[ It's a brutal memory—he can feel the resistance of crumpled bone and flesh beneath his hands, like they're his own. A cold cell and scorching brand. Nehan is a stoic, he's certainly seen violence, and even so there is a moment his jaw locks tight, his expression shaken.
He recovers when the scene ends, looking tense but waving off the darkness as it finally recedes. ]
...Go sit.
[ It's a large greenhouse, there's a bench or two by the aquatic plants to rest on. ] I'll be there in a moment.
[ As the shadows withdraw, Aventurine is left staring at the ground. He doesn't move until he's told to sit, and when he walks toward the benches, when he sits down at one of them, it all feels automatic.
He presses shaking hands together and, when that doesn't help, he drops his face down into his hands, the heels of his palms digging into his closed eyes as if to try and push what he'd seen out. What was that? What was that? He's reminded of his nightmares and how often that scene visits his dreams to torment him, but never before has it been so clear, so visceral.
There's an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, and Aventurine focuses on breathing in and out. ]
[ He moves quickly despite the cane, collecting a small bundle of herbs and tiny, daisylike flowers. They get placed beside Aventurine as Nehan sits next to him. ]
Brew these later. It'll help with your nerves.
[ Though he doesn't expect tea will fix this. He speaks carefully. ]
That was... a memory of yours?
[ Judging by his reaction, this wasn't just some baseless, shared hallucination. ]
[ His hands fall away from his eyes to glance down at the bundle placed next to him, and he nods once before returning a hand against his forehead. ]
... Yeah. I don't know why that happened.
[ Another effect of this place, surely. Maybe it wouldn't have struck him so hard if the nightmares hadn't become more frequent after his first death, but it feels more personal now to witness his unconscious mind follow him into the waking world. ]
What are you apologizing to me for? We can't control what happens here.
[ The effects are a nightmare. After a moment, he very, very cautiously leans against his side, like this is something that takes both care and deliberation. ]
...I'm sorry. It takes a lot to live.
[ Aventurine had said before that his goal in life, for a time, was to survive. It's sobering to see what the cost had been. ]
[ When Nehan carefully leans against him, Aventurine doesn't flinch or grow tense or pull away. He leans right back, having grown used to whatever this is after just having gone through affection week.
They can sit like this in silence for a few minutes, until the shaking eventually subsides, and the hand that Aventurine has pressed on his forehead slides down until it comes to rest against the brand on the side of his neck.
It's black in color now. No longer the painful red. ]
[ Whatever the hell this is. Nehan is calm and still, even-keeled as he waits out the worst of Aventurine's recovery. He doesn't do more than balance their weight against each other, nodding once and trying not to look at his neck. ]
Okay.
[ He may be a doctor, but he doesn't mourn every death. ]
How long did it take you?
[ How many years before he got the opportunity to murder his way out. ]
[ He curls his fingers, blunt nails scraping against skin, but he stops when Nehan's question pulls him out of the encroaching darkness to offer a distraction. ]
Not long.
[ Aventurine, ever the opportunist, had seized the chance the second it had become available to him. It's a thought that threatens to sink him back under, and so he grasps at something else, anything else, the hand on his neck dropping down to the bench they're sitting on so he can gently pick at the collected bundle still sitting there. ]
[ Not long. It's answer enough. He doesn't call him out for changing the subject this time, fiddling with a fallen leaf that's crackled off a dry stalk of herbs in the little bundle of plants as he offers the least committal answer. ]
...Who knows? Maybe. This place does seem to react to our presence, and I've been here longest.
[ Though he's only got a narrow lead over Aventurine. He straightens up a bit, not quite fully drawn away but more reserved again. ]
If you're feeling well enough to ask questions, you should go.
[ Ah, maybe it's because he hadn't expected to be dismissed so soon, but disappointment drops like a heavy stone against his chest. He takes a final look around the greenhouse, part of him wondering why nothing like this seems to have manifested for him.
Probably because he doesn't know what he wants. ]
Sure.
[ He's understanding. He's made this uncomfortable. Aventurine gathers the bundle left out for him, then rises back to his feet, breaking their contact. He's unsteadied for just a moment as he stands, but manages just fine as strength begins to return to his legs. Before he goes, he remembers what had initially brought him here. ]
[ Nehan watches him get up with a stony expression, the same, trained poker face as usual. It's almost too still, a tenseness down his arms like he's keeping them there deliberately. ]
...I'll give them a report. Now get moving before it happens again.
[ There's a second of hesitation, then. One pause, whether to remind Aventurine to brew his stupid tea or just not to bother him. It's enough for the darkness to slip back in, blotting out the greenhouse entirely. congrats you get to see his mangy child portrait
(cw: trafficking, child abuse, slavery)
"The moment you were dumb enough to get kidnapped, you lost your right to talk big."
—A young boy wheezes as he sits up, touching a tender spot on his torso, pulling in short, shallow breaths after the air's been kicked out of his lungs. He moves his fingers shakily, assessing. It hurts, but it's not broken. Just a bruised rib, maybe.
But it's still hard to breathe, for different reasons, dread building up and up until it's like it's over his head, like he's drowning in it. The stone floor is so cold it feels wet; they didn't remember to feed him, or just didn't feel like it; the pain is—it's obviously a lesson. He's supposed to learn that this is life now, pain is what happens if he steps out of line again, if he doesn't prove he's worth the money spent on him. The dizzying realization that these people genuinely think of him as their slave is—
He startles when he realizes there's another boy in the cell. A good-natured one, who asks after his injuries and then huddles up close. It's easier not to panic when they talk, even if it's just to commiserate. He's not used to the proximity, but the other boy teaches him a necessary lesson too, if a gentler one: how not to freeze to death.
"What say we lean against each other? Won't do anything for the pain, but at least it'll keep us warm."
...His first night after being sold, Nehan recollects his thoughts. His owners didn't recognize the color of his hair or the shape of his ears; they didn't confiscate his little satchel of seemingly useless, cracked leaves and dried, astringent berries. So they don't realize he's from Karm yet. They don't know how valuable Karm's secrets are, and how many of them he knows, their recipes and flowers and irreplaceable formulas. They're secrets he can still safeguard, if he's careful, if he survives, if he's strong.
He leans against the other boy, and eventually falls asleep starving, aching, but not so cold. ]
[ Suddenly, he's returned to the imagery of a cell, and he staggers back when this memory takes place around him. It isn't hard to place to the boy, his unmistakable appearance having grown familiar in the span of a short time, but to see him so small and frail causes Aventurine to catch his breath.
He's frozen in place as he watches the scene unfold, the unsettling cold seeping under his skin to sink to the bone along with these children. There's an ache in his chest at watching the two of them huddle together for comfort and warmth, part of him relieved they have each other, but the other far more aggrieved at seeing them in such a wretched state. No matter the worlds, there's always cruelty to be found.
It's difficult to pull himself away from the strong immersion of what the darkness is showing him, but after a moment, Aventurine manages to do so. He tears his stricken gaze away, searching for this memory's keeper. ]
[ He's thought and dreamed of this moment countless times; this lost, gormless child that he used to be, shaking pathetically in the first of many cages. The other boy—he thinks of him often, but he's surprised at how many of his features he's forgotten.
His good hand is clenched into a tight fist, but his expression is carefully neutral, besides one of his ears flicking. ]
I'm here.
[ He watches the darkness as the rest plays out. A second, predictable half.
—Because he gets sick. Ash is his name. Plenty of the other slaves get sick, whether it's from testing or neglect. You either eke out a living, or you aren't worth keeping alive; Ash is malnourished and ordinary, and he's not going to get treatment or survive a bout of illness. Nehan knows that. Looking over his condition, he knows that he's already in the active process of dying.
"Hold on!"
It doesn't matter. He doesn't think twice, digging into his meager supplies.
"Here, chew on this grass—should alleviate the pain a bit..." He urges him, voice crackling with more desperation than encouragement. Ash is conscious enough to listen, biting down slowly on the herbs held to his mouth, but he can't even answer, his breathing pained and erratic, so Nehan startles and lies some more. His voice breaks against the words. "You'll make it through this!"
He hovers and tries to treat him, but with what? A handful of painkillers? Kindness? The other boy eventually stops writhing, too weak for even that; eventually, as expected, he dies. They don't even come to collect his corpse right away.
And he's tired; it's not as though this is his first foray with death. But it's still strangely devastating, this person turned property turned forgotten body, left cooling in his cell. He backpedals away from the corpse until he's at the far wall, head bumping against the cold stone and ears flattening against his head as he just—he lets the truth of it all finally settle into all his corners, without any delirious veneer of hope and company: this was his life, and it was never meant to turn out any better. He lets out an exhausted, distraught sob, then another. Quiet and shivering and pointless.
He forgets to clean up the chewed up blades of grass. ]
[ So much for that small bit of relief he'd felt in the two children at least having each other.
There's nothing he can do as he watches the young Nehan desperately try and help the sickly boy. He can only stand there, hands balled into fists at his sides, as he turns his head away with a grimace when the boy finally passes. It sinks his heart into the pits of his stomach. After all, doesn't he know this feeling almost too well? The helplessness, the quiet pleading, the dark thoughts that that twist grief into guilt.
He knows it's pointless to try, but that doesn't stop him from forcing his legs to move, to carry him toward that small child in order to crouch down in front of him. It's no use when he reaches out in an attempt to wipe away tears, his hand passing through the image, but Aventurine still does it.
He'll stay there for as long as he can, listening to the boy sob as if wanting to share in the anguish. ]
[ There is a certain distance in Nehan's expression, like he's removed himself so far from his own memory; he doesn't allow himself to get any more absorbed into what's happening, tense and affected but unwilling to snap. What he can't ignore is Aventurine's reaction to it, watching him with uncertainty. It's pointless, but not unkind.
He can accompany this pathetic baby as he cries for a while, until the darkness does fade eventually, the edges of the cell blurring back into a real and broken greenhouse.
Nehan lets out a long, uneven exhale. ]
...This is why I told you to leave. It's hardly pleasant.
[ It feels ridiculous, inflicting his childhood on the one man who needed to see it least. ]
[ He remains crouched where he is as the shadows recede, gaze trained on the spot where the child had been, replaced now by the plants of the greenhouse. Every part of him feels heavy, from his shoulders to his heart, and Aventurine is quiet as he thinks about what he'd just seen. ]
... It's only fair... After what you had to see.
[ When he finally stands back up, he looks down to his other hand, the one that hadn't reached out to the boy, to study the bundle of herbs and flowers Nehan had collected for him. ]
This isn't how either of us should have learned about the other.
[ He eyes the little bundle of plants himself—it's more variety than he'd been able to give to Ash, but it's still not very much. He doesn't expect it to help much. ]
No, probably not.
[ He sounds indifferent; he doesn't care how many people out there know about his past. But it does feel wrong to wring someone's secrets out like this, and to inflict his in such a visceral way. ]
... Where I'm from, most people know what a commodity code is. [ He taps at where the brand sits on his neck. ] And my eyes, well. There's a story behind those, too.
[ Avgin eyes. The eyes of liars, thieves, and social manipulators. ]
Usually, people can take one look at me and think they know who I am. I guess I thought it was nice, being here... not having people know.
[ So no, he doesn't think he would have said anything. He's never had to. ]
Even getting abducted by a cult isn't enough to get away from the past, I suppose.
[ His mouth pulls into a thin frown; he has plenty of scars, enough to tell a story, but those still aren't brands. Nehan touches his own throat, signaling to the burned-on mark. ]
...You don't cover it up? [ It's a little high on his neck, but not impossible to hide. ]
[ When losing your owner doesn't mean you get to be your own person. He doesn't quite smile back, though he finally unwinds the worst of the tension that's strung through him and sags a little, resigned. What's the point of chasing him off now? ]
It explains a bit.
[ Like some of the wavelengths they share. It's enlightening, in a terrible way, knowing what sort of life Aventurine has come from... and that's about it. The world hasn't ended. ]
But it hasn't changed anything. Perceptions shift around when the truth comes out, but you're still you. [ ... ] A pest.
[ There's a quiet moment of consideration as he regards Nehan. He won't be forgetting the small, skinny boy from the memory any time soon, but seeing him grown, a serene greenhouse as his backdrop, tension from before now loosened...
Some things don't feel as hopeless. ]
And you're still you. [ He takes a step forward, crowds into Nehan's space. Not so different from when they'd first met as Aventurine reaches out to tuck a stray strand of Nehan's hair back into place. ] Someone fun to pester.
[ But this time, he doesn't stay for long, pulling back just as quickly to hold up the bundle. What had happened might as well not have with how smoothly he moves along. ]
Thanks for this. I'll see what I can do with them.
[ He accepts this without startling; he doesn't have much of a personal bubble, considering the circumstances, and they're a little past the point of shying away from each other anyway.
...Though he really should just drive Aventurine off, like he'd done earlier. Even if it'd obviously stung. But the memory still sits in his mind, that hopeless expression paired with a red-hot brand, and he reaches out without thinking, closing his hand lightly over Aventurine's own to push the little bouquet into his chest. ]
See that you do.
[ He'll chalk this up to more of their stupid back-and-forth, the one-upmanship. He only holds there for a moment before drawing away. BYE FOREVER!!!! throws this thread on the ground ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
He recovers when the scene ends, looking tense but waving off the darkness as it finally recedes. ]
...Go sit.
[ It's a large greenhouse, there's a bench or two by the aquatic plants to rest on. ] I'll be there in a moment.
no subject
He presses shaking hands together and, when that doesn't help, he drops his face down into his hands, the heels of his palms digging into his closed eyes as if to try and push what he'd seen out. What was that? What was that? He's reminded of his nightmares and how often that scene visits his dreams to torment him, but never before has it been so clear, so visceral.
There's an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach, and Aventurine focuses on breathing in and out. ]
no subject
Brew these later. It'll help with your nerves.
[ Though he doesn't expect tea will fix this. He speaks carefully. ]
That was... a memory of yours?
[ Judging by his reaction, this wasn't just some baseless, shared hallucination. ]
no subject
... Yeah. I don't know why that happened.
[ Another effect of this place, surely. Maybe it wouldn't have struck him so hard if the nightmares hadn't become more frequent after his first death, but it feels more personal now to witness his unconscious mind follow him into the waking world. ]
Sorry. That was unpleasant.
no subject
What are you apologizing to me for? We can't control what happens here.
[ The effects are a nightmare. After a moment, he very, very cautiously leans against his side, like this is something that takes both care and deliberation. ]
...I'm sorry. It takes a lot to live.
[ Aventurine had said before that his goal in life, for a time, was to survive. It's sobering to see what the cost had been. ]
no subject
They can sit like this in silence for a few minutes, until the shaking eventually subsides, and the hand that Aventurine has pressed on his forehead slides down until it comes to rest against the brand on the side of his neck.
It's black in color now. No longer the painful red. ]
I killed him, by the way. That man you saw.
[ His master. ]
no subject
Okay.
[ He may be a doctor, but he doesn't mourn every death. ]
How long did it take you?
[ How many years before he got the opportunity to murder his way out. ]
no subject
Not long.
[ Aventurine, ever the opportunist, had seized the chance the second it had become available to him. It's a thought that threatens to sink him back under, and so he grasps at something else, anything else, the hand on his neck dropping down to the bench they're sitting on so he can gently pick at the collected bundle still sitting there. ]
... Is this greenhouse because of you, Nehan?
no subject
...Who knows? Maybe. This place does seem to react to our presence, and I've been here longest.
[ Though he's only got a narrow lead over Aventurine. He straightens up a bit, not quite fully drawn away but more reserved again. ]
If you're feeling well enough to ask questions, you should go.
no subject
Probably because he doesn't know what he wants. ]
Sure.
[ He's understanding. He's made this uncomfortable. Aventurine gathers the bundle left out for him, then rises back to his feet, breaking their contact. He's unsteadied for just a moment as he stands, but manages just fine as strength begins to return to his legs. Before he goes, he remembers what had initially brought him here. ]
You'll talk to the others? They're expecting you.
no subject
...I'll give them a report. Now get moving before it happens again.
[ There's a second of hesitation, then. One pause, whether to remind Aventurine to brew his stupid tea or just not to bother him. It's enough for the darkness to slip back in, blotting out the greenhouse entirely. congrats you get to see his mangy child portrait
(cw: trafficking, child abuse, slavery)
"The moment you were dumb enough to get kidnapped, you lost your right to talk big."
—A young boy wheezes as he sits up, touching a tender spot on his torso, pulling in short, shallow breaths after the air's been kicked out of his lungs. He moves his fingers shakily, assessing. It hurts, but it's not broken. Just a bruised rib, maybe.
But it's still hard to breathe, for different reasons, dread building up and up until it's like it's over his head, like he's drowning in it. The stone floor is so cold it feels wet; they didn't remember to feed him, or just didn't feel like it; the pain is—it's obviously a lesson. He's supposed to learn that this is life now, pain is what happens if he steps out of line again, if he doesn't prove he's worth the money spent on him. The dizzying realization that these people genuinely think of him as their slave is—
He startles when he realizes there's another boy in the cell. A good-natured one, who asks after his injuries and then huddles up close. It's easier not to panic when they talk, even if it's just to commiserate. He's not used to the proximity, but the other boy teaches him a necessary lesson too, if a gentler one: how not to freeze to death.
"What say we lean against each other? Won't do anything for the pain, but at least it'll keep us warm."
...His first night after being sold, Nehan recollects his thoughts. His owners didn't recognize the color of his hair or the shape of his ears; they didn't confiscate his little satchel of seemingly useless, cracked leaves and dried, astringent berries. So they don't realize he's from Karm yet. They don't know how valuable Karm's secrets are, and how many of them he knows, their recipes and flowers and irreplaceable formulas. They're secrets he can still safeguard, if he's careful, if he survives, if he's strong.
He leans against the other boy, and eventually falls asleep starving, aching, but not so cold. ]
no subject
He's frozen in place as he watches the scene unfold, the unsettling cold seeping under his skin to sink to the bone along with these children. There's an ache in his chest at watching the two of them huddle together for comfort and warmth, part of him relieved they have each other, but the other far more aggrieved at seeing them in such a wretched state. No matter the worlds, there's always cruelty to be found.
It's difficult to pull himself away from the strong immersion of what the darkness is showing him, but after a moment, Aventurine manages to do so. He tears his stricken gaze away, searching for this memory's keeper. ]
Nehan...?
no subject
His good hand is clenched into a tight fist, but his expression is carefully neutral, besides one of his ears flicking. ]
I'm here.
[ He watches the darkness as the rest plays out. A second, predictable half.
—Because he gets sick. Ash is his name. Plenty of the other slaves get sick, whether it's from testing or neglect. You either eke out a living, or you aren't worth keeping alive; Ash is malnourished and ordinary, and he's not going to get treatment or survive a bout of illness. Nehan knows that. Looking over his condition, he knows that he's already in the active process of dying.
"Hold on!"
It doesn't matter. He doesn't think twice, digging into his meager supplies.
"Here, chew on this grass—should alleviate the pain a bit..." He urges him, voice crackling with more desperation than encouragement. Ash is conscious enough to listen, biting down slowly on the herbs held to his mouth, but he can't even answer, his breathing pained and erratic, so Nehan startles and lies some more. His voice breaks against the words. "You'll make it through this!"
He hovers and tries to treat him, but with what? A handful of painkillers? Kindness? The other boy eventually stops writhing, too weak for even that; eventually, as expected, he dies. They don't even come to collect his corpse right away.
And he's tired; it's not as though this is his first foray with death. But it's still strangely devastating, this person turned property turned forgotten body, left cooling in his cell. He backpedals away from the corpse until he's at the far wall, head bumping against the cold stone and ears flattening against his head as he just—he lets the truth of it all finally settle into all his corners, without any delirious veneer of hope and company: this was his life, and it was never meant to turn out any better. He lets out an exhausted, distraught sob, then another. Quiet and shivering and pointless.
He forgets to clean up the chewed up blades of grass. ]
no subject
There's nothing he can do as he watches the young Nehan desperately try and help the sickly boy. He can only stand there, hands balled into fists at his sides, as he turns his head away with a grimace when the boy finally passes. It sinks his heart into the pits of his stomach. After all, doesn't he know this feeling almost too well? The helplessness, the quiet pleading, the dark thoughts that that twist grief into guilt.
He knows it's pointless to try, but that doesn't stop him from forcing his legs to move, to carry him toward that small child in order to crouch down in front of him. It's no use when he reaches out in an attempt to wipe away tears, his hand passing through the image, but Aventurine still does it.
He'll stay there for as long as he can, listening to the boy sob as if wanting to share in the anguish. ]
no subject
He can accompany this pathetic baby as he cries for a while, until the darkness does fade eventually, the edges of the cell blurring back into a real and broken greenhouse.
Nehan lets out a long, uneven exhale. ]
...This is why I told you to leave. It's hardly pleasant.
[ It feels ridiculous, inflicting his childhood on the one man who needed to see it least. ]
no subject
... It's only fair... After what you had to see.
[ When he finally stands back up, he looks down to his other hand, the one that hadn't reached out to the boy, to study the bundle of herbs and flowers Nehan had collected for him. ]
This isn't how either of us should have learned about the other.
no subject
No, probably not.
[ He sounds indifferent; he doesn't care how many people out there know about his past. But it does feel wrong to wring someone's secrets out like this, and to inflict his in such a visceral way. ]
But would you have told me, on your own?
no subject
[ Avgin eyes. The eyes of liars, thieves, and social manipulators. ]
Usually, people can take one look at me and think they know who I am. I guess I thought it was nice, being here... not having people know.
[ So no, he doesn't think he would have said anything. He's never had to. ]
no subject
[ His mouth pulls into a thin frown; he has plenty of scars, enough to tell a story, but those still aren't brands. Nehan touches his own throat, signaling to the burned-on mark. ]
...You don't cover it up? [ It's a little high on his neck, but not impossible to hide. ]
no subject
I may live a different life now, but I can't exactly say that I'm a free man.
[ He's just... traded hands. Traded more than that, from his cell to a gilded cage, but he shakes his head as if to get the depressing thoughts out. ]
Maybe I wouldn't have told you, but how strange. The world hasn't ended now that you know.
no subject
It explains a bit.
[ Like some of the wavelengths they share. It's enlightening, in a terrible way, knowing what sort of life Aventurine has come from... and that's about it. The world hasn't ended. ]
But it hasn't changed anything. Perceptions shift around when the truth comes out, but you're still you. [ ... ] A pest.
no subject
Some things don't feel as hopeless. ]
And you're still you. [ He takes a step forward, crowds into Nehan's space. Not so different from when they'd first met as Aventurine reaches out to tuck a stray strand of Nehan's hair back into place. ] Someone fun to pester.
[ But this time, he doesn't stay for long, pulling back just as quickly to hold up the bundle. What had happened might as well not have with how smoothly he moves along. ]
Thanks for this. I'll see what I can do with them.
no subject
...Though he really should just drive Aventurine off, like he'd done earlier. Even if it'd obviously stung. But the memory still sits in his mind, that hopeless expression paired with a red-hot brand, and he reaches out without thinking, closing his hand lightly over Aventurine's own to push the little bouquet into his chest. ]
See that you do.
[ He'll chalk this up to more of their stupid back-and-forth, the one-upmanship. He only holds there for a moment before drawing away. BYE FOREVER!!!! throws this thread on the ground ]