on Blade faltering for the briefest moment. It's as if it doesn't know how to respond to this sudden change in the status quo. Fear, or perhaps shock, is evident in the mara's presence, a response Blade has never experienced before. It's as if the mara, too, is struggling to comprehend the power that Luocha holds over it. The sinister force that has driven Blade to this point now seems to waver, caught between its insatiable hunger and Luocha's overwhelming presence.
Just as the other has commanded, the mara now remains silent. Blade is impossibly still. His grip on his own sword slackens just a tiny bit, and the crazed look in his eyes has now dimmed.
This just might be the opportunity they both need to drag Blade away from its siren's call— only to lure him straight into an entirely different one. ]
there's always room for future stabbing?? also jfc how has it been weeks since i hit this back 😭
The thorns of the mara waver, hesitate--recoil as if stunned, if such a thing had capacity to experience such a feeling. As it should, that vindictive part of Luocha thinks of its own volition, still heady with the cold fury of an authority refusing to be denied. Ah, if the say were entirely his own--if he were yet sure such a thing were in his power, and did not also carry with it potential repercussions too numerous to predict in this spur of the moment--Luocha would like nothing more than to purge this poison from Blade's person in its entirety. So that he would never be taken from him again--
--but, now is not yet the time to entertain such a thought, and he knows it. (It's a surprise that the desire has even arisen as fervently and suddenly as it does; something to pore over later, the implications of his own heart there...) Far more important are the results of the present, what has been affected. That Blade now falls still, as the mara does, the fire in his eyes cooling. The grip on his sword slackening. A vast improvement, over that pained struggling of earlier.
It should be enough this time.]
Good. Breathe, as you receive this. Listen to me...it is past, now.
[Heeded as he's been, the sharp command of Luocha's earlier tone softens now. Low, soothing. Reminiscent of the voice he had used that time back, on Jarilo-VI, talking Blade down through his mara in that abandoned building...a test of the past that's indeed proving quite fruitful now, applied tenfold as it is. For a few moments longer, his hand remains against the side of Blade's neck, keeping the charm pressed there; fingertips ghost in gentle contrast over the point of the man's pulse, more soothing measures, to settle him in much the same way the flickering of the healing field around them continues to.
And then, with his other hand, Luocha reaches for the hilt of Blade's sword, gently tugging it from his grasp.
A heavy thing, quite the contrast to the artisanal lightness of Luocha's own weapon of preference. Breaths slow and carefully controlled--as the fire in his side promptly makes itself known once more--Luocha pulls the blade out of his own body, in a swift and prompt motion that is perhaps a bit too well-versed...
There's only a bit more blood allowed to spill from the wound, at least, before an iridescent bloom of the Abyss flares over his frame. Mending that particular injury, at the least--though strength completely spent is another matter entirely. Hand slipping from Blade's frame at last, Luocha sinks down to his knees as he drops the sword.]
future stabbing, i see....... also pls it's okay!! u know i'll backtag into infinity 💜
He floods his lungs with air, settling with a deep inhale and exhale rhythm as if he's trying to flush out the mara from his system. The Abyss Flower, too, works its own magic, its warm and soothing sensation engulfing the entirety of the swordsman's being, leaving nothing left for the corruption to latch onto. He leans into Luocha's touch much like a dying man who's just been given his only lifeline. His fingers cling to him, unwilling to let go.
A part of him is afraid of what would happen if he did. Would he succumb to the mara and lose himself? Or will he do something much worse?
(Later on, it'll be something he has to think about: that he's more worried about hurting Luocha than his own body.)
He doesn't even notice when his sword has been taken away from his grasp, too focused on the soft glow emanating from the charm and then the sudden weight of the other man leaning against him. His hands scramble to keep Luocha steady, sinking with him to the ground as he tries to keep his steady. ]
Luocha—
[ He almost doesn't sound like himself. The concern is evident in his voice.
The likelihood of the other man being gravely injured is low considering the man's affinity with Abundance, but still... ]
Are you alright?
[ His apologies go unsaid. ]