[when it first starts viktor doesn't even ignore it. he sees the creature and immediately takes to the omni, scouring for information as rio watched on in concern at their unfortunate new guest. he doesn't find much on the network, so he does the next best thing and ignores it. focuses on work, clears his head as best he can to hope it will go away.
it does not. it does nothing to him beside mimic with irritating accuracy. looking at it does nothing (good, no more butterflies please,) tossing one of the orbs does nothing. he loses his patience at one point and gives it a little whack with his crutch only to get a bruise on his own arm for his trouble. the whole stupid episode makes him laugh and he considers messaging pal about it, because he thinks pal might get a kick out of it. he even gets as far as opening up to pal's inbox before he falters.
he doesn't know what this is, and until he does he doesn't want to have it anywhere near pal. he doesn't want it haunting the bunker, a place that has become warm in a way his old apartment back home never managed. he doesn't want to turn to find it latching onto pal, or feeding from pal, or any number of possibilities. he needs more information and that he'll get, so he closes the inbox and focus that first night on figuring out exactly what's happening. he makes notes.
mimics <- working title until the name of these creatures is revealed
characteristics: faceless, an oddly metallic sheen? fluid movement regardless of it. solid, water simply drips off them without and absorption from the mimic.
note: physical violence against the mimic reflects on the one it is mimicking!
mostly like that, feverish through that first evening. by morning he can't stop glancing over his shoulder, grimacing at how the creature simply grimaces back. still no obvious method of feeding, and when he goes outside people seem to recognize the mimic is there, can see it. he's avoided and he's grateful, though he's struck with the thought that the moment allen or pal walk into the lab they'll make this their problem too.
for a dying man, it's a thought that slides across his head too naturally to be ignored. for what very well could be a lost cause, all that attention and effort that could so easily be doomed to be just another scar bleeding corruption.
he goes to the docks shortly after, always the place best to think and try and clear his head of that sort of nonsense. the problem is it feels less and less like nonsense the longer he stands there, even rio fading to smoke from where she tried to stay resolutely pressed to his side.
he thinks of pal's words at the bar, the picture of some sickly friend from the seventh he lost. he thinks about how his own steady decaying must feel to watch, wonders if it's similar enough to whatever tragedy pal faced that it eats at him. thinks about it when pal messages him and he offers a clumsy message back, head clearing for a blessed moment with the concern shown.
it doesn't last. maybe later he could untangle the time that follows and the many tangles but mostly he sinks into the silence of it all. he was always here once, that sickly kid who couldn't climb up with the other children so he watched the boats instead. the tether feels like it's breathing down his neck by the time pal comes around, silver seeping up his jaw like prominent veins.
when pal speaks there's a delay before he looks over, the mimic looking in unison, its eyeless gaze somehow more focused.]
Legacy, I think. What that actually means. [he answers after another beat] In a way it's really just our excuse for why we existed in the first place, is it not?
[Well. That Viktor is present enough to answer him is a good sign. The words less so, and the silvery shadow of him standing right out in the open even worse. Palamedes hums and moves, to fold his arms and turn his back on the fake Viktor, all but putting himself between the silver and the real. He says:]
Is it? Legacy belongs to other people.
[Other people to do the remembering, to repeat the names. Legacy is a ballast in a world that promises only an ending, and Palamedes sees a shimmer of hope in that. It would be easy to be a bigger downer about it, to deny the sense of putting good into a life now because the legacy will always, always be the part you do not get to see—
He doesn't like that, though. And more immediately, he doesn't like the lines of silver creeping up Viktor's neck, so prominent — nothing like the vague, shimmery sense of silver he'd witnessed the last time he saw this happen. His demeanor softens at the same time his heart hammers away again with a fresh pulse of fear and he reaches out to put a hand on Viktor's arm, the same as that night outside The Red. When he'd asked and Viktor had answered, a simple question with a mountain of weight behind it.
It had been easy. Palamedes feels the gaze of the silver shadow boring into him from where it stands and he swallows thickly, curls fingers in the fabric of Viktor's sleeve to center himself. He will not, he decides, let this other Viktor have him. He won't; it's easy. The silver doubles are a mystery to him beyond their lurking danger, the obvious threat of turning to metal, and if this is some manner of corruption made whole, to walk around a few paces behind until the clock runs out, then - well.
He's already decided. He steps in front of Viktor properly, grip firm on his arm, to look him in the face.]
Come home with me, [he entreats, low, like the double mustn't overhear. Like if he shuts the bunker door quickly enough it can't come in.] We can talk about it there. I promise; I'll hear all of it.
[that answer has viktor's eyes flutter, a bit of focus reclaiming him as he considers it.] It does in the end, doesn't it?
[there's something to that, though it doesn't do much to ease him. that's an easy spiral, what little he's offered the world because he chose to play by rules always stacked against him and now it's too late, even here it's too late, the best he can hope to offer is a foundation followed by a tragedy like all the other tragedies that make up the trench-
pal's grip on his arm snaps him back, even the silver lessening a touch in a tangible way. just like by the red he feels his chest warm in a treacherous way, the pleasant ache of connection.
he stares at pal's hand until pal's before him, and he thinks something foolish like the solemnity on his face suits him, even if viktor wishes it didn't have to happen at all. the veins wither just a touch more as reaches out to put a hand over pal's, fingers chilled from the sea air as he murmurs,] You shouldn't- it may latch onto you. We don't know how these things work, it could spread.
[Palamedes nods, it does, come home with him and talk about it somewhere safer, somewhere kinder than alone by the docks in the middle of the endless night.] Yes; the whole point is other people. You don't need me to tell you that.
[No, someone who wants to purify water for whole cities and improve lives already knows that, but Palamedes will remind him if he must, if it helps— Viktor's touch distracts him though, so cool on his hand his gaze darts down to it immediately, anxious he might see more silver. He feels one single heartbeat of relief, and then-]
I'm going to, [which comes out more firmly but still low, quiet. If the silver spreads to him it will be to his heart first, to split it quietly in two while he thinks of Viktor coming out here to keep people safe from himself. He can see the silver veins recede, just barely, nearly a trick of the light — okay. He does a hasty hypothesis in the back of his mind: is it touch, then? The previous time it had been the offer of a listening ear, but here Viktor's hand closes over his own and the lines of silver shrink just enough to notice. Is it only a trick, seeing what he would like to see?
There is a fairly simple way to find out, but ah - hmm.]
You're too smart to let it spread to me. I trust you; I know. Nothing in this town wants to us to have a good time, but I trust you.
[And with startling necromancer self-preservation, as always, he lifts his other hand and presses a single fingertip to Viktor's jaw, where the thickest of the silver veins winds up from under his collar. It's ridiculous, it feels ridiculous to do even as he does it, but behold: he is not made silver.]
[this is what he knew would happen, with allen, with pal, this disregard for their own safety to help because of course. they're stalwart, they thrive on putting others before whatever's lurking in their own heads, and pal cares in a way that makes viktor's chest hurt. not even the lungs this damn time.]
I don't- I don't have enough data to promise you anything. If I just had a bit more time-
[he sucks in a breath when pal touches his jaw, it's- he can't remember anyone touching him there before. it requires a whole new understanding, different from firm hands on the shoulder, brushing against his back, the startling warmth of a hug.
and he doesn't even think before he's leaning into it a little, exhale soft as a great deal of the silver creeping up his neck retreats back, all the more around the areas pal's fingertip meets his skin. it takes all of a moment more before viktor is quickly taking pal's wrist and moving his hand away to check it, a touch panicked as he looks up but-
but no, the tether is still his shape, trying to stare back from behind pal. his eyes then go to pal's brow furrowed.] Palamedes, you could have contaminated yourself! [he sounds a lot more like himself now, down to the way his accent thickens as it always does when he's frustrated.]
[It's heartbreaking, actually, that Viktor leaps so quickly to not having any data to offer - like he must be providing something if someone is to come after him to see if he's alright. Like it doesn't make Palamedes' throat tighten and stomach sink all the more when he leans into it, when he keeps fussing.]
How do you know I could? I thought you didn't have any data, [he says, and that might be mean if he didn't wiggle his hand free of Viktor's grip to cup his palm against his jaw entirely and chase silver back down. He shakes his head.]
Sorry, [soft,] High risk, high reward, right?
[He doesn't dare turn to see the double, to take his eyes off this Viktor and his retreating silver. Viktor's skin is cool to the touch from being out here who knows how long but it is skin, not metal, and Palamedes can only drink in these flashes of his righteous indignation with shocking relief, like all of his nerves catching fire in slow succession.
There's progress here, though, etched into the frustrated scolding Palamedes might otherwise pretend he very much does not deserve. He feels like he's been here before, has done this one already, has steadied a person like a glass on the verge of shattering and insisted, no—
Viktor adds another layer to it. Viktor leans into his touch and then scolds him for it, and Palamedes staunchly refuses to think of what happens if the double watching from behind him gets what it wants.]
No more time; this is enough. You've done plenty, Viktor— more than enough.
Stubborn- [viktor mutters, a great many other words he'd add lost because pal's cupping his jaw properly now and like the fool he is he melts into it. his hand returns to pal's wrist but it isn't to pull him away, it's not even to try, it's simply another point of contact.
the silver recedes back down to his collar, only peeking out on the other side of his face. viktor keeps his eyes closed for a moment and swallows, focuses on the shape of pal's hand against him. it feels like missing something he's never actually had- it feels like he should pull away rather than feed on pal's warmth like a parasite, regardless of how freely given it might be. it feels a bit like planting his feet and taking what he can get because high risk, high reward, right? like pal said.
his thumb runs down pal's wrist without thinking about it a sigh as he finally opens his eyes. pal saying what he says, being enough, has a visible reaction too, the silver still peeking out from his collar on the other side shrinking back.]
Fine, you win. [he says after a beat, torn somewhere between unease and gratitude so profound he's afraid to dissect it. he offers a helpless, wane smile, more to the fact he imagines pal and his tenacity winning many battles this way, simply by being so set on his goal.] Let's... go home.
I'm driven, [he returns quietly, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. Viktor does have a very good and salient point about Palamedes' walking straight into a potentially dangerous situation here, but - well, he has no excuse, not really. His concern for Viktor supersedes his risk avoidance, it's simple as that. They can talk about that... later.
He watches the boundary line of silver dip away as if alive, actively avoiding the space the two of them connect and he thinks, good, and then he wonders how much of Viktor is coated in that sheen of silver.
Not that— he isn't going to demand to check, but if necessity demands he cup Viktor's face like this for another hour, he'll do it. The brush of Viktor's thumb along his wrist undoes him into a puddle of some emotion he can't quantify, only for the look on Viktor's face to put him back together and undo him hastily again. Palamedes squeezes Viktor's arm, the one he's still holding, trying to be encouraging and at least somewhat grounding. He hopes.
He watches the silver actively leave Viktor's face and he still has to wonder if it will come back as soon as he pulls his hand away— it's going to be a long(er) night, but he brightens as much he can without it feeling forced.]
I tend to, [he says, to winning, and brushes back an errant lock of Viktor's hair before he lifts his hand away. The, ah, the evidence suggests that points of contact are the plan of attack here, so he offers Viktor his hand - and then his elbow instead? maybe? - no; he offers the hand, definitely.]
It's been a horrendously dull couple of days. I've been surviving on cold sandwiches; I'm hopeless. [a beat; softer,] I'm with you.
That is what a hopelessly stubborn person would claim. [viktor answers, not quite the dry he usually aims for, somewhere between tired and fond.
his sense returning properly demand he address all this, categorize what is happening into something he can understand. maybe it can be simple enough- pal is determined and it's only natural to try to reach out and touch what one needs to reaffirm. that viktor feels such a pang of loss when pal pulls his hand away is a weakness of the self or... or an effect of his current, uncertain condition. the way he just brushes viktor's hair back like that helps temper the loss in some odd exchange.
he's not a completely dense fool though, and he can recognize when he makes the pointed choice to take pal's hand with his own.]
It's been that long? [he sounds contrite, time got away from him rather quickly. probably more so for pointedly ignoring the messages he knows pal sent, which with pal's palm warm against his seems particularly absurd even in his quest to keep him at arm's length. he frankly can't say it isn't his own brand of stubbornness in the end rather than some spooky tether, one that holds its own hand out as if it too holds pal's hand.
viktor pulls pal closer to his own side with a bit of a glower at the thing, expression softening only when he glances back over. apologetic.] Ah... well I owe you dinner then, at the very least. Does the Sixth have the concept of comfort food?
You're adding more adjectives, [Palamedes murmurs in vague, faux-protest. He may have added 'hopeless' himself a moment ago, but it's the principle of the thing; still, he's glad for the adjectives, for at least that proves Viktor is - more himself. Palamedes squeezes his hand, and when Viktor pulls him closer—
Which for a moment he does not comprehend, so fixed on the silver that covers Viktor's skin that he may have already assumed the life-sized double had vanished, sick of being ignored—
When Viktor pulls him closer he moves in easily, tucking their joined hands between them to get a little warmth back in those fingers. The momentary awkwardness of holding hands ebbs away as he turns to start them down the quickest path back home, through the fewest beast-tempting zones. It's not utilitarian, or businesslike, but something else entirely - something that hums in his chest, louder when Viktor tries to offer him an apology meal and tugs at his heartstrings.]
No. But not tonight; I had my sandwich, and I'm going to make you rest. As long as... he's still dogging your heels, you aren't out of the woods yet. Have you eaten?
I haven't even started. Reckless, bull-headed- [viktor answers back, all very normal except for the fact his fingers tremble a bit as he holds up his free hand to count them off.] - ridiculous.
[sweet, is another and he's not going to say it even if he thinks it. maybe it's implied in how he trails off. he follows without complaint, eyes ahead instead of to the mimic that follows in a mockery of his own limping gait, as if it leans on a crutch that isn't even there. it's easier to ignore it and focus on pal's hand in his, or watching him from the corner of his eye as they move and pal fusses.
there's a few things on the tip of his tongue. i can take care of myself is a classic, one he's used on jayce and even sky several times over, a good way to scare off well meaning concern. i'm fine is a standby for many in this place, he'd imagine, pal included. pal especially, maybe, if he's lived by himself in his quiet little bunker meant for two people this long. that one never flies anyway regardless of who says it, not in a place where no one is really fine at any point without a lot of compartmentalizing and a splash of denial.]
No. [he settles for the truth, because he doesn't really remember when he last ate in the mad rush of things and he has the distinct feeling the moonlight is the only reason he doesn't feel markedly worse for that fact.] You can... you can subject me to what you've been forced to make for yourself. A fitting punishment.
[again, at least an attempt at dry. they're still just casually holding hands and that is something he can't remember ever doing before outside of being a child. even jayce and all his tendency to physical affection would lead him by the elbow at best. he thinks he should find this childish but his grip tightens regardless as they get closer to home.]
Bull-headed? [said with all the incredulity he can muster in these specific circumstances, as no one has ever called him something like bull-headed before. Is he really? Maybe he's taking after Cam in her absence, but only in the very best ways, of course.]
Punishment for self-care crimes? Maybe for ignoring my questions.
[Leaving him on read... the cruelest. Viktor can call it punishment all he likes, Palamedes thinks, as he believes he's made it fundamentally clear that it's all in the name of taking care of Viktor's silver doppelganger problem and seeing that he's well, if not in so many words. He'll make a sandwich; Viktor will eat a sandwich, and step... two-ish will be complete. Easy.
He's wondering if the rest will be easy, keeping the silver off Viktor and the double at bay, but Viktor's grip on his hand helps with that even before he really gets the thought going. There's going to be— there's no way he can think his next thought that doesn't sound at least a smidge awkward, but with the double still persistently plodding along behind them, there's going to be more touch involved, as per the working theory. Viktor's clutch onto his hand is some modicum of acceptance of that, he thinks, which is - good. That's good.
But the sandwiches can come first. The walk to the bunker feels more urgent the closer they get, and Palamedes has to resist looking at the double every few paces to see what it's doing now, if it looks any less solid, if it's looking back at them. Once inside the bunker he steers Viktor to the couch rather than the uncomfortable kitchen chairs, eyeing the double warily as he lets go his hand - and turns to go make a sandwich.
In fairness: it's less a sandwich and more two pieces of bread with some jam in between, do not perceive him, but it's food and it tastes good, and he brings it over on a napkin instead of a plate because that is just the life he's living. Here; eat of his sandwich and be well. He sits, and if he's staring intently at Viktor to see how much silver has come back in the handful of minutes he spent slapping jam onto bread, well.
Mhm, quite bull-headed. That's really the one that sticks out? [is the answer, though he's quick to grimace a little at the real crime- leaving on read. talk about rude. he knows he would have been climbing up a wall of pal did the same to him, which... really, goes to show he can't call pal all this without being a bit hypocritical.]
I am sorry about that. [he tries, and hence accepting food as the ultimate punishment apparently. or at least offering an attempt to reign in his own stubbornness and conceding that pal can and is going to help. the second he sees any hint of the tether shifting to pal he'd panic, of course, but for now...
in some ways it feels like a blink and they're there, plopped on the couch as his double sits across from him on nothing like an absurd, unnerving mime. losing pal's touch doesn't immediately bring any silver back, it isn't until he focuses on staring at his mimic that it starts to creep up again like a punishment for the world's most unsettling staredown.
he lets go of his crutch where he had been holding it tightly, letting it rest against the nearby wall to take the sandwich.] I have notes, somewhere... observations. They can move through solid matter to stay with their target, they will break their mimicry in small ways to course correct and remain in eyeshot if possible. Any harm done to them is reflected on the user, they repel water and presumably other liquids.
[eat the sandwich pal slaved over a hot bottle of jam for. he does take a bite, and some of that silver that creeped back up recedes with the fact pal make food for him, of all the stupid little things.
he's slowly chewing his first bite and regarding the sandwich like it holds some mystery, because it does, in a way. of all the things they've done, of all the little moments and vocal affirmations, this is the one that finally strikes something in him. maybe it's the undercity in him, food and offering it always had a different connotation when food was largely scarce. maybe it's being too worn down for mental gymnastics, maybe it's a lot of things but when he glances at pal he finally thinks back to pal cupping his jaw and what the next logical step often was with such an action.
oh.
his eyes go back to the sandwich, heart rate picking up but not exactly surprised. oh. he closes his eyes and struggles with what happened with information like this. he didn't get 'crushes,' he could recognize when someone was attractive and appreciate that fact, he could understand the lure of wanting to spend time with someone for their personality but a draw that comes from such a deeply vulnerable place is-
he takes another bite of his sandwich like a stalling tactic. pal got him fruit he never tried before the first time he came over, and he wonders if that isn't where this started. the talks before even? their ridiculous little heist that holds a special place in his heart.]
T-thank you. [he does manage eventually, trying to go with compartmentalizing as a tactic to deal with the sudden onslaught of information and everything he currently needs to re-establish ie their interactions. he needs charts for this.
what this does on a tether is probably a bit odd, a sort of faded quality to some of it's edges but a sharpness in other areas. a rollercoaster one way or another.]
[Oh, he's got data after all. Palamedes listens to him talk, noting these things for - he hopes not, but - future reference, but also just taking note of the more even cadence of his voice. He slaved over a sandwich to listen to these notes, and he's content to stare intently at Viktor's profile while he talks without entirely focusing on the words, but-]
Harm?
[Hello? Harm done do it? What's been happening for three days, sir. But he holds up a hand, like, don't answer him; eat the sandwich. He can wait, and he will, the intensity of his gray-eyed stare softening the longer Viktor just, well. Eats a sandwich. He's eyeballing the progress and recession of the silver with impatience, as if staring it down will make it go faster.
Viktor thanks him for the jam sandwich, and Palamedes hums in vague assent, enjoy the sandwich— more importantly, the silver on the back of Viktor's neck is problematic in a way he can't sit and just look at any longer. He tilts toward Viktor, hand raised and hesitating only momentarily (like, he is interrupting dinner, here) before he sets his fingertips on the back of Viktor's neck carefully, like the silver makes him delicate.
It does, in a way; after three days of wondering and then the hopeless way Viktor looked at him at the docks, Palamedes can't help the swell of emotions that burns beneath his ribs. There's a buzzing anxiety at the forefront, of course, and a relief, and an affection that burns brighter than the rest— his hand on Viktor's neck is as much a reassurance for himself as anything else. That's something he'll think about later, he decides. Right now he's concerned with the physical - Viktor, warm, real. Not turning into metal, which—
The tether— whatever it does gets a glance out of him, on edge like he might have to chuck a lumpy couch pillow at it in a second, but - no, it's? That's a response, indeed.]
Sorry, [he says, for lack of anything better to say. He doesn't pull back his hand.] How do you feel?
[viktor snorts softly, does as he's told and takes another few bites- wonderful, if he looks too long he thinks of things like how he can see pal's eyes better this close, the shade of them, how the little, constant motions draw his eyes-
no. another bite. a crooked smile, weak but present as he answers,] I may have gotten annoyed and given it a little whack. Just earned a bump on the arm for my trouble.
[he should have just messaged pal then, he accepts that much. he's still a bit unsure about this but thus far they're safe, the tether hasn't grown teeth or reattached or... whatever it does. annoy him personally, he thinks. corrupt him, more likely. that did seem to be a running theme, and he quells a spike of nerves at the thought of turning into something that could hurt pal.
no, that won't help things. he knows enough about corruption to know it's just make things worse.
he does a good job of burying it along with several pal related thoughts, up until pal's touching him again. he looks over with a touch of surprise, cursing whatever damn god or pthumerian is making this happen because really, pal keeps looking at him like that and viktor can't see how the silver just keeps receding the more he's touched, the more he reads such a sincere concern in pal's gaze it aches.]
Fine- better. Ah- [he scrambles for something, glancing over to where the tether seems more and more faded out, a lingering shadow rather than a solid threat.] So... touch is the key to this? It's diminishing based off your- based off contact, it seems.
Wonderful, if that's the case I really did make quite an ass of myself running off. [he's not blushing about any of this, you are. he can handle being touched by his newfound infatuation. god, why couldn't it be simple attraction? that is so much easier, it's all the tangle of feelings involved that have him scrambling on what to do. attraction he could just accept then dismiss, maybe make an offer if he's feeling bold and accept whatever outcome came from it.
this? it shouldn't be anymore complicated but it truly is.]
[Could he, in theory, absolutely wreck a person for Doing Harm to someone he cares about? Yes, it would not even be hard — but he's not going to pretend he's got anything going for him without the element of surprise. So, lucky: not having to go on the warpath.
He watches the silver creep back down, following it just so with his fingertips - but not too far. He's aware of what he's doing here, he's not completely out of touch with reality while he runs his fingers all over Viktor, but the silver is one hell of an excuse for this arguably inappropriate behavior. He hums, nodding, running his thumb along a stripe of silver and watching it shrink.]
You did. [Like, that's true, he's comfortable enough in Viktor's overall safety to say that now.] I was— You scared me, you know.
[Not an accusation; just a murmur, as his mess of emotions solidifies into a thing that wants to come out in pieces, it seems. Viktor was an ass, Palamedes was scared, Palamedes was also bull-headed and stubborn and he's still feeling those things, too, admittedly-
He sighs, managing a small smile.]
Finish your sandwich. Do you still want to talk about legacy? Or...
[viktor's brow quirks, a moment to consider how pal might have finished that sentence and reaching-] Going to fight someone?
[that should be said with humor but he damns himself, his tone going soft. (the tether shuddering minutely, lesser.) he doesn't know how to thank something like that other than making an earnest effort to finish off half of the sandwich, which he does after a few more bites. he can't say he has much of an appetite but it helps regardless to get some food down. he can't bring himself to focus on it any longer when pal is still touching him and he's trying not to shiver and give himself away.
he wonders if there is an ethical issue here, should he say 'you are touching someone who just realized he very much could kiss you right now, does that change your comfort with the situation?' just check it off like a list of requirements for said touching to even be allowed. it probably made their living together questionable too, which really, his own damn feelings couldn't let him have any nice things?
a shame they couldn't be switched off like a well oiled machine, which is a passing thought that might be a harbinger for troubles to come, though here it's met with a humorless smile as he places the other half of the sandwich to the side.]
I hope you understand I wasn't- it was not a matter of trust. Foolishness, yes, but I simply did not wish to subject you to any of it. You... you deserve better.
[he can't even sound awkward, just a little resigned, a soft chuckle at pal's insistence. he pulls off another piece of it at least, trying not to be too obvious in how he leans back into pal's hand.] Morose nonsense. Regrets for a world I am not longer a part of. [he tries to dismiss.] The only use for those failures is to learn better for our time here, not living out the same pointless tragedies again and again.
Eh, sorry... I think despite knowing better I still struggle with putting a firm line between this life and where I was before. I'm sure all sleepers do at some point.
If it came to that, yes. [Yes, obviously, in an instant. Now that he's said it it doesn't sound as absurd to say, to admit that he would absolutely go to bat for Viktor, if necessary. Violence and necromancers are not strangers, far from it, and so it stands to reason that the willingness to get into actual fights for him is, hm—
Messy, and extreme, but in the deep-seated way of the Nine Houses, so intrinsically linking devotion and violence. So he can say if it came to that with the slightest hint of a crooked grin, like it's almost a joke, and beyond that he can simply let it be what it is: being, hm, personally invested. He thinks of Viktor's admission outside The Red, about showing him what the Sixth couldn't, and resolves that, yes— here is a person he would go to great lengths to protect.]
I— hmm. [He makes a face; how does he articulate that he wants, actually, to be subjected to it? That the depths of how much he cares for Viktor don't stop just above the silent tether still sitting half-formed across from them. He doesn't know; he says,] I wish you would have said something.
[—and that's that on that, more or less. Viktor leans into his hand - kind of hard to be subtle about that one, bud - and Palamedes splays his fingers out accommodatingly, palm flat and fingertips high enough to reach the ends of his hair. This he thinks about for a long couple seconds, then remembers to focus.]
Some more than others, [he offers; he can look back at his own life and put a pin in each moment where one of those lines should be drawn, but that doesn't mean he's immune to thinking about things he'd have liked to accomplish before, or whatever else.]
I think if we're supposed to be guilty for ever thinking like that, you ought to lock me up as soon as possible. Let me keep my books.
[ah, there's another of his undercity roots coming to play, that willingness to fight for someone you cared for. he's never cared for violence, avoided it as far as he could manage but he can recognize the care that comes with it. what it is to have someone you snarl and bear your teeth for. to be the subject of that is a little novel, hits him in the chest again like an unrelenting series of blows pal keeps piling on simply by caring the way he does.
he can't bring himself to do more than focus on the piece of sandwich in his hand, letting the warmth of pal's fingers ease some deep ache rather than feed into how much he is allowed to enjoy that. the silver has vanished from anywhere visible now, perhaps off his skin entirely. he still feels a faint chill down his back, under his makeshift brace, but it too is receding to a gentle warmth.]
... I'll say something, next time. [because there will probably be a next time, one way or another. he turns his head to regard pal.] If you'll let me have your back as well. Equivalent exchange.
[incredible bullshit, though the sentiment in general is there and strong. strong enough he even gives into sentiment to say,] I'd have it anyway, whether you agree or not. But an agreement would make things easier.
[a glance to the tether and he can see it all but crumbled where it sits, a state of decay without the actual rot, a little on the nose given the state of his life but he choses to see it as the dying of something he's needed to cut out of himself anyway. the way it's faded now makes it difficult to tell who it's staring at anymore, and when viktor raises a hand it follows shakily.]
In truth it's for the best, I think. To let go of everything of our old worlds would be denying ourselves something integral. When I moved to Piltover it would have been easier to do that, let go of everything the undercity made of me, but I would have been greatly lesser for.
[he moves his raised hand to rest on pal's arm, around his elbow, the one still at his neck. he watches his tether touch something that isn't there and feels the oddest sympathy for the briefest moments before his attention and gaze turns to pal again.] For what it's worth I'd sneak you any books you'd like, if you were locked up for such crimes. [more for what it's worth he's glad pal lets himself be who he is, regrets and all.]
[Next time, of course. Becoming used to next times is part and parcel for life here in Trench, admittedly not Palamedes' favorite thing ever. He wishes he could promise there would be no next times, but even the thought feels childish; truth over solace, after all. He nods.]
Equivalent exchange. You don't have to strongarm me; I'm agreeing.
[Now he manages the whole grin, like the suggestion he wouldn't agree is the joke, here. Viktor getting into danger because of him is obviously less than ideal? Still, he's always been prone to dramatic declarations of trust and working together, so in some ways this feels... inevitable, in a comfortable way.
The inevitable danger not so much... they'll deal with that when it comes.]
I don't disagree, [he says, looking over at the tether and what's become of it for a moment before his focus swings back to Viktor. Much as he's glad to see it go, there is something viscerally unsettling about watching a Viktor-shaped thing crumble in real time. Eugh.] I couldn't stop being Sixth if I tried.
[He shrugs; he can and has angrily denied some other bizarre, garbage aspects of the Nine Houses just these past few weeks alone, but the Sixth? Being a necromancer, with a cavalier? Some things are simply integral, indeed.
After a moment he shifts to sink back into the couch, just kind of- assuming Viktor will lean back with him, ahem. The tether is on its last, er, silver bits, Viktor has eaten his sandwich; they're entitled to a moment of peace.]
Thanks; I'll dedicate my prison novel to you. [Hmm. A beat.] It's easier to sublimate regret into nostalgia, isn't it? I could paint over the ugly parts and say, no; this me is the freshly improved version, ignore the rest... but the ugly parts would still be there.
[Truth, solace, etc. Maybe he's looked at the tether for too long.]
[the grin on pal has viktor's lips quirking, and really, all this makes him feel more the fool for running off. maybe he should learn a valuable lesson about asking for help or keeping people in the loop rather than, you know, passing out bleeding over hexcores or considering taking dangerous drugs and doing dangerous magic. or running off to the docks.
well, he's learned something at least. he doesn't think he'll leave pal on read again, so that's a start.
he's happy to settle back with a sigh, keeping his hand on pal's arm for the moment, using the last of the tether as his excuse despite knowing better now. the chill is gone, he thinks if he checked there wouldn't be a scrap of silver on him. he focuses on pal's words instead of that glaring fact.]
I know. [morose but sometimes even morose things were very much true.] I've done as much already here, grand plans to make better on mistakes I've made, pretending the ugly bits of them are now easy to locate and conquer with perspective and logic.
And yet I still ran off again to the docks rather than accept the chance of hurting people is simply a part of companionship. The eh... the character growth could use a little work.
[he offers a faint smile, and with it the tether fades entirely. viktor glances to where it was, swallowing but keeping his hand against pal's elbow for just a beat too long before he reluctantly pulls it away.]
[Mm, and Palamedes is comfortable like this, not quite leaning into Viktor but close enough to feel the whole presence of him. This, truly, is the ideal circumstance to talk about - mistakes and ugly parts, and half-finished character growth. It has a sort of exhausted but relieved quality to it, content through pure fatigue after the melting pot of high octane emotions the past few days have provided.
So, the morose.]
There's always next time. [He considers.] I'd been— before, you know, my problem with the sea monster, I'd been waiting around to go back home, I think. Camilla was here, and I suppose something gave me the arrogance to not take the reality of this place seriously.
[None of which is something he's actually put into words until now, out loud where someone can hear it, so - appreciate that. He knows better now.]
I don't like that, I don't know what I was thinking, but it's not as if I can pretend it didn't happen. As a fellow work in progress: we're doing a mediocre job of it.
[This is, for all intents and purposes, a compliment. A mutual one. Endure him.
—and oh! There goes the tether, out like somebody turned off its lights. Palamedes blinks at the space where it'd been, then,] But like I said; I tend to win.
[there is something comforting in this worn out space, the walls lowered enough he can even ignore the twisting feelings he has about finding himself wanting to touch pal's jaw the way pal did him. it's an easy place to be an ear, or a nod, an understanding without the baggage of vulnerability.
he's no longer cold down to his bones, and he can just nod to that, curling a little so he can face pal better, shifting to find a spot that doesn't have either brace digging in.]
The cruelest aspect of this place is the understanding even when we wake up of our new reality, that... knowing deep down. We deserve the chance to thrash against it, to try and shape it around until it slots naturally. I wouldn't call it arrogance so much as rebellion, the right to react irrationally against all this blasted rationality and change.
Hm... though maybe that's just the messy humanity in me. [he closes his eyes a moment, a little surprised at how comfortable he is when typically his body is a myriad of aches.] I want so badly to do good here. Do you think it's possible, in so nebulous a place?
[of course pal claiming a victory makes him chuckle and open his eyes again. oh if only he had jayce's bravery with all the casual touch, he wants to reach over and squeeze his shoulder or just... anything.
instead he offers,] Thank you. Really. I don't think I would have lasted much longer.
[That makes it sound reasonable, Palamedes thinks, not the mess of off-kilter decisions that ended with him dumped back into the sea. He shifts when Viktor turns, leaning his elbow on the back of the couch and tilting his head to one side and then the other, like, maybe—]
Rebellion has better aim than I do. I think you're right— really. But you know me; I need to know precisely where to put the pieces together from the start.
[Which makes him just as messy as anyone else, just tilted in the other direction. If he had the answer, if he knew all the theorems to pluck at to understand the truth of this place from its Powers that Be all the way down to the blood in their veins, he would feel - better. It still chafes to think of waking up after five apparent weeks of squid darkness, without an ounce of control over it.
But that's too in his head. Emotionally, like a proper messy human, Palamedes believes Viktor has a point - and the question makes him raise an eyebrow, bumping his knee into Viktor's thigh, like, really? Sir.]
For you, with that mind of yours? Absolutely. You will. You aren't nebulous.
[He looks away for a beat, not wanting to dwell much on the possibility that the tether could have - gotten Viktor, whatever that would have looked like. There's no way of knowing, but in a place like this, it's always safer to err on the side of caution. He doesn't know what to say to it that he hasn't already said - he's here, it was terrifying, he'd love for it to never happen again - all of those would simply be repeating himself, so.
In place of the non-repetitive words he doesn't have, he sits up straighter to face Viktor and hold out his arms. Come give him a hug for being alive and not metal, goddamn.]
Hm, that is true. It is a trait I admire about you. [viktor says honestly, no real intention to flatter just... he does. it is an admirable trait that should be commended, in his mind.] But it is a maddening thing, no doubt. Sometimes I feel the deeper you look here the more twisted the road goes. Too many worlds and realities with too many sets of rules suddenly thrust together, many of them retaining echoes of those rules as far as they will fit.
[maybe that is why everything is so unstable. but yes, in a way it breaks his heart to imagine the time after camilla left and pal stuck without even the small comfort understanding what it all really meant. just there and gone, human formed than a squid in the ocean- than a squid himself. why any of it, why called here, what purpose.
it really is a maddening road to go down, one he lets drift to snort softly at the knee bumping his thigh.]
I am very much so, or at least passive. It was my greatest sin back home, playing by their rules and hoping I'd one day be let off my leash. ... ha, waiting for permission to change the world.
[at least that is a lesson he's trying to learn well, though he's aware the next extreme of being too active and meddling where he should not is a distinct possibility. he'd rather lean towards that than being passive again, ever again. just as back home all he needs is time.
of course pal is spreading his arms like that and viktor... well, he's too tired to start wondering if he's somehow an evil creature for hugging someone he's very much developing feelings for without their knowing. meaning he can be perfectly platonic about this, he can, only that beat of hesitation before he shifts so he can wrap around pal.
well. maybe purely platonic is impossible, but it can just be a rush of gratitude as he holds him, a rattling sigh like the last of the ice dissipating with it.
he's going to need to tell him, to say something, maybe when they have both had time to rest and emotions aren't running so high. he can't keep being passive in his own life, in his work, he promised himself that and it pertains to here too. the worst that could happen is hurting, and they all already hurt plenty, for far worse reasons.]
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it does not. it does nothing to him beside mimic with irritating accuracy. looking at it does nothing (good, no more butterflies please,) tossing one of the orbs does nothing. he loses his patience at one point and gives it a little whack with his crutch only to get a bruise on his own arm for his trouble. the whole stupid episode makes him laugh and he considers messaging pal about it, because he thinks pal might get a kick out of it. he even gets as far as opening up to pal's inbox before he falters.
he doesn't know what this is, and until he does he doesn't want to have it anywhere near pal. he doesn't want it haunting the bunker, a place that has become warm in a way his old apartment back home never managed. he doesn't want to turn to find it latching onto pal, or feeding from pal, or any number of possibilities. he needs more information and that he'll get, so he closes the inbox and focus that first night on figuring out exactly what's happening. he makes notes.
mimics <- working title until the name of these creatures is revealed
characteristics: faceless, an oddly metallic sheen? fluid movement regardless of it. solid, water simply drips off them without and absorption from the mimic.
note: physical violence against the mimic reflects on the one it is mimicking!
mostly like that, feverish through that first evening. by morning he can't stop glancing over his shoulder, grimacing at how the creature simply grimaces back. still no obvious method of feeding, and when he goes outside people seem to recognize the mimic is there, can see it. he's avoided and he's grateful, though he's struck with the thought that the moment allen or pal walk into the lab they'll make this their problem too.
for a dying man, it's a thought that slides across his head too naturally to be ignored. for what very well could be a lost cause, all that attention and effort that could so easily be doomed to be just another scar bleeding corruption.
he goes to the docks shortly after, always the place best to think and try and clear his head of that sort of nonsense. the problem is it feels less and less like nonsense the longer he stands there, even rio fading to smoke from where she tried to stay resolutely pressed to his side.
he thinks of pal's words at the bar, the picture of some sickly friend from the seventh he lost. he thinks about how his own steady decaying must feel to watch, wonders if it's similar enough to whatever tragedy pal faced that it eats at him. thinks about it when pal messages him and he offers a clumsy message back, head clearing for a blessed moment with the concern shown.
it doesn't last. maybe later he could untangle the time that follows and the many tangles but mostly he sinks into the silence of it all. he was always here once, that sickly kid who couldn't climb up with the other children so he watched the boats instead. the tether feels like it's breathing down his neck by the time pal comes around, silver seeping up his jaw like prominent veins.
when pal speaks there's a delay before he looks over, the mimic looking in unison, its eyeless gaze somehow more focused.]
Legacy, I think. What that actually means. [he answers after another beat] In a way it's really just our excuse for why we existed in the first place, is it not?
[being a fucking downer, man. ]
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Is it? Legacy belongs to other people.
[Other people to do the remembering, to repeat the names. Legacy is a ballast in a world that promises only an ending, and Palamedes sees a shimmer of hope in that. It would be easy to be a bigger downer about it, to deny the sense of putting good into a life now because the legacy will always, always be the part you do not get to see—
He doesn't like that, though. And more immediately, he doesn't like the lines of silver creeping up Viktor's neck, so prominent — nothing like the vague, shimmery sense of silver he'd witnessed the last time he saw this happen. His demeanor softens at the same time his heart hammers away again with a fresh pulse of fear and he reaches out to put a hand on Viktor's arm, the same as that night outside The Red. When he'd asked and Viktor had answered, a simple question with a mountain of weight behind it.
It had been easy. Palamedes feels the gaze of the silver shadow boring into him from where it stands and he swallows thickly, curls fingers in the fabric of Viktor's sleeve to center himself. He will not, he decides, let this other Viktor have him. He won't; it's easy. The silver doubles are a mystery to him beyond their lurking danger, the obvious threat of turning to metal, and if this is some manner of corruption made whole, to walk around a few paces behind until the clock runs out, then - well.
He's already decided. He steps in front of Viktor properly, grip firm on his arm, to look him in the face.]
Come home with me, [he entreats, low, like the double mustn't overhear. Like if he shuts the bunker door quickly enough it can't come in.] We can talk about it there. I promise; I'll hear all of it.
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[there's something to that, though it doesn't do much to ease him. that's an easy spiral, what little he's offered the world because he chose to play by rules always stacked against him and now it's too late, even here it's too late, the best he can hope to offer is a foundation followed by a tragedy like all the other tragedies that make up the trench-
pal's grip on his arm snaps him back, even the silver lessening a touch in a tangible way. just like by the red he feels his chest warm in a treacherous way, the pleasant ache of connection.
he stares at pal's hand until pal's before him, and he thinks something foolish like the solemnity on his face suits him, even if viktor wishes it didn't have to happen at all. the veins wither just a touch more as reaches out to put a hand over pal's, fingers chilled from the sea air as he murmurs,] You shouldn't- it may latch onto you. We don't know how these things work, it could spread.
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[No, someone who wants to purify water for whole cities and improve lives already knows that, but Palamedes will remind him if he must, if it helps— Viktor's touch distracts him though, so cool on his hand his gaze darts down to it immediately, anxious he might see more silver. He feels one single heartbeat of relief, and then-]
I'm going to, [which comes out more firmly but still low, quiet. If the silver spreads to him it will be to his heart first, to split it quietly in two while he thinks of Viktor coming out here to keep people safe from himself. He can see the silver veins recede, just barely, nearly a trick of the light — okay. He does a hasty hypothesis in the back of his mind: is it touch, then? The previous time it had been the offer of a listening ear, but here Viktor's hand closes over his own and the lines of silver shrink just enough to notice. Is it only a trick, seeing what he would like to see?
There is a fairly simple way to find out, but ah - hmm.]
You're too smart to let it spread to me. I trust you; I know. Nothing in this town wants to us to have a good time, but I trust you.
[And with startling necromancer self-preservation, as always, he lifts his other hand and presses a single fingertip to Viktor's jaw, where the thickest of the silver veins winds up from under his collar. It's ridiculous, it feels ridiculous to do even as he does it, but behold: he is not made silver.]
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I don't- I don't have enough data to promise you anything. If I just had a bit more time-
[he sucks in a breath when pal touches his jaw, it's- he can't remember anyone touching him there before. it requires a whole new understanding, different from firm hands on the shoulder, brushing against his back, the startling warmth of a hug.
and he doesn't even think before he's leaning into it a little, exhale soft as a great deal of the silver creeping up his neck retreats back, all the more around the areas pal's fingertip meets his skin. it takes all of a moment more before viktor is quickly taking pal's wrist and moving his hand away to check it, a touch panicked as he looks up but-
but no, the tether is still his shape, trying to stare back from behind pal. his eyes then go to pal's brow furrowed.] Palamedes, you could have contaminated yourself! [he sounds a lot more like himself now, down to the way his accent thickens as it always does when he's frustrated.]
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How do you know I could? I thought you didn't have any data, [he says, and that might be mean if he didn't wiggle his hand free of Viktor's grip to cup his palm against his jaw entirely and chase silver back down. He shakes his head.]
Sorry, [soft,] High risk, high reward, right?
[He doesn't dare turn to see the double, to take his eyes off this Viktor and his retreating silver. Viktor's skin is cool to the touch from being out here who knows how long but it is skin, not metal, and Palamedes can only drink in these flashes of his righteous indignation with shocking relief, like all of his nerves catching fire in slow succession.
There's progress here, though, etched into the frustrated scolding Palamedes might otherwise pretend he very much does not deserve. He feels like he's been here before, has done this one already, has steadied a person like a glass on the verge of shattering and insisted, no—
Viktor adds another layer to it. Viktor leans into his touch and then scolds him for it, and Palamedes staunchly refuses to think of what happens if the double watching from behind him gets what it wants.]
No more time; this is enough. You've done plenty, Viktor— more than enough.
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the silver recedes back down to his collar, only peeking out on the other side of his face. viktor keeps his eyes closed for a moment and swallows, focuses on the shape of pal's hand against him. it feels like missing something he's never actually had- it feels like he should pull away rather than feed on pal's warmth like a parasite, regardless of how freely given it might be. it feels a bit like planting his feet and taking what he can get because high risk, high reward, right? like pal said.
his thumb runs down pal's wrist without thinking about it a sigh as he finally opens his eyes. pal saying what he says, being enough, has a visible reaction too, the silver still peeking out from his collar on the other side shrinking back.]
Fine, you win. [he says after a beat, torn somewhere between unease and gratitude so profound he's afraid to dissect it. he offers a helpless, wane smile, more to the fact he imagines pal and his tenacity winning many battles this way, simply by being so set on his goal.] Let's... go home.
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He watches the boundary line of silver dip away as if alive, actively avoiding the space the two of them connect and he thinks, good, and then he wonders how much of Viktor is coated in that sheen of silver.
Not that— he isn't going to demand to check, but if necessity demands he cup Viktor's face like this for another hour, he'll do it. The brush of Viktor's thumb along his wrist undoes him into a puddle of some emotion he can't quantify, only for the look on Viktor's face to put him back together and undo him hastily again. Palamedes squeezes Viktor's arm, the one he's still holding, trying to be encouraging and at least somewhat grounding. He hopes.
He watches the silver actively leave Viktor's face and he still has to wonder if it will come back as soon as he pulls his hand away— it's going to be a long(er) night, but he brightens as much he can without it feeling forced.]
I tend to, [he says, to winning, and brushes back an errant lock of Viktor's hair before he lifts his hand away. The, ah, the evidence suggests that points of contact are the plan of attack here, so he offers Viktor his hand - and then his elbow instead? maybe? - no; he offers the hand, definitely.]
It's been a horrendously dull couple of days. I've been surviving on cold sandwiches; I'm hopeless. [a beat; softer,] I'm with you.
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his sense returning properly demand he address all this, categorize what is happening into something he can understand. maybe it can be simple enough- pal is determined and it's only natural to try to reach out and touch what one needs to reaffirm. that viktor feels such a pang of loss when pal pulls his hand away is a weakness of the self or... or an effect of his current, uncertain condition. the way he just brushes viktor's hair back like that helps temper the loss in some odd exchange.
he's not a completely dense fool though, and he can recognize when he makes the pointed choice to take pal's hand with his own.]
It's been that long? [he sounds contrite, time got away from him rather quickly. probably more so for pointedly ignoring the messages he knows pal sent, which with pal's palm warm against his seems particularly absurd even in his quest to keep him at arm's length. he frankly can't say it isn't his own brand of stubbornness in the end rather than some spooky tether, one that holds its own hand out as if it too holds pal's hand.
viktor pulls pal closer to his own side with a bit of a glower at the thing, expression softening only when he glances back over. apologetic.] Ah... well I owe you dinner then, at the very least. Does the Sixth have the concept of comfort food?
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Which for a moment he does not comprehend, so fixed on the silver that covers Viktor's skin that he may have already assumed the life-sized double had vanished, sick of being ignored—
When Viktor pulls him closer he moves in easily, tucking their joined hands between them to get a little warmth back in those fingers. The momentary awkwardness of holding hands ebbs away as he turns to start them down the quickest path back home, through the fewest beast-tempting zones. It's not utilitarian, or businesslike, but something else entirely - something that hums in his chest, louder when Viktor tries to offer him an apology meal and tugs at his heartstrings.]
No. But not tonight; I had my sandwich, and I'm going to make you rest. As long as... he's still dogging your heels, you aren't out of the woods yet. Have you eaten?
[He can make a sandwich? Maybe some cold cereal?]
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[sweet, is another and he's not going to say it even if he thinks it. maybe it's implied in how he trails off. he follows without complaint, eyes ahead instead of to the mimic that follows in a mockery of his own limping gait, as if it leans on a crutch that isn't even there. it's easier to ignore it and focus on pal's hand in his, or watching him from the corner of his eye as they move and pal fusses.
there's a few things on the tip of his tongue. i can take care of myself is a classic, one he's used on jayce and even sky several times over, a good way to scare off well meaning concern. i'm fine is a standby for many in this place, he'd imagine, pal included. pal especially, maybe, if he's lived by himself in his quiet little bunker meant for two people this long. that one never flies anyway regardless of who says it, not in a place where no one is really fine at any point without a lot of compartmentalizing and a splash of denial.]
No. [he settles for the truth, because he doesn't really remember when he last ate in the mad rush of things and he has the distinct feeling the moonlight is the only reason he doesn't feel markedly worse for that fact.] You can... you can subject me to what you've been forced to make for yourself. A fitting punishment.
[again, at least an attempt at dry. they're still just casually holding hands and that is something he can't remember ever doing before outside of being a child. even jayce and all his tendency to physical affection would lead him by the elbow at best. he thinks he should find this childish but his grip tightens regardless as they get closer to home.]
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Punishment for self-care crimes? Maybe for ignoring my questions.
[Leaving him on read... the cruelest. Viktor can call it punishment all he likes, Palamedes thinks, as he believes he's made it fundamentally clear that it's all in the name of taking care of Viktor's silver doppelganger problem and seeing that he's well, if not in so many words. He'll make a sandwich; Viktor will eat a sandwich, and step... two-ish will be complete. Easy.
He's wondering if the rest will be easy, keeping the silver off Viktor and the double at bay, but Viktor's grip on his hand helps with that even before he really gets the thought going. There's going to be— there's no way he can think his next thought that doesn't sound at least a smidge awkward, but with the double still persistently plodding along behind them, there's going to be more touch involved, as per the working theory. Viktor's clutch onto his hand is some modicum of acceptance of that, he thinks, which is - good. That's good.
But the sandwiches can come first. The walk to the bunker feels more urgent the closer they get, and Palamedes has to resist looking at the double every few paces to see what it's doing now, if it looks any less solid, if it's looking back at them. Once inside the bunker he steers Viktor to the couch rather than the uncomfortable kitchen chairs, eyeing the double warily as he lets go his hand - and turns to go make a sandwich.
In fairness: it's less a sandwich and more two pieces of bread with some jam in between, do not perceive him, but it's food and it tastes good, and he brings it over on a napkin instead of a plate because that is just the life he's living. Here; eat of his sandwich and be well. He sits, and if he's staring intently at Viktor to see how much silver has come back in the handful of minutes he spent slapping jam onto bread, well.
Yes, he is doing that. That is what it is.]
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I am sorry about that. [he tries, and hence accepting food as the ultimate punishment apparently. or at least offering an attempt to reign in his own stubbornness and conceding that pal can and is going to help. the second he sees any hint of the tether shifting to pal he'd panic, of course, but for now...
in some ways it feels like a blink and they're there, plopped on the couch as his double sits across from him on nothing like an absurd, unnerving mime. losing pal's touch doesn't immediately bring any silver back, it isn't until he focuses on staring at his mimic that it starts to creep up again like a punishment for the world's most unsettling staredown.
he lets go of his crutch where he had been holding it tightly, letting it rest against the nearby wall to take the sandwich.] I have notes, somewhere... observations. They can move through solid matter to stay with their target, they will break their mimicry in small ways to course correct and remain in eyeshot if possible. Any harm done to them is reflected on the user, they repel water and presumably other liquids.
[eat the sandwich pal slaved over a hot bottle of jam for. he does take a bite, and some of that silver that creeped back up recedes with the fact pal make food for him, of all the stupid little things.
he's slowly chewing his first bite and regarding the sandwich like it holds some mystery, because it does, in a way. of all the things they've done, of all the little moments and vocal affirmations, this is the one that finally strikes something in him. maybe it's the undercity in him, food and offering it always had a different connotation when food was largely scarce. maybe it's being too worn down for mental gymnastics, maybe it's a lot of things but when he glances at pal he finally thinks back to pal cupping his jaw and what the next logical step often was with such an action.
oh.
his eyes go back to the sandwich, heart rate picking up but not exactly surprised. oh. he closes his eyes and struggles with what happened with information like this. he didn't get 'crushes,' he could recognize when someone was attractive and appreciate that fact, he could understand the lure of wanting to spend time with someone for their personality but a draw that comes from such a deeply vulnerable place is-
he takes another bite of his sandwich like a stalling tactic. pal got him fruit he never tried before the first time he came over, and he wonders if that isn't where this started. the talks before even? their ridiculous little heist that holds a special place in his heart.]
T-thank you. [he does manage eventually, trying to go with compartmentalizing as a tactic to deal with the sudden onslaught of information and everything he currently needs to re-establish ie their interactions. he needs charts for this.
what this does on a tether is probably a bit odd, a sort of faded quality to some of it's edges but a sharpness in other areas. a rollercoaster one way or another.]
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Harm?
[Hello? Harm done do it? What's been happening for three days, sir. But he holds up a hand, like, don't answer him; eat the sandwich. He can wait, and he will, the intensity of his gray-eyed stare softening the longer Viktor just, well. Eats a sandwich. He's eyeballing the progress and recession of the silver with impatience, as if staring it down will make it go faster.
Viktor thanks him for the jam sandwich, and Palamedes hums in vague assent, enjoy the sandwich— more importantly, the silver on the back of Viktor's neck is problematic in a way he can't sit and just look at any longer. He tilts toward Viktor, hand raised and hesitating only momentarily (like, he is interrupting dinner, here) before he sets his fingertips on the back of Viktor's neck carefully, like the silver makes him delicate.
It does, in a way; after three days of wondering and then the hopeless way Viktor looked at him at the docks, Palamedes can't help the swell of emotions that burns beneath his ribs. There's a buzzing anxiety at the forefront, of course, and a relief, and an affection that burns brighter than the rest— his hand on Viktor's neck is as much a reassurance for himself as anything else. That's something he'll think about later, he decides. Right now he's concerned with the physical - Viktor, warm, real. Not turning into metal, which—
The tether— whatever it does gets a glance out of him, on edge like he might have to chuck a lumpy couch pillow at it in a second, but - no, it's? That's a response, indeed.]
Sorry, [he says, for lack of anything better to say. He doesn't pull back his hand.] How do you feel?
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no. another bite. a crooked smile, weak but present as he answers,] I may have gotten annoyed and given it a little whack. Just earned a bump on the arm for my trouble.
[he should have just messaged pal then, he accepts that much. he's still a bit unsure about this but thus far they're safe, the tether hasn't grown teeth or reattached or... whatever it does. annoy him personally, he thinks. corrupt him, more likely. that did seem to be a running theme, and he quells a spike of nerves at the thought of turning into something that could hurt pal.
no, that won't help things. he knows enough about corruption to know it's just make things worse.
he does a good job of burying it along with several pal related thoughts, up until pal's touching him again. he looks over with a touch of surprise, cursing whatever damn god or pthumerian is making this happen because really, pal keeps looking at him like that and viktor can't see how the silver just keeps receding the more he's touched, the more he reads such a sincere concern in pal's gaze it aches.]
Fine- better. Ah- [he scrambles for something, glancing over to where the tether seems more and more faded out, a lingering shadow rather than a solid threat.] So... touch is the key to this? It's diminishing based off your- based off contact, it seems.
Wonderful, if that's the case I really did make quite an ass of myself running off. [he's not blushing about any of this, you are. he can handle being touched by his newfound infatuation. god, why couldn't it be simple attraction? that is so much easier, it's all the tangle of feelings involved that have him scrambling on what to do. attraction he could just accept then dismiss, maybe make an offer if he's feeling bold and accept whatever outcome came from it.
this? it shouldn't be anymore complicated but it truly is.]
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[Could he, in theory, absolutely wreck a person for Doing Harm to someone he cares about? Yes, it would not even be hard — but he's not going to pretend he's got anything going for him without the element of surprise. So, lucky: not having to go on the warpath.
He watches the silver creep back down, following it just so with his fingertips - but not too far. He's aware of what he's doing here, he's not completely out of touch with reality while he runs his fingers all over Viktor, but the silver is one hell of an excuse for this arguably inappropriate behavior. He hums, nodding, running his thumb along a stripe of silver and watching it shrink.]
You did. [Like, that's true, he's comfortable enough in Viktor's overall safety to say that now.] I was— You scared me, you know.
[Not an accusation; just a murmur, as his mess of emotions solidifies into a thing that wants to come out in pieces, it seems. Viktor was an ass, Palamedes was scared, Palamedes was also bull-headed and stubborn and he's still feeling those things, too, admittedly-
He sighs, managing a small smile.]
Finish your sandwich. Do you still want to talk about legacy? Or...
[Will that make! it! worse!]
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[that should be said with humor but he damns himself, his tone going soft. (the tether shuddering minutely, lesser.) he doesn't know how to thank something like that other than making an earnest effort to finish off half of the sandwich, which he does after a few more bites. he can't say he has much of an appetite but it helps regardless to get some food down. he can't bring himself to focus on it any longer when pal is still touching him and he's trying not to shiver and give himself away.
he wonders if there is an ethical issue here, should he say 'you are touching someone who just realized he very much could kiss you right now, does that change your comfort with the situation?' just check it off like a list of requirements for said touching to even be allowed. it probably made their living together questionable too, which really, his own damn feelings couldn't let him have any nice things?
a shame they couldn't be switched off like a well oiled machine, which is a passing thought that might be a harbinger for troubles to come, though here it's met with a humorless smile as he places the other half of the sandwich to the side.]
I hope you understand I wasn't- it was not a matter of trust. Foolishness, yes, but I simply did not wish to subject you to any of it. You... you deserve better.
[he can't even sound awkward, just a little resigned, a soft chuckle at pal's insistence. he pulls off another piece of it at least, trying not to be too obvious in how he leans back into pal's hand.] Morose nonsense. Regrets for a world I am not longer a part of. [he tries to dismiss.] The only use for those failures is to learn better for our time here, not living out the same pointless tragedies again and again.
Eh, sorry... I think despite knowing better I still struggle with putting a firm line between this life and where I was before. I'm sure all sleepers do at some point.
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Messy, and extreme, but in the deep-seated way of the Nine Houses, so intrinsically linking devotion and violence. So he can say if it came to that with the slightest hint of a crooked grin, like it's almost a joke, and beyond that he can simply let it be what it is: being, hm, personally invested. He thinks of Viktor's admission outside The Red, about showing him what the Sixth couldn't, and resolves that, yes— here is a person he would go to great lengths to protect.]
I— hmm. [He makes a face; how does he articulate that he wants, actually, to be subjected to it? That the depths of how much he cares for Viktor don't stop just above the silent tether still sitting half-formed across from them. He doesn't know; he says,] I wish you would have said something.
[—and that's that on that, more or less. Viktor leans into his hand - kind of hard to be subtle about that one, bud - and Palamedes splays his fingers out accommodatingly, palm flat and fingertips high enough to reach the ends of his hair. This he thinks about for a long couple seconds, then remembers to focus.]
Some more than others, [he offers; he can look back at his own life and put a pin in each moment where one of those lines should be drawn, but that doesn't mean he's immune to thinking about things he'd have liked to accomplish before, or whatever else.]
I think if we're supposed to be guilty for ever thinking like that, you ought to lock me up as soon as possible. Let me keep my books.
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he can't bring himself to do more than focus on the piece of sandwich in his hand, letting the warmth of pal's fingers ease some deep ache rather than feed into how much he is allowed to enjoy that. the silver has vanished from anywhere visible now, perhaps off his skin entirely. he still feels a faint chill down his back, under his makeshift brace, but it too is receding to a gentle warmth.]
... I'll say something, next time. [because there will probably be a next time, one way or another. he turns his head to regard pal.] If you'll let me have your back as well. Equivalent exchange.
[incredible bullshit, though the sentiment in general is there and strong. strong enough he even gives into sentiment to say,] I'd have it anyway, whether you agree or not. But an agreement would make things easier.
[a glance to the tether and he can see it all but crumbled where it sits, a state of decay without the actual rot, a little on the nose given the state of his life but he choses to see it as the dying of something he's needed to cut out of himself anyway. the way it's faded now makes it difficult to tell who it's staring at anymore, and when viktor raises a hand it follows shakily.]
In truth it's for the best, I think. To let go of everything of our old worlds would be denying ourselves something integral. When I moved to Piltover it would have been easier to do that, let go of everything the undercity made of me, but I would have been greatly lesser for.
[he moves his raised hand to rest on pal's arm, around his elbow, the one still at his neck. he watches his tether touch something that isn't there and feels the oddest sympathy for the briefest moments before his attention and gaze turns to pal again.] For what it's worth I'd sneak you any books you'd like, if you were locked up for such crimes. [more for what it's worth he's glad pal lets himself be who he is, regrets and all.]
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Equivalent exchange. You don't have to strongarm me; I'm agreeing.
[Now he manages the whole grin, like the suggestion he wouldn't agree is the joke, here. Viktor getting into danger because of him is obviously less than ideal? Still, he's always been prone to dramatic declarations of trust and working together, so in some ways this feels... inevitable, in a comfortable way.
The inevitable danger not so much... they'll deal with that when it comes.]
I don't disagree, [he says, looking over at the tether and what's become of it for a moment before his focus swings back to Viktor. Much as he's glad to see it go, there is something viscerally unsettling about watching a Viktor-shaped thing crumble in real time. Eugh.] I couldn't stop being Sixth if I tried.
[He shrugs; he can and has angrily denied some other bizarre, garbage aspects of the Nine Houses just these past few weeks alone, but the Sixth? Being a necromancer, with a cavalier? Some things are simply integral, indeed.
After a moment he shifts to sink back into the couch, just kind of- assuming Viktor will lean back with him, ahem. The tether is on its last, er, silver bits, Viktor has eaten his sandwich; they're entitled to a moment of peace.]
Thanks; I'll dedicate my prison novel to you. [Hmm. A beat.] It's easier to sublimate regret into nostalgia, isn't it? I could paint over the ugly parts and say, no; this me is the freshly improved version, ignore the rest... but the ugly parts would still be there.
[Truth, solace, etc. Maybe he's looked at the tether for too long.]
Well. You know?
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well, he's learned something at least. he doesn't think he'll leave pal on read again, so that's a start.
he's happy to settle back with a sigh, keeping his hand on pal's arm for the moment, using the last of the tether as his excuse despite knowing better now. the chill is gone, he thinks if he checked there wouldn't be a scrap of silver on him. he focuses on pal's words instead of that glaring fact.]
I know. [morose but sometimes even morose things were very much true.] I've done as much already here, grand plans to make better on mistakes I've made, pretending the ugly bits of them are now easy to locate and conquer with perspective and logic.
And yet I still ran off again to the docks rather than accept the chance of hurting people is simply a part of companionship. The eh... the character growth could use a little work.
[he offers a faint smile, and with it the tether fades entirely. viktor glances to where it was, swallowing but keeping his hand against pal's elbow for just a beat too long before he reluctantly pulls it away.]
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So, the morose.]
There's always next time. [He considers.] I'd been— before, you know, my problem with the sea monster, I'd been waiting around to go back home, I think. Camilla was here, and I suppose something gave me the arrogance to not take the reality of this place seriously.
[None of which is something he's actually put into words until now, out loud where someone can hear it, so - appreciate that. He knows better now.]
I don't like that, I don't know what I was thinking, but it's not as if I can pretend it didn't happen. As a fellow work in progress: we're doing a mediocre job of it.
[This is, for all intents and purposes, a compliment. A mutual one. Endure him.
—and oh! There goes the tether, out like somebody turned off its lights. Palamedes blinks at the space where it'd been, then,] But like I said; I tend to win.
[zing]
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he's no longer cold down to his bones, and he can just nod to that, curling a little so he can face pal better, shifting to find a spot that doesn't have either brace digging in.]
The cruelest aspect of this place is the understanding even when we wake up of our new reality, that... knowing deep down. We deserve the chance to thrash against it, to try and shape it around until it slots naturally. I wouldn't call it arrogance so much as rebellion, the right to react irrationally against all this blasted rationality and change.
Hm... though maybe that's just the messy humanity in me. [he closes his eyes a moment, a little surprised at how comfortable he is when typically his body is a myriad of aches.] I want so badly to do good here. Do you think it's possible, in so nebulous a place?
[of course pal claiming a victory makes him chuckle and open his eyes again. oh if only he had jayce's bravery with all the casual touch, he wants to reach over and squeeze his shoulder or just... anything.
instead he offers,] Thank you. Really. I don't think I would have lasted much longer.
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Rebellion has better aim than I do. I think you're right— really. But you know me; I need to know precisely where to put the pieces together from the start.
[Which makes him just as messy as anyone else, just tilted in the other direction. If he had the answer, if he knew all the theorems to pluck at to understand the truth of this place from its Powers that Be all the way down to the blood in their veins, he would feel - better. It still chafes to think of waking up after five apparent weeks of squid darkness, without an ounce of control over it.
But that's too in his head. Emotionally, like a proper messy human, Palamedes believes Viktor has a point - and the question makes him raise an eyebrow, bumping his knee into Viktor's thigh, like, really? Sir.]
For you, with that mind of yours? Absolutely. You will. You aren't nebulous.
[He looks away for a beat, not wanting to dwell much on the possibility that the tether could have - gotten Viktor, whatever that would have looked like. There's no way of knowing, but in a place like this, it's always safer to err on the side of caution. He doesn't know what to say to it that he hasn't already said - he's here, it was terrifying, he'd love for it to never happen again - all of those would simply be repeating himself, so.
In place of the non-repetitive words he doesn't have, he sits up straighter to face Viktor and hold out his arms. Come give him a hug for being alive and not metal, goddamn.]
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[maybe that is why everything is so unstable. but yes, in a way it breaks his heart to imagine the time after camilla left and pal stuck without even the small comfort understanding what it all really meant. just there and gone, human formed than a squid in the ocean- than a squid himself. why any of it, why called here, what purpose.
it really is a maddening road to go down, one he lets drift to snort softly at the knee bumping his thigh.]
I am very much so, or at least passive. It was my greatest sin back home, playing by their rules and hoping I'd one day be let off my leash. ... ha, waiting for permission to change the world.
[at least that is a lesson he's trying to learn well, though he's aware the next extreme of being too active and meddling where he should not is a distinct possibility. he'd rather lean towards that than being passive again, ever again. just as back home all he needs is time.
of course pal is spreading his arms like that and viktor... well, he's too tired to start wondering if he's somehow an evil creature for hugging someone he's very much developing feelings for without their knowing. meaning he can be perfectly platonic about this, he can, only that beat of hesitation before he shifts so he can wrap around pal.
well. maybe purely platonic is impossible, but it can just be a rush of gratitude as he holds him, a rattling sigh like the last of the ice dissipating with it.
he's going to need to tell him, to say something, maybe when they have both had time to rest and emotions aren't running so high. he can't keep being passive in his own life, in his work, he promised himself that and it pertains to here too. the worst that could happen is hurting, and they all already hurt plenty, for far worse reasons.]
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