tushanshu_logs | I'm not sleeping (November Catch-all)

Entry tags:

I'm not sleeping (November Catch-all)

Characters: Erskine Ravel and anyone?
Date: The month of November, with some slight backdating to the end of October
Location: The Healer's Guild, maybe venturing out into the city?? Who knows!
Situation: Erskine's recovering from his pre-Keeliai ordeal at the Guild. If your character would have any feasible reason to be at the Guild, or to find out he's back, feel free to visit! If you'd like a starter please poke me, or just toss something up yourself. I don't mind :)
Warnings/Rating: Probable mention of torture, lots of mental trauma/anxiety/fogginess. Possible spoilers for the Skulduggery Pleasant series--if you'd rather not be spoiled, please mention that in your tag and I'll do my best!

Awareness comes and goes. There are good days, here and there, more as the days progress. It's all a fog at first. The expectation of pain. The confusion of where he is, when he is, which world this is. Who's still alive? Is he even still alive, anymore?

For now he haunts the Guild, huddling in the room they give him at first, wrapped in a blanket like it's a shield. After a few days he begins to venture out of the room, wandering through the Guild, trying his best to avoid confrontation wherever he can. There are dark circles under his eyes, his pretty face lined with exhaustion and fear. Sleep and Erskine have never been the best of friends, but it's only gotten worse since he's returned to Keeliai.

Keeliai. They've explained it to him, where he is, how he got here... more or less. It rings some bells, but nothing seems very clear. More like the memory of a dream, with faces and names not always connecting. Some are familiar... and some that should be here, aren't.

It will get better. At least, that's what they tell him.

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Raine's been in and out of Erskine's room, keeping an eye on him when she can, having someone else do it with strict orders to come find her when he stirs. It's her that's there this time, though, yawning over a cup of coffee and some scribblings from Ioa Elanag.

When she hears Erskine stirring she puts both of those down, looking over from her chair. "Erskine?" she inquires gently, straightening. "Erskine, do you know where you are?"

He doesn't answer right away, or even react to the voice. He's too disoriented, swimming up through the fog of sleep without any immediate memories of where he was or what he was doing. It's blissful, in a way. Without memory he can't remember the panic or the fear, or the reason why his whole body aches and his throat feels like it's on fire. Those sensations are the ones that hit him first: the physical, the unavoidable. He hurts, as though he's been beaten and run through the wringer. Golden eyes blink open and then his eyebrows furrow at the pain, his whole body folding inward as his arms wrap around his midsection. Still, none of his movements are jittery or panicked.

Finally the voice and its question sink in. "No, I--"

His voice is barely a squeak. His throat, what's wrong with--

Screaming. Pleading for death. Writhing on the floor in agony. Endless, blinding agony.

He jerks on the bed as memory seeps back in, instinctively trying to back away from the figure that's gone hazy in his sight, to back away from the voice. The pain. How long has he been out? How much time does he have left?

Raine had only seen him, that first time, after several days had already passed. She hadn't realized exactly how bad it was at the beginning.

"Erskine," she says firmly. "It's all right. You're safe here; she can't hurt you any longer." She's already started toward the bed, toward Erskine, but she stops some few paces away, noticing the way Erskine flinches. "Start with breathing. Try to slow your breaths."

It's frustrating, not being able to go to check him more closely immediately, but Raine suspects he won't take the sudden movement or new touch very well right now, especially if he doesn't recognize her. He isn't screaming, at least, so any pain he's experiencing should only be aftershocks, and he wasn't bleeding when he was brought in. He'll be all right.

Eventually.

No. She's wrong. He's not sure who she is--he doesn't recognize her from the Sanctuary--but she's wrong. Darquesse's magic can't be stopped. They've already tried to sedate him and it hasn't worked. It doesn't matter where they take him, where he goes. He could run to the ends of the Earth and the curse would stick with him. It's what he deserves--

He curls up on top of the bed, looking almost as if he's ready to bolt. But there's nowhere to run, is there? He shakes his head, fighting the panic, trying to breathe slower as she's suggesting. It's not going to do any good to panic. Maybe he can reason with this woman, whoever she is.

His voice is still busted from screaming, and it takes a try or two to get any sound out at all.

"Kill me. Before it starts again. Please."

"I promised you once that I would, if there were no other way to end your pain," Raine says, somber. "Perhaps it wasn't the same you--" She shakes her head, cutting herself off. That's just going to confuse Erskine, right now. For now, she'll have to assume he isn't the same Erskine.

"...Never mind. Erskine, you are safe. This isn't your world, and she can't follow you here. The boundaries of dimensions have severed the magic that was hurting you. It will take a little while, but the remnants of the pain will fade." Raine considers, then approaches, if at a slow pace, stopping by the edge of the bed. "...I suppose you don't remember me. My name is Raine; I'm a healer. Will you let me help you?"

Dimensions. He's crossed dimensions?

He doesn't immediately calm, but the panic slows and a tiny bit of the tension leaks out of his posture. He'd never considered that. Crossing dimensions. Signate could have done it, of course, but he'd lost track of Signate shortly before his fight with Skulduggery... and then Darquesse had happened.

Needless to say, he'd lost track of everything after that.

But if he's crossed dimensions, if Darquesse's magic has been negated....

No more hours. No more agony.

Can it really be over?

Curled up as he is on top of the bed, he lets his forehead touch the pillow again, and something like a cross between a sob and a laugh escapes him. There's too much to feel to really know what he's feeling. Everything inside him has gone haywire. It's only the last bit of Raine's speech that he catches. Healer. Will you let me help you?

Wordlessly he nods into the pillow. Help. He could really use some of that right about now.

"All right." It's progress, that he isn't begging her to kill him, though that's a sad statement in and of itself. Raine retrieves the unicorn horn from the depths of her jacket pocket and sets it near Erskine, not quite touching.

She runs a quick scan first, a murmured inspect magic under her breath. It reveals much the same thing it did the first time he was here, that oddness in him which she can correct. She can't do anything for the psychological aftereffects; but this, at least, she can do.

It takes her a few seconds to cast. "Resurrection," she says finally, and the word sounds hopeful, not quite the command it usually is. The familiar prismatic wings drift down over Erskine, sinking into him to set his mana to rights, back to where it should be, without the odd twisting Darquesse's magic induced. It's something. "Is that a little better?"

He's not really sure what he expected from a healer offering to help him. He's not necessarily injured per se, apart from the bruising he can feel on his elbows and various other places. Even the cell being somewhat padded hadn't prevented him from hurting himself thrashing around during Darquesse's punishment. But there's no blood, no cuts, nothing but a bit of bruising and the lingering pain in his joints, the recurring flashes of pain as if his body can't quite believe that it's over.

Healing magic exists in his world but tends to be firmly grounded in magical science. Powders, salves, ointments and mud pits. The flash of prismatic light around him draws his interest enough for him to lift his head and then a sense of calm washes over him, some of that lingering pain easing out of his chest and his joints.

It's familiar. How could he forget a thing like that?

He nods slightly, trying to collect his scattered thoughts, wondering if his voice is up to the task of speaking again. "I've seen that before," he tries slowly. "Have you... done that before?"

He's seen that before. Raine draws her breath in, a little sharp, hoping. Erskine had had some difficulty retaining memories, here and there, likely as aftereffects of the torture; some things she simply can't heal.

"I have," she confirms, resting her hip on the edge of the bed, not quite sitting. "It was a while ago now that you first came to Keeliai, and you were in much the same state then. We've met before, but I wasn't sure you'd remember me." And certainly not in a state like that, panicked and still feeling the aftershocks of Darquesse's magic.

It takes a few moments for all of it to sink in--as far as it's going to, anyway. He's been here before. He's met this woman before, been healed by her before. It seems vaguely familiar, especially the magic, like a dream he can't quite recall. Even that feeling seems oddly familiar, like the feeling of deja vu....

Slowly he moves on the bed, turning himself so that he's sitting instead of the kind of crouch he's been in, and curls himself up against the wall beside the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms around his knees. He doesn't necessarily expect that Raine is any danger to him, not after the healing magic she just worked, but the urge to defend is still much too strong to override.

"I remember...." He closes his eyes. "A man with red hair. Not Hopeless. I--"

Erskine's eyes fly back open. "Hopeless?" The look on his face is a cross between confusion and hope.

It almost breaks Raine's heart, watching him; and again when she sees that look on his face. She shakes her head, slow and gravely apologetic. "He was here, for a little while," she confirms. "He's returned to his home now, however."

Which, all told, is a delicate way to say he was already dead. Raine presses her lips together for a moment, a flat, unhappy line. "I'm sorry," she offers, when she can find the words. "I know what he means to you. I can tell you he forgave you, if that's any comfort." It might be some, even if it was scant.

He was here.

So that brief flash of a memory was real... or at least potentially real. It hadn't been much: the image of a familiar face brought on by the association of his red hair with the red-haired man who'd found him. But it was real. Hopeless had been here. Hopeless had forgiven him.

Erskine closes his eyes again for a moment and presses his hand to his mouth, his emotions too much in turmoil to really tell what he's feeling. There's so much leftover pain from Darquesse--not even physical pain anymore but mental anguish, along with the anguish of remembering what he'd done. There's the confusion of his current situation, the strange warm feeling of almost remembering Raine, and... Hopeless.

Hopeless wasn't here, but Hopeless loved him. He doesn't quite remember how he knows, but Erskine is sure of it.

When he blinks his eyes back open again he attempts a smile, the pained expression softened somewhat by the pretty face, tired though it is. His voice doesn't work at first, a combination of the ragged state of his throat and the emotions trying to overwhelm him, but eventually he manages again.

"Can I trouble you for something to drink?"

Raine gives him that moment, without saying anything. The loss of love is never an easy thing to cope with, and Erskine is trying to juggle a great many emotions in conjunction with the aftereffects of the pain, as well.

Water she can provide. "Of course." Raine inclines her head briefly, and straightens. "I'll be right back." She doesn't think he'll be going anywhere.

True to her word, Raine's back in barely a minute or two, offering Erskine a cup of water. "Drink slowly," she cautions. "It will likely be a little while before your body is ready for much. If you have other questions, I'm happy to answer them." Raine offers him a careful smile in return.

He accepts the cup with a small, grateful smile--or tries to, anyway, until he catches sight of how badly his hand is shaking. It ends up taking both hands and some very careful movements before he gets the cup up to his lips for a drink. The cool water feels like heaven on his sore throat, but he minds Raine's advice and only sips. It's been almost two weeks since he's ingested anything thanks to the magic of the cell they'd tossed him in.

Other questions. He should have several, he supposes, though so much of his head is jumbled that he doesn't even know where to start or how to put some of his thoughts into words.

"How... how long has it been, since I left?" It seems like a safe place to start. "How long was I here before?"

Raine waits, not quite hovering -- she does want to catch the cup, if he drops it, but she doesn't want to give him the impression she's just waiting for him to do that, either.

"It's been perhaps five months since you disappeared," she supplies, "if that." It's not precise, but she doesn't know exactly when Erskine vanished. Her own grief blurs the time in that area somewhat. "Before that, you were here for a little over a year. Some of the other Dead Men were here for longer, as well." She hesitates again, debating briefly between the value of making sure Erskine knows versus not putting too much on him at once. In the end, given what precipitated the torture, she errs on the side of the former. "Anton was among them. ...He had forgiven you, as well."

Five months. Erskine's not sure how he feels about that just yet, given how fuzzy his memories are of this place. Maybe when he's had time to calm down, to remember more, that number will start to mean something.

The other means a hell of a lot more. A little over a year. How is it possible for him to have spent a year in this place? For some of the others to have been here even longer? Some part of that seems vaguely familiar, like it should make sense, but he's so worn out and confused he can't quite put a finger on why.

It's only when Raine mentions Anton that Erskine feels any sort of certainty. The Midnight Hotel. Anton. Shudder smiling and alive, running his Hotel as always. Making sure Erskine remembered to eat. Tapping his temple when he was panicking, to calm him down. Holding him when the nightmares were too much.

Forgiving him.

Erskine's on the verge of tears, curling himself around the cup held to his chest. So many memories--good memories, even if they're only snippets--but the meaning of Raine's words hits him like a sledgehammer.

"Anton's gone?"

"Yes. Around the same time you..." Raine trails off with the change in his posture, biting her lip. She's glad to have him back, but she's not sure she isn't doing more harm than good right now. "Erskine, I'm sorry."

She sets her weight on the edge of the bed, barely more than the lean of a hip, still giving him space but trying to make a tacit offer of-- something. Comfort, if there's any way that a near-stranger to Erskine can provide that. "I... can likely fill in many of the gaps, if you're curious," she offers finally, her voice low and steady. "Remind you what you may have forgotten about this world."

Which means he's dead. Going back to their world, which is what Erskine can only assume happens when someone leaves here (as he did, apparently), would be a death sentence for Anton. And for Hopeless.

Because of Erskine.

He can't speak for a long moment, even to squeak with his broken voice as he's been doing. Anton and Hopeless both forgave him, but they're both still dead because of him. They were both better men than he'll ever be. So why is he sitting here, broken and worthless, when--

It's too much. After what he's been through, the news about Anton, the thought of Anton and Hopeless and so many of the others lying cold and dead, it's all too much. He leaves one hand around the cup, tucked against him, and brings the other shaking hand back up to his face to try to cover the fact that he's weeping.

Oh, no, Erskine--

As much as he tries to cover it, the posture and the sound is unmistakeable. Raine sits frozen for a moment or two, wanting to reach out and unsure how to offer it. If he was as he was when she'd known him last it would be easy to hug him; as it is, she doesn't know if Erskine will allow it or flinch away.

In the end, she can't listen to a friend weep and do nothing about it. Gingerly Raine shifts so she is sitting on the bed, and she sets an arm over Erskine's shoulders, tugging him toward her with care. "Erskine," she says, and breaks off because she has no idea what to say, words for once failing her.

So far Raine has been nothing but kind... and quite frankly, she's not Darquesse. She's not Skulduggery, or Saracen or Dex, or any of the others that let him rot in that cell in agony. She's already better than anyone else that could possibly be here right now, short of the dead men he's missing. So when she sits down beside him and puts her arm around his shoulder, Erskine has no problem leaning over a little in some approximation of a hug. It's not much of one, but it's something. It's contact, and comfort.

It takes a minute for the tears to slow; he doesn't pull away immediately when they do, but stays leaning to the side, against Raine.

"I don't understand," he says, his voice tiny and hoarse. "I don't understand why I'm here and they're not. Why I keep coming back." He swallows, trying however slightly to put himself back together.

"Is anyone else...? Is it... just me?"

It isn't much, but... it's something. Raine presses her mouth into a flat line for a moment or two, unwilling to admit that some part of her has asked the same question. Erskine's back; why not the others, too?

"It isn't just you," she says after a moment, with a faint hint of distaste. "Although I suppose she hasn't so much come back as never left. Miss Sorrows remains, but she's the only one from your world." Poor compensation, she thinks, for the rest. But she lets Erskine lean against her still, herself relaxing very slightly in turn. "There has only rarely been any discernible reasoning for those who come and stay."

She is so very sorry.

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I'm not sleeping (November Catch-all)

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if it wasn't clear before, spoilers for SP through book 8~

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