Therion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trustfallen) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
mindremanent2018-11-11 01:09 am
trustfallen) wrote in mindremanent2018-11-11 01:09 am
[psl] Primrose & Therion
[It's late. The stars twinkle in the chill night air, and the gibbous moon casts silver beams of light through the window. A single oil lamp burns low on the bedside table, the flame wavering and guttering as it struggles to draw the last drops of oil through the wick.
Therion supposes he ought to fill it - or snuff it. The moonlight is bright enough to see without it, and he if he finds himself truly starved for light, it would be little trouble to conjure one to see him through. Besides, he imagines darkness probably makes for a more peaceful rest for Primrose, bandaged and wrapped in warm blankets on the bed before him. Then again, maybe not. Despite his profession, he doesn't much care for the darkness himself. It's too easy for the mind to play tricks with the shadows and the shapes in between, and when he wakes up from restless dreams, it's easier to forget them when there's a light to stare at until the world seems real. He watches the movement of Prim's eyes beneath their lids and wonders if it's the same for her.
They've talked about many things in the shadows of the night and the glow of the embers of a dying campfire when one of them is on watch and the other can't sleep, but they've never talked about dreams that he can recall. It's been a topic neither one has been keen to visit - after all, what good is talking about nightmares when you already know the same ones will visit you again soon enough? Better to find other things to talk about instead: knives, dancing, H'aanit's cooking, picking locks, if Olberic's blade really is unbending, seeing if Cyrus would notice if they drew a mustache upon his face while he slept...
The thief doesn't usually make a habit of fretting and watching his companions sleep, but they're usually not hurt this badly and like ... this. They've all taken turns getting hurt and taking shifts at each other's bedsides in the past to let Alfyn and Ophilia get some rest of their own between healing, but this feels different. Or maybe that's all in his head, relating getting stabbed from the front too strongly to his own past experiences.
Therion shifts in the chair he commandeered for the night shift at her bedside, drawing a leg up and wrapping his arms around it, resting his chin on his knee. He hopes she wakes up soon... and that when she does, she turns out stronger than he ever was.]
Therion supposes he ought to fill it - or snuff it. The moonlight is bright enough to see without it, and he if he finds himself truly starved for light, it would be little trouble to conjure one to see him through. Besides, he imagines darkness probably makes for a more peaceful rest for Primrose, bandaged and wrapped in warm blankets on the bed before him. Then again, maybe not. Despite his profession, he doesn't much care for the darkness himself. It's too easy for the mind to play tricks with the shadows and the shapes in between, and when he wakes up from restless dreams, it's easier to forget them when there's a light to stare at until the world seems real. He watches the movement of Prim's eyes beneath their lids and wonders if it's the same for her.
They've talked about many things in the shadows of the night and the glow of the embers of a dying campfire when one of them is on watch and the other can't sleep, but they've never talked about dreams that he can recall. It's been a topic neither one has been keen to visit - after all, what good is talking about nightmares when you already know the same ones will visit you again soon enough? Better to find other things to talk about instead: knives, dancing, H'aanit's cooking, picking locks, if Olberic's blade really is unbending, seeing if Cyrus would notice if they drew a mustache upon his face while he slept...
The thief doesn't usually make a habit of fretting and watching his companions sleep, but they're usually not hurt this badly and like ... this. They've all taken turns getting hurt and taking shifts at each other's bedsides in the past to let Alfyn and Ophilia get some rest of their own between healing, but this feels different. Or maybe that's all in his head, relating getting stabbed from the front too strongly to his own past experiences.
Therion shifts in the chair he commandeered for the night shift at her bedside, drawing a leg up and wrapping his arms around it, resting his chin on his knee. He hopes she wakes up soon... and that when she does, she turns out stronger than he ever was.]
no subject
It doesn't stay this way. Dreams do come but it all blends together. The nothingness sometimes becomes her childhood home. Sometimes it becomes the stage in Sunshade. The memories weave together. She dreams that her father is there watching her dance. She finds Yusufa dying on the floor of the Azelhart mansion, lips moving but no sounds coming from them.
And always there are crows.
They watch her from the shadows in places she cannot see them. but she knows they're there. She hears them in the distance. Sometimes they get close and other times they sound so distant she feels safe for a moment.
On this third night she has remained asleep she dreams of strolling through the woods. Yet as she travels these woods she notices them and at last she can look upon them. The crows that keep following. They sit in every tree and in every branch. From end to end they are perched and they all watch her wander lost among this forest. One stands out more than the others for he is larger and somehow more beautiful. He is in every tree she looks at.
When at last she comes to the forest's end he is waiting on the path before her. She reaches her hand to him, offering him a perch. Yet when the crow springs from the ground it is a flurry of sharp claws and wings. It screeches as its talons tear into flesh.
Primrose stirs. It's subtle and despite the jolt in her mind that forces her back to consciousness she is slow to rouse. Her limbs feel heavy and instantly there's a searing pain in her stomach. Her eyes flutter open and the moonlight is somehow too bright. She has been dwelling so long in darkness. She blinks slowly as she tries to orientate herself. She doesn't recognize this ceiling. For a brief moment she feels afraid and alone.
Her gaze moves and then she spots Therion sitting there. She feels a flood of relief so strongly it surprises her.
When did you become so attached? a snide voice wonders in the back of her mind. She is too tired to argue with it.
Her voice is hoarse when she is finally able to part her lips to speak.] Where...?
no subject
Primrose! You're awake!
[Not an answer to her question, but the exclamation tears itself from his mouth in gasping relief. Inwardly he chides himself for stating the glaringly obvious, but it's too late to stop himself. A part of him, too, wonders when he started caring so much, but that part is utterly unimportant just now, and he ignores it in favor of a panicked internal debate over whether he ought to yell for someone else more qualified to deal with any pain or whatever she might be feeling. (While his personal solution to pain is usually 'suck it up', that doesn't mean he wants to see his fr-- companions hurting, after all.)]
We're in that guard, uh..., Revello's house. It's been a few days, but it's safe here.
[Well, as safe as anywhere gets, really. But he means that it's pretty damn unlikely any of the Obsidian bastards'll be able to get in here to finish the job.]
no subject
But the pain that throbs to life in her abdomen is very real as is the stiffness in her limbs.
His words cause surprise to flicker across her face.] A few days... [Gods, but that is far too long to have been out of commission. Her mission couldn't afford that. Nor could the mission of some of the others, now that she thinks about it.
Yet here one sits at her bedside, watching over her. For it to be Therion maybe doesn't surprise her that much all things considered. His heart is kinder than he wants anyone to know.]
And yet you're still here. [It isn't a question yet it's spoken with some confusion.] I'd have thought... [She starts but trails off.] .... Well. Maybe it doesn't matter what I thought. [Her voice is quiet, still difficult to use after so long, but resigned.
She feels the warmth of gratefulness to Revello as her gaze flickers back to stare at the ceiling of his home.] I'm sorry. It was never my intention to drag you into this. [But she had now, inadvertently. Simeon now knew the faces of her companions. They could be in danger because of her.]