Carlisle Longinmouth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tongueamok) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hadriel_logs2017-06-03 06:27 pm
tongueamok) wrote in hadriel_logs2017-06-03 06:27 pm
Entry tags:
All the White Horses have Gone Ahead
Who: Carlisle Longinmouth (tongueamok) + open + a closed prompt for Glacius (glacius)
What: People go missing, and panic ensues.
Where: Park, Speakeasy, Spire 2 (Apartment 401)
When: 6/5
Warnings: PGish
Overall, it's a nerve-wracking day for Carlisle, but what day isn't for the heir of the Longinmouth estate?
It starts out innocuously enough, as Carlisle makes his way to Emily's sewing shop. While he doesn't give his pupil regular lessons anymore -- she doesn't particularly need them -- he does still check in with her from time to time, getting her opinions on glyphs, seeing if she'll transcribe some things for him with her far-neater-than-his handwriting. With his papers in hand, he opens the door—
Or walks straight into the door, as it doesn't budge when he tries the knob. Carlisle backs up a step, straightening his glasses with a befuddled look. Locked? Peering into the window tells him she's not in -- odd. Emily sometimes has the early shift with that coffee cart she and her friends run, he reminds himself, but it's plenty late enough for her to be here.
He lets out an aggravated sigh and waits for a bit, figuring she might show up at any time. He waits ten minutes, then twenty before sighing again -- more irritably this time, as though Emily would hear him from wherever she is and appear to open the door for him. He pulls out his communicator, scanning down the list of residents to find her name... but it's not there.
Carlisle's brow furrows as he searches again, pulling the device closer to him and narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. He must have overlooked it, he tells himself. She's there, surely -- Emily has been in the city longer than he has. He simply missed her name. It's a trick upon his eyes by this accursed technology. Unfortunately, a second and third, more thorough search reveals he was right the first time, and that her name simply isn't on the contact list for the citizens of Hadriel anymore. Emily is gone -- from the list, from the communicators, and if that means what it has always meant, from the city entirely.
Oh.
That's a rather somber sort of oh that rings through Carlisle's head, worry etching across his face as he simply stands there, dumbfounded. He suffers through and entire minute, maybe more, of quiet shock before he finally tucks his communicator away and starts moving, aimlessly heading back into the city, his mind anywhere else but where he's actually going. It's not as though he hasn't had people disappear from the city: there was Miriam, Kate, Chris. He's lost friends before, though it always seems notable to him, as he doesn't have a great deal of friends to begin with. He's too private a person, too troublesome to deal with even on good days. Even Carlisle only likes himself in measured doses.
But Emily meant something to him. She was a student, someone who had taken an art he'd taught her and not only took it seriously, but made it her own; she was a friend, one who looked out for him even when he insisted she do otherwise. And now she's gone, just like the others, and there's that terrible sinking feeling that she wouldn't be if she'd not associated with him. It is said in his world that the twice-cursed are misfortune incarnate to those who would make the error of being near them, and Carlisle, at that moment, cannot think of a greater misfortune for Emily than being returned to a terrible monster-filled mountain where her friends are dead.
That's the sort of thought that riles Carlisle's natural paranoia, making him worry about other people who have associated with him. There's one being in particular he worries about more than any other.
Park [open]
Carlisle spends the early afternoon in the park, buried deep within the area in a spot that he and Glacius have turned into his latest garden. While not entirely hidden, it is set back far enough to be off the normal paths, a spot of green one might notice in the distance among the blasted trees near the riverside. There are rudimentary fences constructed of stone, mostly ones salvaged from debris when the city split into two and buildings deteriorated. There are plenty of plants, crawling vines and flowering shrubs that are a far cry from the ones found in Sorrow's orchard. There's even the base of a small building, a structure with four walls and a door that's mostly meant to serve as storage.
There's also a man who is clearly wrapped up in his own head, muttering to himself as he angrily prunes away at leaves on some smaller, potted specimens.
"I should have known this would happen," he grumbles in clear irritation, his tone absolutely embittered. Carlisle shifts the pot around to get a better angle on what needs to be cut away, removed for the betterment of the entire fern. Wouldn't that be something, to remove what -- or who -- poisons the entire city with his presence as easily as he removes those dying leaves?
Carlisle pushes his glasses to his forehead and paws at his eyes a moment, setting aside his shears to wipe his free hand on his gardening apron. That's not a productive thought, and he knows it, yet there it is all the same, a torrent of negative self-reflection threatening to pull him under. Would Emily still be here if he hadn't known her? Would Kate? Was there really no correlation, as she is always so apt to—
Was, Carlisle corrects inwardly. Emily was so apt to tell him that, just as Glacius is. How long will it be now until he brings misfortune to his icy partner, as well? Or to anyone else? Is there anything to even be done about it now? He has long lived with the knowledge that he is the failure of his bloodline, and that a cursed creature such as himself would only bring ill upon those closest to him. He'd thought that, perhaps, he could escape such a fate away from his world. He'd toyed with the idea that he had been led astray his whole life when people claimed him to be the reason his family line will die with him. He'd wondered, even for a moment, if he could be more than the most pathetic of the Longinmouth line, the weak link in a once-strong chain.
However, as he hurls one of his plants as far as he can throw it and rubs at his bleary eyes again, choking on the breath lodged somewhere in his throat, Carlisle decides he was clearly wrong to ever consider such nonsense.
Speakeasy [open]
The evening is spent searching for liquor. With the former bar gone, Carlisle makes his way to the Speakeasy, ready to drown his problems in his former vices. He knows better -- he knows his partner would be disappointed Carlisle didn't turn to him for solace from his deprecating thoughts. However, the more the despondent Carlisle considers pulling out his communicator and just calling Glacius... the more nervous he gets. Emily was close to Glacius, as well, and the alien is no doubt hurting from her loss... but what if he's no longer in the list of names, either? What if he's gone?
That's paranoia talking, Carlisle reminds himself... and yet, with how unnerved he is from the mere thought of the panic that will set in the second he sees Glacius' name is no longer among the residents of the city, he finds he cannot even bring himself to see if his fears are even valid. Not right now. Not yet.
Maybe after he's had a drink.
Though Carlisle does have a bottle sitting before him on a table in the corner, the hours tick by without him imbibing. He's instead sitting back there, still incessantly chattering to himself -- or maybe he's talking to the bottle at this point. It does have a cat's head sculpted right into the glass. It gives it character.
"I should- I should just do it," he mutters, his nails curling against the table as he runs his other hand through his hair for the umpteenth time; it is more unkempt than usual, his fastidiousness unraveling with this composure. "I don't know what I'm afraid of."
He seems to reconsider that lie within one second, as though the cat-bottle would judge him for his lack of conviction. "I mean, I know what I'm afraid of, but. I- I should trust he's fine. He's always fine. The sort who can accomplish anything he puts his mind to. In fact, he'll call me anytime now, surely."
Yes, anytime. And yet, despite this being the one time he hopes technology will come to his rescue, his communicator doesn't ring.
Apartment 401 [forglacius]
And by the time the late evening rolls around and the night is in full swing, Carlisle has worked himself into near panic. He barely manages to get inside his apartment, his hands shaking so badly that he can hardly maneuver the keys into the lock. "It's fine," he says aloud -- with no one, plant or otherwise, to talk to this time, he is absolutely talking to himself. That's not unusual, all things considered. "It's fine. Glacius is fine. He'll- he'll probably be waiting as it is. Back from his patrol, I'm sure. Hah, what took you so long, Carlisle? That's what he'll say. And I'll see this has all been for nothing. I mean, not nothing, as Emily is still gone. Still my fault she's gone, by the way. It's fine. It's just fine."
Unfortunately, the dwelling is empty when Carlisle finally gets the door open. His mind works into overdrive to keep himself from completely breaking down as panic latches onto him. "He's asleep," he reassures himself now, tossing aside his bag and heading right to Glacius' door. It's not like the alien to go to bed before Carlisle gets home, but then, it's not like Glacius to not call, nor is it like him to not be home already, nor is it like anything for Emily to just be up and gone. What a strange day it's been!
Carlisle knocks at the door, the nervous smile plastered across his face fading as fast as that brief, denial-born glimmer of flippant humor. "Glacius? I'm sorry I'm home so late. I- I stopped, er. Somewhere. Lost track of the time. Funny how that happens here in a cave."
Silence.
"I'll admit that, ah," he continues, stumbling over his words. He claws at the back of his neck with one hand, the other fumbling with his tabard. "It was the Speakeasy. Little place run by Miss Rey. You remember her, I'm sure, being on the Guard with her and all. Fantastic woman, sometimes. Not much of a conversationalist. She's got her merits, though."
Further silence. Carlisle fidgets uncomfortably, tension mounting in his shoulders.
"I- I didn't mean to break my word to you. I didn't drink. I mean- maybe just one swallow to take my mind off- well, there's been a lot on it today, actually. I- I should have called you, but- but I- I started thinking about, um. I just happened to notice today that Emily's name isn't in the phone anymore. Funny thing, really. And I wanted to call you with the communicator, but you know how I am with technology and... whatnot."
The clergyman pauses there, inwardly praying for an answer as the seconds tick by, the thudding in his chest growing painful the heavier it gets. Disappointment, irritation, remorse, anything. He pushes the door open when nothing comes. "... Glacius?" Though the icy bedroom is still there -- and still relatively icy -- the alien who usually inhabits it is nowhere to be found. He's out far later than he should be, Carlisle thinks to himself, trying to swallow the knot in his throat; it doesn't budge.
A shaky laugh forces itself out of Carlisle as he breaks the silence himself once more. "Something m- must have happened," he mumbles, trembling as horror sets in before it even has a full foundation. "Just- just a busy day for the Guard. I'll just- I'll just call, and it'll- it'll be fine."
Oh, but calling would require him to look at the list of names, he remembers, the reason he hasn't already made that call back to torture him once more as it paints a clear scenario in his mind's eye. Looking at that list would result in him not finding Glacius' name on it, surely. He'd deny it as much as he did earlier, searching the contacts again and again, but to no avail. And then he'd panic -- catastrophically so, as with the recent bout of frights, but far worse -- and that'd be just awful. It could be the easy solution, the logical part of him says; it could also be a shortcut to utter despair that he is currently not equipped to handle.
And where does that leave Carlisle Longinmouth, heir of the Longinmouth estate, in the wee hours of the morning? Hiding in his closet. It's a little cramped for his tall stature, but at least there's nothing to be terrified of in there -- nothing but the utter hopelessness consuming his own mind as he mutters another desperate prayer to his goddess. He doesn't know if she can hear him... but it's better than the thought that he might be alone.
tongueamok) + open + a closed prompt for Glacius (glacius)What: People go missing, and panic ensues.
Where: Park, Speakeasy, Spire 2 (Apartment 401)
When: 6/5
Warnings: PGish
Overall, it's a nerve-wracking day for Carlisle, but what day isn't for the heir of the Longinmouth estate?
It starts out innocuously enough, as Carlisle makes his way to Emily's sewing shop. While he doesn't give his pupil regular lessons anymore -- she doesn't particularly need them -- he does still check in with her from time to time, getting her opinions on glyphs, seeing if she'll transcribe some things for him with her far-neater-than-his handwriting. With his papers in hand, he opens the door—
Or walks straight into the door, as it doesn't budge when he tries the knob. Carlisle backs up a step, straightening his glasses with a befuddled look. Locked? Peering into the window tells him she's not in -- odd. Emily sometimes has the early shift with that coffee cart she and her friends run, he reminds himself, but it's plenty late enough for her to be here.
He lets out an aggravated sigh and waits for a bit, figuring she might show up at any time. He waits ten minutes, then twenty before sighing again -- more irritably this time, as though Emily would hear him from wherever she is and appear to open the door for him. He pulls out his communicator, scanning down the list of residents to find her name... but it's not there.
Carlisle's brow furrows as he searches again, pulling the device closer to him and narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. He must have overlooked it, he tells himself. She's there, surely -- Emily has been in the city longer than he has. He simply missed her name. It's a trick upon his eyes by this accursed technology. Unfortunately, a second and third, more thorough search reveals he was right the first time, and that her name simply isn't on the contact list for the citizens of Hadriel anymore. Emily is gone -- from the list, from the communicators, and if that means what it has always meant, from the city entirely.
Oh.
That's a rather somber sort of oh that rings through Carlisle's head, worry etching across his face as he simply stands there, dumbfounded. He suffers through and entire minute, maybe more, of quiet shock before he finally tucks his communicator away and starts moving, aimlessly heading back into the city, his mind anywhere else but where he's actually going. It's not as though he hasn't had people disappear from the city: there was Miriam, Kate, Chris. He's lost friends before, though it always seems notable to him, as he doesn't have a great deal of friends to begin with. He's too private a person, too troublesome to deal with even on good days. Even Carlisle only likes himself in measured doses.
But Emily meant something to him. She was a student, someone who had taken an art he'd taught her and not only took it seriously, but made it her own; she was a friend, one who looked out for him even when he insisted she do otherwise. And now she's gone, just like the others, and there's that terrible sinking feeling that she wouldn't be if she'd not associated with him. It is said in his world that the twice-cursed are misfortune incarnate to those who would make the error of being near them, and Carlisle, at that moment, cannot think of a greater misfortune for Emily than being returned to a terrible monster-filled mountain where her friends are dead.
That's the sort of thought that riles Carlisle's natural paranoia, making him worry about other people who have associated with him. There's one being in particular he worries about more than any other.
Park [open]
Carlisle spends the early afternoon in the park, buried deep within the area in a spot that he and Glacius have turned into his latest garden. While not entirely hidden, it is set back far enough to be off the normal paths, a spot of green one might notice in the distance among the blasted trees near the riverside. There are rudimentary fences constructed of stone, mostly ones salvaged from debris when the city split into two and buildings deteriorated. There are plenty of plants, crawling vines and flowering shrubs that are a far cry from the ones found in Sorrow's orchard. There's even the base of a small building, a structure with four walls and a door that's mostly meant to serve as storage.
There's also a man who is clearly wrapped up in his own head, muttering to himself as he angrily prunes away at leaves on some smaller, potted specimens.
"I should have known this would happen," he grumbles in clear irritation, his tone absolutely embittered. Carlisle shifts the pot around to get a better angle on what needs to be cut away, removed for the betterment of the entire fern. Wouldn't that be something, to remove what -- or who -- poisons the entire city with his presence as easily as he removes those dying leaves?
Carlisle pushes his glasses to his forehead and paws at his eyes a moment, setting aside his shears to wipe his free hand on his gardening apron. That's not a productive thought, and he knows it, yet there it is all the same, a torrent of negative self-reflection threatening to pull him under. Would Emily still be here if he hadn't known her? Would Kate? Was there really no correlation, as she is always so apt to—
Was, Carlisle corrects inwardly. Emily was so apt to tell him that, just as Glacius is. How long will it be now until he brings misfortune to his icy partner, as well? Or to anyone else? Is there anything to even be done about it now? He has long lived with the knowledge that he is the failure of his bloodline, and that a cursed creature such as himself would only bring ill upon those closest to him. He'd thought that, perhaps, he could escape such a fate away from his world. He'd toyed with the idea that he had been led astray his whole life when people claimed him to be the reason his family line will die with him. He'd wondered, even for a moment, if he could be more than the most pathetic of the Longinmouth line, the weak link in a once-strong chain.
However, as he hurls one of his plants as far as he can throw it and rubs at his bleary eyes again, choking on the breath lodged somewhere in his throat, Carlisle decides he was clearly wrong to ever consider such nonsense.
Speakeasy [open]
The evening is spent searching for liquor. With the former bar gone, Carlisle makes his way to the Speakeasy, ready to drown his problems in his former vices. He knows better -- he knows his partner would be disappointed Carlisle didn't turn to him for solace from his deprecating thoughts. However, the more the despondent Carlisle considers pulling out his communicator and just calling Glacius... the more nervous he gets. Emily was close to Glacius, as well, and the alien is no doubt hurting from her loss... but what if he's no longer in the list of names, either? What if he's gone?
That's paranoia talking, Carlisle reminds himself... and yet, with how unnerved he is from the mere thought of the panic that will set in the second he sees Glacius' name is no longer among the residents of the city, he finds he cannot even bring himself to see if his fears are even valid. Not right now. Not yet.
Maybe after he's had a drink.
Though Carlisle does have a bottle sitting before him on a table in the corner, the hours tick by without him imbibing. He's instead sitting back there, still incessantly chattering to himself -- or maybe he's talking to the bottle at this point. It does have a cat's head sculpted right into the glass. It gives it character.
"I should- I should just do it," he mutters, his nails curling against the table as he runs his other hand through his hair for the umpteenth time; it is more unkempt than usual, his fastidiousness unraveling with this composure. "I don't know what I'm afraid of."
He seems to reconsider that lie within one second, as though the cat-bottle would judge him for his lack of conviction. "I mean, I know what I'm afraid of, but. I- I should trust he's fine. He's always fine. The sort who can accomplish anything he puts his mind to. In fact, he'll call me anytime now, surely."
Yes, anytime. And yet, despite this being the one time he hopes technology will come to his rescue, his communicator doesn't ring.
Apartment 401 [for
glacius]And by the time the late evening rolls around and the night is in full swing, Carlisle has worked himself into near panic. He barely manages to get inside his apartment, his hands shaking so badly that he can hardly maneuver the keys into the lock. "It's fine," he says aloud -- with no one, plant or otherwise, to talk to this time, he is absolutely talking to himself. That's not unusual, all things considered. "It's fine. Glacius is fine. He'll- he'll probably be waiting as it is. Back from his patrol, I'm sure. Hah, what took you so long, Carlisle? That's what he'll say. And I'll see this has all been for nothing. I mean, not nothing, as Emily is still gone. Still my fault she's gone, by the way. It's fine. It's just fine."
Unfortunately, the dwelling is empty when Carlisle finally gets the door open. His mind works into overdrive to keep himself from completely breaking down as panic latches onto him. "He's asleep," he reassures himself now, tossing aside his bag and heading right to Glacius' door. It's not like the alien to go to bed before Carlisle gets home, but then, it's not like Glacius to not call, nor is it like him to not be home already, nor is it like anything for Emily to just be up and gone. What a strange day it's been!
Carlisle knocks at the door, the nervous smile plastered across his face fading as fast as that brief, denial-born glimmer of flippant humor. "Glacius? I'm sorry I'm home so late. I- I stopped, er. Somewhere. Lost track of the time. Funny how that happens here in a cave."
Silence.
"I'll admit that, ah," he continues, stumbling over his words. He claws at the back of his neck with one hand, the other fumbling with his tabard. "It was the Speakeasy. Little place run by Miss Rey. You remember her, I'm sure, being on the Guard with her and all. Fantastic woman, sometimes. Not much of a conversationalist. She's got her merits, though."
Further silence. Carlisle fidgets uncomfortably, tension mounting in his shoulders.
"I- I didn't mean to break my word to you. I didn't drink. I mean- maybe just one swallow to take my mind off- well, there's been a lot on it today, actually. I- I should have called you, but- but I- I started thinking about, um. I just happened to notice today that Emily's name isn't in the phone anymore. Funny thing, really. And I wanted to call you with the communicator, but you know how I am with technology and... whatnot."
The clergyman pauses there, inwardly praying for an answer as the seconds tick by, the thudding in his chest growing painful the heavier it gets. Disappointment, irritation, remorse, anything. He pushes the door open when nothing comes. "... Glacius?" Though the icy bedroom is still there -- and still relatively icy -- the alien who usually inhabits it is nowhere to be found. He's out far later than he should be, Carlisle thinks to himself, trying to swallow the knot in his throat; it doesn't budge.
A shaky laugh forces itself out of Carlisle as he breaks the silence himself once more. "Something m- must have happened," he mumbles, trembling as horror sets in before it even has a full foundation. "Just- just a busy day for the Guard. I'll just- I'll just call, and it'll- it'll be fine."
Oh, but calling would require him to look at the list of names, he remembers, the reason he hasn't already made that call back to torture him once more as it paints a clear scenario in his mind's eye. Looking at that list would result in him not finding Glacius' name on it, surely. He'd deny it as much as he did earlier, searching the contacts again and again, but to no avail. And then he'd panic -- catastrophically so, as with the recent bout of frights, but far worse -- and that'd be just awful. It could be the easy solution, the logical part of him says; it could also be a shortcut to utter despair that he is currently not equipped to handle.
And where does that leave Carlisle Longinmouth, heir of the Longinmouth estate, in the wee hours of the morning? Hiding in his closet. It's a little cramped for his tall stature, but at least there's nothing to be terrified of in there -- nothing but the utter hopelessness consuming his own mind as he mutters another desperate prayer to his goddess. He doesn't know if she can hear him... but it's better than the thought that he might be alone.
no subject
For a moment he thinks that Carlisle might be struck by a similar sorrow, but it turns out that isn't the case at all. The alien doesn't get much time to regard him as he's pulled into a tight embrace, but at least Carlisle doesn't leave him wondering. The ice alien squirms slightly, trying to get enough range of motion so that he can rest his forehead against his partner's, then goes still with their faces only inches from one another's.
"What? Carlisle... there's nothing wrong with being thankful for what you still have. To be able to count your good fortune in a place that offers very little of it. It doesn't speak to how little you cared for Emily, it just... speaks to how much you care for me," Glacius replies, looking the clergyman square in the eyes. He feels touched in a way that's hard to describe, but he knows it's important to try. "I... I'm glad I mean that much to you, that my presence can offer you such relief even in the face of such a loss. It feels good to know that I can... help you just by being here."
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He trails off, pressing his forehead tightly to Glacius', his eyes squeezing together as he grinds his teeth and tries his damnedest to not lose all of his composure. For what might be the first time, he's coming to terms with what Glacius has felt all along every time he mentioned his impending demise -- he came to terms with it long ago, but Glacius could never accept it. He wanted more time together.
And Carlisle realizes in his heart that he wants that, too. He wants more time than he will ever be afforded, more time than he, an accursed being, can have. He has thus far thought of their parting as an unfortunate inevitability, but one he could handle when the time came, much like his death. He should have realized far sooner that said separation (again, much like his death) would be an unbearable fate, one he'd do anything to avoid.
It's thoughts like that that make Carlisle wish he had a few more drinks in him, something to numb his mind from all the what-ifs going through it. Of all the comforts Glacius could offer him, he's positive alcohol is still off the table.
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The alien tilts his head, his concern only deepening as the clergyman squeezes his eyes shut amidst the tears that are threatening. He'd thought, at first, that Carlisle might have been crying out of pure relief... but as he gnashes his teeth and his body shudders underneath the alien, Glacius realizes that is not the case. Giving a soft and consoling chirp, he butts up against his partner's cheek again, resting more of his weight on the human to try and help quell some of that shaking.
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Carlisle's arms wrap tighter around Glacius, his nails scratching at the alien's icy shell as he struggles for air against the choking sobs that clutter his throat, each one fighting to escape. So much for keeping some of his composure; he never has been particularly good at certain areas of self-restraint, as shown by his drinking.
It's not the alcohol fueling this outburst, though: it's the realization crashing into him, knocking him of his feet, pulling him under.
"I have tr- tried to accept my inevitable end with grace, and now, I feel fear for it, and desperately cling to what time we have. I... I feel not the strength you have tried so hard to instill in me, but anguish at the thought of my passing, for it means we will be apart."
no subject
"I feel anguish too; this is natural, faced with the thought of endings, especially of something we hold so dear. But do you know what else I feel, Calrilse? I feel joy. Joy and thankfulness for the time we have been allowed together. It is not fair that we must ultimately be taken from one another, but we cannot become greedy for days; all we can do is cherish whatever time we can make together," Glacius replies, sighing and nuzzling briefly against his partner before lowering his eyes. "I... I didn't mean for this relationship to become another point of anguish for you. I just wanted it to bring you peace and happiness in the time that you have, and wanted to do whatever I could to... give you more of that. I will miss you dearly, but I would rather know that pain than to have never gotten to know you like this at all."
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"And I, as well. I... I would not return what bliss I have found with you even if it meant I would live forever. Your... your compassion, your touch, your love -- it all makes me feel more alive than I have ever been."
He is quiet for some time after that, simply trying to steady himself against his own turmoil, his breaths evening out as the minutes tick by. His grip on Glacius remains tight, his limbs still shaking as he tries to keep them as close as possible, as though the alien might be lost the moment he lets go. With the stars above them and his partner so near, it is easier for him to find that peace he wants, he needs... but it seems no matter what, he will always harbor some fear in the depths of his heart. It is his natural state, after all.
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It seems to be, after some time; though the alien is plenty capable of remaining quiet, he's not able to keep himself from offering gentle affections; a few nuzzles against his partner's chest or cheek here and there, plus the occasional graze of his mandible against the clergyman's neck or through his hair. Hopefully the fmailiar, comforting gestures and the prolonged contact will remind Carlisle that Glacius is here, and that he's not going anywhere.
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"Glacius," he finally says quietly, his voice raspy from his outburst. It's drained, much as Carlisle himself is, but he offers a way for Glacius to, perhaps, take his mind from Emily for a time. At least he has a voice at all, courtesy of his partner's comforting gestures. "Tell me of how you travel through stars like these. I believe I could imagine what it would be like, with some help."
no subject
"Well, it's... beautiful," the ice alien murmurs, folding his hands over top one another on Carlisle's chest so that he can rest his head on them--allowing him to maintain eye contact with his partner without keeping his neck craned back. "Of course, any travel through space is done inside a ship, but once you've plotted a course and the vessel's navigational systems have taken over, you're free to get up and walk to any of the viewports or observatory windows. At that point... words do not do it justice, but I will try. It..."
Glacius pauses, his brows furrowing as he tries to come up with a good way of describing it. Given where they are, it calls to mind another memory that they had shared together quite easily. "... It is like that night we spent out on the ocean together. Do you remember that? How the darkness spread across the sky and the water, the light of the stars reflected across the surface of the ocean? It is like that, but you are far closer to it; you are surrounded and encompassed in beauty, comprised of constellations and nebulae and other astral phenomenon. Glittering lights and broad, swirling strokes of whatever colors you can imagine... and the quiet! It is magnificent. No distractions, no clutter... nothing but you and the raw beauty of that from which we all emerged... it is an almost transcendental experience."
The ice alien pauses to take a breath, wistfulness and appreciation and longing all shining in his eyes. Will he ever see such a sight again? He is afraid to consider the answer, knowing that it may leave him weak and lost. He pushes on: "... Of course... things are a little bit different in you are in the process of folding space. At that point any viewpoints are usually closed due to safety precautions, but even if you left them open there wouldn't be much to see in the plane between dimensions. Some of my people theorize that puts you closer to the Astral Plane, the dimension that links all universes, as folding space allows us to travel between them with unparalleled speed... but we have never been able to access it. We suspect that it has been intentionally sealed by the beings that inhabited it..." And now Glacius finally stops again, averting his eyes sheepishly. "Ah, but that is getting off topic. I hope I painted a decent enough picture of what traveling through space is like. It really is awe-inspiring... and it never stops being so, no matter how many times you have done it."
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Things were so different back then, before they fully realized their feelings for one another... and yet, in some ways, their roles were very much the same.
"It sounds both fascinating and terrifying," he admits finally, opening his eyes to the false sky above them. It, too, is beautiful. "But I assume I would be able to whether such a place and find an appreciation for it with the right company."
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The ice alien sighs, settling his head on top of hands now, his eyes half-way closed. "And I hope you also know that I'll always be here for you... you won't have to face your fears alone. We'll get through things together, day by day... and maybe some day, we won't be looking upon false stars. Will be up among real ones together... and I can finally give you the better live of peace and freedom that you deserve."
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And that is frightening in and of itself. To realize he has changed so much, and because of the influence of one being, makes Carlisle wonder how different his life could be in other circumstances. What if he'd never met Glacius at all? Or if he'd remained home, never venturing far? What if he'd been spirited to another city, or another jungle, or another ship? What if he'd never been dragged away from the jungle at all, and was still in contact with Algidus?
Hm. The thought of Algidus makes his chest hurt, and he'd rather not suffer that -- not after the long day they've both had. Carlisle brushes his hand once more against Glacius' scar, leaning on one of their shared signs of solidarity for comfort.
"I... I would like that," he admits, closing his eyes once more. He should want to go home, but then he'd be alone again, and how much of a home could that be?
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It's a reminder that while may have lost a sizable chunk of his support network by now, he's not completely alone. He still has someone to stave off the worst of his loneliness, to offer him succor. He will hurt for some time... but he'll be okay. He'll make it through this, with Carlisle's help.
A sigh rolls out of the alien's gills as he settles further--but he doesn't drift off just yet. The warmth beneath him reminds him of their differing needs; being pinned under a heavy, icy alien can't be a very comfortable way for the clergyman to rest. Moreover, even if Carlisle did somehow manage to nod off here, Glacius knows that any extra chill tends to push his partner's mind towards nightmares of that cold, desolate land that he speaks of in moments of fear or despair. So the otherworldly being eventually stirs again, pulling himself off of the clergyman's body as his arms snake in the opposite direction, hooking around his back--ready to lift the human from the couch should he receive permission.
"I think we've endure this wretched day for long enough," Glacius murmurs quietly. "Shall we retire?"
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He offers Glacius a soft smile, resting his hand along the alien's neck for extra leverage when being lifted. He might be embarrassed to be carried sometimes, but he's happy to retire for the day with his partner, especially when the day has been a devastating one. "Yes, let's. There is nothing we can do now that cannot be done tomorrow."
Or the next day, or the next, for as long as the city will keep them together. They simply need only take it day by day, and cherish what time they have, no matter how frightening the potential of the future may be.