deercountry | let me look at the sun

Entry tags:

let me look at the sun | open

Who: Paul Atreides, open
What: Event catch-all
When: Month of December
Where: Archaic Archives, streets of Trench, the forest's edge, memories
Notes: Go ahead and contact me at

terriblepurpose or by PM if you'd like to discuss any starters or suggest new ones! For tagging in your character's memories to Paul, feel free to start with whatever your preference is.

Content Warnings: Violence, body horror (lockjoint), death, religious extremism, extensive Dune spoilers, suicidal ideation, funerals, grief

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[Paul pushes himself up the back of the chair, still in the process of pulling himself back together, and there's an unguarded sincerity in the way he looks at Palamedes, his eyes wide and softly disbelieving in their wonder.]

Like it's nothing.

[A murmured echo of before, as if offering help is as impressive or more so than taking Paul apart and putting him back together. It is to Paul, which speaks to a certain hypocrisy or hopefulness about him, depending on a person's point of view. He knows that he's been operating outside of the laws of exchange and power, making excuses to extend himself without reciprocation, but it's so much harder to do with people who don't understand the rules, who act as if they don't exist.]

If there is ever anything that I can do for you, for the Sixth, it's yours.

[It's not a vow sworn on ring or by House, or a promise of a debt. There's no ceremony to it. He has been untethered; here is a bind. It's as simple as that. If Palamedes calls, Paul will answer, and a part of the structure of the universe reforms itself. He relaxes back into the chair properly.]

I promise I'm usually more useful than this. [A diversion back towards lighter waters in the self-deprecation there.] And a better host. The bread is for you, if you want it.

[It's not a vow or a promise, but it is — something significant. It's telling of Paul's life up to this point that he seems to treat so many things as an exchange of sorts, a deal between players in some grand game that he's been raised to know how to play. Palamedes isn't too sure what to feel about that, conceptually; it sounds very Third, and he doesn't like all the implications he could heap on that, so—

Well. He makes a mental note to not do something about it, specifically, that isn't his business — but to remember it.]

Thanks. I mean it — genuinely, thank you. And for the bread, [which he will take, heedless of how his hands are mostly dried blood smears by appearance; just Nine Houses things.]

I do have something you could help me with, actually. Depending; how closely were you paying attention during all that?

[He waves a piece of bread crust he's torn off at the desk; All That, and he assumes Paul, even while under the knife, will have picked up a thing or two about the method of the work. It is already obvious what he's going to ask, Palamedes thinks, but he still explains:] It's my leg.

I was supposed to be paying attention?

[Paul says it airily, his eyebrows lifted, and then he smiles softly at his own weak joke.]

Of course. [Both that he was paying attention, and that he'll help.] Let me know when you're ready.

[The limp had been suggestive, but Paul isn't exactly in a position to sit here and judge someone for not being immediately forthcoming about magical joint disease. He's just glad Palamedes trusts him to return the favor, and determined to prove his statement about his usefulness true.

While he waits, he's content to watch Palamedes eat bread, and too unwound to be troubled by feeling that way while they're both soaked in his blood. This is Deer Country. He's getting used to how much of that goes around.]

[Palamedes hums around a nibble of bread, amused; yes, this is his kind of joke, continue. And don't focus too hard on how he's probably going to pull this bread apart more than he's going to actually ingest a significant portion of it, that will be enough. He's already thinking about the ankle surgery, or rather, looking over at the desk again—

He may not be avoiding the issue, but he did neglect to bring, say, double the supplies. The scalpels are easy enough to clean, but oh, the towel... Always this damn towel.]

I'm ready if you are. Are you? You gave up a lot of blood. ["Gave up," because of how much of it is in crystal form, aha--] If you're sure, let's do it.

[Where should he put this leg... He sits up with only some effort (he's tired, still, whew) and leans down to wiggle his shoe off. Let him know which piece of furniture he should ruin next in this place.]

[Those are a few more of the reasonable logistical concerns Paul might have thought through if he hadn't been busy turning himself into a rock garden. He casts around the room and, after some consideration, shifts his chair to the side and forward, ending up at a slight angle to Palamedes.

For a substitute for the towel, Paul delves back into the satchel for gauze, and sets the bag back down on the floor. It's followed by the teapot and the mugs, and Paul pats the empty tabletop for leg placement.]

If I start seeing double, I'll let you know. [Reassurance!] I'm all right to do this. I wouldn't if I wasn't sure.

[That's the kind of risk he'd only take with himself, obviously. Paul centers himself in clear focus once he has Palamedes' limb in front of him for inspection.]

[Palamedes nudges his shoe to one side, rolls his sensible grey sock down and his sensible grey pant leg up, and sits back up again to arrange his skinny legs on the table. It's just the one, but it's more comfortable like this; and it's very much obvious where the crystal has formed beneath the skin, apparently very quickly, a splotchy dark mess sticking out of his ankle. He frowns at it like it's merely inconvenient, which it is, to be fair.

But. Everything is blood and more blood here, it's all blood, and from what he's understood of the nature of whatever mysterious magic sludge now creeps around his veins, it doesn't make sense.]

Supposedly, [he says abruptly after a moment of contemplative silence, briefly attempting to bend the ankle and then super not doing that anymore, ow-] whatever's in me now won't manifest until I'm cut open, however that ultimately works.

[Exposure to the air? Anything that sounds less insane than "it just does that"? He is a flesh and bone individual, his necromancy works, and yet the darkblood literature claims it needs to be coaxed into existence with other magic. A fun puzzle box, then, stuck in his leg.

He shrugs. Whatever pops out of him in a few minutes will be very fun to poke at, certainly.]

That said, this is the only one, promise.

[It hadn't occurred to Paul to think about Palamedes' blood except in terms of how much of it he might lose, and his eyebrows shoot up like startled birds at that little bit of trivia. They settle again as he takes it in, then shakes his head, returning to his examination. At least he's not a vileblood. That would be much more complicated.]

It's funny, the things you take for granted.

[Such as having liquid blood, or that Palamedes' lockjoint would resemble his. It won't take as long, but he's going to have to go deeper than he's entirely happy about, which means being even more careful. He knows Palamedes could repair anything he might botch, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't hurt if he hacks at it, and on top of that, it would be rude.]

This shouldn't be too bad, just the one. I'm going to start. Tell me when you need me to stop.

[Paul picks up the scalpel and puts a steadying hand on Palamedes' shin, then, before he can hesitate, presses the blade down against a seam of skin and crystal.

Of course Palamedes' blood smells like old books.]

[There's a level of on brand he aspires to, not that the blood smell is intentional, but if it were. He aspires also to not twitch when he's cut, although he has no qualms at all about making all kinds of noise about it.

First he says,] Wow! Damn — ouch. You're so much steelier than I am.

[Ha ha ow, the fuck. Paul's ability to endure all of these incisions is insane to think about. Palamedes has the robustness of wet paper that bleeds more paper, gritty and dusty, dark as it crumbles out from under the cut.

He shoves some bread in his mouth to silence himself just a little bit, but still leans forward to stare at the operation as Paul goes on. Every movement gets a huff and a pained mutter out of him, unabashed. Yikes... super ouch...]

Let me see — hmm, nope; bad.

[Bad, the way the dark mass embedded in his ankle seems to jiggle, almost, when he pushes at it with all the magic he knows how to use. Of course it's a contradiction: darkblood manifests with magic, and magic makes the crystals worse; making it worse to make it easier to pull it out should work, he hopes?

Perhaps? He grins, like okay, no more interrupting, he's good.]

I'm done messing, I'll stop.

[Paul laughs, which he knows is inappropriate, and squeezes Palamedes' calf in reassurance, which he thinks is.]

You're doing well. I mean it. Most people couldn't tolerate it at all.

[He wasn't sure what to expect when he started, but he suspected, hoped for approximately this. Suspected, because Palamedes' force of will has shone adamantine in moment after moment. Hoped, because he didn't want this to be as bad as it could be. Of course Palamedes makes noise (Paul wouldn't want to tell him about the ways Paul learned not to), but his determination is all the more admirable because this doesn't come readily to him.

He's a stronger person than Paul is. So Paul lets go, and gets back to work with a new calm, steadied again.]

But yes. Don't do that. Even if it did help.

[Paul grips Palamedes' ankle above the joint, promises himself that he's going to find a way to make this up to him, and levers the crystal out in one clean, unbroken piece. It clatters to the table as darkblood dances in the air like spice, and Paul brushes a consoling thumb across Palamedes' skin before he lets go.

It's done. They're both all right. Paul is going to sleep for a day, and then he's going to bring Palamedes every pastry he can talk a baker into giving him.]

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this can wrap shortly?? :thinking: at last

yeah whenever you would like, this or the next if you want to? thank you for this!