Come Sail Away IC Inbox

[crushed_pearls]

Erin's voice mail message is in a weary voice: "Erin Peters. If you called in the middle of the night and I didn't answer, I'm dying. If I pick up and someone on your end isn't dying, they will be shortly. Text otherwise."

Comments

[crushed_pearls]

"...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.

[prince_of_beasts]

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.

[crushed_pearls]

"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.

[prince_of_beasts]

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.

[crushed_pearls]

"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."

[prince_of_beasts]

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?"

[crushed_pearls]

"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.'

[prince_of_beasts]

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."

[crushed_pearls]

"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?"

[prince_of_beasts]

"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."

[crushed_pearls]

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.

[prince_of_beasts]

"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?"

[crushed_pearls]

"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."

[prince_of_beasts]

" ... 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?"

[crushed_pearls]

"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."

[prince_of_beasts]

"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?"

[crushed_pearls]

"My cabin in thirty," Erin agrees.

Thirty minutes later the sight that greets Dimitri by opening Erin's cabin door is much-changed. Among other things Erin is now a five-foot redheaded Welsh girl whose skin is dusted with tiny emeralds, wearing an outfit borrowed from Helena, though she's chosen to forgo the hat and shoes entirely. She gives Dimitri a playful bow, entirely more mischief than her usual semi-ironic but ultimately sincere gesture, and then rests easy with the outfit's cane holding up her weight.

Her accent is a perfect match for Dimitri's own. "Y'can call me Little Molly for this visit, since I'd rather not run into my past self and have an awkward moment. I'll introduce us to King Arthur as visiting Lost from Wales, here to check in on his cursed sword that, well, belongs to Wales. Easy guest-right, few awkward questions, downside is I'm gonna have to say you've got amnesia from a knights-and-castles Durance 'cause they will not buy that you're from a knights-and-castles kinda society. You dig?"

[prince_of_beasts]

"Eeerin," Dimitri says slowly, confirming what he's pretty sure but not confident he's seeing. " ... Little Molly. Yes, I can manage that." Open mouth; tick -- "I've spoken with Darcy about legendary swords of Earth but I was not aware Excalibur is cursed. Unless I'm mistaken and you're referring to a different sword."

Breathe.

"It's a lovely look," he says, meaning it despite the wince that immediately follows. "I-impressively complete, I mean. At the, at the 'drag show', I saw ... that is, I wasn't aware you could alter your voice as well as your appearance."

Fortunately for Dimitri's nerves, Faerghus has its own tradition of rowdier festivals, and the package of clothing he'd received back in December had included a lighter summer outfit in blue and white, with wide borders of silver embroidery. Along with the sword and his armored boots and gloves, he looks like he walked out of a high-budget ren faire. He's also, finally, shed a layer of the tight-wound neurosis that's haunted him all night. (All month.)

He did spent maybe ten of those thirty minutes hugging the folded clothes to his face and trying not to cry.

He gives Erin a tight smile. "That's a lie even I could maintain. I wonder if it might as well not be true. ... as long as I don't have to talk about it. I doubt sounding homesick will be taken kindly."

[crushed_pearls]

"Yeah, it won't be," Erin agrees softly. "And to catch you up, while Excalibur being cursed or not depends on the story, my Earth currently has like...nine...blades said to be Excalibur and Wales wants them back. Not a high stakes matter but enough for an adventurous lass and her fighty apprentice to drop by."

Dimitri is ushered into Erin's room, and then the rift in her closet, which lets out into...

A meal.

A big meal.

A meal to end all other meals.

A solid half of this baseball stadium has been converted for the feast, which is nearly ready. There's food on grills, on charcoal trenches, in fryers, being pulled from fridges and coolers, food of all kinds - noodles, pastries, kebabs, burgers, soups, grilled and fried vegetables, cheese, it's like someone pulled out the stops to get food from every culture this port city can boast. The stands are packed with mortals and press; even more press teams circulate among the guests.

And the guests! A dizzying array of Lost, more than two hundred strong, plus mortal guests - their friends and family, political guests, athletes and bodybuilders, even the odd food critic or twelve. No one is eating just yet, though if the tables get many more dishes they might just buckle.

Erin flashes Dimitri a smile and lets him soak it in.

[prince_of_beasts]

Unfortunately, the timeline looks something like this:

- Dimitri escapes the Master's House
- Dimitri scrubs off every trace of the place he can possibly remove, and handles the subsequent first aid
- dissociative panic and desperate attempts to apologize to Ossie
- attempts to work off his terror and stress through training
- retrieving his lantern and retreating to the garden
- texting Erin

All told he has been out of the Master's House for under six hours. Struck again so soon by crowds, by chatter, by tables loaded with unimaginable foods, Dimitri's mind freezes solid to keep him safe. For a dizzying, disoriented moment a cruel, cheerful voice drifts from behind his shoulder: Liz Malloy, old thing. She told you what she was.

She had said there would be a feast.

"Erin," he says softly, distantly, puppeteering his own teeth and tongue; his eyes are glazed, not quite seeing what's there, a smile nailed to his face, "please tell me where I am."

[crushed_pearls]

Oh. Oh shit, something about this is hitting Dimitri hard. Erin's playful expression softens immediately, and she slips back alongside Dimitri to gesture at various things as she names them.

"This specific building is Chase Stadium, an arena for baseball - a non-violent sport from my Earth. Exits there and there go to the locker rooms and showers, and thence to outside the arena entirely. The city is New Avalon, a port city in my home nation, just over two hundred years old -" barely any time at all by Fodlan standards, "and known for its medical schools where doctors are educated, as well as its thick mists, beautiful architecture, and extreme homelessness. Before you are most of the free Lost of New Avalon, saving those who have jobs that need doing even on a high holiday. This is just over a year after the Unmasking, when the Lost became visible to the world."

Facts. Ground the boy's mind with facts.

[prince_of_beasts]

The facts help. Pointing out the exits most of all. The doors in the House were cosmetic only; the dinner never ended, so there was no need of them. The sunlight is soaking in as well; beneath the smells of food, cut grass and mud churned up by countless feet, the acrid throat-stinging tang Dimitri's come to recognize as car exhaust. His nose wrinkles reflexively at the mention of homelessness.

He shuts his eyes. " ... laughter. I hear laughter."

[crushed_pearls]

"I should hope so, people are having a good time. In about three minutes Arthur will give his speech to start the Feast." Erin cocks her head, and then sighs. "Listen even closer, towards the outside there, and you can probably hear people outside protesting the festival. Scumbags who write us off as demons and want my people dead or driven into the Hedge, which is functionally the same. They won't come inside."

[prince_of_beasts]

There was no laughter in the House, either.

"I can't discern it from the other voices, but I believe you. This period of Earth is still ... overwhelming to me." Dimitri hisses through his teeth. "Hatred of anyone other, on the other hand, is all too familiar."

He opens his eyes. He still feels shaky, but he can breathe again.

(He hasn't noticed yet, but he didn't need to fear being judged human. The memory has fit him into its context: he's lost all the color he had left apart from his eyes, the precise shade of a fresh bloodstain. His skin has the texture of bleached parchment; his hair, unspun linen fiber.)

"I'm... alright. I'll be alright. I mean that, I'm not just saying it. I do still want to do this." Breathe. " ... it would be best if I could sit down for a minute."

[crushed_pearls]

"By all means. C'mon."

Erin's avoiding the Heathens this time around, instead walking towards a clique of Spring courtiers who are chatting animatedly with one another, seemingly led by a fox woman. She has one more warning for Dimitri though.

"Hey uh, if you hear loud noises from the sky? Those are normal, they're our flying machines. Regular chopping beats are the helicopters, those are more news people, they make a career out of Doctor Watson's camera hobby. Big booms are the airplanes, sorta iodized versions of the shuttles you might have seen flying in December."