Everything I tell you has been spoken...
Jul. 26th, 2022 11:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
travelerscurseHe's been avoiding it.
He's had other things to think about, what with the actually for real almost dying this time, aether so incredibly low and body so injured that even though he'd been able to be conscious and occasionally mobile early in the process, the actual logistics of whether or not he was going to live were fairly prolonged. It's not that his rest hasn't been justified or that the order that people weren't to bother him wasn't as welcome as it was frustrating. But in his heart, he knows he's avoiding it, that he's actually lingered in his sick bed several days past when he normally would have. Tataru in particular has been proud of him, for actually giving himself time to heal, for not being belligerent and staggering out to breakfast and damn the consequences.
But he knows the truth.
It's only going to get worse the longer he lets it go, though, so after a few days of fidgeting, accepting the praise with growing guilt, he swings his feet out of bed and makes to get dressed. Nothing complicated-- he both doesn't want anyone to think he's actually trying to do anything and he's also not sure he's got the motor coordination yet for all of his normal straps and buttons and buckles. A simple shirt and pants then, tucked into simple boots. He'd like to take his staff with him, spends a moment with his fingers laid against the bark, taking comfort from a familiar object, but ultimately he doesn't want to antagonize either Emet-Selch or Tataru with the thought he might actually use it for magic.
His gait is missing some of it's usual spring (or swagger, depending on who you asked) but he's at least able to walk normally now and it's a surprisingly simple matter to make a few inquiries and find Emet-Selch, wherever he's chosen to be in Sharlayan. He doesn't make a secret of his approach in the slightest, even clears his throat a little, before he opens his mouth to say something and realizes he has no idea what to say.
"Ah. I... thought you might want to know that I was... out of bed finally." He starts with, lamely. It's not why he's here and they both know it.
He's had other things to think about, what with the actually for real almost dying this time, aether so incredibly low and body so injured that even though he'd been able to be conscious and occasionally mobile early in the process, the actual logistics of whether or not he was going to live were fairly prolonged. It's not that his rest hasn't been justified or that the order that people weren't to bother him wasn't as welcome as it was frustrating. But in his heart, he knows he's avoiding it, that he's actually lingered in his sick bed several days past when he normally would have. Tataru in particular has been proud of him, for actually giving himself time to heal, for not being belligerent and staggering out to breakfast and damn the consequences.
But he knows the truth.
It's only going to get worse the longer he lets it go, though, so after a few days of fidgeting, accepting the praise with growing guilt, he swings his feet out of bed and makes to get dressed. Nothing complicated-- he both doesn't want anyone to think he's actually trying to do anything and he's also not sure he's got the motor coordination yet for all of his normal straps and buttons and buckles. A simple shirt and pants then, tucked into simple boots. He'd like to take his staff with him, spends a moment with his fingers laid against the bark, taking comfort from a familiar object, but ultimately he doesn't want to antagonize either Emet-Selch or Tataru with the thought he might actually use it for magic.
His gait is missing some of it's usual spring (or swagger, depending on who you asked) but he's at least able to walk normally now and it's a surprisingly simple matter to make a few inquiries and find Emet-Selch, wherever he's chosen to be in Sharlayan. He doesn't make a secret of his approach in the slightest, even clears his throat a little, before he opens his mouth to say something and realizes he has no idea what to say.
"Ah. I... thought you might want to know that I was... out of bed finally." He starts with, lamely. It's not why he's here and they both know it.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 02:03 pm (UTC)Scathing though the words are, he cannot help but feel a measure of fondness. It's like how he used to banter with Azem when they came home injured from their excursions. The Warrior of Light will never be able to shake off their predecessor's ghost - not in Emet-Selch's eyes anyway - but the journey would be a chance to get to know this new facet of them.
...Ah, but they have been lying here long enough for some scholars to find him again. He resolutely squeezes his eyes shut and crosses his arms over his face as a pair approach and hail them excitedly.
"No more. I am not answering any more for the rest of the day!" he growls.
no subject
Date: 2022-12-14 06:27 pm (UTC)"Such a flatterer," he quips back, his own voice warm and teasing as he looks over at Emet-Selch with a grin, "Careful, or I'll get a big head."
Rather than seeming to particularly mind living with the shade of Azem hovering between them, Gustavain's issue seems to more be how easily he falls into what he doesn't even know are old patterns. He's his own person, of course, has perhaps a bit more in common with Venat at this point than any memory Emet-Selch may have of his Azem. But when it's just the two of them, it's like something tugs inside him, something knows, and all of his typical gift of the gab turns into being able to do a really good Azem impersonation, even though he has no idea that's what he's doing.
The way Gustavain sits up and waves at the scholars as they hail them equally blurs the line between past and present, the way attention shifts to the Warrior of Light the same way it always did when Azem was found out to be back in Amaurot from an excursion. But the way Gustavain's lips curl just so is new, along with the slightly firm tone,
"I'm so sorry, both of you, but I'm afraid now's not a good time. Do you mind coming back later?" it's a moment that makes Hythlodaeus more apparent by his absence-- it would usually be him who would steer onlookers away from the other two-- but it's also got a surprising amount of steel, a tiny hint of he's mine right now, back off behind it. "We have a lot of catching up to do. You understand, right?" it's very polite in tone, but something about it suggests that it could quickly become less so.
no subject
Date: 2023-01-19 02:54 pm (UTC)"Oh, of course! Of course, but it will only take a few minutes, I promise you!" they enthuse. "After all, it isn't every day you get to question someone who has lived through all of known history!"
The former Ascian ponders taking action, but after a sideways glance at Gustavain, he decides that it would be much more fun to watch them take care of the matter. In whatever way they deem appropriate. So he pretends not to stir and waits for the Warrior's response.