hadriel_logs | You must bear your neighbor's burden within reason.

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You must bear your neighbor's burden within reason.

Who: Glacius (

glacius) and Carlisle (

tongueamok)
What: Glacius' self-loathing and guilt force him to retreat after he takes the life of a possessed Emily. After waking Carlisle comes to check in on him, only to discover that the alien's physical injuries, despite their gruesomeness, are the least of the otherworldly being's wounds.
Where: Glacius' apartment (Spire Two, 401)
When: November 22nd.
Warnings: Mention of gore and other troubling stuff.

After bringing Carlisle to the clinic, making sure that his injuries had been stabilized, and being assured that his friend--if he even deserved to call him that any more after his complete and utter failure to the clergyman-- would pull through, Glacius had immediately departed from the premises. The humans that had currently been staffing the establishment had tried to insist that he stay and be allowed to be treated too, but he was having none of it. He didn't feel deserving of kindness right now and he certainly didn't want to be asked to explain what had happened to them both--or what had happened to the poor soul that hadn't been able to be brought with them. The ice alien pushed his way through them and departed, the only evidence that he'd been the one to bring Carlisle here the sizable trail of purple blood that he left in his wake.

After that he stumbled back to his apartment and spent the rest of the night in a fog, pain and fatigue combining with his raw guilt and anguish, making it impossible to think. At some point he must have cleaned the raw, ragged cuts that had ravaged the right side of his face to keep infection from claiming him, but he'd done nothing beyond that to take care of himself, physically or otherwise. He didn't see the point in keeping himself going. He simply retreated to his bedroom and spent the rest of the night curled up in a tight ball on the floor of his bedroom, passing in and out of consciousness and fits of raw, unguarded sorrow. His mental state had degraded so thoroughly that he wasn't even aware when night passed into morning, nor was he conscious of what a mess he'd left his apartment--purple bloodstains smeared on the doors, the handles, dripped all over the floors--or even himself.

Of course that he meant that he also wasn't aware that he was going to have company very shortly, though he was desperately in need of somebody to come and shake him out of his rapid descent into the dark pits of depression.

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First, Carlisle became aware of the pain, a searing, sharp ache across his chest and down into his abdomen. There was that ever-present thudding in his head, and that pulsing from the back where his skull collided with the ground, but nothing was quite as bad as the long slits that crossed his ribcage, every breath stretching against the stitches that held him together. They were too close to the old wound for him to distinguish the difference in his half-conscious haze.

Next came the lights, bright, burning his eyes -- the simulated morning of the cave. He squinted, trying to shut them out, but that just seemed to make them worse -- better to just close them again as he tried to recall the source of the light in his memories. Where were they from? His glyph, right? Did his glyph work?

He shivered, lingering fear gripping him as his mind slowly pieced together his last few, waking moments. He'd finished his glyph -- this was going to work. But the demon that had been Emily charged him, its claws tearing into him before his glyph could activate. Glacius was down, his mandi—

Glacius! The memory of his friend lying on the ground, purple blood splattered across his glasses, a piece of the alien's jaw lying at his feet, was enough to jar Carlisle from his stupor. Sitting up did him no favors: his wounds had been neatly bandaged, linens wrapped around his torso and abdomen, but the claw marks were still sore, undeniably fresh. He recognized where he was almost immediately, even without his glasses -- the clinic. When a quick look around didn't reveal a patched-up Glacius anywhere, Carlisle didn't wait for someone (Kate) to come around and tell him what happened to the alien. What if he was dying? Was having a piece of one's face torn off fatal to an icy alien?

Not wanting to wait too long to find out, Carlisle slid out of the bed and grabbed his jacket and tabard from where they were lying on a nearby chair, removed during his unconsciousness for his treatment. They, too, showed signs of the aftermath: the same violet blood stained them, mingling with the dark brown of his own along the chest. It was more than was splashed on him in the heat of the moment -- Glacius must have carried him there. But then where was he? And Emily? What happened to Emily?

He must hurry, Carlisle decided impulsively, grabbing the rest of his possessions and setting out looking for Glacius, following the trail of purple droplets that led from the entrance of the clinic toward the spires. They cleaned up what was in the clinic, but what was outside painted a clear path back to the alien's home It matched that on Carlisle's glasses, and he couldn't help that plummeting feeling in his gut.

Unfortunately, his torso slowed him down significantly as what pain he was in was only exacerbated by his activity. Taking a moment and leaning on a building for support, he took some measured breaths andcycled his own energy through his veins, trying to mend his wounds; however, he just didn't have enough to get the job done thoroughly -- not so soon after what it took for that glyph. What little healing he managed wouldn't keep him going for long, but it'd have to do. He needed to save some for Glacius, after all. The alien could be bleeding out... or dead already, if those ominous puddles of blood and purple footprints were any indication.

That uncomfortable thought clawed at Carlisle the entire way to his icy comrade's apartment. The stairs had never been such a miserable slog, but determination, as well as the growing number of bloodstains and smears along every visible surface, pushed him onward and to the door. Even with his apprehension, he couldn't help his manners as he rapped loudly on the door, his hand holding his chest. He was silently grateful that is own bloody bandages were barely visible through the tears in his tabard and jacket, and that they were mostly hidden by the fabric of his ruined outfit.

He could get that fixed later, as well as his own wounds. Glacius must be tended to, and immediately. He couldn't let someone who tried so hard to defend him die in a puddle of his own blood. "Glacius! Glacius, are you in there?"

Edited 2016-11-26 11:01 (UTC)

Tried, but utterly failed, Glacius would argue--given that, he wouldn't particularly mind if he was left to bleed out. At this point he might even prefer it since it would give him a respite from the horrible guilt and sorrow that was currently crushing him. The rapping on his door is sharp and sudden enough to jar his mind from its haze, but he has half a mind not to answer, given how he doesn't feel worthy of anyone's company. It's only when he hears Carlisle's voice and remembers the state that he'd left the clergyman in that he finally lifts his head--he did need to make sure that clergyman was alright. If his languishing meant that another of his friends passed on, he would never be able to forgive himself.

... Not that he could forgive himself for any of what had transpired just last night, but it would certainly be another considerable weight, and the ice alien was already crushed.

Groaning, Glacius forced himself up to his feet and struggled to drag himself to the door. Once he made it he turned his head completely to one side and cracked the door open to a tiny sliver, just wide enough for one glowing green eye to be seen through. It meant that he was looking at Carlisle through the corner of said eye, but it also meant that the damaged side of his face was completely hidden... for now.

"Carlisle. What are you doing here," the otherworldly being asks, his voice completely flat; he wasn't used to such raw surges of emotion and it seemed that it had overloaded him over the course of the night, leaving him in a state of shock--or maybe it was the blood loss finally getting to him. Or both. Likely both. "I left you in a place where you can rest and mend. You should be seeing to yourself."

What little relief Carlisle feels as the door opens and Glacius appears is diminished almost immediately as the alien stays mostly out of sight. The clergyman himself doesn't look as though he's in the best of health, or that he even took any time to recuperate, given all the purple blood down the front of him. His breathing is shallow, but quick -- that trip of the stairs ran him ragged, and deeper breathes pull against his stitches.

Despite that, he puts on that nervous smile he tends to wear and rests a hand on the door. "Glacius, cisth." He takes another short breath. "Good. You're here, good. And alive. Not, ah. In pieces or anything. I hope. How are you?"

Just as his exhaustion is apparent, so too are his concerns.

Edited 2016-11-27 00:13 (UTC)

Glacius can easily tell that the clergyman is not in the best of shape, which causes him his own fair share of concerns--but that at least is vastly preferable to the emotions that have left him eviscerated. It's almost a relief just to feel anything at all, after the deadened haze he spent the night and morning in. It's visible in his eyes for a moment, as is the conflict that follows up a moment later. He wants to see to Carlisle... but that would mean bringing his friend inside, which would allow him to see just how badly off the alien was--and the last thing he wants the man to have to do is worry about him. He doesn't deserve it, right now.

Feeling another upwelling of guilt, Glacius grumbles low in his throat. "Are you not listening to me? Your health is all that matters. Return to the clinic and heal. I can't stand the thought of..." the ice alien trails off, losing himself to grim thoughts of the clergyman succumbing to the tears he still has very vivid memories of the demon leaving in his torso.

"Yes, and I suppose you are the picture of perfect health, what with the trail you left behind on your way here."

While his worries are great and the pain stabbing him in the chest greater, more powerful is Carlisle's frustration. He may respond lightly, and may keep that smile on his face, but his brow knits as he bites at his lip, waiting to see what Glacius' answer will be.

"I hardly see how that matters," Glacius' response is but a mere, dejected grumbled despite the tells of Carlisle's frustration. A moment later and something seems to crumble a little bit more, his eye shutting and his brow knitting... he'd never been all that good at understand the kindness shown to him by humans here, and given the circumstances now it felt like it was tearing his hearts apart.

"I had but one duty to you and Emily both, and I failed. Completely and utterly. You suffered because of me... are still suffering," the ice alien rumbles, opening that blazing green eye and tilting his head towards the clergyman, as if indicating the tears in his clothes and his body, his shortness of breath. "It is wasted on a creature like me."

Glacius may feel a slight vibration from the other side of the door -- that'd be Carlisle's hand on his end tensing. It coincides with his teeth coming together, his eyes hardening despite that polite -- albeit strained, now -- smile on his face.

"Glacius," he insists lowly, his jaw locked, "I traipsed up four flights of stairs to see to you, and I will not leave until I have done that. Rude as that may be, I will not have you bleeding all over the place, and then insisting that my abilities are wasted on you."

Edited 2016-11-27 03:05 (UTC)

"Why does it matter? Tell me how it matters, Carlisle!" Glacius repeats, the pupil of his eye narrowing to a thin, dangerous slit. "Tell me one good thing that I have brought to you--to any of you. My work with the guard? People still get hurt and even die all the time. My attempts to figure out any sort of escape from the gods? All for naught. And--us? I ruined one of your friendships. I failed in my duty to you as a warrior. At least you had a chance of even helping Emily--you're the one who deserves to be looked up to, not me. All I had the power to do was..."

The ice alien's voice rises as he continues to rant, as he's forced back on the raw and horrible events of yesterday. Glacius may have felt a slight vibration, but now Carlise will feel a hard and sudden impact from the opposite side of the wall as the tormented otherworldly being strikes it with his fist, hard enough to break a hole in it. "All I had the power to do was KILL HER!"

A moment later and his anguished rage catches up to him. The ice alien's eye goes wide for a moment and then disappears entirely as he moves away from the door, lowering himself onto the ground where he draws his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around them, hanging his head. When he speaks again--faint from the other side of the cracked door--his voice is low, broken.

"...And I almost lost you, too. That's why you are all better off without me."

The torment in Glacius' voice and the impact of his fist into the wall is enough to wipe that forced smile off Carlisle's face, worry coloring the clergyman; however, he doesn't leave, no matter how frightening such an outburst may be. He has seen worse from another of Glacius' kind.

"My friendship with Algidus would have been ruined regardless, and by my hands," he utters, still standing outside. He gives the door a tentative push, and finds it opens just a hair. "People will be hurt regardless of what you do, often from their own foolishness."

He turns himself and starts sidling inside, not daring to open the door much further. He can see more blood beyond the threshold, and with it and Glacius' confession, he can put together what must have happened after he lost consciousness. He already had an inkling, but hearing the truth still stings.

"But you are the one who saw me to the clinic, are you not?" He pulls himself inside another inch, holding his breath as it hitches when the wood grazes the front of him. "You are the one who- who had to do what was necessary to keep me safe. My exorcism failed, but you are all that stood between me and the demon when I fell. It is because of you that I am not dead now, so to say I would be better off without you is ridiculous, and you know it!"

He realizes he should curb his temper as he pulls the last of himself inside, but his wound is aching and he's not sure he could even make it down the steps if he wanted to. He came here for a reason, and he's going to see it done.

Glacius doesn't seem to have an answer to that. It seems more like revisiting those memories has caused him to shut down again; he is, after all, a gentle creature at his hearts. If he had been so tormented by Cinder's death-- as Carlisle had clearly seen--then killing one of his closest friends, someone who had never been anything but kind and compassionate with him, had even more of an impact. It had shaken him to his very core, made even worse by the fact that he'd just been forced to acknowledge that act once more--and he certainly wasn't going to claim any merits, in light of that.

"I'll take your silence as agreement," he seethes, his eyes taking in the rest of the apartment. The blood outside had been only a glimpse of things to come: not only does it stain various surfaces throughout the dwelling, painting a map of where Glacius has been, but it coats the side of the alien's face, the wound where his mandible was ripped off impossible to miss.

But he has other wounds, ones that aren't visible to in his underbody or icy exterior; they manifest in his features, in the way the usually proud being holds himself. Rather than standing tall as a mountain, he's folded in on his entire frame, as though trying to shield his own heart from any more agony. Some people are born with the strength to fight, but it's the will that separates them from true warriors.

And then there are those who cannot fight at all, but rely on the strong to survive. Carlisle cannot wield a weapon, but while he can heal physical wounds, those that affect the soul are far harder to tend to. Glacius is his friend, though, and truly the reason he wasn't torn limb from limb by a rampaging demon -- he must try.

He kneels stiffly beside Glacius, tugging at his gloves and pulling them over his fingers to free his hands.

Glacius still doesn't move a muscle as Carlisle finally makes his way into his apartment and stands beside him. The only tell that he isn't some frozen sculpture at this point is the occassional fluttering of his gills and, of course, all of the clearish purple blood that has slicked down not only the right side of his face, but his entire body, running in thick rivers from the gaping wound. It has slowed slightly now as a thick and ugly scab has begun to form overnight, but it's still oozing blood, and is obviously still causing him a lot of pain.

But as the clergyman has noted, the pain of his body is nothing compared to the numbing agony his soul is suffering from. That's not going to go away, even if the tears that have left his face nothing more than a mess of ragged gashes are mended. The only thing that can fix it is doing right by the people he's let down... so he finally responds to his friend, albeit still without moving a muscle or even looking at him.

"Your own injuries, first."

Edited 2016-11-27 05:01 (UTC)

Carlisle pauses as he pulls off his second glove, his eyes darting to the unmoving, bleeding figure that is Glacius. Stubborn thing.

"I have seen to my wounds and rationed enough energy that I can deal with yours. It will not be complete, but we must stop the bleeding."

"Oh, yes? Then explain to me why the trip up here left your breathing short. Explain why I could hear you hissing in pain as you tried to worm your way through my door. You are clearly still hurting and that..." Glacius sighs, finally looking directly at Carlisle for the first time--torn face, missing mandible, ruptured eye, cracked horn, and all. "... Wears on me more than any injury could. Physical pains I have endured time and time again... but the suffering of my friends is new to me."

As Glacius turns to him, Carlisle's eyes lock on his, quiet horror pulling at his features. The blood had been a surefire sign of things to come, but the healer can hardly stomach the full extent of the alien's injuries when presented with them. His gut turns, and with it, another ache tears through him -- he can't tell if that pain was sympathetic or just coincidental.

"I said I rationed what energy I have," he replies, guilt poisoning him. It curls his fingers and tugs at the corners of his mouth as he realizes just how much suffering Glacius went through to defend him... and yet, it's Emily's death that he's concerned with.

That just strengthens what resolve he has. "I will be worse off if I leave you like this, believe me."

"So you know exactly how I feel," Glacius notes... but it's not as much of a protest as it might initially seem. If anything, the note of understanding is heartening, much better than getting openly berated. The alien's gills open to let out a heavy, shuddering sigh and he begins to uncurl himself from his dejected hunch... and then, he goes one step further in his deference to the clergyman, actually lowering the injured side of his face toward's Carlisle's hand.

"I expect to be allowed to examine your wounds after this."

Carlisle pauses as he reaches toward Glacius' face; he's taken aback, and visibly so.

"Wh- why?" There's that nervous smile again as he tries to feign confusion to mask his concern.

"It is as we have both just said," Glacius responds, flicking his eyes up to Carlisle's face--he's both confused and a little suspicious about that reaction. "It is harder for me to bear the thought of you suffering on my behalf, or wasting energy on my injuries when it could have gone towards your own. And I will be worse off if I leave you like this. I am deferring to your wish to see to me despite the fact that you barged into my home," he doesn't actually mind it--in fact, in his hearts he's thankful, but he's going to use it as leverage here, "I want to be able to return the favor, as you humans say. I... I saw you lying there after the attack. I saw the wounds when they were raw. They are not minor."

And now he's back to hanging his head again, regretful and sorrowful over the fact that his friend had to suffer just because he failed as a warrior and got temporarily incapacitated--never mind the fact that was on the clergyman's behalf, too.

Carlisle would argue about what Glacius possibly knows about human anatomy, and what good it would do either of them for him to shed his clerical garments just so Glacius can confirm what he already knows about his injuries; he would complain about how many layers the aforementioned outfit has, and how removing it would be a further waste of what little energy he has. However, Glacius is right: Carlisle did barge into his home, and stubbornly insisted he wouldn't leave until he had seen to the alien. While that might have been a relatively practical choice, given the stairs and how much they take out of him, the fact that Carlisle had refused to be deterred does put him in a position where he's inclined to agree to the alien's expectations.

And so, after a moment of mental hemming and hawing, he does. "Fine. That's fine. Now just... hold still, and remember that this will feel as though it burns a bit. I'm not sure what I can do for your missing, er... pieces, but if I can mend your eye and stop the immediate bleeding, I will consider it my efforts a success."

He knows plenty of basic first aid thanks to his training as a warrior, and some of that carries over between their species; other knowledge has come from all the time he's spent around the clinic, or in conversation with Kate. There is still plenty of room to learn, however, especially given how vastly different the medicine and technology available here was from his homeworld... at some point he really should start seeking out some of the people on the network that made themselves available for lessons.

At some point, when he's not hiding away from the rest of the inhabitants of Hadriel, wracked with guilt and self-loathing that would have him rather bleed out than accept the healing the clergyman that he failed is offering. At least Carlisle is beginning to take the first small steps with the ice alien in that regard. With his terms agreed to he simply nods, and once again tilts his head towards the clergyman's hands.

"Do not exhaust or hurt yourself on my behalf, alright? Even if all you do is slow the bleeding a little, that will... that will help."

He offers Glacius the barest of smiles as he closes his eyes to concentrate. "Of course."

With a deeper breath than he'd like to take, Carlisle begins his work. With the damage as deep as it is, it's no problem for his energy to reach down to Glacius' underbody; however, he takes it slow with his channel, not wanting to cause any more distress than is necessary to the wound and wounded. He deals with eye first, deciding that might be an easy start -- the rupture repairs itself, and he moves onto the main course. The gaping wound is no simple task to close: Carlisle's channel butts against Glacius' inner workings, trying to reconstruct something missing entirely, and he has to pull it back less he expel too much from himself. Just close the wound, he reminds himself.

Another breath, in and out; it hitches in his chest, and he grinds his teeth as he bites it back. The oozing flesh begins pulling itself together, sinew weaving in and out until it is like new, vessels reforming as the alien's purple blood is kept from escaping once more.

It's not perfect, and it will require some manual medical attention, but it will have to do: Carlisle forces himself away, unable to handle any more with his injuries. He leans away from Glacius, one hand over his mouth as he swallows ink, the other at his abdomen... but below the claw marks on his tabard.

Glacius takes his own breath in preparation as he feels Carlisle press his hand against the open wound and begin channeling energy through his own metaphysical pathways. He's too exhausted and worn down to jump up or even cry out due to the burning sensation seeping across his face, but that doesn't mean the experience is any less bizarre or agonizing than usual. Pained spasms sweep repeatedly through his weary body, and despite his best effort his whole frame begins to slump... by the time Carlisle leans away from him the alien pitches forward and hits the ground, not even having the strength to catch himself; nor is he present enough to react to the clergyman's own difficulties. About all he is capable of doing right now is lying prone on the floor gasping.

Considering how composed Glacius normally is in the face of hardship and suffering, this might be a clue-in to not only what terrible condition he spent the night in but how hard this whole ordeal has been on him, both in body and mind. Even now, in his state of waning consciousness, his thoughts are getting shrouded in that fog again, are drifting back over what he'd seen and what he had to do... and before long he starts shaking again. Not from physical pain, this time, though it's still very present--no, he's making small vocalizations that sound a whole lot like the ice alien equivalent of quiet sobs, which is probably just as alarming as the sorry state of his face had been.

Swallowing down what ink is welling in his throat -- it's preferable to dripping it all over Glacius' floor, despite the mess that's currently everywhere in the apartment -- Carlisle turns to check on his alien friend and make sure he isn't suffering too much from the sensation that comes with his healing... and it seems he's worse, somehow.

He winces as he leans back toward Glacius, unsure of what to do or what happened or what that noise is that he's making. "Glacius? What's wrong? I—" He pulls in a breath through his teeth, hissing at residual aches, fighting the growing numbness in his limbs. "I didn't make it worse, did I? I'm sorry, I— say something. Tell me what to do."

At first Glacius doesn't seem to be responsive, but as Carlisle keeps talking to him, he gradually begins to pull the alien back out of the mire of depression that he'd been rapidly sinking into. The shudders back to complete consciousness and manages to realize what pathetic, vulnerable behavior he'd put on open display... planting both of his hands on the ground, he attempts to force himself upright again with a pained, seething hiss, but isn't able to make it very far.

Panting again, the otherworldly being turns his head slightly to face the clergyman and shakes his head. His features are tightly knitted with suffering, and attempting to flare his mandibles like a human might set their jaw or grit their teeth against pain only causes it all to worsen, as the snapped bone rubs works against torn flesh. "It... it's not your fault..." Glacius breathes hoarsely, sounding on the verge of passing out. "Makers, Carlisle, none of this is your fault. You're the only one who even had a chance of setting any of this right. And all I did... all I could do was..."

Fuck, he's lost it again. The alien heaves out another sorrowful sound, turning away and mashing his wrist against his nasal cap.

Despite his experience with the icy aliens, Carlisle only barely recognizes the physical agony Glacius is in, those flaring mandibles (mandible, single) looking more threatening than anything. He can, however, tell where the broken bone of the one rubs against the partially mended flesh above it, and he utters repeatedly for Glacius to stop that, hesitating from putting a hand to the alien's shoulder -- he almost does, his hands jarring as he suddenly pulls them back.

Far easier to read is the emotional torment Glacius is facing. There's guilt, inadequacy, helplessness: all feelings Carlisle both recognizes and suffers himself on a daily basis. It's common for him to feel such things, given his life and lineage, but Glacius? Such demons aren't fit for someone like him, someone who puts others before himself in all cases without even a second thought.

And yet, here he is, thinking Carlisle, of all people, was the one who could have set things right in that situation, blaming himself or doing what he had to do. It's an odd sight, and one the clergyman isn't sure he can stand from the outside looking in. He slides across the floor to Glacius' front, trying to meet the alien's eyes.

"Glacius, this is no more your fault than it is Emily's for being possessed, or- or even mine for failing an exorcism." He's sure he'll reconsider his blame later; for now, he must attend to Glacius, as he set out to do when he came here in the first place. "Would you have felt better had you done nothing at all? Or had the demon killed us both?"

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You must bear your neighbor's burden within reason.

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