[ closed ] Winter in September (October, November...) (dungeons + catchall)

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Who ❄ Michel and friends(?)
What ❄ area runs & overflow
When ❄ September and on
Where ❄ dungeons, assorted
Content Warnings ❄ kidnapping, captivity, suicidal ideation, self harm, TBA

⬣ Chasing Sunshine's Two Wings

Comments

~post-Skeith, Justy!

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[ Michel's nerves have been fraying for weeks now; it's been at least two since he would have sworn that he was at the very last of his endurance for human contact of any kind. He hasn't bitten anyone again... yet. But some days are a nearer call than others.

In many ways it was much easier back when he was still willing to shut other people out entirely when he felt like this. But even so; he doesn't entirely regret that he's managed to change, or been changed, with or without his cooperation. And some company is easier for his tired soul to bear than others.

For instance, he feels no need to explain himself when he pushes the door to Tylor's infirmary room open with one foot, his one good arm (left) piled with random manga and an inexplicable Jenga set. Could this have been done in the public area without carrying things? Yes. But then there would have been more people, and he would no longer make any promises about biting. ]

Are you sleeping?

[ Asks the man who just barged in... ]

[tylorific]

[ Justy's leg is mostly healed by now, splint turned cast turned boot marking his progress as the days and weeks and fights marched on. He'd been so present before the fights, spreading himself thin yet elevated by socializing. Keeping things light, giving anyone that wanted one a reason to laugh. Yet losing people was always hard on him. Fighting them was almost worse. Grief seeped in as they dragged on, barely noticeable save in the small ways that left him wandering off alone more often again. Adrift, fluid and aimless unless found; concern waved off with a friendly hand or an offer to hold theirs.

A smile is forever an easy, genuine thing for him to find for others. Even when they're barging into his room while he's in the middle of napping. The fresh bandages around his head are even more visible once he sits up in bed looking way too happy to see Michel. He's more than a little scraped up, answering way too fast-- ]

Yes.

[ a blink, a little laugh. ]

Well, not anymore. [ There is barely a breath before he keeps talking. His gaze, pointedly on the things in Michel's good arm-- ] So, what'd you bring me?

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[ Michel narrows his eyes a little at those bandages. The fights are becoming a haze now, one after another before he feels he has a moment to breathe. Is that injury his responsibility too? Very possibly.

But he's already been shaken out of the hazy comfort of his complete disconnection from this place. So he's not going to curl up into another ball of guilt when there are too many things to do. He only pauses for a second before he continues his purposeful march inside to plop himself in one of the visitor's chairs and deposit the haul he's brought onto the table. ]

Comics... and another game for you to beat me at.

[ Yes, yes. That's not the point. He flicks a glance over Tylor's scrapes, and his brow furrows again. ]

Have you been getting out of bed like that?

[tylorific]

[ Tylor's gaze follows Michel to the table, his own body beginning the movement off the bed almost on excited instinct. If the happy little sound at Michel's answer is any indication. ]

Should I let you win more?

[ He jokes, one leg haphazardly off the bed and one hand on his old crutch by the time Michel is brow furrowing at his scrapes. Predictably, Tylor doesn't seem bothered by them with his attention squarely on fun things.

The question earns a blink, gaze pulled from shiny new things to the look on Michel's face like he only just noticed his cousin in law's expression. Just as he's carelessly pushed himself off and toward the table, he wobbles to a stop but seems unconcerned.

Also clueless-- ]

Huh? Like what?

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No. That would be patronizing...

[ Michel puts the things down hurriedly on the nearby table to free his hands, barely overcoming the impulse to drop them in an undignified rush.

Why... why does Justy put him in mind of an overenthusiastic puppy, getting to his feet and wagging his tail as if completely insensible of the fact that he's still healing? Michel steps in to put a steadying hand on his arm. ]

Like— like this! Often! And when you're liable to fall!

[ Hopefully Justy never expected his personality to change so drastically that he would stop worrying. Perish the thought. ]

[tylorific]

Well, the infirmary is the best place to fall, isn't it? Besides, I'm getting used to being carried.

[ He still has jokes.

But Justy expected nothing less than the worry, easily steadied by Michel's hand on one arm, crutch supporting the other. As if they are already sitting around chatting casually, Justy's gaze slips back to the table of fun things-- ]

What should we play first?

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It might be the best place, but it would be much better not to fall at all...

[ Although he fully expects that Justy is immune to his grumbling by now. And there's something about the way that Justy simply trusts him not to drop him that... might thaw his frozen heart just a little.

Still. He's steering him very purposefully back to a seat. ]

Fai showed me how to use this block game. But I can bring something else, otherwise.

[tylorific]

[ Justy is steered to a seat without protest, though he leans over along the way to look at everything until he's righted. ]

Block game? How do you play?

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[ Justy, his grey hair... Michel stares at him for a few moments, a little suspicious, to be very sure he's settled before he pours out the blocks again. ]

You take pieces out and put them on the top of the tower. Whoever is the first to knock it over loses.

[tylorific]

[ Status effect: oblivious. ]

Ohh. I see. I wonder if the ghost would've liked this game?

[ He remembers that joke, always, even without all the context of another world to fit them into. They'd talked about it, right? His tone is too sincere. Because he's not sure Michel remembers yet, if they haven't talked about it since the fight. The memories. Tylor doesn't think much about what he's forgotten until Michel is here, reminding him of a certain letter.

what was his mom's name? There's no point in thinking about it. He's already reaching for a block to start. But he pauses just to tilt his head with a grin like he's about to propose a new fun rule. ]

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[ This buff is broken PLS NERF.

But it startles a tiny laugh out of Michel, a one-in-a-million occurence. He remembers that, now. Justy's jokes about it, the first times they'd talked about anything more substantive... all of it. ]

It's the kind of game ghosts should excel at. Moving things, making mischief...

[ Speaking of mischief: that grin on Justy's face fills him with a certain foreboding. ]