unpocoloco | Daybreak IC Inbox

There's a short pause and then the door creaks open. A skeletal hand braces the edge of it and then the rest of his head is peeking around. He smiles weakly at the sight of her.

"Buenas noches, Imelda. Ah... thank you... for coming." There's a nervous note to his voice. "I'm sorry I don't have anything for you."

He allows her in. It's just the same as the last she saw his room, largely empty, work and papers piled on the desk, broken guitar shoved to a corner, cane to the other side, bed unslept in. He's dressed himself in his old repaired outland clothing, trying to look put together, but he's still obviously disheveled.

"I don't know if chairs were best again or the bed or the floor..."

"Buenas noches, Héctor. It's no trouble."

She's braced herself already for the sight of him as a skeleton. It's distracting, but maybe a little easier now for her to handle than it was a few days ago. Maybe because she's here to help him cover up this whole skeleton thing. It won't do anything to fix this situation, but it should make him safer. It should set her mind at ease a little.

"The floor is fine. Come sit," she tells him, making her way to the center of the room and seating herself. She motions for him to join her--there's space for him in front of her, so they can face each other this time.

"...Have you been doing alright? Other than all of this." Other than being a skeleton, she means. It's a bit of an awkward segue for her, but it feels too jarring to move right ahead without any pleasantries.

Being a skeleton doesn't bother him. It's a third into his existence that he's been dead and it's undeniably the more comfortable way to be at this point. But 'this' implies a lot of things. He settles down on the floor and rubs at his arm. He's finally allowed to face her but it's hard to meet her eyes.

"I'm managing. Caught up on most of what I missed. Strange to stay in one place like this. Haven't done that in- a long time." But his fear was winning out against any restless instincts. "Had some visits from people who know. It's been alright. Uh... you?"

She seemed well but she could put up a good front.

Managing. That's a good word for this. It's been a few nights now that they've been having these talks. Things aren't quite back to what they were before the Hollow incident, but... Well, maybe it's okay that they're not.

"It's been... better. I'm doing better." Sleep is still a little illusive, but not as much as it was before, and it shows. She's more alert these days, less exhausted looking. Her stress has certainly gone down, even for as exhausting as some of these talks have been.

"Have you tried your magic since we last talked?" The question comes a bit softer, her gaze lifting to meet his if he's looking.

"Good, that's good," he says, kicking himself mentally for how awkward this all is. Genuinely glad it's only that and not the horrible nightmare it had been.

His eyes dart a little at the question, hesitant to meet her gaze but still wanting just... to look at her and see she's looking at him. She's being careful with how raw all this still is.

"I'm... not really," He admits. "Not much. I've done a few partials but nothing complete. I don't really get far." He knows he should be trying harder but...

"It's alright." She doesn't expect him to do this alone. She just wants to know how far he's gotten before they jump into this.

"Let's start with what you've done before," she suggests. She tucks her legs underneath her, making herself comfortable. It's likely that they're going to be here a while. "Go as far as you feel you can. We can work from there."

He bobs his head numbly. Okay.

He's never actually fully shifted in front of her. A partial to prove he was dead, a brief boost to repair himself after that first time she rescued him. She hasn't had much a chance to see more.

"It's actually trickier, magically, to go partial. I have to sort of keep it... on. The whole time. Instead of just being one or the other and so it drains a lot. But it can be helpful in a pinch..." He doesn't need to explain. He's probably stalling. But he really wants to work up to this. With that done, he takes a few more quick breaths, curls his fists tight on his knees, and then exhales.

As always, the colorful markings of his face are the first to light. The rest of him follows, shining bright from his bones and casting her in his glow. From the air, that golden dust appears, moving around him. It should be gruesome, reforming a body, but it's really not in this case. Beyond the difference of exposed bone and flesh that is.

But just as he's half way through materializing, that light flickers. A shudder goes through him, then another. The flickering grows sporadic and his expression twists whether with a pain real or imagined. Suddenly it disperses. The light goes out and a skeleton is before her again head hanging. There's a tremble to his hands.

Edited 2019-03-14 05:04 (UTC)

She's never seen him transform like this before. Even so, she watches in silence without seeming too bothered by it. The way his body materializes around his bones doesn't faze her, not like it might anyone else. It's magic, pure and simple--and a magic that brings him back closer to what she remembers.

But she knows there's a catch. She's waiting for it, expecting it as the glow lights his body and the magic forms around him. She exhales when it stops, and the light fades and he's sitting there in his skeletal form. Her eyes go to his hand, trembling as they are, and it tugs on her heart.

Carefully, she reaches out and places a hand over his, trying to still it. "What happened? What made you stop there?"

His head feels split in two. One part is here, ashamed, feeling foolish, a sure disappointment when he can't do something second nature to him, something that should be so easy. But the other part is elsewhere, still screaming.

He flinches at her touch, but he doesn't withdraw. It's not her that he's cringing from.

"I'm sorry. I can't- I can't. I..." His breath comes fast and short. His hand is tense under hers, if bones can be so. "I keep feeling it. I k-keep feeling like I'm going to tear." Like the sensation on insects crawling on flesh while there's nothing, but so much worse. "T-teeth and slicing. I keep feeling everything, everything reforms and it f-feels like he's moving in m-me. I can't- I can't do this. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. He shouldn't have asked her to come here.

He flinches, but doesn't withdraw--and she doesn't either. It pains her to hear him sounding so scared, like that man is here in the room with him, still able to take him apart and hurt him.

"Héctor... Look at me." She waits for him to comply, willing herself to hold his gaze even as her own instinct is to look away. She takes a steady breath. She knows he's scared, but that only means that she has to put her own fear away for now. "He's not here; and he's not going to hurt you again. I won't let that happen."

A few more panicked breaths pass before his head does lift, a slow motion done in jerking increments. Such a simple thing, but it feels herculean.

But she's there. It hits him that, for all the shame of this, for all the problems, she's there just like she said she'd be. It's a struggle not to bow his head again after her words.

"I can't stop feeling it. I don't know what to do. He's not here but the memory is in my head. Some part of me just says I'm safer like this. I can't expect people to save me. I don't want to be... that kind of problem for people. Or you."

"You're not a problem, Héctor." At least, not regarding this. "You don't have to expect people to save you. But knowing that you have people who want to... It can help, can't it?" She doesn't expect him to be able to defend himself in a world like this. It's dangerous, and he was never supposed to be involved in the first place. This is her world, not his... But he's here now, and that means she needs to help him adjust.

"I've been talking to my brothers about how I can help. There's a rune they suggested. It'll help me find you, if you run into trouble again. It's not a permanent solution--we can work on other magic to help you defend yourself. But I think it would set both of our minds at ease, if you had something to fall back on that you couldn't lose." At least, that's how she feels. One of the worst feelings she's had is not knowing where he is or what's happened to him--and then feeling like he needed her and she didn't know to be there. She doesn't ever want to feel that way again.

It's a weak but nevertheless doubting look that comes when she tells him he's not a problem. He's been a problem of some kind or other his whole life.

But as she goes on, his free hand moves, rubbing at his arm. But knowing that you have people who want to... knowing he had people who cared... that was true, wasn't it? While it had been true with his primos, loss was too constant among them. They couldn't expend enough of themselves to mourn every soul that was lost.

And then he's blinking in surprise, first at the mention of her brothers, and then a rune . He pulls a sharp breath. "You... want to give me a tracking rune?" A way to be found again. A way to never be lost. He makes a noise between a laugh and a sob. A bit of both really. His free hand moves again, scrubbing at his face. "If found return to Imelda," He jokes, more of that not-quite-laughter following. Then quieter, head bowing a little again, he says, "Dios... is it pathetic if that sounds really good?"

Edited 2019-03-16 09:19 (UTC)

He can make that face at her all he wants. She's not going to rescind that statement, even if it's not one hundred percent true all the time. In this moment, regarding this situation, she doesn't consider him to be the problem. He's just the one dealing with the fallout.

He picks up quickly to her suggestion, and his joke even gets a little smile out of her. A small one, laced with a certain dry humor. For once, she doesn't take the chance to remark that it might have been useful ten years ago.

"No, it's not pathetic." It sounds really good to her, too, and she's glad that he seems on board with that idea. Her hand releases from his, pushing on the floor instead to help get her to her feet. "Do you have a pen around here? Or a marker? That might work better..."

It would have been useful ten years ago. He would've laughed and turned it down then but back then he was stupid. He's glad she takes the joke well because he's not sure he could handle the thought otherwise.

He exhales shakily and looks up at her just as she goes to leave. His hands follow after her, like he's going to push her up, catch her if she falls, but he never actually reaches her. Her question has him starting and rising to stand too, bracing himself one whatever he can and saying, "I do. Wait. Hang on."

He hobbles to the desk in the corner, smiles in a manner closer to a grimace, and says, "Please don't mind the mess." He pulls the top drawer open and a mess is indeed what there is. In the drawer is none of the class paperwork neatly piled but a sea of crumpled and torn pieces of paper, notes, maps and pictures and diagrams and although he's clearly tried to hide it, it's obvious that some of these things are plans, aborted or otherwise. Plans for getting home.

He digs around through it all blindly, shoving back anything that tries to escape. A sharpie is drawn out and he hands it to her, the drawer quickly slammed shut.

He warns, "We might need to re-do this at some point. My bones can get pretty dusty. Even my own markings fade a bit so a marker might not hold forever."

When he turns back to her, it's clear that she's seen the contents of that drawer, despite his efforts. There's a small crease to her brow and a contemplative expression on her face, but it vanishes again when he hands the sharpie to her. She takes it in her hand, refocusing on the task she set out to do.

"A marker like this should hold for a while... But I don't mind touching it up as needed." It doesn't take a lot of time, after all. And it's worth it, if it gives them both a little peace of mind.

Her attention turns to him, then; and her eyes look him over appraisingly for a place to sketch this rune. Finally, she motions back to the desk. "Can you sit back against this for a moment? I need you to be very still while I'm drawing this."

That she's seen anything at all, clearly enough to make that face, it has him looking sort of guilty back, eyes darting. But she doesn't comment so neither does he offer anything up.

He bobs his head at her reasoning and even goes to sit upon request. But as she asks for stillness he looks up at her.

"Where are you drawing this? I can make this easier. I know rune patterns need to be... specific. Most of my limbs can come off if they need to."

"Which is why I'm not drawing it on your limbs." There would be little point in drawing it somewhere that he might lose or injure. She's already seen him with a missing arm once. No, this needs to be some place less likely to get damaged or lost.

"Just hold still," she tells him, uncapping the marker and setting it aside. She places her free hand against his shoulder to keep him steady and seated, but the angle is still a little awkward. She tries to crouch down a little, but there's nothing but his rib cage to brace her arm against--and even then, it leaves her leaning awkwardly over him.

Finally, she gives in and takes the easiest approach. The necessity of getting this right is more important than a little momentary embarrassment. With a small but flustered "excuse me", she seats herself on his lap and leans in to rest her arm against his ribs so that she can inscribe the runes on his sternum. Her strokes are small but precise, layering symbols over one another in the exact manner that her brothers showed her. The markings trail halfway down the length of the bone before she draws back to observe her work.

It looks right. They won't be certain until he tries it. She gives a quick glance up at him, as if taking note again of how close they are in that split second. Then she's getting back to her feet and releasing his shoulder, fetching the cap and affixing it back on the marker so she doesn't have to take notice of the momentary flush in her cheeks.

"You should give it a try. Focus on the rune with your magic, and then imagine it being sent towards me."

"Huh?" He says, and just like that, she demanding him still again, gripping his shoulder. His eyes go wide and he stares, feeling breathless but definitely still breathing. It's something he notices only after a moment and a quick glance at his still moving rib cage.

Just as he thinks he's already overwhelmed by the way she's touch him now, she moves in closer and settles upon his legs. If he were flesh, he'd be red. He is dizzy. If it weren't for using his hands to brace himself up, they'd be moving to her hips on instinct and he's grateful he can't do that because that, that would make things so much worse.

When she draws back, his breath at last shudders out. She'll catch him staring at her, eyes still wide but not with fear. She's so close and he's all too aware of her, wanting to pull her close even as he remains frozen. She releases his shoulder but he's still caught by her, at least until she asks he try it out. He blinks and shakes his head, then bobs it. The bones of his fingers lift, tracing and ghosting over the marks she's left. He brings his power to work, eyes closing as his markings light, a light that travel to his fingertips, then his sternum pooling bright in the runes. He imagines it a message to her, a line between them, and pushes away every little unbidden image of her fingers tracing his sternum, of her kiss...

He laughs nervously. "Is this doing anything?"

She can't look at him right now. Her cheeks feel too hot, and she knows there's a visible flush in her face, even as she's trying to will it away. It's hard enough when she knows that he's looking at her in that way he does.

What does finally catch her attention is the chime in her thoughts--the sound of the spell activating, and a faint tugging sensation in his direction. She turns, her eyes drawn to the glowing rune on his chest, as she sets the marker down on his desk.

"I can hear it. It's working." Which means that for better or for worse, he'll always have a way to reach her if he needs it. There really won't be any excuse for getting lost again.

"It's loud enough that it'll wake me if I'm sleeping. But be mindful that there's a range on it. A few miles, at least, so it should cover the campus and most of the city. If you stay within that, I'll be able to find you."

He laughs, a faint breathy noise of relief. It worked. She can't lose him now. With luck, never again. His hand presses to his chest, holding in the light and that feeling with it.

"I won't be going farther than that besides on missions," He promises. Not willingly anyway. But his eyes trail to the desk drawer, all those plans to run. They dart to her and away.

"About... how things went before. In America. It won't happen again. I... was afraid. I'd never gotten that far before. I've been a real jerk to you these past monthes."

He hangs his head a little.

She's quiet at that. She wasn't expecting an apology--and he's not really giving one, in a sense. It's more an explanation than anything else. An acknowledgement--but not one that she's sure is true. Or if it was, then she's been something of a jerk back to him.

"Maybe." It's barely an acknowledgement in return. Not even an agreement.

It's a hard thing to admit to the things on her mind, and so after another moment of quiet contemplation, she turns instead to the desk and pulls it open. The marker is placed back inside, but she doesn't close the drawer again. She slides the papers around, looking over the notes and plans. So many crazy ideas... all to get back to Santa Cecilia.

"You've been at this a while." Her voice comes quieter. "When we first talked, I thought... this was some phase. That seeing me again reminded you of our family, and that going back was some spur of the moment idea." She hadn't realized how many attempts he'd already made, just to get back to them.

That "maybe" could mean any number of things. It keeps his head bowed.

At least until she pulls open that desk drawer. He starts, eyes going wide again and hands going out, but he freezes when it's clear he's too late. Were it with him, his heart would be pounding in his ears. She pushes through it all, his failures, his betrayals against her. The only thing that can make him tear his eyes away is the compulsion to watch her face too. What's she thinking now? Is she angry? Disgusted? Her quiet words don't illuminate. He rubs at his arm.

"It took a while to get out of the Outlands. I've only been back on Earth maybe a year or less. I got a few jobs. Under the table of course." And he still lost them. "Saved up. Tried going by boat... by plane a few times. A private one. Hopped some borders to try things out elsewhere." A whole lot of plans that had gone terribly.

His voice gets quieter. "In the Outlands... or maybe just my kind, you have to hang on to something. It has to be something you really want. I told you I was heading home before I died. It just made sense to hang on to the both of you. Coco's my reason for still being here. I hardly think about anything else but her and you. But... I'm going to try and reign it in. I'll keep my promise."

She frowns at the mention of his promise. He's still so insistent on that. On the one hand, she's glad that he won't be running off in the middle of missions, leaving her to track him down and drag him back. That was painfully difficult the first time, and she doesn't want to relive it.

But on the other hand, he all but admits that their daughter is his reason for being here.

"And yet, you've kept all of this." He might promise that he'll rein it in, but she still knows what drives him. She closes the drawer quietly, careful not to catch any of the paper as she does. And she turns back to him, a softer expression on her face, but a confidence in her voice.

"Let's try this magic of yours again," she tells him as she heads for her seat on the floor again.

He winces.

"I--" His jaw shuts again. Whatever excuse he might have made, it would be a lie. He can't bear to throw his plans away, in truth. Even as he tries not to act on them.

He expects her to be unhappy about that. He's certainly guilty enough. But that's not what he gets.

Confused but more than willing to be obedient and listen, he joins her again on the floor, as they were. He takes several breaths to steady himself, empty ribcage moving like he's still has lungs. That rune is there on display. Once again he tries to draw on that power settled in his soul.

Daybreak IC Inbox

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)