[ Another, longer, pause. Framing it as saying goodbye again instead of as risking his life somehow makes it seem worse. Crueller, on his part. ]
I have no intention of leaving you once again. I was- not expecting the experience to be fatal. [ THAT'S AN IMPROVEMENT, RIGHT? ] I admit, I was expecting 'extreme circumstances'. The kind that might provoke a response from anyone accompanying me, else prove dangerous to any who seemed like to come to my aid.
[ But she's giving him an out from the conversation, at least for the moment. So he closes his eyes, leaning into her hand. And doesn't even try to point out that a few bumps are hardly the worst he's endured, because he has enough awareness to know that that isn't going to make this any better. ]
If this is not a rescue, then- then I am grateful, that you came all this way. Necessary or not, I am ever glad to be near to you.
[ Sarangerel can’t help the little sympathetic smile that crosses her lips as he elaborates more on just what he was thinking before he left alone. She supposes she should be grateful that he had every intention of coming back, but still, if he knew it was going to be so dangerous, why not simply wait for more suitable company? It’s not as though dealing with voidsent is ever easy…
As promised though, she lets him off for now, content to stroke his hair and face, rub his ears and scalp. She feels more relaxed watching him relax, after all, and it is a great relief to be with him here and be assured that he is safe and sound. He flusters her a little with his sweet words, Saran not one accustomed to hearing heartfelt affection spoken aloud towards her often, but she hardly minds it— in truth, it warms her from the inside out, the meaning in what he says to her never going unnoticed or unappreciated.
In her own typical way, Saran returns the affection by rubbing his chest and bowing her head so she can press a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, each eyelid. She combs the red strands of his hair out of his face. ]
[ He sleeps. For once, it isn't nearly as difficult as usual.
Mother Miounne brings a pot of tea and some bread and jam for Saran after a while. And offers a slightly more embarrassing account of how this miqo'te attempted to hire a chocobo porter to Mor Dhona despite being physically incapable of remaining upright on a chocobo. And then had to be herded into a room before he thought to consider lying down. She shakes her head and sighs at least four times but she's at least confident that he'll be well enough to walk himself out of the canopy after a little more rest.
It's evening when he wakes. Which is a blessing, because his head feels-
-well. His head feels exactly like he struck it against a wall after an ill-advised attempt at diplomacy ended in being thrown across the room. Which is not a state of things that bright sunlight is known for improving.
He rolls over, curling in on himself, and he's too recently awoken for bravado or mostly-sincere exuberance. So for once he just makes a soft, wordless noise of complaint. It hurts. It hurts and he is going to whine about it until his waking mind catches up. ]
[ The picture that Mother Miounne painted Was not a surprising one, but most assuredly still frustrating to hear the account of all the same. She sighed and also shook her head, but thanked the Elezen woman from the bottom of her heart for wrestling G’raha to some manner of rest before she arrived. Thank the Twelve for her and that chocobo porter who hailed her.
While the Miqo’te sleeps, Saran continues to pet his hair soothingly for a long while, watching him sleep attentively just in case he should suddenly suffer worse pain or more severe side effects of his concussion. Eventually, she feels confident that he will sleep the rest of the afternoon peacefully and she partakes in some of the tea and jam bread, before resting her head on a fist and closing her eyes as well. G’raha seems to be sleeping heavily enough that she could probably slip a pillow under his head in place of her lap, but she doesn’t really have the nerve to stir him, even so.
Instead, she dozes while he slumbers off, the sound of his breathing lulling her to a light sleep herself. When she feels him move, she opens her eyes with a quick flutter of silver lashes and instinctively returns to running her fingers through his hair, automatically trying to ease him back to sleep. The unhappy noise G’raha makes upon awakening makes her furrow her brow and she looks down at him in the dimly lit room. She rubs his shoulder and down his arm, straightening up on the sofa as she looks at him with concern. ]
[ For a moment, he isn't quite sure where he is. For a fraction of a moment, he's in the heart of the void, or in the snarl of memories at the ocean's floor. Then, through the haze of pain, he begins to understand his surroundings more clearly. He's safe. At least enough to drop his guard and press his ears flat to his head and whine.
Then he hears his name, and understanding hits him first. Then pride follows it, like a wall of amdapori stone, and his demeanor changes entirely. His ears prick back up, the pained noise ends, and he manages a rather-more-forced-than-usual smile. ]
Sara- [ he begins, then trails off for a moment as he realises where his head must be resting for her to be above him at that angle. Takes account of that second word, love. He presses the side of his head affectionately into her leg and tries again. ] -sorry. For the fuss. I was confused for a moment.
[ She just offers him a warm smile and her rubs continue along his arm, moving to the side of his body along his waist and hip and ribs. Brave, noble G’raha… always attempting to water down the severity of his own troubles for the sake of others. She can understand that. She does the same. But she’s been doing it all her life, since she was hardly a child whose well-being adults were overly concerned for in Ishgard. She got so good at keeping quiet and masking any hurt she felt that only her adoptive father and her old wet nurse could tell when she was upset or in pain. She wonders if G’raha was like that too when he was small or if this is a new development born from his days as leader of the Crystarium. “King” they wanted to call him and they only didn’t because he refused the title. Knowing that, how could he ever let them see him weak and suffering? ]
You’ve nothing to apologize for. There is no need for you to hide your pain from me. You do not have to conceal your suffering. I told you— I’m here to be a comfort to you. Please do not regret expressing yourself in front of me.
[ She thinks of that day on the cliffs overlooking Eulmore and The Tempest. It must have been so hard for him, being so far from the Tower, yet he came anyway because he knew she would need him. When he felt his strength failing him, he refused help even from Dulia, choosing instead to wander off on his own for “a breath of air”. Even she had seen he was straining himself then.
After so long playing the part of a strong and unwavering king, Saran supposes she cannot expect G’raha to change his habits overnight. It will take time. Possibly a lot of time. This is who he is. She will have to be patient. All she can do is reassure him that she does not expect him to be infallible or invincible. That he does not have to hold up the hopes and dreams of so many alone anymore. ]
Is it worse?
just use aetherial manipulation to grab stuff from across the room
[ One day, perhaps, it will occur to him to tell her. Or perhaps the echo will do it for him. Years of his tribe steering clear of the empire's scouts, hiding the red-eyed boy when soldiers arrived to ask questions about their connection to Allag. Questionning the value of keeping him hidden when there were injuries or fatalities in the skirmishes that always followed. The question of whether he would be better turned over to the Garleans to buy safety for the rest of the tribe never voiced but always beneath the surface, ready to bubble up after one incident too many. He's quite used to being a burden. The least he can do is be a convenient, grateful, uncomplaining burden. ]
Better, I think, is the problem. It is probably a sign that my mind is whole, being able to feel so keenly.
[ He raises his bad arm carefully, looking over the place where the wrist is carefully immobilised to allow healing magic to set the bone right. It's hard to tell if it's done, especially in the dark.
Best not to risk it. But if Saran wants him to care for himself- he reaches out into the aether, catching the earth-aspected aether of the leather of his bag and drawing it toward himself, but lets it skid along the ground to Sarangerel's feet rather than risking catching it with his bad hand. ]
I should have a vial of numbing potion in there, but I think my head might protest were I do try reading labels right now. Could you find it for me?
[ No ill effects, according to just about every physician in Sharlayan. Certainly less ill effects from the experience than from whatever happened between Zenos and the Warrior. As if nothing happened at all.
It feels a little unfair to ask him to keep his promises, with that in mind. Knowing he did nothing at all to earn it. And certainly this soon after- well. After everything. But he does. And had they made it as far as Ishgard proper before the blizzard struck, no doubt Hoju would have been afforded the hero's welcome that places seem to always be ready to extend to him. They would still be trapped inside, yes, but trapped inside with a roaring fire and hot food.
As it is, the abandoned watchtower makes for somewhat grimmer accommodations. It takes a good few tries even with magic and some good dry firewood to get a small fire going against the swell of ice aether. Outside the ruined tower, the blizzard is a blinding wall of sleet. Almost impassible.
And he is fussing. Because of course he is. Because even so much as a chill or a common cold could have a devastating effect on Hoju's recovery from the injuries Zenos left him with. ]
I could make it to the city proper. [ He could not make it to the city proper. But he is staring at the door, tail snaking from side to side as he paws through the bags again as if they will have manifested another bottle of warming tonic in the time since he last looked.
In truth, as long as they're careful and the blizzard passes before long they're not in any danger. Uncomfortably cold, yes. But not in real danger. But it's hard not to fuss, so soon after everything. ] Bring back more supplies. I could cover the ground in a few bells, at most.
[ He was meant to rest, after the battle. Urianger had advised it, as had Alphinaud. Alisaie had outright threatened him, should he not, well-meaning though the scholar knew she was. And he had tried in earnest, lingering at home in the Mist for a few days time.
Soon, though, the restlessness grew too much to bear.
Being alone with his thoughts was nigh insufferable, to say nothing of the nightmares. Neither were new, in this path that he walked, but either were more oppressive now for the weight of the trials that had come. He had returned to Sharlayan, thinking to lose himself in the Noumenon as he once had as a student. Of course, he would not be so remiss as to not look in on his companions. Thus, he had stopped into the Baldesion Annex, intending for a brief conversation. That had gone to plan with Ojika, and Krile too. Speaking with G'raha, however, had gone rather longer than he intended. (If the pile of books the poor Archon was sorting through at Krile's behest was any indication of the nature of his current workload, Hoju wagered that his friend didn't mind overmuch.) The conversation had carried over a dinner at the Last Stand, and then— well.
Dinner had turned to discussion of the promises he had made, and it seemed good a time as any. The realm would not wait for the Warrior of Light's personal engagements. To take advantage of the ensuing quietness seemed the wisest course.
Nothing, it seemed, could ever quite go to plan.
Hoju does not mind the blizzard as much as his companion seems to, assisting placidly in the gather of what firewood they could find. He has settled close by, with his pack for something of a cushion against the cold stone wall, though his gaze remains on G'raha as the other frets. ]
You're like to be swept away by those winds. [ Hoju's voice is warm, woven through with the slightest thread of fond teasing. He folds his arms loosely across his chest. ] It should pass soon enough. [ If he is concerned for his own health, the roegadyn's demeanor - as usual - belies nothing. Despite a heavy coat and cowl about his shoulders, he is cold, he'll admit as much, but he's far more worried for G'raha. ] Come, warm yourself.
[ Wow, rude. Just because it's true doesn't mean you should say it.
Under normal circumstances, even he would agree that of the two of them, he's the one more at risk from the cold. These are not normal circumstances. His own injuries are little more than fading bruises, by now. A chill won't be any more dangerous that it might otherwise be. But he and the others returned to the Ragnarok battered, not near-death. ]
Should. [ He gives up on the bag - it's not going to suddenly sprout more potions, no matter how much he wishes it to be the case - and moves over to crouch by the fire, still staring at the door like the blizzard might knock on it politely any moment to say that it's done. ] If it doesn't- I apologise, this was far too much to ask of you, so soon.
[ The scholar chuckles despite himself at G'raha's indignant response. ] Forgive me, I meant no offense. [ Though that is not permission to go traipsing out into the blizzard!
Hoju's ever-present smile falters then, fades to something contemplative - and apologetic. He cannot pretend, in a way that he oft has before, that he is fine. The battles at the end of the universe, and indeed the entire breadth of the ordeal leading up to it, has left him changed. Far different than the trials of the First, the way his soul had been left wrong, stretched by the weight of Light. No, now he is left with with an eerie quiet that is filled only with the whispers he had sought to escape by returning to Sharlayan. He is weary, beyond all meaning of the word.
But he does not suspect that he is alone in that. Though he perhaps bore the worst of the physical injuries, Hoju wagers that none of them returned unchanged. And though he had doubted himself privately many times, though he thought that these trials might be the ones to finally prove too much for even the Warrior of Light to bear, he survived. Through the faith and the love of his companions, his dearest friends, he yet remains. Weary though he is, there is a silver cord of strength that shines out the clearer for the experience.
Which is not to say that he is not, still, recovering; that perhaps agreeing so soon had not been the wisest course of action. Unfortunately for his companions, or rather their peace of mind, Hoju remains stubborn. Gently, placidly, unfailingly stubborn. ]
Pray do not apologize on my account. Blizzard or no, I must confess there is nowhere I should like to be more than here with you. [ The smile returns, quiet and warm. ] If it should ease your worry, I shall take my rest in the Forgotten Knight for whatever remains of the day, and we may begin our visit in earnest on the morrow. [ Granted, that does little to address the fact the weather must subside in the first place, and Hoju knows that, but hopefully it's some reassurance regardless. ]
Very well. [ He sighs it out. He doesn't like it. But not liking the situation won't change it any more than going thought the bags a fifth time. There are battles that are worth fighting. This is not one of them. And so he relaxes. ] But so much as a wheeze and I will do terrible, foolish, reckless things until we find you safely behind Ishgard's walls and drinking hot tea.
[ It should feel more wrong than it does, leaning against Hoju now, of all times. He wouldn't have done it a few months ago even were he fit as a fiddle, but Alisaie is a terrible influence. He's careful, of course. But he's warmer than the walls. More comfortable to lean on, too. And it doesn't hurt that it places him well to watch his chest move with his breath and watch like a hawk to see that it keeps moving as it should. ]
There are a great many places I should want to be, were you in any one of them. But you are here. And so here is where I belong. It seems we are of a mind.
[ The roegadyn chuckles warmly. ] I best mind my breathing, then. It would not do for Lyna and Beq Lugg to be cross with us both.
[ G'raha's movement draws Hoju's attention, and his brows lift in surprise as the other leans on him. The expression softens into a fond smile. For a moment, he is content to remain still, eyes closed merely to focus on the comfortable warmth and weight against him. To know that G'raha is with him, and he is safe. (Barring the blizzard, anyway.)
Then, he straightens just a little, attempting best he can not to upset his companion in the process, broad hand resting against an arm in warning. With a smile to the other as though to reassure him that he has not lost his faculties, Hoju unwinds the cowl about his shoulders. He does settle back into place against his pack, mindful of his great frame compared to that of the miqo'te against him. He spreads the cowl across the both of them as a makeshift blanket. Better to share body heat, that way, and though G'raha clearly worries more for his companion than himself, Hoju worries for the other in turn.
There is silence, after G'raha speaks, save for the crackle of flame and the howl of wind outside. And then, gently, Hoju shifts one arm beneath the cowl to wrap around the other, hand curling loosely against his arm. It's an affectionate gesture, though he says nothing of it. ] So it seems.
[ He is content in silence again, for a time, head tipped back against the wall, and gaze half-lidded. The roegadyn's attention returns to his companion, something thoughtful - and a bit somber - lingering behind that faint smile. For a moment, it seems he might say something else. Instead: ] Are you warm enough?
[ For the first day or so, he's hardly needed. Only so many people in the room at once, and those who wanted to be in the room were either more experienced healers than he or were Alisaie. He couldn't tear them out if he tried. And he worried, of course, but it it meant he had a chance to rest through his own, admittedly comparatively minor, injuries.
It means that his own turn to keep vigil isn't until a day after their return, when the twins have finally worn themselves to nothing and been delivered safely into warm beds. Which has the altogether-not-disagreeable side effect of placing him in the room once Osha'li is well enough to be slightly more conscious. ]
Welcome back to your place among the waking. [ He says it softly, almost a whisper, when Osha'li's eyes open, interrupting his own humming and placing his book down on the bed. ] You're out of danger, more or less. Krile wants a healer in the room with you until she's certain.
[ That's everything that he needs to know, right? He wants to talk more. Of course he wants to talk. But he knows better than to overwhelm their Warrior with nonsense as he regains consciousness after the preliminary treatment of such severe injuries. ]
[ Osha'li himself hardly remembers the first couple days. There's pain and there's something Alisaie is saying, usually with anger or tears, and the memory of Zenos and the end of the universe itself. He will live. He has to, after all of that, even if some part of him would be fine just letting exhaustion seep into him and carry him away. But no, after all of that, he cannot possibly give up. He will live. By the twelve, it hurts to live just now, though.
He finally wakes, truly wakes, to a familiar voice that isn't scolding him. He's ready for scolding, of course, and probably deserves it. But no, this isn't Alisaie hiding her worry with harsh words. G'raha has no leg to stand on when it comes to pushing oneself too far, after all, though Osha'li would accept scolding from any of the Scions at this point after the trick he'd pulled with the teleport devices.
He tries to push himself to seated, or at least to an elbow, but even that requires an enormous amount of effort and he grits his teeth through the pain of it. How he even had aether enough to live, he isn't sure. Hydaelyn and Zodiark are no more, but perhaps there are gods that yet live that are not done with him yet. ]
I can't think of any other healer I'd want to wake to.
[ He manages to speak and to force a smile, but they're surely both aware that out of danger is a far cry from at full strength. ]
[ The voice is more the Exarch's than his own right now. Himself is terrified still, so desperate to try to do anything to help when inaction is needed that he'd ruin everything given half a chance. The Exarch can keep his hands steady as he places them at Osha'li's back to support his weight. G'raha Tia's hands would tremble.
(They're the same person, he knows, as much as one can know anything. But sometimes the divide is useful. He doesn't ever want G'raha Tia to be a person whose hands wouldn't tremble in this moment. G'raha Tia is a historian in way, way over his head, foolish enough to be capable of being stupidly, desperately hopeful, and he gets to be happy. The Exarch can keep him that way.) ]
A little over a day since you were last awake for more than a minute or so. Three since the Ragnarok made landfall. Your body was consuming itself for aether faster than we could replenish it for a while, but the process has slowed now. As long as we can get food into you, or regular surges of aether, you'll not lose any more muscle mass.
[ And he smiles. Carefully. Tentatively. Out of danger isn't at full strength, not even close, but it's something. They haven't lost him. The world has lost more than it ever ought to have lost, but they haven't lost him. ]
Krile is confident that you'll start regaining what you've lost soon enough, and I defer to her expertise on the matter.
[ Osha'li flicks an ear in G'raha's direction. He recognises that tone. He'd heard the Exarch's voice often enough in the First, after all. Really, he spent more time with the Exarch and his half-crystal body than with G'raha as he is now. Time is a slippery thing; he's not sure how long he was in the First, having travelled back and forth between there and the Source when the others couldn't manage to do so. Sometimes time didn't mean anything at all, or so it seemed. How must it seem to G'raha himself, having lived a hundred years, having not, having pushed two lifetimes together? Osha'li himself has more than one soul crammed into him, though he can't really remember Ardbert's life, let alone Azem's. He knows that they are part of him, but they are far off dreams, whispers in the aetherial sea more than anything else. He's used to whispers of other lives, thanks to the Echo and his own earlier manifestation of those abilities, glimpses of possible futures, but applying that to the shards of his own – Azem's? – sundered soul is trickier.
He forces himself back to the painful present and G'raha's answer. ]
Then I suppose I best get eating.
[ His humour falls a little flat. He wants to reassure G'raha, but how can he? He still feels week, dizzy, pushed beyond his limit. He's not certain how he lived. ]
Zenos was there. I don't know that I could have succeeded without his interference, but I'm surprised I managed to beat him at the end. It was a very near thing.
[ It's a hard confession. Osha'li doesn't like to admit defeat, after all. But he's never once single-handedly saved the world, no matter what the stories told about him say. He doesn't look at G'raha when he says these words, but off at the wall instead. ]
[ His voice shakes there. Just a little. He has to take a second to steady it. Even when he does, the cracks are showing. That didn't take long. ]
-died. According to every aetherical measurement. You died, and something caused your body to burn itself for aether to keep moving. The alchemists have- gods, do the alchemists have theories. You are the only major source for at least seven proposed research papers on the qualities of dynamis now, and-
[ His forehead rests lightly against Osha'li's back. Just for a second. He takes a deep breath, then shifts so he can take his weight, settling behind him. ]
-and you came back. You came back. That's all that matters.
[ Osha'li hears the way G'raha's voice stops like that, just this side of breaking, and he feels bad for that.
You died.
Seven hells, no wonder Alisaie can't leave him alone. He deserves her mess of emotions and then some.
His ears droop against his head for a moment. How close they had come to losing everything. ]
I'm sorry. Not for sending you all back, but...for all the rest. Scaring you so. Burning out.
[ Not that any of them can really hold it against him, since they'd all done much the same, giving themselves to save their world and perhaps many others. Osha'li would make the same decision again in a moment.
He rests against G'raha, glad for the contact, glad to have him solid and warm and whole. ]
I couldn't run from Zenos again, nor could I let him leave that place alive.
[ This is in motion, now. And it is unavoidable that it will be painful. Difficult. For every one of them. Their Warrior more than most.
But just as unavoidable, it will end. End and end happily. He just needs to trust that. To trust himself to see to it.
It is more difficult to trust some days than others.
He had predicted that the light would start to take hold toward the end of this. After the fall of the last lightwarden, if they were fortunate. Maybe after the fourth if luck failed them. And yet two had apparently been enough to drown out his own aether enough to make him near-unrecognisable to Y'shtola. More than that, he hasn't been seen since he returned from Rak'tika. What information he has been able to get from the scions - it is troublesome to try to ask discreetly, now Y'shtola is in the city - suggests that he was struggling in the battle against the lightwarden. It's difficult not to worry.
So after another day with no suggestion that he might be emerging from his room, he does what seems the most appropriate thing. Gathers baked goods and teas from the Mean and a selection of potentially useful medicines from Spagyrics and knocks, basket of goods hanging from one arm, on Theo's door. ]
[ Taking a day or two to recover in Fanow had been a blessing and a curse. It had given Theo enough time to recover after taking in more Light-aspected aether than what should be possible. Containing it has gotten even more difficult. In truth, he hasn't exactly spoken about the pain. The cracking around the edges of his soul. No, the Viera has been keeping that part to himself.
But spending time around the Viis had also been... Painful. A different sort. It had put a longing for home in him that he hadn't experienced in a while. Before the Scions had departed for the Crystal Tower once more, the Viis had explained that no one will be permitted back into their village for at least a week or two. They do not explain further, just stating that there is a custom that will not permit for outside participation.
Theo, on the other hand, had been pulled aside prior. He had been told that he could stay. That, if necessary, he will be welcomed back when there is "a need for it." He doesn't have to guess what they mean by that. Theo had merely nodded and thanked them before thinking to rejoin his friends. Perhaps it is about that time for the Viis, but Theo knows that for him that particular drive won't be for a couple of more years yet.
At least that's what he had thought. Instead, no sooner had they returned and debriefed with the Exarch, Theo had felt the telltale signs. He hadn't thought that being in the presence of the Viis would trigger his own response, but apparently he's to go through this while on the First and no one to "keep company" with. For a moment he does consider going back. That would be the easiest and safest solution. However, the red mage ends up just sequestering himself away in his room instead, making sure to take food and water. Enough to last a while at least.
But a few days in and his skin is on fire. It prickles where fabric grazes it. His ears twitch at every single little sound and he's buried himself under blankets to try to muffle out scents and everything his ears are picking up. It's warm, of course, too warm. But Theo would rather be overwarm than have his senses constantly assaulted. Though he can hear the footsteps down the range. Theo would know them by heart even if his hearing hadn't been amplified.
Of all of the people to think to check on him... It is the best and the worst scenario. Perhaps he can just. Ignore it? Before he can't ]
[ His footfalls haven't changed much since he was younger, at least so close to the tower. His stride is still a little too long for his body. He still bounces slightly at the end of each step, like he could take off sprinting at any moment. Still rocks between heel and toe as he waits for a response.
The knock isn't louder the second time. Or the third. He knows never to worry whether he's been heard. And so he worries about everything else instead. ]
My friend. [ His voice is quiet, too. ] I don't wish to intrude, but I would know if you are well. Just confirm that much for me, please. Let me brew tea for you, if not. Then I shall leave you to your privacy.
[ Persistent. That's what Theo thinks. Soft knocking. An even softer voice. There's that internal debate of whether or not the Viera should get up. If he allows for the Exarch to enter, there's such a high chance that Theo will do something he'll be embarrassed about earlier. Just the presence of another person being so close would probably be enough to just... Making logical thinking hard and more biological instinct to take hold.
This is so not a thing that is discussed. Not with anyone outside of their villages. Ever. So someone seeing him like this. Theo doesn't like it at all. And yet someone is right there too.
Maybe it will be all right if he just. Stays under this blanket. ]
Very well.
[ His voice probably sounds a little off - more like it had once upon a time rather than the Eorzean accent he has adopted over the years. There's a sigh as Theo pushes himself up and slowly makes his way out of bed and to the door. His steps are heavy and slow. And when he gets to the door there's a pauses as he presses his head against the coolness of it. Just for a moment.
Theo then unlocks the door, the sound too loud in his ears. He doesn't open it, rather the red mage turns around and goes to return to his bed. The Viera hopes that the sound of the door itself will be enough of an indicator that the Exarch is permitted to enter. ]
[ He hears the lock clicking out of place and waits for the door to open, but it never does. Waiting is all he's done for a long, long time. He's good at it. And he lasts a good minute or so before worry overtakes patience. ]
Please excuse me-
[ And he enters. He closes the door behind him carefully, soundlessly to any but a viera or duskwight. Sets his basket on the table. Sniffs at the air - it smells like Theo, this room. But off somehow. And without the smell, he'd almost think that the room's owner was not here at all. ]
My friend? [ Oh. In the bed. He sighs, going to the sink. He knows full well, of course, where everything is. He had a hundred years to see to it that everything that might be needed would be here.
He tilts the kettle to one side as he fills it, so that the water runs down the side rather than falling into it with a splash. Like he knows that he ought to be quiet. Like he's spent a long time perfecting the art of performing daily tasks as quietly as possible. ]
You've taken ill, then. [ Let it just be a passing illness. Please let it just be a passing illness and not the light clawing him open from the inside. ] Apologies. Desperation forced my hand, but 'twas thoughtless to set you to such constant work since your arrival.
[ Theo only seems to curl into himself more. One of the pillows might be missing from the top of the bed. It's being used to hold onto and bury his face into. Of course it doesn't matter how silently the other moves about the room, the Viera can hear it. He can hear it as readily as his own racing heart and feel the growing awareness that someone is in here with him.
Perhaps it would have been safer to have the lock on the outside rather than the inside. To keep him from people, of course.
He licks his lips, finding that he is feeling a bit dry. Though what bothers the mage even more at this point is that apparently his friend over by the sink is blaming himself for Theo's current state. ]
This? It isn't your doing at all.
[ Gripping that pillow a bit tighter. He can do this. It will pass. It must because the alternative would mean giving in and Theo can't do that. To do so would also mean that there's a chance that it could expose the Exarch in a way that the man himself does not want. ]
I'll likely be able to resume by the end of the week.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sandwichbasket) wrote2021-11-26 01:03 am
tfln continuation for acoldwind
[ Another, longer, pause. Framing it as saying goodbye again instead of as risking his life somehow makes it seem worse. Crueller, on his part. ]
I have no intention of leaving you once again. I was- not expecting the experience to be fatal. [ THAT'S AN IMPROVEMENT, RIGHT? ] I admit, I was expecting 'extreme circumstances'. The kind that might provoke a response from anyone accompanying me, else prove dangerous to any who seemed like to come to my aid.
[ But she's giving him an out from the conversation, at least for the moment. So he closes his eyes, leaning into her hand. And doesn't even try to point out that a few bumps are hardly the worst he's endured, because he has enough awareness to know that that isn't going to make this any better. ]
If this is not a rescue, then- then I am grateful, that you came all this way. Necessary or not, I am ever glad to be near to you.
no subject
As promised though, she lets him off for now, content to stroke his hair and face, rub his ears and scalp. She feels more relaxed watching him relax, after all, and it is a great relief to be with him here and be assured that he is safe and sound. He flusters her a little with his sweet words, Saran not one accustomed to hearing heartfelt affection spoken aloud towards her often, but she hardly minds it— in truth, it warms her from the inside out, the meaning in what he says to her never going unnoticed or unappreciated.
In her own typical way, Saran returns the affection by rubbing his chest and bowing her head so she can press a kiss to his cheek, his forehead, each eyelid. She combs the red strands of his hair out of his face. ]
As am I to be near to you. Rest now.
no subject
Mother Miounne brings a pot of tea and some bread and jam for Saran after a while. And offers a slightly more embarrassing account of how this miqo'te attempted to hire a chocobo porter to Mor Dhona despite being physically incapable of remaining upright on a chocobo. And then had to be herded into a room before he thought to consider lying down. She shakes her head and sighs at least four times but she's at least confident that he'll be well enough to walk himself out of the canopy after a little more rest.
It's evening when he wakes. Which is a blessing, because his head feels-
-well. His head feels exactly like he struck it against a wall after an ill-advised attempt at diplomacy ended in being thrown across the room. Which is not a state of things that bright sunlight is known for improving.
He rolls over, curling in on himself, and he's too recently awoken for bravado or mostly-sincere exuberance. So for once he just makes a soft, wordless noise of complaint. It hurts. It hurts and he is going to whine about it until his waking mind catches up. ]
no subject
While the Miqo’te sleeps, Saran continues to pet his hair soothingly for a long while, watching him sleep attentively just in case he should suddenly suffer worse pain or more severe side effects of his concussion. Eventually, she feels confident that he will sleep the rest of the afternoon peacefully and she partakes in some of the tea and jam bread, before resting her head on a fist and closing her eyes as well. G’raha seems to be sleeping heavily enough that she could probably slip a pillow under his head in place of her lap, but she doesn’t really have the nerve to stir him, even so.
Instead, she dozes while he slumbers off, the sound of his breathing lulling her to a light sleep herself. When she feels him move, she opens her eyes with a quick flutter of silver lashes and instinctively returns to running her fingers through his hair, automatically trying to ease him back to sleep. The unhappy noise G’raha makes upon awakening makes her furrow her brow and she looks down at him in the dimly lit room. She rubs his shoulder and down his arm, straightening up on the sofa as she looks at him with concern. ]
Raha, love… I’m here.
no subject
Then he hears his name, and understanding hits him first. Then pride follows it, like a wall of amdapori stone, and his demeanor changes entirely. His ears prick back up, the pained noise ends, and he manages a rather-more-forced-than-usual smile. ]
Sara- [ he begins, then trails off for a moment as he realises where his head must be resting for her to be above him at that angle. Takes account of that second word, love. He presses the side of his head affectionately into her leg and tries again. ] -sorry. For the fuss. I was confused for a moment.
no subject
You’ve nothing to apologize for. There is no need for you to hide your pain from me. You do not have to conceal your suffering. I told you— I’m here to be a comfort to you. Please do not regret expressing yourself in front of me.
[ She thinks of that day on the cliffs overlooking Eulmore and The Tempest. It must have been so hard for him, being so far from the Tower, yet he came anyway because he knew she would need him. When he felt his strength failing him, he refused help even from Dulia, choosing instead to wander off on his own for “a breath of air”. Even she had seen he was straining himself then.
After so long playing the part of a strong and unwavering king, Saran supposes she cannot expect G’raha to change his habits overnight. It will take time. Possibly a lot of time. This is who he is. She will have to be patient. All she can do is reassure him that she does not expect him to be infallible or invincible. That he does not have to hold up the hopes and dreams of so many alone anymore. ]
Is it worse?
just use aetherial manipulation to grab stuff from across the room
Better, I think, is the problem. It is probably a sign that my mind is whole, being able to feel so keenly.
[ He raises his bad arm carefully, looking over the place where the wrist is carefully immobilised to allow healing magic to set the bone right. It's hard to tell if it's done, especially in the dark.
Best not to risk it. But if Saran wants him to care for himself- he reaches out into the aether, catching the earth-aspected aether of the leather of his bag and drawing it toward himself, but lets it skid along the ground to Sarangerel's feet rather than risking catching it with his bad hand. ]
I should have a vial of numbing potion in there, but I think my head might protest were I do try reading labels right now. Could you find it for me?
what fun is there in playing from a fantasy series if you can’t use fun things like this!
one day he will reach y'shtola levels of 'solve minor inconveniences with unnecessary magic'
ribbit, ribbit...
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
body heat for aetherpacts (!!! MAJOR ENDWALKER SPOILERS !!!)
It feels a little unfair to ask him to keep his promises, with that in mind. Knowing he did nothing at all to earn it. And certainly this soon after- well. After everything. But he does. And had they made it as far as Ishgard proper before the blizzard struck, no doubt Hoju would have been afforded the hero's welcome that places seem to always be ready to extend to him. They would still be trapped inside, yes, but trapped inside with a roaring fire and hot food.
As it is, the abandoned watchtower makes for somewhat grimmer accommodations. It takes a good few tries even with magic and some good dry firewood to get a small fire going against the swell of ice aether. Outside the ruined tower, the blizzard is a blinding wall of sleet. Almost impassible.
And he is fussing. Because of course he is. Because even so much as a chill or a common cold could have a devastating effect on Hoju's recovery from the injuries Zenos left him with. ]
I could make it to the city proper. [ He could not make it to the city proper. But he is staring at the door, tail snaking from side to side as he paws through the bags again as if they will have manifested another bottle of warming tonic in the time since he last looked.
In truth, as long as they're careful and the blizzard passes before long they're not in any danger. Uncomfortably cold, yes. But not in real danger. But it's hard not to fuss, so soon after everything. ] Bring back more supplies. I could cover the ground in a few bells, at most.
no subject
Soon, though, the restlessness grew too much to bear.
Being alone with his thoughts was nigh insufferable, to say nothing of the nightmares. Neither were new, in this path that he walked, but either were more oppressive now for the weight of the trials that had come. He had returned to Sharlayan, thinking to lose himself in the Noumenon as he once had as a student. Of course, he would not be so remiss as to not look in on his companions. Thus, he had stopped into the Baldesion Annex, intending for a brief conversation. That had gone to plan with Ojika, and Krile too. Speaking with G'raha, however, had gone rather longer than he intended. (If the pile of books the poor Archon was sorting through at Krile's behest was any indication of the nature of his current workload, Hoju wagered that his friend didn't mind overmuch.) The conversation had carried over a dinner at the Last Stand, and then— well.
Dinner had turned to discussion of the promises he had made, and it seemed good a time as any. The realm would not wait for the Warrior of Light's personal engagements. To take advantage of the ensuing quietness seemed the wisest course.
Nothing, it seemed, could ever quite go to plan.
Hoju does not mind the blizzard as much as his companion seems to, assisting placidly in the gather of what firewood they could find. He has settled close by, with his pack for something of a cushion against the cold stone wall, though his gaze remains on G'raha as the other frets. ]
You're like to be swept away by those winds. [ Hoju's voice is warm, woven through with the slightest thread of fond teasing. He folds his arms loosely across his chest. ] It should pass soon enough. [ If he is concerned for his own health, the roegadyn's demeanor - as usual - belies nothing. Despite a heavy coat and cowl about his shoulders, he is cold, he'll admit as much, but he's far more worried for G'raha. ] Come, warm yourself.
no subject
[ Wow, rude. Just because it's true doesn't mean you should say it.
Under normal circumstances, even he would agree that of the two of them, he's the one more at risk from the cold. These are not normal circumstances. His own injuries are little more than fading bruises, by now. A chill won't be any more dangerous that it might otherwise be. But he and the others returned to the Ragnarok battered, not near-death. ]
Should. [ He gives up on the bag - it's not going to suddenly sprout more potions, no matter how much he wishes it to be the case - and moves over to crouch by the fire, still staring at the door like the blizzard might knock on it politely any moment to say that it's done. ] If it doesn't- I apologise, this was far too much to ask of you, so soon.
no subject
Hoju's ever-present smile falters then, fades to something contemplative - and apologetic. He cannot pretend, in a way that he oft has before, that he is fine. The battles at the end of the universe, and indeed the entire breadth of the ordeal leading up to it, has left him changed. Far different than the trials of the First, the way his soul had been left wrong, stretched by the weight of Light. No, now he is left with with an eerie quiet that is filled only with the whispers he had sought to escape by returning to Sharlayan. He is weary, beyond all meaning of the word.
But he does not suspect that he is alone in that. Though he perhaps bore the worst of the physical injuries, Hoju wagers that none of them returned unchanged. And though he had doubted himself privately many times, though he thought that these trials might be the ones to finally prove too much for even the Warrior of Light to bear, he survived. Through the faith and the love of his companions, his dearest friends, he yet remains. Weary though he is, there is a silver cord of strength that shines out the clearer for the experience.
Which is not to say that he is not, still, recovering; that perhaps agreeing so soon had not been the wisest course of action. Unfortunately for his companions, or rather their peace of mind, Hoju remains stubborn. Gently, placidly, unfailingly stubborn. ]
Pray do not apologize on my account. Blizzard or no, I must confess there is nowhere I should like to be more than here with you. [ The smile returns, quiet and warm. ] If it should ease your worry, I shall take my rest in the Forgotten Knight for whatever remains of the day, and we may begin our visit in earnest on the morrow. [ Granted, that does little to address the fact the weather must subside in the first place, and Hoju knows that, but hopefully it's some reassurance regardless. ]
no subject
[ It should feel more wrong than it does, leaning against Hoju now, of all times. He wouldn't have done it a few months ago even were he fit as a fiddle, but Alisaie is a terrible influence. He's careful, of course. But he's warmer than the walls. More comfortable to lean on, too. And it doesn't hurt that it places him well to watch his chest move with his breath and watch like a hawk to see that it keeps moving as it should. ]
There are a great many places I should want to be, were you in any one of them. But you are here. And so here is where I belong. It seems we are of a mind.
no subject
[ G'raha's movement draws Hoju's attention, and his brows lift in surprise as the other leans on him. The expression softens into a fond smile. For a moment, he is content to remain still, eyes closed merely to focus on the comfortable warmth and weight against him. To know that G'raha is with him, and he is safe. (Barring the blizzard, anyway.)
Then, he straightens just a little, attempting best he can not to upset his companion in the process, broad hand resting against an arm in warning. With a smile to the other as though to reassure him that he has not lost his faculties, Hoju unwinds the cowl about his shoulders. He does settle back into place against his pack, mindful of his great frame compared to that of the miqo'te against him. He spreads the cowl across the both of them as a makeshift blanket. Better to share body heat, that way, and though G'raha clearly worries more for his companion than himself, Hoju worries for the other in turn.
There is silence, after G'raha speaks, save for the crackle of flame and the howl of wind outside. And then, gently, Hoju shifts one arm beneath the cowl to wrap around the other, hand curling loosely against his arm. It's an affectionate gesture, though he says nothing of it. ] So it seems.
[ He is content in silence again, for a time, head tipped back against the wall, and gaze half-lidded. The roegadyn's attention returns to his companion, something thoughtful - and a bit somber - lingering behind that faint smile. For a moment, it seems he might say something else. Instead: ] Are you warm enough?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Sorry for the delay!
No worries!
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
nursed back to health, for gildedrogue (!!!ENDWALKER SPOILERS!!!)
It means that his own turn to keep vigil isn't until a day after their return, when the twins have finally worn themselves to nothing and been delivered safely into warm beds. Which has the altogether-not-disagreeable side effect of placing him in the room once Osha'li is well enough to be slightly more conscious. ]
Welcome back to your place among the waking. [ He says it softly, almost a whisper, when Osha'li's eyes open, interrupting his own humming and placing his book down on the bed. ] You're out of danger, more or less. Krile wants a healer in the room with you until she's certain.
[ That's everything that he needs to know, right? He wants to talk more. Of course he wants to talk. But he knows better than to overwhelm their Warrior with nonsense as he regains consciousness after the preliminary treatment of such severe injuries. ]
You're stuck with me, I'm afraid.
no subject
He finally wakes, truly wakes, to a familiar voice that isn't scolding him. He's ready for scolding, of course, and probably deserves it. But no, this isn't Alisaie hiding her worry with harsh words. G'raha has no leg to stand on when it comes to pushing oneself too far, after all, though Osha'li would accept scolding from any of the Scions at this point after the trick he'd pulled with the teleport devices.
He tries to push himself to seated, or at least to an elbow, but even that requires an enormous amount of effort and he grits his teeth through the pain of it. How he even had aether enough to live, he isn't sure. Hydaelyn and Zodiark are no more, but perhaps there are gods that yet live that are not done with him yet. ]
I can't think of any other healer I'd want to wake to.
[ He manages to speak and to force a smile, but they're surely both aware that out of danger is a far cry from at full strength. ]
How long has it been?
no subject
[ The voice is more the Exarch's than his own right now. Himself is terrified still, so desperate to try to do anything to help when inaction is needed that he'd ruin everything given half a chance. The Exarch can keep his hands steady as he places them at Osha'li's back to support his weight. G'raha Tia's hands would tremble.
(They're the same person, he knows, as much as one can know anything. But sometimes the divide is useful. He doesn't ever want G'raha Tia to be a person whose hands wouldn't tremble in this moment. G'raha Tia is a historian in way, way over his head, foolish enough to be capable of being stupidly, desperately hopeful, and he gets to be happy. The Exarch can keep him that way.) ]
A little over a day since you were last awake for more than a minute or so. Three since the Ragnarok made landfall. Your body was consuming itself for aether faster than we could replenish it for a while, but the process has slowed now. As long as we can get food into you, or regular surges of aether, you'll not lose any more muscle mass.
[ And he smiles. Carefully. Tentatively. Out of danger isn't at full strength, not even close, but it's something. They haven't lost him. The world has lost more than it ever ought to have lost, but they haven't lost him. ]
Krile is confident that you'll start regaining what you've lost soon enough, and I defer to her expertise on the matter.
no subject
He forces himself back to the painful present and G'raha's answer. ]
Then I suppose I best get eating.
[ His humour falls a little flat. He wants to reassure G'raha, but how can he? He still feels week, dizzy, pushed beyond his limit. He's not certain how he lived. ]
Zenos was there. I don't know that I could have succeeded without his interference, but I'm surprised I managed to beat him at the end. It was a very near thing.
[ It's a hard confession. Osha'li doesn't like to admit defeat, after all. But he's never once single-handedly saved the world, no matter what the stories told about him say. He doesn't look at G'raha when he says these words, but off at the wall instead. ]
no subject
[ His voice shakes there. Just a little. He has to take a second to steady it. Even when he does, the cracks are showing. That didn't take long. ]
-died. According to every aetherical measurement. You died, and something caused your body to burn itself for aether to keep moving. The alchemists have- gods, do the alchemists have theories. You are the only major source for at least seven proposed research papers on the qualities of dynamis now, and-
[ His forehead rests lightly against Osha'li's back. Just for a second. He takes a deep breath, then shifts so he can take his weight, settling behind him. ]
-and you came back. You came back. That's all that matters.
no subject
You died.
Seven hells, no wonder Alisaie can't leave him alone. He deserves her mess of emotions and then some.
His ears droop against his head for a moment. How close they had come to losing everything. ]
I'm sorry. Not for sending you all back, but...for all the rest. Scaring you so. Burning out.
[ Not that any of them can really hold it against him, since they'd all done much the same, giving themselves to save their world and perhaps many others. Osha'li would make the same decision again in a moment.
He rests against G'raha, glad for the contact, glad to have him solid and warm and whole. ]
I couldn't run from Zenos again, nor could I let him leave that place alive.
[ Though a terrible thought occurs to him. ]
I...it was just me that came back, right?
Sorry for the delay, vaccine hit me hard.
totally understand! i'm glad you got that vax! also whoops gave myself feeilngsu
(no subject)
(no subject)
for manastacks
But just as unavoidable, it will end. End and end happily. He just needs to trust that. To trust himself to see to it.
It is more difficult to trust some days than others.
He had predicted that the light would start to take hold toward the end of this. After the fall of the last lightwarden, if they were fortunate. Maybe after the fourth if luck failed them. And yet two had apparently been enough to drown out his own aether enough to make him near-unrecognisable to Y'shtola. More than that, he hasn't been seen since he returned from Rak'tika. What information he has been able to get from the scions - it is troublesome to try to ask discreetly, now Y'shtola is in the city - suggests that he was struggling in the battle against the lightwarden. It's difficult not to worry.
So after another day with no suggestion that he might be emerging from his room, he does what seems the most appropriate thing. Gathers baked goods and teas from the Mean and a selection of potentially useful medicines from Spagyrics and knocks, basket of goods hanging from one arm, on Theo's door. ]
no subject
But spending time around the Viis had also been... Painful. A different sort. It had put a longing for home in him that he hadn't experienced in a while. Before the Scions had departed for the Crystal Tower once more, the Viis had explained that no one will be permitted back into their village for at least a week or two. They do not explain further, just stating that there is a custom that will not permit for outside participation.
Theo, on the other hand, had been pulled aside prior. He had been told that he could stay. That, if necessary, he will be welcomed back when there is "a need for it." He doesn't have to guess what they mean by that. Theo had merely nodded and thanked them before thinking to rejoin his friends. Perhaps it is about that time for the Viis, but Theo knows that for him that particular drive won't be for a couple of more years yet.
At least that's what he had thought. Instead, no sooner had they returned and debriefed with the Exarch, Theo had felt the telltale signs. He hadn't thought that being in the presence of the Viis would trigger his own response, but apparently he's to go through this while on the First and no one to "keep company" with. For a moment he does consider going back. That would be the easiest and safest solution. However, the red mage ends up just sequestering himself away in his room instead, making sure to take food and water. Enough to last a while at least.
But a few days in and his skin is on fire. It prickles where fabric grazes it. His ears twitch at every single little sound and he's buried himself under blankets to try to muffle out scents and everything his ears are picking up. It's warm, of course, too warm. But Theo would rather be overwarm than have his senses constantly assaulted. Though he can hear the footsteps down the range. Theo would know them by heart even if his hearing hadn't been amplified.
Of all of the people to think to check on him... It is the best and the worst scenario. Perhaps he can just. Ignore it?
Before he can't]no subject
The knock isn't louder the second time. Or the third. He knows never to worry whether he's been heard. And so he worries about everything else instead. ]
My friend. [ His voice is quiet, too. ] I don't wish to intrude, but I would know if you are well. Just confirm that much for me, please. Let me brew tea for you, if not. Then I shall leave you to your privacy.
no subject
This is so not a thing that is discussed. Not with anyone outside of their villages. Ever. So someone seeing him like this. Theo doesn't like it at all. And yet someone is right there too.
Maybe it will be all right if he just. Stays under this blanket. ]
Very well.
[ His voice probably sounds a little off - more like it had once upon a time rather than the Eorzean accent he has adopted over the years. There's a sigh as Theo pushes himself up and slowly makes his way out of bed and to the door. His steps are heavy and slow. And when he gets to the door there's a pauses as he presses his head against the coolness of it. Just for a moment.
Theo then unlocks the door, the sound too loud in his ears. He doesn't open it, rather the red mage turns around and goes to return to his bed. The Viera hopes that the sound of the door itself will be enough of an indicator that the Exarch is permitted to enter. ]
no subject
Please excuse me-
[ And he enters. He closes the door behind him carefully, soundlessly to any but a viera or duskwight. Sets his basket on the table. Sniffs at the air - it smells like Theo, this room. But off somehow. And without the smell, he'd almost think that the room's owner was not here at all. ]
My friend? [ Oh. In the bed. He sighs, going to the sink. He knows full well, of course, where everything is. He had a hundred years to see to it that everything that might be needed would be here.
He tilts the kettle to one side as he fills it, so that the water runs down the side rather than falling into it with a splash. Like he knows that he ought to be quiet. Like he's spent a long time perfecting the art of performing daily tasks as quietly as possible. ]
You've taken ill, then. [ Let it just be a passing illness. Please let it just be a passing illness and not the light clawing him open from the inside. ] Apologies. Desperation forced my hand, but 'twas thoughtless to set you to such constant work since your arrival.
no subject
Perhaps it would have been safer to have the lock on the outside rather than the inside. To keep him from people, of course.
He licks his lips, finding that he is feeling a bit dry. Though what bothers the mage even more at this point is that apparently his friend over by the sink is blaming himself for Theo's current state. ]
This? It isn't your doing at all.
[ Gripping that pillow a bit tighter. He can do this. It will pass. It must because the alternative would mean giving in and Theo can't do that. To do so would also mean that there's a chance that it could expose the Exarch in a way that the man himself does not want. ]
I'll likely be able to resume by the end of the week.
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)
(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)