let me look at the sun | open

[terriblepurpose]

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

Comments

[terriblepurpose]

[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.]

[megatheorem]

[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.

[terriblepurpose]

[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.]

this can wrap shortly?? :thinking: at last

[megatheorem]

[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.

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

[terriblepurpose]

[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.]