crushed_pearls | Come Sail Away IC Inbox

"It was you or one other, and he wants nothing to do with me. I don't blame him."

The oilcloth slides along the blade. It's smooth, soothing, repetitive.

"When we met, I recall, you called my swordwork 'pretty'." Dimitri's chest hitches, without humor. "Something else agrees with you. And it would seem that I can kill prettily as well."

That has Erin's attention, and concern, immediately. Her ears twitch violently, and she shakes her head to try and still them. It's not quite effective. "Something here?" Erin asks. "...I've got a bad feeling about why I'm here and I sincerely hope that I am wrong."

Quietly: "What feeling is that?"

"...Did you go to the Fairest of Lands, where the gods of nightmare reign?"

It's whispered in a tight voice. Let her be wrong. Please let this be anything else.

Dimitri's shoulders twitch. His spine coils, dragging him forwards, inwards, until he buries his face in his hands with an explosion of hysterical laughter.

He rides that out until his chest crumples, dropping him into heaving gasps that aren't not sobs. "It played at holding court," he giggles. "And I know that game."

"...Yeah," Erin whispers. "They do that a lot. I'm...I'm so sorry, Dimitri."

Tentatively, she offers a hand out; halfway between them, palm up.

A gesture that may make more sense now.

Dimitri's hunched too tightly around himself to notice the offered hand. He can't stop giggling, a near-silent seize of his ribs.

"I-if it had been real I suppose you'd call it luck but as it is being spared only meant I was in there longer," he says in a breathless rush. A seizing laugh-sob -- "Red was the fashion that week."

He skims his fingers along the blade in his lap.

"They'll always be a mess, my love. That's life." Erin tilts her head up to kiss Crabb's forehead and just holds her softly. "...I know I can't keep you here forever right now but when it's all done for the day I'ma fuckin' cuddle you so god damn hard."

"Hey," Erin says softly. "Stay with me here youngblood. You don't want to get sucked back into that hole. Focus on something nearby; me, the plants, the waves. Get a baseline, master your breath."

The last piece of advice is one warrior to another; to master the breath is to master the body, and important, therefore, to mastering the mind.

Deep breaths, with his arms wrapped around his head. Cyclical panic where fighting to control his breathing reminds him that he's panicking and he can't be panicking they'll eat him alive he needs to stop panicking but everyone's shouting and he can't stop panicking

His sternum buckles. Cut off from conscious control his hands scrabble at the dirt in the pot behind him and shove it against his face.

There was no dirt there. Blood, grime, gore, but nothing so unruly as dirt. Nothing green and growing. Clean wet soil smells like safety like freedom ~~like Dedue~~ like home and

he can breathe again.

He stays like that, doubled over, shoulders heaving, until his head spins more slowly and he feels less like retching. Then he hauls himself upright, stuttering, piecemeal, and scrubs the worst of the muddied dirt-stains from under his eyes and nose.

"I apologize. That was unbecoming of me -- "

His features go blank, stricken. He buries his face in his hands again.

"You won't hear me give you grief for being your authentic self." Erin makes a low humming noise; she's thinking. "...Dimitri, there's an opportunity I can offer you. It won't be a miracle, and it won't be a cure. It may, in fact, take relative years. There is a rift that goes to the people who helped me, on one of their high holidays. With a bit of shapeshifting I can make introductions, and they might be able to help you too. I won't lie, it'll be bloody work, both metaphorically and literally; they live in the war I was taken from."

For a moment, Dimitri thinks 'authentic self' refers to his apology, and he's accelerating towards another existential crisis-panic attack before he realizes she means the dirt.

He nods slowly. "I don't ... hhh. I can't as -- I know better than to expect a cure." A bitter laugh. "And I can't spend years there. I'm not -- I'm not that flexible and I'm already bent past breaking. I've already been away from him too long."

He looks up at Erin finally. "I wouldn't ... ? I don't even -- " He gestures at his ears. "I wasn't really -- it didn't have time to change me much, is -- would that not be obvious?"

"You'd be surprised how little we visually change, at first." Erin flickers a wan smile. "When I first got out I had backlit eyes and a little halo of witchlight. I could pass you off easy. Easy enough to attend the festival, at least - meet people who have gone through what you've gone through, maybe play some games."

Beat.

"Oh shit, Arthur's gonna be there too. The Ogre king I told you about? He's fun. He'll be busy, but he's fun.'

Yesterday, even as badly as he was doing, Dimitri would have been all-but wagging his tail. Now the suggestion gets a bright gleam of interest, quickly shuttered into something measured and courteous. "Yes, thank -- that's -- " His face twitches furiously. The next few words have to be wrestled out through the bars of his teeth. "I -- would -- like -- that."

"One caveat," Erin says, raising a hand. "Rules of the Feast of Strength are simple: if you eat, you need to play at least one game. Luckily for your whole Crest situation, they've got a log toss, but still. You down?"

"Aheh. Just play, and not win? I think I can manage that." His voice drops, muted. "Just -- please, I -- I beg you -- keep me away from duels, if there are any. Anything but that."

Erin nods. "No individual game is required, you've just got to play at least one. No one can force you to duel. My main worry was you getting into tug of war and being seen as a dick for using magic in it."

She pauses.

"...Possibly avoid dodgeball too."

Erin stands and offers her hand to help Dimitri up.

"It would be --I shouldn't -- I'd prefer not to be near it at all, if that's at all possible. I -- have never heard of dodgeball, but it does sound like something I ought to avoid." Dimitri collects his cleaning supplies, then accepts the hand to his feet, rising stiffly with a clamped-down hiss. "When would you like to ... ? I'll have to put my kit away, but I, ah, am not likely to sleep tonight." He pauses. "And will it be a problem if I wear my sword?"

Crabb huffs a faint laugh, leaning into her. "Y'sure I can't just stay here all day? Sure be bleedin' easier than this conversation..."

You know, like she and Johnny won't be basically cuddling on the couch by the end of the talk because it goes better than fine.

"Go face the music, my fierce flower."

Crabb gets a kiss for luck.

Crabb tries to drag out the kiss for as long as is at all reasonable, but eventually she sighs and gets up. "Go ahead and send that text, then."

It'll be fine, she tries to tell herself, and even if she's still panicking right now, at least that will prove to be true.

"I'll do what I can. Worst case we can dip before past me duels our crush." Erin smiles, wanly. "Sword is fine, my cabin in thirty? I've gotta plan a disguise."

" ... that is incredibly Faerghan of you." Said with no indication whether that's compliment, insult, or neither. "Thirty minutes suits me just as well. I'll -- "

He pauses again, shutting his eyes with an aggrieved look.

" -- not that I expect it," he asks, strained, "because I do believe you would warn me, but -- is there any sort of, of expectation of dress that I should be aware of?"

"Not as such but dress for running and jumping and try to not have like, patchy clothes. This memory is a big public event so we're trying not to look shabby." Erin flashes a sympathetic look. "All that said, it's a festival. No one's gonna get on you if you get muddy or your clothes rip or you spill food. Hell, food fights are only not traditional because too many of us have starved to tolerate them. It's a rowdy party, all about fellowship."

"Understood ... yes. I ... yes. That sounds ... good, I -- I think I would like that. Thank you."

However the hell long in the Master's House did nothing for the boy's social anxiety.

"Your cabin in thirty, then?"

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