capeandcowllogs | one more shifty, slightly leveled field of communication

Entry tags:

one more shifty, slightly leveled field of communication

WHO:

inthirds (who is cured)
WHERE: MAC
WHEN: Way super early 11/10
WARNINGS: MANLY TEARSno idk nobody dies at least
SUMMARY: Hey old man it's me, the pal you carved up like a week ago!
FORMAT: No

He could've just fallen asleep right where he was so easily had his mind not wandered back to his first contacts. It hit him like a knife in the back, causing him to start a little, though hardly much to disturb the sleeper curled up on him.

It had been well more than an hour, hadn't it? Not even a day back, already falling behind...

Further still, as it took a length of time to free himself and slink down the hallways. Barefoot, still feeling like he was stuck in a surreal dream...feeling his footfalls. Coarse carpeting. Cold, concrete steps in the stairwell. He was in danger of a sensory overload nearly every time he changed places. Goose pimples to go with the anxious knots in his stomach...how long since that was ever a thing?

Zelgadis wound up staring at the appropriate door longer than need be. He wasn't completely lost; he knew he had the right one. But the correspondence left him with uncertain footing, so to speak. And the disturbing remarks of that Goku person only gave his mind ample opportunity to draw the most unsavory conclusions. What had happened, and did he even want to know?

One way or the other, though, he had to knock. Four muted raps by the backs of his knuckles, drawn away as quick as they were brought forward. The notion that the hour was a little unreasonable had only just struck. Perhaps he ought to just go back upstairs––

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The notion of having to be protected brought a fresh flush to his face; it was definitely not something he was looking for. All he'd ever wanted was to be strong, but look how well that had gone. His expression darkened, glaring downward with hardly any fire, only displeasure.

"Going there wasn't about not trusting you," he muttered, adding on a bit louder, "or anyone."

He'd just wanted to finally be done with it all. It seemed simple enough before he'd went and tried to see it through, but...

"Then what was it." Geddoe's brow knit in a frown. "What are you so damned intent on proving, and to whom?"

"I wasn't proving anything!" Zelgadis' arms folded tighter to himself in defense, shaking his head. "I just wanted this mess to be done. The fewer who had to put up with it, the better. And not because I didn't trust anyone," he added quickly, glaring at Geddoe unhappily. "But if all he wanted was me to cut up a few monsters, that was fine. But it wasn't. And it was a little too late to call for help."

Geddoe pretended he was more interested in his beer than in excuses. "Who are you trying to justify it to," he murmured, "me, or yourself?"

He bristled, but bit down on a response, slumping into the chair with a huff of an exhale. "I don't know," he grumbled.

At least Zelgadis looked to still have his usual personality. It was heartening - if annoying on the surface. Broody youngster. Geddoe sat on the edge of the couch cushion, elbows on his knees and the beer bottle dangling from one hand. "Then don't bother. What's done is done. I'm satisfied that I don't have to watch you do it again...or take arms against you again."

He was never going to come out and say that anything bothered him. Certainly not! That was for the emotional, the soft and the weak.

Zelgadis grimaced again, eyes fixed on the arm of the chair as he felt embarrassment and shame creep back up his neck, face and ears again. Trying to imagine what happened wasn't giving him a pleasant image; asking about it was just going to make him feel worse. He didn't feel up to hearing about the gritty details of trying to kill one of his only friends in this rotten city...

He shot a look at Geddoe, mouth tilting with his pondering, anxious expression. If someone was really shaken up with his screw-ups, it usually resulted in bodily harm. But blowing off not getting cuffed was ridiculous. He was just going to have to accept how badly he'd wronged pretty much everyone who mattered somehow. Those he hadn't...he could probably come up with elaborate explanations to make them count, too. But later.

A different thought entirely flickered into mind; his head lifted a little, squinting at the bottle.

"...You only brought out one," he pointed out. "Aren't there any more?"

Yes, Zelgadis truly was lucky that he'd befriended someone who wasn't a hot-head, for once. The blow that almost came from that fist seemed to have dissipated for now. Geddoe's lips twisted in a pout of disgust. "No. This was the last one." He tilted the bottle to look at the jaunty Oktoberfest-themed label. "Fruit in beer is a stupid idea."

That made him snort, his tone drying out real quick. "Are you saying that because you mean it, or because there's none left?"

"If you want a taste, just ask," Geddoe grumbled. "There really is none left. I haven't been here for the last week to restock."

The petulant look was only momentary. "Where were you?"

"Away." Geddoe also looked away, though his gaze found the sheathed sword resting in its usual place next to the table - within arm's reach, as any seasoned soldier would know. "Wild Geese is damaged. I hoped to find an actual smith in the rural areas outside this city."

He grimaced a little. "My fault, I guess?"

Geddoe's one eye shifted subtly back toward him. "If you blame yourself for blocking with your arm instead of your sword."

He got up after a moment and went to pull the sword from its leather scabbard. He had sharpened the blade, but the notches were still fairly obvious to a trained eye. It needed to be properly tempered.

The sight of the damage made him grimace again. Of course, was it really his fault? He was pretty much out of his mind at the time...Even so. He sits up, scooting to the edge of the chair and leaning forward to squint at the blade. It wouldn't have bothered him much if it was just any old sword, but Geddoe had that one with him from the start.

"...Sorry," he murmured, shoulders sagging. "Even if I didn't realize..."

"Don't be." Geddoe breathed a soft sigh. "It was battle. These things happen. Swords are not meant to be pristine show-pieces on a wall somewhere." He held the blade up to the light to inspect it and then sheathed it, setting it aside. "I'll figure out how to fix it. It will still cut through flesh just fine, in the interim."

Perhaps not the most cheerful thought, but true nonetheless.

"And if it didn't," Zelgadis said with a shrug, leaning back, "there's still probably a dozen or more swords sitting around in my room."

Though more than half of those weren't his to offer, since Terra seemed to like to hoard weapons. His head kind of tilted to evade the thought, scratching at the bridge of his nose in a sheepish way.

"But if it works, then it's fine."

"I'm not replacing Wild Geese," Geddoe muttered with the closest thing akin to petulance anyone might have ever heard from him. "I will get it repaired somehow." Something occurred to him, then, and he glanced over his shoulder. "The magical blade. You got it from Terra."

Even if he'd just been thinking on a similar vein not seconds ago, somehow her name aloud caused him to flush and immediately look in whatever direction he could find devoid of living people.

"Y-yeah. A gift..."

Geddoe ignored the blush. "You may not want to ask for it back."

At least his remark was enough to get him a little off the track he was starting to veer (rather, high-speed collide) off into. He glanced back over, frowning.

"What do you mean?"

For his part, Geddoe dutifully avoided his glance this time, picking up his beer once more. "...you were armed with it, on that night."

It wasn't a vague statement, really, but it wasn't really giving the whole story. Again, Zelgadis' imagination was free to search for the worst-case scenario. He was hesitant, waiting a length of time to see if anything would be said without prompt.

When he couldn't stand it any longer, he probed, "Did I hurt anyone? Or...?" Kill anyone? He didn't want to believe that was true, but if he was more out of control than he realized...

"Singed me," Geddoe admitted, "though not with the blade. Rather."

He paused for a pretty long time, but he was going to say it. Sooner or later. This information had to be shared lest it come up at a different and less convenient time. "I wielded it."

Zelgadis wasn't liking the silence at all. His frown deepened, his forehead creasing with the unease building within; he could feel his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. When Geddoe finally said anything at all, the cold chill was practically just for the sake of having heard anything, regardless of the content. His brow continued to knit as he began to mull over what he meant by that.

That was you right? But the grandpa killed him.

He leaned back, all that blood and color that had rushed to his face such a short time ago very much gone. Once, a long time ago, he had bragged about his invulnerability in the face of a duel. If you want to kill me, you better make it a sword of light!

Well, then.

He sank back into the chair, sliding a little, staring well away from Geddoe.

"Oh," he said dumbly.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject