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

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.]