tushanshu_logs | [OPEN] Didn't I see this movie?

Entry tags:

[OPEN] Didn't I see this movie?

Characters: Erskine, Bakura, and OPEN
Date: August 10, 2016
Location: Central Sector
Situation: Erskine has been failing to deal with some Bad Things from his past and now it's catching up to him. He's having a bit of a nervous breakdown and, as an Elemental sorcerer, is going to be setting fire to a building in the city as a result. Tag-ins welcome from anyone! Come help put the fire out before someone gets hurt. Come shuffle the kedan away from the burning building. Come yell at this idiot?
Warnings/Rating: Bad headspace. Possible violence. Arson. Vague spoilers for the SP series through the end of book 8; will try to keep specific spoilers to a minimum unless noted otherwise. Please let me know if you're okay with spoilers or not and I can adjust as necessary ♥

He'd asked for help.

That thought echoed small and almost forgotten in the back of Erskine's mind. He'd asked for help. It shouldn't have come to this. Maybe he'd been too late, or maybe he'd been past the point of saving.

The evening was hot--too hot. Everything was hot and dry and the fire spread too quickly, jumping from the awnings of an outdoor cafe to the quaint little building behind it. Fire bloomed a brilliant orange against the skyline, against the deep blue of the sky. Kedan screamed, scrambled to get away, to get their loved ones away. Screamed at him, though from a safe distance.

Who wanted to get too close to the man with fire in his hands and rage in his eyes?

((ooc: Please note that for the sake of continuity/planning/etc, Bakura is going to be the one to take Erskine out of the area, and ~~no one is going to die~~ no kedan are going to die. Otherwise feel free to interact as you see fit, even if it's not with Erskine! Fight fires. Be heroes, do cool stuff. Yell at Erskine. It's all good.))

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Fire him?

The suggestion was so absurd--the idea that he would mind not having to clean, rather than the idea that Anton would actually fire him, mind--that it shook Ravel, snapped him out of the little trance he'd fallen into whilst staring at the circle around him. Granted, if Anton had fired him... if he'd been kicked out of the Hotel... well, maybe Bakura hadn't shot too far off the mark after all. Anton was the only stable thing in Erskine's life right now. To have that torn away from him might have elicited a similar reaction.

But no. Ravel shook his head.

"No, it's... it's nothing like that. I..." He swallowed hard, sat back so that he was resting on bent legs rather than crouching as he'd fallen. "I lost it."

No shit, Sherlock.

"I haven't slept. I lost it."

"You've spent half the months here looking like you haven't slept," Bakura returned bluntly. "And so far as I'm aware, you haven't set anything ablaze before now. Are you going to do the same to my dojo if I release that Circle on you?"

"No. I-"

Erskine stopped. How did he know he wouldn't do the same, honestly? He hadn't intended to burn a building down in the city, either. Couldn't say for certain that he had enough of a grip on reality to keep from doing it again.

Screams echoed in his ears, the screams of the kedan that he could recall from those few moments toward the end when he'd been coherent enough to realize what he'd done. Older screams, some of them his own. Ravel closed his eyes tight and let his head fall.

"I don't know."

Bakura considered him on the floor for a moment, unmoved by the other man's internal pain. No. You don't know. Realizing that it half the battle, heriret.

"That's the truth," he stated finally, closed his hand around air and with a brief tug of powered, dismissed the Spellbinding Circle. The glyphs faded out, leaving there nothing hemming Erskine to the spot, although the Field Barrier continued to pulse out a gentle rhythm around the dojo.

"Come on," he said carelessly, turning his back on Erskine to head toward the office door. More specifically, toward the open door inside the office, leaving Erskine to follow or not.

His eyes opened, gaze rooted to the floor in front of him for a moment. He wasn't sure if he was going to burn down the dojo, and that was what convinced Bakura to let him free? Issues of trust and honesty aside, it was still a very real possibility that he might burn down the goddamned dojo.

Trust wasn't going to fix that. Anton had trusted him not to destroy the city and look where that had got them. Why had Anton ever trusted him in the first place, knowing what he knew?

Finally Ravel levered himself to his feet, still shaky, and trailed after Bakura.

Through the office door was a kitchen, small but functional, and by the time Ravel convinced his feet to carry him through the door, Bakura was just plunking down a second plate of food at the empty chair. A mix of local rice, vegetables and some kind of sauced, stewed meat. Having set the second seating, he retakes his own place where a half-finished plate was waiting. Apparently, the thief was fine with casually interrupting his dinner to find the city partly on fire, and then going back to it like no big deal.

"Wash first," he said, pointing the end of his fork at the sink. "The smell of ash bothers me. There's wine too, if you prefer it, but I hardly drink the stuff so it might actually be terrible, and I probably wouldn't know."

Of all the things he might've expected to see upon crossing the threshold into the other room, dinner was not terribly high on the list. Erskine paused just past the doorway and stared for what was probably an inappropriate amount of time, a mixture of confusion and uncertainty in his expression.

If only because it gave him something to do that wasn't gawking, and because following orders was so much easier than making decisions for himself these days, Ravel complied with Bakura's request to wash up at the sink. There was no getting the smell of ash or smoke out of his clothes but he did the best he could with his shaking hands, then splashed water on his face.

"I don't... I don't get it."

"What's not to get?" Bakura returned, watching Ravel's progress at the sink. "I eat dinner late, and you interrupted it. I'm still hungry, and you look like a sneeze in your direction could wet the back of your shirt, so you might as well have some too."

In addition to the plates, there was bread and soft cheese, both of which were pushed in the direction of Erskine's seat.

"If you're expecting to just be shouted at about how dangerous, and selfish, and irresponsible you were, by people who -- for the most part -- have never gone through anything more traumatic than losing a childhood pet, just tell me. If you think that'll make yourself feel better, I'll drop the Field Barrier right now, and you can explain it to them. Or you can sit and eat something, and mock my terrible selection of wine, and tell me what finally got out of hand."

Edited 2015-08-09 06:07 (UTC)

After a moment's consideration, Ravel crossed from the sink to the table and slid into the chair opposite Bakura. "I suppose... if you're inviting me to mock you, it would be rude to refuse."

It wasn't much of a joke, but it was at least an attempt. No smile accompanied the joke, however, and his expression was largely vacant. Despite the mention of wine, Ravel reached for the fork instead, poking at the plate for a minute before finally taking a bite.

Maybe facing the people outside was what he deserved. No, scratch that. It was what he deserved. There wasn't much chance of it actually making him feel better, however. He doubted anyone would forget what had happened after a single night, so maybe taking one night to avoid the worst of the backlash wasn't so bad.

Ravel washed the bite down with a sip of wine--which wasn't the worst he'd ever had--then stared at his plate for a long moment before speaking again.

"How many were hurt? Has anyone...?"

Was he a murderer? Again?

Seemingly unconcerned with his table partner's hesitance in eating, Bakura wasn't letting the events of the past hour deter him from finishing his meal. At Erskine's hesitant question though, the thief did pause, understanding well the implied end of that last sentence.

One thumb came up to rub the outer edge of the Ring beneath his shirt, feeling the gold warm against his skin; the Ring didn't have the visionary capability of the Tauk, but souls, it could still sense though. No sharp prick of the spires rewarded the silent question, so he let his hand drop away and shook his head. "No dead," he replied. "If you want more detail than that, I'll call you up Crystal Seer when you're done eating."

He considered prompting the man again, but decided not to; Erskine had heard him ask what had finally pushed him past his breaking point, there was no need to repeat himself.

The mention of eating spurred Ravel to try another couple of bites and take another few sips of wine. It was good food, even if it wasn't good wine, and it helped his nerves a little to have something solid in his stomach. Maybe that was why he actually started talking again without being prompted.

"I... don't sleep well," he started, eyes never leaving the table in front of him. "I never have. After the war it was worse, and after-" He paused, decided to drop that train of thought. "There was one night during the war... I almost set fire to our camp. Like I did tonight. I hadn't slept in three days. The others in the unit had to talk me down."

Just talking about it reminded Erskine of how painfully tired he was. If he could have just managed a few hours of sleep this morning would any of this have happened?

He ignored the pang in his chest at the mention of the rest of the Dead Men.

"It's been getting worse since I gave the Hotel back to Anton. I don't know why. I'm glad Anton's better. I just... I can't seem to keep it together."

Bakura could certainly empathize with the concept of not sleeping well, and having endured that for quite a while. Rare were stretches of his nights that didn't have flames creeping from his memories into his nightmares, a distorted, horrible replay loop of the past. He hadn't been kidding when he said that the smell of ash bothered him.

"It got worse because your mind saw it as a step back," Bakura replied easily, pausing to slice a piece off the loaf of bread. There wasn't a trace of hypothetical or abstract in the statement; that was experience speaking. It was also said as if it was completely and utterly normal, like they weren't discussing accidentally terrible arson.

"I get the same, minus the setting fire part. You've managed to tie your mental progress to whatever you're physically doing, which is why you're always looking for things to do. You feel better when your hands are busy, right? Even if it's just rearranging something or cleaning something you've already cleaned?"

A 'step back.' Was that what it was?

Erskine balked at the idea. He'd never felt any particular compulsion to be in a position of power. It hadn't been his plan to wind up as Grand Mage. He'd have been perfectly happy without being an Elder either, if it hadn't played into his plans so well, and despite whatever Skulduggery and the others may have believed he'd never intended to stay at the helm after the war was over. So why would giving the Hotel back to Anton be a step back?

Except... he'd been busy. Really busy, not just scrubbing toilets and washing windows but keeping the whole thing afloat. Keeping the books, making sure shifts were covered. Using more of his ability than what little magic it took to wring water out of the air for a mop bucket.

What was it Corrival had called it? Aimless potential. Too much ability and nowhere to put it to use. That's when things went bad.

He'd never thought about the need to keep his hands busy either, but Erskine nodded slowly. "I used to make cat's cradles if I had nothing else to do. I suppose you might be right."

Seriously, this introspection thing was awful.

"How do you keep busy here?"

Erskine had let the wrong person drag him away from the earlier scene if he'd wanted a gentle and understanding approach to helping him understand why things had gone sideways.

Cat's cradles, he understood. If Erskine ventured into the living room of the apartment, he'd find more than one clock in a state of disassembly. The small mechanics and memory challenge of putting them back together were good things for him to focus on.

"I run a dojo, despite having little interest in managing a business," Bakura replied dryly. "That's why I keep hiring people to do all the actual jobs around here, like training." A fact which was perhaps interesting, as Erskine had seen Bakura fight (or at least, spar) at least a few times, and it wasn't a lack of skill that would have made Bakura unsuitable for teaching others. Indeed, in the last week or so, he'd even been doing it a little when the dojo was extra busy because of the Justicar's broadcast.

"Steal things, sometimes. When I'm particularly motivated, break in a second time to put them back. I also seem to have the habit of collecting people as projects." Bakura gave Erskine a sardonic smile. "What deal did you think I was renegotiating with Valdis?"

No, it wasn't lack of skill that kept Bakura from teaching. Ravel was certain of that. Erskine himself was fully capable of teaching the kinds of things they taught at the dojo, but would he?

Ravel pushed the rest of the food on his plate around with his fork as Bakura spoke, occasionally stopping to take a bite of something. His appetite had never fully recovered after the... incident involved in his arrival, but it had improved noticeably. And apparently setting parts of Keeliai on fire took a lot out of a person.

Now if only he could get some sleep.

"We talked about that, actually. Valdis and I. She tried selling me on the idea that she'd dumped you." The corner of Erskine's mouth turned up in the barest approximation of a smile. It felt wrong to smile so soon after what he'd done... though maybe that was simply the anticipation of how others would react to such a thing. His stomach twisted at the thought. He'd already considered what he deserved, but what about the practicalities of trying to get back to the Hotel? Without being lynched?

He carefully sat the fork down on the edge of the plate, the smile having already evaporated.

"She said she made a choice that hurt you."

Bakura exhaled a bark of cold amusement at Ravel's relay of what Valdis had said. "She could have at least tried to dupe you with something believable," the thief scoffed. "She'd sooner take Yunxu himself to her bed, than take an interest in me that way."

He didn't miss the briefness of Erskine's humour, nor how quickly it died back to nothing. Still a ways to go, before he put himself back to any kind of rights. "Stay here tonight," he said, and it was somewhere firmer than a suggestion, but less than an order. He wouldn't force Ravel to stay if the man didn't want to, too conscientious of his own reaction if that situation had been reversed, but neither was he offering it as merely out of politeness or lip service.

"She said she made a choice that hurt you."

Bakura is silent for a moment, as if contemplating how to answer that, or whether it would need some of his subpar wine to precede it.

"We do that, both of us. We are too many teeth and claws, and too little humility. It's not the first time, nor likely the last."

After the conversation he'd had with Valdis on the subject, not to mention the kind of day he'd had so far, Ravel really wasn't in the mood to go digging any farther into people's relationships--or lack thereof. So while he didn't necessarily understand Bakura's point, that Valdis wouldn't get close to him on a dare, he really, really didn't want to open that can of worms.

The suggestion to stay at the dojo caught him by surprise, so much so that he stopped staring at his plate long enough to glance up at Bakura. It would mean trying to sleep without Anton's record player, or a familiar shape nearby for comfort, but Erskine thought he just might be exhausted enough to be able to sleep regardless. At least enough to get him to tomorrow without setting anything else on fire.

...he hoped. He hadn't really planned this last bit of arson either.

"Thank you." Part of the initial surprise may have also been the shock of Bakura offering at all. Erskine hadn't been lacking for friends, or places to stay, prior to his betrayal. Was this what it had felt like, to be a real person?

"...I'll tell you the same thing I told her: I don't have so many friends that I can afford for you to go killing each other in the streets."

Bakura nodded at the thanks, as if both the offer and Erskine's tentative agreement were barely worth remarking on. He wouldn't want extra attention called to it, if it'd been him. He suspected that was another area in which he and the sorcerer's experiences may overlap.

"Well," he teased lightly, "I do know a number of empty buildings, if it's the publicity of the street you're objecting to."

But the jest was clearly understood; albeit the sentiment a little less so. He got along well enough with Erskine, and their banter was highly entertaining, but friend? Bakura wasn't sure Erskine wasn't getting a bit ahead of himself. Wishful thinking?

... then again, he had just offered the man literal sanctuary in his home. Perhaps Bakura himself was the one a little slow on the uptake here.

"I have a radio," he said after a moment. "If you wanted to let anyone know." Judiciously not specifying Anton, if only so as not to put pressure on Ravel to make an unwanted call.

Despite how drained he felt, shoulders curved inward, practically hugging the side of the table, Erskine could still muster enough wherewithal for a raised eyebrow at Bakura's little joke.

"At least try not to kill Valdis, all right? She knows enough about me that she shouldn't put up with me, but she does. Almost as well as Anton does. I can't replace her. You...?" He let the word trail off into an "ehhh" kind of sound, as if to say 'it'd be tricky, but possible,' and gave a little half-hearted shrug.

Yes, Bakura, that was a joke.

To help illustrate that it was a joke he let out a soft huff of a laugh.

Radio. "Ah... right. Yes. I... should probably do that." A sudden surge of anxiety gripped him at the thought. Did Anton even know about the fire yet? What if he did? Would he even let him back into the Hotel? What if...? Erskine closed his eyes, trying to fight down the anxiety, the panic. If this was somehow the last straw--and to be fair, if anything could be considered a last straw, arson just might be it--what would he do? How the hell would he survive? He hadn't been lying when he'd said that Valdis was one of the only people willing to put up with him, and there was no way he'd make it on his own. Not like this.

When he spoke next there was an edge of panic in his voice, no matter how hard he tried to disguise it. "Yes. Thanks. I'll make it quick."

"I was never going to kill her," Bakura replied. "Not that she'd have known it, but the Spells I used were all to bind, not to destroy. Besides if I wanted her dead, I wouldn't have bothered transferring her wound to mine, now would I?"

Bakura flashed a quick grin, sharp and cheeky, at Erskine's tease. He would have assumed that it had been a joke anyway, and their previous repartee over the last several weeks would have supported that, but he feels oddly appreciative that the man took the time to clarify it. Except, of course, for the fact that it does showcase just how out of sorts that Erskine really is.

"There's no rush," the thief reminded him, surprisingly benign. He pushed back his chair and carried his empty plate to the sink, having finished eating. The sound of one drawer opening, then another, and a moment later, a length of string was wordlessly dropped atop Erskine's clenched hands before he returned to the sink.

"Since I'm not entirely sure where the radio is at the moment," he commented. "Guess you'll have to wait until I'm done, so I can look for it."

That... well. That was something to file away and think about later. Possibly with Valdis to help, since Erskine knew he still didn't know all the details.

He was too caught up in his own anxiety to pay attention to much of the rest of it. He vaguely knew Bakura had moved, had gotten up from the table, but he couldn't have said why. His eyes were still closed tight against the panic, and were still closed when something light fell across his hands.

String?

He'd used to play cat's cradle when he was younger, even before he'd learned about magic and sorcerers. The yarn in the shop hadn't been a toy, but somehow there had always been just enough of a scrap left over to work with. Erskine stared at the string for a long moment without even moving his hands, then finally decided that since it had been offered, it was probably okay to knot the loose ends together. He was halfway through an intricate design, or at least as intricate as he could manage without a partner, before he even realized it.

It was mindless, but that's what he needed. He needed to not think about the possibility of Anton giving up on him. He needed to not think.

The kitchen fills with the quiet hum of domestic sounds as Erskine manipulates the string over his fingers, as Bakura packs away the uneaten food and begins the dishes, content enough not to speak, and accidentally break the mindspace Ravel has put himself in. He doesn't linger on the tasks, but he doesn't rush either. He can always 'search' for a while before finding the radio, depending on how much Erskine is able to calm himself down.

Eventually Bakura began to speak, low and offhand like he's just talking aloud to himself, the cadence of an ancient language helping to fill up the otherwise muted kitchen. Even though he knew Erskine wouldn't understand any of it, he talked about mundane things, like how mudbricks for houses had to be baked at a certain temperature;too low and they'd not firm up properly, too high and they'd crack and be useless.

He recalled how Per-Wadjet had the best wine and the worst house security in the whole of Lower Egypt, and that the best horses came from Kush, because they could afford to breed them there. He talked about the proper way to use a throwing stick to bring down two or three geese in one cast, because otherwise you'd be out in the marshes all night and come home with nothing to show for it.

Every so often, he'd glance over at Erskine sitting at the kitchen table, then go back to what he was doing like it was perfectly normal to have him there.

It helped to have background noise. It had always helped, either to calm him or to let him sleep, as far back as his first century. Before he'd met Corrival. Before he'd known that other people could do the kinds of things he could do. The fact that it was a language he didn't understand helped too, kept his mind from attaching unnecessarily to any of the words. It was why Hopeless had read to him in Latin--the sounds were pretty enough without meaning anything.

Even thinking about Hopeless didn't hurt so bad right at the moment, though he could just as easily attribute that to the fatigue. He simply didn't have the energy to hurt any more than he already did.

...the hat. If nothing else he would have to make Anton give him the hat.

"Any luck on that radio?" he asked some time later, though he couldn't have said exactly how long. He'd worked through all of the string patterns he could remember that didn't require an extra set of hands, and for the moment the string was loose, held in one hand on the tabletop. The sounds of Bakura moving through the kitchen were almost as soothing as the speech and he was loathe to interrupt them, but Erskine had put this off long enough. He still didn't particularly want to make the call, but he'd managed to shove the panic down for the moment and waiting any longer risked it coming back.

As long as he got the hat back he would figure out how to deal with the rest of it, even if the worst should happen.

Bakura smiled knowingly to himself, although the expression was tempered when he turned around to face Ravel. "Wouldn't you know it," he said easily. "I think I've just remembered where it might be."

The radio handset was therefore shortly produced from the cabinet in the living room, but Bakura held onto it for a moment longer as he regarded Erskine. "I'm not kicking you out," was all he said, just to make sure that the man knew he wasn't trying to get rid of him, before holding the handset out to him.

Erskine nodded, hesitantly at first then more firmly. He understood.

He stepped back into the kitchen to make the call, speaking with Anton for a minute or two without bothering to lower his voice--giving Bakura plenty of opportunity to eavesdrop on at least his half of the conversation, if the man felt the desire to do so. Just as he was about to hang up, Anton asked to speak to Bakura. Erskine dutifully trotted the handset back into the other room and passed it off, moving back into the kitchen once again to avoid eavesdropping himself. He didn't need to know. He didn't want to know.

While the conversation finished up in the other room he took one last gulp of the wine still left on the table and resumed his cat's cradle.

[OPEN] Didn't I see this movie?

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ok yeah if I haven't said it already, spoilers for the entire SP series rofl

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