hadriel_logs | I Chased the End of Your Road.

Entry tags:

I Chased the End of Your Road.

Who: Glacius (

glacius) and Carlisle (

tongueamok).
What: Carlisle tries to help pull Glacius up out of the pit of depression that Kate's disappearance has toppled him into.
Where: Their apartment.
When: Backdated to 4/29.
Warnings: Ice alien sads :'[

It hadn't taken Glacius long to realize that something had happened to Kate. It had been days and days since the masquerade and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her since; not in his morning stops by the clinic, not on his routine patrols, not even on the network or in his phone's directory. Her complete absence was a heart-clenching, gut-dropping realization that spurred the alien to do everything in his power to find her. He spent days at a time a the clinic, poking by her residence, hoping she'd turn up in one of the places that she frequented like she had the last time she'd disappeared, but it was not to be. All that he had managed to find was some of his friend's possessions, and, realizing it was going to be the only link he would have to one of the people who had steadfastly stood by him despite the worst of the odds that were stacked against them, the alien had collected what he could.

It did nothing to ease the growing pain in his hearts, but at least he could safeguard some of the things that were important to his friend, and at least he had a physical testament to the time they had together even if it was simultaneously a stabbing reminder that she was no longer here with him.

Now there was nothing more he could do but put some feelers out. Posting to the network had been another attempt on Glacius' part to do everything he could to find his friend... but it has also been an act of resignation, of knowing there was nothing more he could do than hope against hope. Now even that had been dashed; no one else could find her, no one else had seen or so much as heard from her, and the alien was ultimately forced to shut down the feed. No matter how well-meaning the responses were, every reply that filtered in was just another confirmation of the fact that Kate was well and truly gone--and like many of the other developments that came with falling in so closely with other people, Glacius didn't know how to handle it. He could feel himself drifting off into a fog and he couldn't muster up the strength to navigate himself out of it; how could he, when one of his greatest sources of it in this cave had been wrested from him?

So here he was, sequestered away in the far corner of his darkened room, attempting to scrape some together from the only things that he had left of his friend. His knees were drawn up to his chest and his head was bowed despondently as he cradled the human's stuffed elephant tightly to his body. It was broken body language, the likes of which he hadn't fallen into since Emily's death, and he knew it--it was why he was hiding himself from everyone in his grieving. Or almost everyone. He should know that it wouldn't take his partner long to notice he was slipping, but his thoughts were not exactly at their clearest now.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There are many ways to deal with grief. Some choose to scream at the heavens, or lash out at those around them, as though releasing their anger would somehow slake the longing they feel for those they've lost; others choose to make themselves productive, expending their energy in various tasks, burying their remorse in what accomplishments. Some bear the burden with grim strength, stoically moving forward and never looking back to what they cannot change. There are those who isolate themselves with their sorrow, and others who cling to what hope they can muster, only to find themselves destroyed when it proves to be in vain.

Glacius falls into that last category.

And then there are people like Carlisle, so utterly desensitized to losing people around them that they struggle to relate to those who aren't quite as adjusted to it. Losing his father left a gaping wound in his heart that had scarred over by the time his uncles vanished, and as the years had passed, he'd accepted that this was his fate as a twice-cursed; it was said misfortune favored them, following their every step, tainting the lives of those around them.

However taciturn he may be in regards to those most recently to go missing, he's not so blind as to ignore Glacius' suffering. When Kate hadn't contacted him about making trinkets on her usual day, he'd sought to call her, only to find her name gone from his communicator. Upon noticing Faith and Armand were also missing, he'd considered it might be a fluke -- after all, what were the chances so many people he knew would disappear within such a short time?

High, apparently. Sigh.

Carlisle had taken it well enough: with disappointment, but ultimately accepting that there was not much he could do about Kate being sent home by the false gods and their Door. He can only hope it won't happen to him or Glacius anytime soon... and if it does, he'll have to cross that bridge then. He already struggles with handling his nerves, and promised Glacius he'd try not to worry so much about the inevitability of the future.

And on the topic of Glacius, the alien hadn't taken Kate's departure well at all. He was close with her -- close enough to invite her over from time to time, close enough to mourn her loss as though she were dead. To be fair, she might as well be, given there was no guarantee they'd see one another again. That's a sentiment Carlisle won't voice to his partner, certainly not when Glacius is hunched in the dark corner of his room, a position much like the one Carlisle saw many times following Emily's temporary death. The clergyman hadn't let Glacius fall so far into despair that he succumbed to his wounds or starved to death then; he won't do it now, either. He can't, given what Glacius means to him, and how the alien has pulled him from the depths of his own agony time and time again.

It is time he returns the favor, as he always says he will.

Carlisle knocks on Glacius' door and lets himself in, not even awaiting a response. The cold air bites at him, steeling his resolve as he makes his way to the corner. "I made you dinner, Glacius," he starts quietly.

Carlisle might not want to mention the possibility that they will never see Kate again, but it's one that Glacius seems to know deep down--an eviscerated demeanor and shattered emotional state are not qualities of a being who might possess a scrap of hope in this regard. The knocking at his door only causes the alien to attempt to curl up tighter, and he doesn't so much as lift his head when he hears his partner begin to pad over to him in the quiet of the night.

At least the clergyman has learned the alien well since the last time he started to list in this direction. Though Glacius' sorrow had left him utterly uninterested in any food scraped together from what is offered in the shops or provided by the gods, he seems to still recognize how much effort and time goes into a home-cooked meal, and thus is more reluctant to shirk such offerings. He doesn't begin to uncurl yet, but he does utter a hushed thank you to his partner.

That sad, hushed thank you only gets a sigh out of Carlisle, who sets the dinner tray on the floor. On it is a glass of water, bread, and some kind of cooked bird he wasn't about to question too much when he saw it in the store. He'd rather not think too hard on the false gods how they manifest such goods.

He takes a step back and waits, crossing his arms to fend off the chill of the room. He may be sympathetic, but he's also not going to come in and once more find Glacius hasn't eaten a single thing.

Perhaps a tactic change might be in order, then; a few exchanged words and some stern looks aren't going to magically spur the alien into putting himself back together. Sitting in silence had been what the otherworldly being was doing before Carlisle came in, and it seems like without further prompting, that is the only thing he's able to process doing for the time being. Meanwhile talking to him had at least yielded some results; it's an avenue that might be worth pursuing unless the clergyman wants to sit here until the alien works up the gumption to eat on his own... and given the state he's in now, who knows when that will be.

If it's further prompting Glacius needs, he'll get it. Carlisle clears his throat, announcing that he's still back there. He's sure the alien, his senses keen from years of being a marshal, knows.

"It isn't going to eat itself, Glacius," he insists. "You may talk to me, or you may eat, but I'm not leaving until you do something. Please."

The alien remains silent and unmoving after that. When he does finally start to uncurl in a slow, stiff, and utterly hesitant manner, it's less likely due to any insistence on Carlisle's part, and more because even in his sorrow he doesn't want to spurn the gesture of care that his partner has provided. He appreciates the effort that went into this and the fact that the clergyman is still looking after him despite how pathetic he's acting. Despair and sorrow have crusted over both his body and his mind, making them stiff, uncooperative... and he's not sure how to restart himself.

It means that he's having a hard time doing anything--and that includes eating, no matter how much a part of him acknowledges and wants to honor what Carlisle has done for him. Whatever he's got for an alien digestive system, it seems to be affected by grief the same way a human's might be. Glacius extends a hand towards the bread first, thinking it might be simplest and thus easiest to start out with, but he finds that his sorrow has settled in his guts like a rock, eliminating any appetite he might have. Not only does he have an extremely hard time shifting his finger into an appropriate needle-like shape, he finds himself unable to muster up the will to absorb the food even the slightest bit.

Minutes tick where the alien is clearly getting more and more distraught by the failure--and the loss he knows it is caused by-- until his expression finally plummets and he gives up. He starts to curl in on himself again, still holding tight to that stuffed elephant, the one he helped her find so long ago.

Carlisle sighs, his expression softening as Glacius curls up once more. They may express their utter despondence in different ways, but Carlisle recognizes it all the same, and decides to try a different approach. He steps back to Glacius' side once more, sliding the tray out of the way with his foot.

"All right, eating is out. Talk to me, then."

"I'm sorry," Glacius warbles softly, the moment he feels Carlisle coming up beside him, "I know you worked hard to put all of that together for me. I'm not trying to... be ungrateful, I just..."

Though he'd seemed ready enough to try the whole talking thing out just a moment ago, he's not sure he has the words for this. His gills flare a few times, and his gaze drops from his partner to the stuffed elephant in his hands, and he does his best to lock in a heaving sound of sorrow. "...I feel... all knotted up inside." It's a vague description of his plight and it doesn't really do justice to the depths of just how awful he's feeling, but he's not sure he could explain better if he tried in this particular moment. He can only hope that he doesn't need to explain that to Carlisle, nor where it's all coming from

"You are grieving," Carlisle says plainly, matter-of-factly. "That feeling is to be expected, but you can't allow yourself to starve on account of it."

He kneels beside his partner, putting a hand carefully on his back. "You know Kate would not want that of you."

"I... I am," the ice alien replies, like he's grappling with the concept even now. "I've... never... never had to grieve for someone that I was so close to. And I don't know how not to do this! I know that she wouldn't want me to waste away--and I know that I... shouldn't be sad about her leaving this place, as it means she is somewhere better. And yet... and yet I..."

He turns away, another shudder wracking his body, forcing up the awful crux of it: "...I miss her, Carlisle."

Carlisle lets out a sigh. "That, too, is to be expected."

He slides his foot out from under him, taking a seat on the floor beside Glacius, his eyes ahead of him. "At least she is free of this place."

"As I said," Glacius murmurs sadly, "That is... part of the reason why I feel so... so messed up over this. It's something that I always wanted for her, but I... I always thought it was going to be something that we'd earned together. You know?"

The ice alien heaves a despondent sigh, holding the stuffed elephant carefully in his lap as he looks upon it. "It's been the two of us, fighting against the ways of this cave for... Makers, ever since the very beginning. Losing that... it's just another thing that's been taken away, and now I just feel like I have this... this empty hole in my chest. And I don't know how to mend it."

And with that he looks from the elephant to his partner, his sorrowful green eyes practically pleading for the clergyman to help him somehow.

Carlisle's brow knits together; he knows that look of sorrow far too intimately, recognizing even the way the alien clings to what tangible evidence he had of her existence. He's done the same thing before, himself.

"There are some wounds that will ease, in time, but can never truly be healed," he offers, his hand still at Glacius' back. "But secluding yourself in here is no better than me hiding in a closet from my woes. It solves nothing, and keeps you from those who would help you... if you would let them."

He glances to his partner, leaning forward, offering up his forehead in their shared sign of solidarity.

Glacius accepts the offer nearly immediately, his head bowing deeply on that long curving neck to press his forehead to his partner's. From there... well. He doesn't do much. At first it seems like he's attempting to compose himself--and maybe he is, the breaths he draws in deep, cycling thoroughly throw his lower airways, expanding in his chest and neck before he pushes them out. The exhales, however, gradually get heavier and heavier; first they shake his shoulders as they billow from his gills, and then they're wracking his whole body as the breaths turn to something that sounds shockingly like heaving ice alien sobs.

It might not be his most becoming moment... but it seems his is letting Carlisle help, attempting to vent off the worst of his incapacitating grief and sorrow in a way he wouldn't dream of letting any other being bear witness to. He wants Kate back at the very same time that he hopes she stays far away from this place. He hopes she remembers him but he knows it might be for the best that she doesn't. He wishes with all that he is that he would have gotten the chance to say an actual, proper goodbye--yet he knows it will never be.

She is gone, a foundation of support and security wrested out from underneath his feet, leaving him utterly flattened--holding to one of the last remaining pillars as the life he'd built up in this cave feels like it could come tumbling down around him.

Though the way Glacius expresses his absolute sorrow is relatively unfamiliar, Carlisle is no stranger to such outbursts. He's had all sorts come into confess at his church, from concerned citizens to convicts, from those who regret their entire lives and want a fresh start to those with nowhere else to turn but a higher power and those who would serve such a being. He has seen the dead mourned at funerals, loved ones destroyed in the absence of their family.

Though it is admittedly different to witness the utter breakdown of a being so close to him, usually so reserved and strong, it's also not entirely unfamiliar. Emily's death had wracked the alien with guilt, but not like this.

Just as Glacius has been there for him in the past, Carlisle seeks to return the favor, placing his hand alongside Glacius' face, letting the alien know of his sympathy through touch. He keeps his forehead against his partner's, never once falling away, even as he sobs.

He'll be there as long as he needs to be. He could never abandon Glacius, certainly not in his time of need.

Glacius' breakdown ebbs quickly enough, but like a violent storm that rages through a town and leaves it scattered, it seems to render him exhausted and weak. It is only when his expulsions of sorrow dwindle to quiet, raspy breaths that he seems to reclaim the presence of mind to clasp one hand over his partner's. Despite his best efforts to keep himself upright his body slumps, and he still can't seem to find words for this; he can't tell if he should be mortified over the display he just put on, enraged at the gods or this place or whoever he can blame for taking Kate from him, or just quietly sit here being shellshocked over all of this.

... The latter seems to win out, if only because he's still recuperating from intense emotions, which he doesn't often have to cope with from himself. At least his partner is here with him; that thought seems to bring him around the tiniest bit, as he consciously pushes against Carlisle instead of slumping nearly lifelessly against the clergyman.

Glacius' slumping against him takes Carlisle aback; he slides on the floor and puts his back against the bed to give him leverage as the alien leans into him, wrapping his arms around Glacius' head in a gentle embrace. That's not a method of comfort he picked up while taking confessions, but rather something he's pieced together during his time with Glacius. The icy giant would -- and has -- done the same for him, after all.

He sits there for a while, content to sit quietly, until he finds some words. "Tell me how I can help, Glacius," he murmurs softly, hoping that giving Glacius some form of control, of agency, might help bring him around.

Glacius seems to respond well to the slight shift in positioning, allowing himself to drape further across Carlisle's body as the clergyman wraps him up in a comforting embrace. He takes a few more hoarse breaths--then holds one before finally letting it out in a shuddering sigh. Bit by bit he seems to be coming down from his roiling storm of emotion from earlier, soothed by the proximity of his partner, the little touches they share.

Despite the fact that he's gradually regaining his composure, that doesn't seem to mean he's prepared to put his thoughts in order; the alien stalls as he attempts to reboot his mind, which feels heavily encrusted in grief. "I... ah..." a few more breaths before a wave of simultaneous embarrassment and appreciation washes over him, and he ends up butting solidly against the clergyman, trying to burrow against his neck, under his chin. "...I... don't know. I'm sorry. I don't mean to... to be like this. Just... stay here with me? I don't know what I would do if I... if I lost you too."

And it's that thought that finally spurs Glacius to take a more intentional action: despite how leaden they feel with their exhaustion, he brings his arms up to return Carlisle's embrace, hugging him tightly as he tries to hide from everything against his partner.

As Glacius wraps his long arms around Carlisle, the clergyman can't help but smile just a bit, despite the sobering circumstances that brought them to this moment. The fact that Glacius is willing to turn to him for comfort is such a shift in their usual dynamic, which, as of late, has seen Carlisle seeking solace in his partner rather than the other way around. Though he took care of Glacius before, after their battle with the demon that possessed Emily, this is different. Glacius may not bear physical wounds and scars as he did then, but he aches all the same. Emily would return; Kate may not.

"I'm here, Glacius," he reassures; though his tone is soft, his phrasing is much as it is when he's trying to calm himself down from a panic. "I'm here for as long as you will have me."

Or that this world will have him, but that's a sentiment Glacius could do without for the time being. Carlisle lets out a quiet sigh, leaning back into the side of the bed, his hands resting along the curve of Glacius' head and neck. He does the best he can with keeping any oncoming shivers to a minimum as he allows the alien a moment's peace to simply recompose himself.

At least Calrisle has learned not to comment on his own demise in their more sensitive moments. The ice alien nods as his partner murmurs out those reassurances, but otherwise stays quite still, sheltering up against his partner's body at the clergyman has often done when their positions have been reversed. He loses track of how long he spends like that, wrapped up in Carlisle's arms in the cold and quiet of the room... but at least this time it's not a lonely, aimless drifting through a fog of despair. The otherworldly being feels firmly anchored to reality in the warmth of the human's body, in the embrace of his arms.

It's like finally making it back to solid land after days of being tossed around in a dark and roiling sea, and though the pain of loss is no less present, it does finally allow Glacius security enough that the gears in his mind can start turning again. He can actually think through his grief, so though he doesn't move away from Carlisle even the slightest bit when he finally stirs again, he does sound like he's trying to put himself back together despite the exhaustion in his voice.

"Thank you," the alien murmurs, cracking his eyes open to thin glowing green slivers as his fingers curl in the thick sweater ensconcing the clergyman's body. "Thank you. I... I need to find a way to pick myself back up... see to some business... but I think... right now I'd prefer to stay here. And remember. It's been so long... she was the first person I ever met in this cave, you know. I... can't believe it's actually over."

Edited 2017-05-09 21:27 (UTC)

Though they sit for some time wrapped around each other, Carlisle doesn't mind it, even after the cold settles into his joints. The sweater keeps some of it at bay, but when combined with the icy giant embracing him, the clergyman can't help but feel the chill reaching through him. Such a sensation would usually draw his thoughts toward the eternity of wandering he has awaiting him in the Land Beyond Living; however, with Glacius there beside him, his gills fluttering quietly in the near silence encompassing them, Carlisle is grounded. He's here.

His eyes open as Glacius addresses him, his neck cracking a bit from stiffness as he looks to his partner. "It is over for now," he remarks, rubbing at his neck, "as she may return someday. She would not be the first to do so."

And probably not the last. He knows how much Glacius enjoys hope, though. It keeps him moving, and is admittedly better than Carlisle's main motivators, fear and inadequacy. "Until then, you must keep moving. There are those who need you."

That's the kind of advice he's given himself before, and the only reasonable kind that kept him from a grim end for years. He was needed. He had value, even with his curse. It was when the misfortune he brought outweighed his usefulness that he struggled, and he'd do anything to keep Glacius from suffering from such a troubling thought.

While Carlisle attempts to shift and stretch as much as he can with a massive, bulky ice alien draped up his body, Glacius still doesn't move--but rather remains pressed up against his partner. Prior to this, he's been curled in a tight ball for quite some time now; this is already a step up from that... and maybe he's just not ready to put distance between them yet, either. He's not a particularly clingy creature, but the solace that contact with the clergyman brings is undeniable; he's not ready to risk giving that up just yet, given that this is the first taste of stability he's had since Kate's disappearance.

"She may come back. It is more likely that she will not," the otherworldly being sighs sadly, shaking his head. While he does like having and giving hope, he seems wary of false ones... and he knows how finicky the Door can be. He's already suffered enough from her initial disappearance; he doesn't want to know what waiting for her to return, only to have his hopes constantly dashed each time she didn't show up with a crop of newcomers, would do to him over time. "It's best that I steel myself as best I can for that possibility. As for people needing me... well. I would like to believe that. But the longer I am trapped in this place, the more I struggle to not succumb to the damning notion that things will always be as they are, no matter what I try to do to ensure the safety and security of those around me."

Though he's starting to pick up the pieces of his resolve, it seems like some of that defeat is still lingering. Despite his best efforts, people will suffer. They will disappear. The only chance he has of offering them something better is to free them, and that goal seems further and further away the longer he spends in this place. Despite Carlisle's efforts to protect him from troubling thoughts, he still seems to turn up plenty on his own-- especially when his mental and emotional states are still so shaken.

Edited 2017-05-09 22:23 (UTC)

"There are some things we cannot change, Glacius," Carlisle notes. "No matter how much we wish we could."

This is another time he holds his tongue, particularly on one specific example of 'things that cannot be changed.' Glacius has yet to accept it -- perhaps he will, in time, but Carlisle cannot help but wonder the being he'll leave behind. Will he move on? Find another partner more suited for his lifespan? Or will Glacius fall into a despair too great to wrench himself from? What will happen to him, then?

Having seen Algidus... Carlisle isn't sure he wants to know. He runs his hand along the curve of Glacius' head, fingers trailing along his spikes. "You have protected me many a time, though. Or did you forget?"

"What is there to even forget?" Glacius huffs, finally starting to sit up-- and not because he feels ready to stand on his own. "The demon nearly tore you apart. Your double almost murdered you--and then you nearly pushed yourself the rest of the way when you healed wounds garnered by my inability to deal with my own. I couldn't even keep you save from some overgrown plants-- and I was lashed for my failure."

The alien shakes his head, then finally turns away completely. "You do not even trust me to deal with the one who would threaten your life. I suppose after everything... I should not be surprised by your lack of faith in me. And yet... it still hurts. Ever since we grew close, all I have ever wanted to do was look out for you."

Carlisle's eyes fall, a frown wearing into him. So much for making Glacius feel better.

"It's not a lack of faith, Glacius," he insists. "I- I don't want to see you harmed any more on my behalf. It's not that you can't defend me, but—"

His hands wring together as he leaves the 'you shouldn't' off the end of that sentence. Glacius wouldn't want to hear it.

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