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I'm in my prime, Optimus
[ Tantal, the strangely enigmatic, and relatively recently-colonized continent, the quietly elusive Titan who always seemed to stay and swim below the cloud sea. Tantal, a sick Titan, a Titan whose energy has already begun to wane, lending to its naturally cooler nature-- or so the ether-readers had forecast. Tantal, the safest Titan.
Its hermit-like nature earns it a reputation of being a haven of sorts for the explorers and refugees of war, but only if they can find it and safely dock within. Even for one Titan of the same class as Uraya, it remains strangely uncharted in its migratory patterns about the World Tree, as well as the terrain within itself. For although it has remained submerged and out of the Aegis' interest for quite some time, its bowels provide a hospitable sort of stew to allow its fauna to become larger and more ferocious than others, which only makes exploring it more dangerous.
However, it seems that the Aegis in question who had so recently turned a blind eye to Tantal out of disinterest now suddenly has an interest, or so the tip from a certain Quaester says. Thus they now find themselves within the deeper underbelly of the beast, so to speak, trekking their way through the tumultuous winds and ice, the black jagged cliffs that encase the biome, and the chilling cold. The world is a blanket of white, and the roar of the sudden blizzard drowns out any attempts to shout for their companions. It is like this that Lora and Jin are separated from the rest of their group...
And it is like this that they encounter not Malos, but something else. Something large. Something quite terrifying as well.
The Cloud Sea King Ken towers over them with its limbs, mercilessly striking at the two for coming upon its nest uninvited. And as any hunter of the great beasts of Alrest would know, trying to outrun one of these creatures would be even more of a death sentence than facing it. Their only option is to fight it here and now. ]
--Lora!
[ The battle may have been a long and difficult one, but now is their chance to end it. Finish it, be done with it, see to their superficial wounds with what they have, and endure their deeper ones for the trek back to the base camp. He doesn't even wait for her to say those words-- those words that let him know that she is ready to deliver their last strikes. I need your help, Jin!
He practically throws his blade to her, casting a barrier above that erupts into a lattice of octagons and light above as the club of its far-reaching limb whips out at them. It strikes his defense with such impact that he feels the vibration through his very bones, and suspiciously he feels a bit of the ground beneath his feet give a bit-- but he can't think about that too much, not with the monster still standing. Jin digs his heels into the ice stubbornly, refusing to give up as he increases the output of his shield. They cannot lose this opening; it's bleeding foul ink and violet-colored blood upon the snow-- it's almost done.
And once Lora has finished her part of the move, he'll be ready to delivering the finishing move. ]
Its hermit-like nature earns it a reputation of being a haven of sorts for the explorers and refugees of war, but only if they can find it and safely dock within. Even for one Titan of the same class as Uraya, it remains strangely uncharted in its migratory patterns about the World Tree, as well as the terrain within itself. For although it has remained submerged and out of the Aegis' interest for quite some time, its bowels provide a hospitable sort of stew to allow its fauna to become larger and more ferocious than others, which only makes exploring it more dangerous.
However, it seems that the Aegis in question who had so recently turned a blind eye to Tantal out of disinterest now suddenly has an interest, or so the tip from a certain Quaester says. Thus they now find themselves within the deeper underbelly of the beast, so to speak, trekking their way through the tumultuous winds and ice, the black jagged cliffs that encase the biome, and the chilling cold. The world is a blanket of white, and the roar of the sudden blizzard drowns out any attempts to shout for their companions. It is like this that Lora and Jin are separated from the rest of their group...
And it is like this that they encounter not Malos, but something else. Something large. Something quite terrifying as well.
The Cloud Sea King Ken towers over them with its limbs, mercilessly striking at the two for coming upon its nest uninvited. And as any hunter of the great beasts of Alrest would know, trying to outrun one of these creatures would be even more of a death sentence than facing it. Their only option is to fight it here and now. ]
--Lora!
[ The battle may have been a long and difficult one, but now is their chance to end it. Finish it, be done with it, see to their superficial wounds with what they have, and endure their deeper ones for the trek back to the base camp. He doesn't even wait for her to say those words-- those words that let him know that she is ready to deliver their last strikes. I need your help, Jin!
He practically throws his blade to her, casting a barrier above that erupts into a lattice of octagons and light above as the club of its far-reaching limb whips out at them. It strikes his defense with such impact that he feels the vibration through his very bones, and suspiciously he feels a bit of the ground beneath his feet give a bit-- but he can't think about that too much, not with the monster still standing. Jin digs his heels into the ice stubbornly, refusing to give up as he increases the output of his shield. They cannot lose this opening; it's bleeding foul ink and violet-colored blood upon the snow-- it's almost done.
And once Lora has finished her part of the move, he'll be ready to delivering the finishing move. ]
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It’s all ready halfway sunk to the ground, body deflated like a punctured lung. It no longer towers over them like it once had. Its attack patterns had been predictable before, but now they’re volatile and erratic. A sign of a desperate, dying animal, beaten, but too proud to run. Mortally wounded, but still dangerous, if only because it doesn’t have anything left to lose. With another glint of steel and a spray of black, the angry mess of limbs that have been harassing them recoil. A deep, earthen groan echoes through the air, so deep her ears can barely register the tone. The cephalopod stiffens, beginning to fall to the earth like it’s a puppet that’s had its strings cut, its limbs convulsing as it collides with a butting spire of rock. It's in its final death throes now.
She’s about to pass the sword back to Jin, so he can finish what they started, when one of the spasming limbs suddenly lashes out, faster than it has any right to move, cutting through the air like a knife, and she’s forced to improvise. ]
Jin!
[ She leaps to the side, feet skidding across the ice, throwing the blade in his direction in the hopes that he’ll catch it. The tentacle slashes through the ether-infused air like an anvil. She can’t see Jin anymore, and when the limb finally makes landfall, the earth shakes. Then breaks.
And then Lora realizes what’s beneath them isn’t ground at all, but water. They’re on a lake.
Her once-solid foundation fissures beneath her feet, erupting into spiderweb of cracks. The ground suddenly feels like it’s seconds away from not being able to bear her weight anymore as the ice starts to split apart. Her eyes widen as she feels another shockwave ripple through the ice. There’s an upheave of water as the monster’s body crashes into the lake, breaking through the hard ice beneath it. She’s forced to move as another limb comes whipping towards her, tearing through the ice near her and eliminating whatever stability the frozen lakebed had once offered her. The ground then gives way beneath her like it had never been there at all, and she plunges down through the ice and into the water that neither she nor Jin had known existed beneath it. It’s so cold she almost forgets to breathe, but her body makes her anyway, lungs taking in a stunned intake of air before she disappears beneath the water.
She’s not submerged for long, though the water is now a churning mess of flailing limbs that don't belong to her. She tries not to panic as she breeches the surface, coughing and gasping for air as she feels her muscles tense and threaten to lock up on her. She barely has time to register anything, let alone reorient herself, when one of the thrashing limbs slams into her side. It hurts, but she finds the cutting frigidness of the lake to somehow be a far worse and much more insidious of a thing as the arm forces her violently back down into the depths.
And this time she almost doesn’t come back up.
Her vision starts to leave her, hemorrhaging out color and leaving only fractured black and grey. She doesn’t even know how she even manages to convince herself to swim to the surface, but she does, breaking through the water again, scrambling desperately for something—anything—to hold onto, clawing her way onto a solid chunk of ice as she fights to stay conscious and keep her head above water. ]
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She'll never know the power he feels whenever she passes the sword back to him; it's as if it has been-- he has been infused with all of her own strength, her might that she doesn't even know she has, making him stronger, faster, in turn. He could easily be consumed by, but it never lasts. He's wondered before it there would be a way to prolong that sensation itself... Regardless, with their final strikes, down goes the Cloud Sea King Ken, and up goes ice. Ice and a spray of water so white it might as well be sleet.
Up until this point Jin's focus had solely been aimed at the enemy, and with it now falling below him he realizes too late that it has shattered the ground beneath it. The frozen lake beneath it.
Immediately his sight tracks back to Lora, but she's already been struck by one flailing tentacle and falling beneath the surface, and that's all it takes for him to move. Still falling, he twists in the air, managing to leap off one of the tossed up chunks of ice-- and dive right in after her.
The water is frigid and thick, already a natural dark navy that would make it difficult to see, but the syrup-like ink and blood of the giant squid makes it near impossible to find her within the chaotic waters as the upturned chunks of ice and squid fall around them. But find her he does, and she'll suddenly find that a strong arm has wrapped around her middle to support her above the surface.
Jin makes quick work of lifting-- practically throwing-- her onto a more secure block of ice, pulling himself up and out of the water right afterward. He may be a Blade with an affiliation with ice, but the moment his body leaves the water the bite of Tantal's wind cannot be ignored. He'll be fine, of course, but her? ]
Lora-- [ He'll be rolling her to her side, checking her for her injuries and making sure that she's still breathing. That's the first step. ] Lora, cough. [ It's going to hurt, choking up any water that she's managed to inhale with the fall, but he's also making sure that she stays awake, because she may not be for long. Humans cannot survive in this icy temperature after being submerged in a frozen lake for long, and the timer has already begun. ]
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Eventually, her breathing slows into something more controlled, and some of her vision comes back to her. Her muscles relax, and she can see Jin again, white now a color her eyes see fit to recognize. Not that she hadn't always known he was there. It just hadn’t fully sunk in; her body hadn’t deemed him to be important. The water had demanded her immediate attention, not him. Nothing else had mattered except getting out and surviving.
At least now she’s starting to feel a little more like herself. Less dazed and more lucid now that drowning isn’t on the forefront of her mind. She can feel a distinct, lancing pain radiating from her side that she had been all but numb to before. Some cracked ribs is her guess. But nothing that Haze can’t mostly mend into insignificance once they find her, wherever Addam and the others are. It’s not her side that she’s worried about. She's almost glad for it. It gives her something else to focus on besides the bitter chill she feels working its way down into her bones. ]
That… could’ve gone better.
[ She twists herself around a little more, wincing as she uses her arms to help prop herself up so she can see better where they are. Streaks of violet, white, and black crisscross her vision, and she thinks she can see the squid’s body in the distance surrounded by the glimmering fog. It’s not moving. ]
Is it dead?
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Nevertheless, he answers all the same. ] It is. [ Of course it is dead. He would never let it live after striking at her. ]
Can you walk?
[ He doubts she can, but he asks regardless. Her being able to support some of her weight would mean that her condition is not as bad as he assumes it to be, not that he would be surprised at it being otherwise.
Get her to shelter, bring her warmth-- those are the only two thoughts that are racing through his mind as the seconds tick by, each one more critical than the next as the snow storm howls on. So if she can stand, he will help her.
...And if not-- or if she tries and stumbles-- then without a word he lift her into his arms and carry her. ]
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Another question that takes her longer than it should to answer. She wants to believe she can. She wants to believe she can pick herself up on her own volition and walk to wherever they need to go, because that’s how it’s always been. Because of course she can. This is nothing she can’t pick herself up from. And the last thing she wants is to worry him more, because he does enough. And she doesn’t want to legitimize the fears he carries. Or hers. She wants to be the one to prove them wrong. ]
Well, my legs aren’t broken.
[ She’s certain of that.
Though something else in her might be. It’s a little harder to breathe than she knows it should be, and her side protests every time she does.
But that she doesn’t say. Because it’s nothing, she tells herself again, that Haze and a little time can't fix. Because that’s also how it’s always been. ]
I’m sure I can.
[ And nothing will stop her from at least trying. The day that she doesn’t try, she feels like, is the day she doesn’t get up at all. So she’ll always try.
She breathes in to steady herself, blinking some of the remaining haze out of her eyes as she carefully starts to pick herself up, holding onto Jin’s arm to give her better balance on the ice below her as she tries to stand. But she only manages to make it halfway before she feels something in her give out and her legs start to buckle out from underneath her. It catches her by surprise because it came with no warning. One moment she was on well on her way to standing, and now she's stumbling to try to catch herself.
But Jin’s never let her fall, and before she’s even aware of it, he’s carrying her, all without saying a single word. Her mouth thins. She looks up at Jin then, and she’s not sure how to feel. ]
Sorry. I thought I—
[ She was so sure that she could. ]
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But she's talking. She's breathing. She's awake, conscious, and if she is those two things then that puts her a step above this truly being a dire situation. If she can stay like that, good, but he worries that it will not be the case for long. He'll be watching for the signs, for blue lips and ice-bitten fingers and her breathing slowing or if her body stops gives out on shivering--
Shelter.
Fire.
They need those two things right now. She needs those things right now. Whereas before his mind had been focused on defeating the enemy, now it's all about keeping her alive.
He doesn't bother responding to her at first; instead it's one flash-step and he's already cleared half the distance to one of the steep black cliffs of Tantal. One more takes him to the edge, the outcropping above providing some protection from the wind. The cliffside formations are weathered and sleek, but he knows that there may be caverns dug out from the softer rock within, either by humans for mining purposes or beasts for their dens. He hopes he'll find the former, but at this point he won't care either way. ]
You still with me?
[ He'll ask her as he carries her, his own footfalls slowed by the deep snow through which he treks. The water in his hair and clothes have frozen over by now, making his movements stiff, but still he holds her tightly to him, his voice level and unaffected by the cold. ]
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She nestles closer to him once the deep snow starts to slow him down, leaning against his chest. His armor is cold, some of it freezing over in the pockets where the water hasn't had a chance to properly drain, and she shivers against it, finding no warmth there, but she doesn’t care; her clothing is no better. All wet fabric clinging uncomfortably to her skin, bringing with it a chill she can’t seem to be rid of.
Lora hears Jin say something to her from somewhere, and she snaps abruptly out of her thoughts. She’s… not even sure what he said. She hadn’t been paying attention, like she thought she had been. It's like she’s watching the world pass her by through a lens of ice. She feels like she could fall asleep like this, as cold as she is. It would be so easy, and a part of her wants to. For as unforgiving as the wind and snow is here, this place is otherwise very quiet. ]
Do you remember… [ she says, voice low, shivering as she wraps her arms tightly around herself in an attempt to warm them, only dully aware of how her fingers are slowly turning from an angry red to white. ] …the last time it snowed in Torna?
[ That had been a handful of years back, she thinks. Just before she had resonated with Haze. Back when it was just the two of them against the world. It rarely snows in Torna. And when it does, it hardly ever stays, never leaving the inhabitants much of anything to remember it by except an equally fleeting memory. But that day it had. ]
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He hears her speak and he almost misses it, her voice hardly a whisper above the wind. Snow... in Torna? The question surprises him because surely she would want to talk about anything but snow. Yet he'll oblige, his eyes narrowing for a bit as he looks back into his memories. ] I do. It was--
[ Her words also get him to look back at her, and in that moment he nearly freezes over when he sees her. She looks worse than she did but seconds ago. With a grunt he adjusts her in his arms, lifting her up more as he presses on. ] ....What... did you think about it? [ His response is almost laughably forced, but that's not the point of his question. Keep on speaking, keep on breathing, talking. Her talking is good. Her keeping awake is good.
And then he sees it, a cavern just up ahead, practically camouflaged by thick icicles clinging to the arc of its entrance. A cave-- a place that they can be sheltered from the weather. It's the best they can ask for, and he will dig within him for all that remains of his energy for one last flash-step to bring them to its outcropping.
....He just barely manages to stay standing after the single step, feeling exhaustion threatening to crumble him. He ignores that feeling just he tries to ignore the building dread of her condition. ]
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[ There’s something about the way he said it—phrased the question—that nearly makes her laugh.
But then he flash-steps again, bringing them to a rocky outcrop. And after a moment, her brows furrow. She thinks she can see a shadow of a cave, but that’s not what her eyes are focusing on, and what would have moments ago been a smile turns into something quite opposite. ]
It just… reminded me a little of this, that’s all. With the snow.
[ Not so much everything else. ]
We were stuck in that rundown little shack for hours. [ It had been such a sad skeleton of a thing, but it was shelter enough from the storm they had gotten caught in. Like they could have ever expected snow. They had gotten a fire going, she remembers, prepared to wait the storm out, certain that it couldn’t possibly last long. It was a day of work lost, but she hadn’t minded. ] All that snow… [ She narrows her eyes, trying to better dig out the memory from her mind. ] it made it seem like… we were the only two people left in the world. Just you… and me, you know?
[ And their situation here is not so different to her. Tantal is more wilderness than anything else. Covered in snow and ice, terrain dotted by lonely black spires and cliffs that stretch on for miles without a single settlement in sight. They might as well be alone. She can’t imagine there’s another Titan quite like this one. ]
And then… I remember thinking… [ She pauses then, shutting her eyes for a moment before opening them again, shaking her head. ] No, it’s not important.
[ Other things were. ]
Jin. [ Her voice is still quiet as she lifts a shivering hand, letting her fingertips graze the underside of his chin for a few seconds before retreating. ] Don’t overdo it. Okay?
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When he feels the ice-cold brush of her fingertips upon his chin, he naturally turns to glance down at her as he walks across the final few meters to the cavern. Blades are lucky that they are able to draw their power form the ether of the world, but he's steadily using up more than he's able to take in. Not that he will tell her, and he'll do his best to withstand, if not outright conceal, the need to rest for her sake, but she always has a way of knowing. Jin's eyes catch hers briefly, but he breaks away when he hears the concern in her voice for him.
As if he's the one with broken ribs and about to pass out from the cold. ]
We're here. [ That's all he says to her in response, choosing to ignore any concern for him. Clearly she should be more focused on herself.
But they will have some luck with finding this cave, for it seems that they were not the only ones here before. There's a pit for a fire haphazardly surrounded by rocks, a pile of spare wood tied off to the side, and a crate that has a tuft of fur peeking out from its top, either belonging to a coat or a rug. Unfortunately none of it will bring much comfort as most is coated in frost or ice. But the cloth itself will be useful because it's softer than the cold rock ground, and Jin tosses it next to the pit. And then, gently Jin kneels with her still in his arms, carefully resting her down.
She's so cold that he feels warmer without her in his arms, and that sets off a new worry. ]
We need to get you warm. And dry.
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He can be as careful and as meticulous as he likes, but the second she makes a mistake, the second she’s not capable enough, she runs the risk of taking him down with her and robbing him of everything he has built for himself here. He can’t event travel far from her without being made weaker than he is. Not that she supposes it would dampen his abilities much, but the outcome is still the same: she gains a highly incentivized guardian, he gains an exploitable weakness.
It’s so very one-sided. ]
I have some flint in my bag.
[ It hasn’t seen much use as of late. But normally they don’t have someone as convenient as Brigid to start their fires for them. She hesitates then, trying to remember if her bag is on her left or on her right, before turning to find it, her fingers finding the the buckle and leather strap, trying to work it open. But now it’s far easier for her to daydream and reminisce about old memories than to open a simple bag. She can barely feel the texture of the chilled, drowned leather beneath her fingers, and her movements are uncoordinated, like she’s a child learning how how laces and shoes go together. Her vision wavers in and out of focus, and it takes all the concentration she has to convince her bag to finally open for her, reaching in and pulling out the chunk of flint she has stored there alongside a piece of steel roughly the same size. She doesn’t have much hope for some of the other materials in her bag, but a little water has never ruined the usefulness of a piece of flint.
She offers both the rock and the steel to him. ]
Here. It should be enough.
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Once she has the flint and steel, he kneels down beside her to reach for them, his fingers brushing against hers in the process. They're completely frigid, enough that that brief touch has startled him. Suddenly he grasps her hands in his with the flint still held in between, as if that touch alone could will her blood to return to her fingertips. He rubs her hands in his tenderly, keeping hers cupped within.It won't be enough to truly make them warm once more, but it seemed he couldn't help himself just then. For if it's one thing she can't lose to frostbite, it is her hands.
She won't be able to fight without them, after all. She wouldn't be able to lift his blade.
Wordlessly, Jin releases her fingers and finally takes the flint, striking it, and nursing a meager fire into existence. The flames humbly begin to encroach upon the cold wood, yet each gust that makes it past the cavern entrance threatens to extinguish it. Architect, damn it all. Their luck truly is that poor... The warmth from just holding her hands is better than the fire itself, and if they don't do something more, she truly will freeze.
.... ]
You have to get out of those clothes.
[ Way to be blunt. But how else can he be when in ~Lora Must Survive Mode~?? ]
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You don’t… beat around the bush, do you?
[ But he’s not wrong. Her clothes aren’t doing her any good. They’re no longer serving their purpose. She might as well be holding ice against her skin. She won’t be suddenly colder for their lack, and time is all ready doing its work. She can hardly even feel the fire now that he’s started it. The last hints of color are draining out of her fingertips, leaving her muscles rigid and stiff, ready to give up trying to shiver any life into her body. Her senses are dulling. It's harder to focus. The only thing her hands can remember truly feeling last—outside of the growing cold—was the sensation of Jin's hands around them. He was hot while she was cold. It was the first time since she fallen in the lake that she had felt any genuine semblance of warmth, though it came and went like a gust of wind, leaving room for only a growing sense of trepidation to creep up in its wake. ]
But you’re right. I can’t stay in these.
[ It may be awkward, the situation they’ve found themselves in, but she has nothing to hide. Not from him. All that lies underneath the layers of armor and soaked through fabric is imperfect skin dotted with old, faded scars: a product of a lifetime of learning. Proof of all the small concessions she had made in the name of learning what it would take of her to become independent and to etch herself a place in the world.
She reaches over to find the strap of one of her armguards, working it loose from its buckle. At least she's starting to not shiver as much, and that makes the process of relaxing the guard easier, allowing her to eventually pull the piece of armor away from her arm, even with her now stiff, uncoordinated fingers. ]
Can you— [ She hesitates then, as if weighing the relative virtues of falling silent or pressing on, before choosing the latter. ] Can you take my shoulder guards off? I'm… not sure if I can. I’m starting to feel like someone’s drugged me.
[ Like someone’s slipped something in her wine, leaving her with none of the pleasant benefits. It bothers her more than she cares to admit, to ask him to help with something so simple, when she’s always asking him to trust more in her resilience than worry about her human frailty. But if she can’t bring herself to let him see her at her weakest and only at her strongest, then she doesn’t trust him at all. And that’s never once been true. She trusts him more than she has anyone else. And if she has to entrust this more intimate part of herself to someone, it will always be to him. ]
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Here, let me... [ He quickly kneels beside her, partly to help her, and partly to ensure that if she is about to collapse, he will be there to catch her. Like someone drugged her, isn't something he'd like to think about in any context, and the comment earns her a deeper frown, a more urgency to his actions. Yet with almost distance deference he uses one arm to support her back, while the other begins to undo her armor. One by one they come undone, loosening around her, and he gently lays them just outside of the fur padding on the ground.
She'll probably need help with her other arm guard as well, and then both of her tall boots, and without another word he'll be aiding her with that. He remembers when they first had the funds to buy her armor, how proud she had been to wear it-- how he had helped her with it, showing the way to correctly put all of it on the first time. They're traditional Tornan-style platings, a bit dated from beyond her time, and he can only guess that he knew how they are fastened about her arms and legs because he had learned about them in a previous lifetime.
He's seen her without her armor, but in this pale ether-glow of the Titan, she appears almost like a pale waif of the streets in this state. That's not who she is at all, however, and when he's finally slips off the last piece from about her thigh, his eyes travel back up to hers to see how she is faring, whether or not she's managed to remove some of her top while he had been working on her boots. ] You could have picked more modern armor. [ He says with a bit of gruffness in his tone, but it's also meant as a slight jab. A way to keep up her banter. ]
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I could have. [ Though her tone suggests that choosing another more contemporary set was likely never on the table. ] But the armor was lighter than the others. And cheaper. [ Being mobile had been important to her. The protection it afforded was enough for her needs without infringing on her freedom by being cumbersome. The style being a bit dated had only worked in their favor and appealed to their rather modest budgetary restraints at the time.
Though the set had also reminded her a little of the armor the characters wore in the picture books her mother used to read to her. And those memories, she supposes, will always play their part in regards to her personal preferences. Not that it had been her only consideration—she certainly wouldn’t buy a product solely for its aesthetics or old childhood nostalgia—but it was an influence. She had lived through the following years hoping that, if she were to ever meet her mother again, that she would recognize the style for what it was and where it likely came from. ]
Besides, [ she can at least try to banter back and stave off the cold and lethargy as she lays the second long, black sleeve down to join the other she had removed moments before. ] I didn’t hear you complaining about it when I chose it. I would’ve listened. …Probably.
[ Listened. And then probably bought it anyway. But semantics. ]
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like pants] You could find one in the same style, same color.[ It doesn't matter what type of armor she wears, so long as it's functional to her. ] But this time, we'll be able to order it customized to you... [ As much as he won't like to ask Addam for assistance for all the man has done already, surely he'd be able to spot them a few extra coins for a complete set. That, or maybe Jin could complete a few beast bounties on his own... Either way, she deserves something nice.
And all the while he's thinking of how they might be able to afford new armor for her, his hand had actually slipped down to her waist, then to the edge of her undershirt, already beginning to lift it upward. His fingers have already slid under the edge of the fabric at this point, grasping it within his hand. Where they may brush along her stomach underneath they are warm to the touch... and careful, as if any extra movement on his part might snap the shirt in half.
But it's that exact touch when he feels how cold she is beneath that his previous attempt at conversation dies upon his lips. It's like he didn't even realize that he was pulling up her shirt on his own at this point, and while that should have gotten him to stop, he doesn't. Because now he's frowning, his gaze hardened, and his lips are pressed into a thin line. Their idle chatter had been to keep her awake, but it seems that even he had been distracted by it himself. Her being able to keep up the conversation truly masks the state she is in, her eyes clouded and her body trembling and her fingers blue--
Alright, no more playing around.
That shirt is coming off, as are the rest of her clothes (save for the undergarment below the waist). And you know what? So are his, because they're also wet and iced over, and he needs to help her, to give her any and all of his body heat before it's too late. That quilt is going to go around them to shield what it can from the wind that slips past the entrance of the cavern. And as soon as he pulls her under it with him, he's going to be pressing her body to his, arms wrapping around her fully, tightly, and protectively as if she might burst into a snow drift right then and there. ]
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She starts to reach down to help him when his expression changes, like he can see something she can’t. Or doesn’t want to. He goes quiet, and it makes a far different emotion curl through her. He’s not talking to her anymore, and she finds herself missing that particular emotional anchor that had helped keep her going from the moment he pulled her onto the ice. Kept her talking. She misses the gruff reassurance that came with it. Like everything was still okay. He’s stopped humoring her, she guesses. Even she can be cognizant of that beneath the haze that’s clouding her eyes, and he seems almost single-minded in his actions now as he moves to finish what he had started. She’s seen him like this before, now and again.
She does what she can to help him. Unhooking her bra and loosening her skirt as best as she manage, even if she feels degrees away from not being able to stay conscious, though she doesn’t want to admit it. And as soon as her body no longer has any fabric that needs to removed, he starts on his. He moves so efficiently and deliberately it’s like hesitation was never a word that had ever made itself a part of him.
She can barely feel the presence of fire, but she can certainly feel him as he tosses the quilt around them and pulls her in along with it. Her ribs protest at the sudden movement, and she can see spots of black eat up the very corners of her vision, but what's important is that she can feel heat all around her again as he draws her close. He's almost too hot for her frigid skin. But if she had to choose between one death and another, at the moment she would rather burn. And though he’s holding her tightly, she instinctively tries to press closer to him, like he’s the only lifeline she has ever known. ]
I’m sorry. [ It’s all she can think of to say. She had obviously failed whatever mental test he had set, to make him act that way. ] I was... [ She hesitates, searching for the word. ] trying.
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But not like this. Not when it seems so much frailer, weaker, and colder than it should be, not when he knows that if she had stayed just a few moments more in that ice-cold lake before it would have been too late, and not when he knows that any wrong movement could cause her to hiss in pain from her injured ribs. Not when he could have done more to prevent this from happening.
Unwittingly his hands tighten around her back, fingers pressing into her skin. Architect, he cannot undo anything that led them to this point; all he can do is continue forward-- to somehow keep her warm and well, and assuming fate is merciful, bring her back to the camp and do all that he can to become stronger so that this may never happen again.
He's broken from his thoughts when he hears her apologize. Why--....? ] --No. [ Maybe it's the tone in which she says it, or maybe it's how distant her words seem, as if she's speaking to him through her sleep, but-- simply hearing her apologize causes something to tug within his chest.
Now it's not just her that's pulling them close; it's him. He positions his head just over her shoulder, his lips, his voice close to her ear, deep despite its softness, forgiving and remorseful. ] You did... nothing wrong.
[ He doesn't want to loosen his grip on her, but he must when he decides to bring his hand up her back... and then down. Up and down, stroking along her skin tenderly. And for some reason he finds himself being reassured by the motion of his hand upon her just as it might be reassuring for her, the strokes developing into a more tender, set pattern.
Was she always this... soft? It shouldn't surprise him, but it does. Her skin, her own touch upon his back, her chest pressed against his... ]
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He’s always been strong. She’s always known that. She can feel a fraction of that strength, sometimes, when he tethers to her out on the field. During those few minutes when she’s able to make some of that strength her own, allowing her to do more than she ever could under her own power. But it’s different to suddenly be able to feel it so acutely underneath her fingertips, now flush against his skin, able to discern the deliberate contour of his muscles as she wraps her arm around the small of his back, fingers latching at his hip, pulling herself that much closer to him. She finds herself resting her head against his chest as something in her finally lets go, leaning into him, her eyes half-closed. There she can better feel the reassuring rise and fall of his chest, so steady compared to her own, slow and little erratic.
Perhaps when the new day dawns she’ll chide herself for clinging so close to him, perhaps feel appropriately awkward about it all, but right now, she’s where she wants to be. She doesn’t care how there’s no real barrier between them anymore. That she can feel every inch of him just as easily as he can her. She doesn’t care. Perhaps she never really has. ]
I know, [ she says, recalling his voice at her ear. There was nothing either of them had done wrong. ] It’s just… frustrating. It should have to take more than this to make me feel this way.
[ She feels almost betrayed by it. How it can take only minutes to make her own body start to feel like it has very little left to give her. It should take more than a plunge beneath the ice and some biting wind to make her feel this cold. It all makes her dwell on things she’d rather ignore for another day far into the future.
She slowly lets one of her legs curl underneath his. ] I’m sure… I’ll just be annoyed at it tomorrow.
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Her fingers are cold upon his bare back, but rather than flinch away from her touch, he finds it oddly soothing when she presses them into taught muscles, arm wrapping around his back. Slowly, she's getting him to relax, and his breaths become steadier, closing his eyes to simply take her in. And they stay closed up until her hand strays to his hip, pulling him closer so that her head rests upon his chest, a leg shifting alongside his. It makes them nearly flush with one another, and he must shift his own legs to better accomodate hers, one twining along her ankle.
He's not bothered, or so he tells himself, that he can feel all of her right now. How small her shoulders seem compared to his, how she fits so comfortably within his arms and along his body, how the curve of her back dips so flawlessly into her slender waist, how the suppleness of her breasts brush against his chest with each rise and fall of their breaths, how her hips are dangerously lined up with his... ]
I doubt anyone would have fared any better after that. [ He tells her, trying to absolve her of her guilt, but his voice seems just a little more taught as if he is trying to dispel some sort of distraction. He remembers when she would be frustrated after not perfecting a move after a few tries; but feeling the same way after falling into a lake of icewater is unfair. ] You're... [ Human. ] too hard on yourself.
[ It seems that he's unable to help himself, close as she is; he wants to give back the same comforting feeling she had done for him with her hand: idly, his fingers continues to over her back, this time tracing down from between her shoulder blades. He had always made it a point to cover where she was vulnerable, making sure nothing could strike her from behind, but he's not perfect. This scar is from a rabid dire-volff. And this one is from a mercenary's whip. Then deviating away from the midline, fingers grazing along her skin lower still to just where her hip meets her thigh, he finds the scar where an arrow first grazed her. It would normally frustrate and guilt him at recalling all of these wounds she has suffered. Yet all he can think about now is how they are a part of her. How they are not imperfections because they are a part of her. And how her thigh feels beneath his palm. Her skin is not so cold anymore. But maybe that the warmth he's beginning to feel...
His palm is not lifting away, either, his thumb slowly tracing circles over the scar as if it became lost on the map of her body. ]
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She certainly can’t go back to the way she had once been, even if she wanted to. It’s why she feels something different, and more than just simple animal comfort, when his hand finds her thigh, his thumb threatening to wear a circular mark into her skin. It’s not… fair, really, even if the sensation it elicits in her is duller, smothered by the cold and exhaustion. His hand feels far too close to her, and yet not close enough. And it’s no fault but her own. Not Jin's or anyone else’s. Just hers. He probably doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. She can wonder to the contrary, as she has before, and has more as of late, but the answer will probably be the same as his last: it was never his intention. All he’s trying to do is reassure her, like his hand had been against her back, so she says nothing. She'll take his intentions for what they are, because they’re all that matters, and stay where she is, leaning against his chest, and focus on how reassuring the touch does feel as her body tries to steal back the heat it lost. ]
“Fared any better.”
[ She repeats the words, almost as if she expects the cave’s walls to reflect them back at her, but all that follows is a single gust of Tantal wind.
It’s true. But it’s also part of the problem. She can’t ever “fare any better” in a situation like this one, just like no one just like her would be expected to. She’ll be no more immune to the glacial cold of the lake next year than she is today. It’ll either take her or it won’t, those are the options. It’s one of those things she will never be able to change. So she’d rather smile instead, and focus on what she can. Though there will always be a part of her that remembers. Moments she will dwell on it for minutes too long—though rarely out in the sun. She doesn’t forget, not easily. She may be destined to lose many things in her life, but her memory will be the last.
She feels the hand at his hip start to relax and loosen, and before she even realizes it, her vision melts away from her like it’s always been threatening to do. She’s aware one moment, and then she’s not. And when she startles back into alertness again with a sharp inhale, she’s left with an unnatural gap in her memory, if only a couple seconds long. She finds the sensation disquieting, and she shifts, slowly, until her head rests a little higher and closer to his shoulder. She’d shake her head to clear it if she weren’t leaning against him. ]
I think about it sometimes, you know. What our lives would be like if some things had gone just a little differently. [ She slowly closes her hand around his hip again, fingers pressing into his skin as if making sure she’s not secretly dreaming. ] …If it weren’t for you, I probably would have died long ago.
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Jin doesn't need to see that she's become faint to feel it himself, from how her hand loosens upon his hip to that not-so-subtle tug within him that tells him that she is hurt or in pain. But then she adjusts and speaks, saying those words and bringing up something so unpleasant his body tenses against hers for an instant. He's done pretty well, or so he thinks, to stave off that fear of losing her by only focusing to become stronger, perfecting his form in swordplay, finding the energy from some deep reservoir within and pulling it out to become faster, or manipulating the ether past its natural limits to ravage an enemy with ice. But she's got him trapped, and he can neither turn away nor try to conceal that dread when they are so close like this.
He feels vulnerable, somehow, enough that he does not have an immediate response as he inclines his head to look down and to the side at her while she rests by his shoulder. It's quite a mistake to look down at her, though, but perhaps a good thing overall: for whatever he had been about to say to express his displeasure suddenly dies upon his lips.
They're close enough that he can see how truly worn she seems, yet she appears stubbornly determined to fight against the encroaching darkness. The light within her golden eyes remains soft but apparent, and the hazy lighting of the cavern paints the features of her face in a way that only has him stare more, as if he's looking at her for the first time. He recognizes the gentle curve of her lips, then he sees the angle of chin, the slender descent of her neck... then back to her lips, then her eyes, as if he can't quite decide where his gaze should settle. Has she always been this mesmerizing?
His hand that had been upon her thigh has already raised up; its gone to just underneath her jaw before he even knows what he's done, but even when he becomes aware he doesn't stop. The backs of his fingers brush some of the hair along the side of her face, deliberate, past her ear. Then they follow back with the same movement to caress her cheek as if dusting fine porcelain; delicate, fragile, but so very much irreplaceable. Beautiful.
...All it took was one look from her, and he realizes how dangerous this is. ]
You've got it all wrong. [ He says to her, his voice barely a murmur as his expression settles into something quite, contemplating. Something like admiration, or perhaps even reverence, although not without an uncertainty. But he's not just looking at her. He's moving-- the arm about her back has stopped along the curve of it, pressing her more towards him. Then with some effort on his part, he gently tilts her more to her side so that he's partially atop of her. He's careful to support most of his weight, only having wanted to change into a slightly different position so that more of his body covers hers to exchange the warmth of his skin along her own. So although it makes one of his legs stray between hers, his arm remains comfortably wrapped around her back, and his hand is still upon her cheek. ]
If it weren't for you.... I never would have been alive.
[ Literally, of course.
But he's been aware for quite a while that this bond they share is unlike any other Driver-Blade pair they've encountered yet, or even on he has had before with a previous Driver himself, whether or not he has no memory of it. If it were not for Lora, he would not have appreciated the world even with all of its flaws, he would not have come to see the fearsome beauty of having hope, and he would not have been able to feel as many things as he does now. Feel as many things for her, as well. ]
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She can see something though, within those impossibly blue eyes of his, that she’s not sure she’s seen before. She can hear him speaking, and she’s listening, but she’s also trying to unravel the way he’s looking at her, just like she had been trying to translate the meaning behind the invisible line his hand had been drawing earlier as it had moved across her skin. How it had traveled along the underside of her jaw and traced a path upward and back so carefully it was like he thought he might break her. And she wants to understand. She’s been trying. Lora knows what he’s told her, but she also knows what she sees. She is as used to trusting her own heart as she is to trusting his word. So it’s hard to decide which one to put her faith in, when she has full confidence in both. It makes her feel like she’s standing at some crossroads. And the minute she thinks she understands which path she’s supposed to walk along, he does something like this and she’s right back where she started, leaving her with more questions than answers. Had it been anyone else, this would have been easier. You would think seventeen years would render such a thing trivial, but it doesn’t. ]
No. [ She whispers, quietly, her hand leaving his shoulder. There, it hesitates for a moment, before Lora allows it to carefully come to rest underneath his chin, with just enough pressure behind the gesture to try to push his chin mere millimeters higher. From here, she can easily make out the glow of his core crystal in the dimmer lighting. Blue. Just like his eyes. ] You have been alive for a long time. [ For a few hundred years, at least. Likely more. She’s sure there’s records of him in the king’s archives if she were to ever ask permission to look. ] You’ve been alive ever since the day the world wanted you. I had nothing to do with it.
[ And barring some extreme twist of fate, his heart, at least as a Blade, will never will stop beating, unlike hers, doomed to stop, decay, and die along with the rest of who she is. At worst, his will pause for a little while. But what’s a year or several decades to a heart that can theoretically continue on forever? ]
All I’m doing… is tethering you to a single moment in your lifetime, before you move on to find another. It’s different.
[ She can’t claim to be his beginning, or his end, at least in the long scheme of things. To this part of his life, maybe, those things are at least somewhat true. But it will still be only a fraction. And if she hadn’t resonated with him, someone else would have. Perhaps it might even have been Addam, and Jin would have been destined to be a part of this journey all the same. ]
Hopefully, I can make that moment last long enough for the both of us. [ She leans pulls her head back a little, giving him a slow smile. ] I’d like to think... I haven’t been doing too badly thus far.
[ Even if this is not one of her best moments. ]
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His eyes narrow when she mentions what has often been upon either of their minds lately-- the nature of their beings, their lives, their state as a fleeting Driver and an immortal Blade. He knows what she must be doing, comparing herself to others of his past as if he knows them, remembers them, cares for them, or that he would feel the same for those who are destined to wield him in the future. And perhaps he did care at one point, perhaps he cared a whole lot for those Drivers. But he doubts that he ever thought of his others the way he thinks about her... But looking at her now with the uncertainty and, and pain in her eyes, as if she's already lost, he feels a tightness within his chest, strong enough that his body tenses along hers. It's an unwillingness to accept grief of losing her that courses through him, fury at her being dealt such a fleeting fate in life....
Because surely she deserves more. Surely anyone else would recognize her impact upon the world, whether large or small, from the those she has helped before to those she will surely continue to help, surely they have noticed her strength, her courage, the passion behind her golden eyes, the resourcefulness of her strategies, the depths of her heart, and any man would be blind to the brightness of her grin, the way her soft hair stirs with the wind, those tender moments when she brings herself a too close and gives that coy little smile; and surely anyone would feel a lightness within their chest whenever she would call their name, would want to protect and cherish someone so important--
Suddenly, something overwhelms him strong enough that he shuts his eyes, tightly, and bows his head. A realization, a gripping, crippling realization that's come to the surface past all of his barriers and fears and dangers. And all he can think is-- what has he done. How could he have done this, let it get to this point.
How could he have fallen in love with her. How could he have not known until now. ]
What can I do to convince you.... [ Jin breathes out, and he's not sure if it's something like exasperation that he feels or defeat. But his voice is oddly hoarse, and his fingers press into her back-- press her to him, as if he could imprint her body onto his, as if they could become one, could never lose each other. His eyes open briefly, but he can't look at her for long because his gaze immediately travels from her eyes to her lips then back to her eyes; his face is already drawing nearer, he can feel her steady breaths upon his skin, but he can't, he shouldn't, he can't, he can't, so all he can do is rest his forehead against hers. ] How can I show you... [ He tries again, and there is a tension within as if he is straining to keep his voice level. ] ...how much you mean to me.
[ His hand brushes past her cheek once more, tucking in loose, messy and wet strands of her hair behind her ear. Still tender, still delicate, but carrying a fine tremor as if he's desperately trying to hold something back. Or rather, hold himself back. ] That there will never be "another" like you.
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She can feel all the words she’s choking back catch in her throat. She’s not even paying attention to how he's slipping strands of hair back behind her ear again, the fingers he’s pressing into her back, the way his core crystal feels through his bangs as he rests his forehead against hers. Why would she care about that when he sounds like she’s forced him to swallow sandpaper?
She had worried, at first, that maybe he had pushed himself too far. Overexerted himself getting her here, and that she just hadn’t seen that his strength was spent through the cold and exhaustion. But as soon as he had opened his eyes, she knew it wasn’t that. At least, it wasn’t at the heart of it. It’s something deeper. And now that she knows that, it’s like watching her own heart start to splinter, because she’s never seen him like this in all the years she's known him; she's never seen him look so vulnerable before. Like he’s struggling with something within himself. Something he's trying to pull back and lock away. ]
Oh Jin. [ She’s not sure even what to do with her hands, so she absently reaches up and threads them through his mane of wet hair because she can't not touch him. She’s hurt him. She’s done something. ] No. No. That’s not— You don’t have to convince me of anything. You have nothing to prove. Not to me. Never to me. I know you care, I know I mean something, and I never meant to make it sound like I don't believe you do.
[ She knows he—
She freezes for a moment, her stare as penetrating as it is unsure, and finds herself at that ever-familiar crossroads. She knows what it is she thinks she sees when she looks at him now. At least, she knows what her heart tells her. What her gut tells her. Even if it goes against every platonic claim he’s made. She knows what those words would mean if she were the one saying them. But it’s so hard, because she doesn’t want to ask for more than he might be willing to give, because he might try to give it anyway. But what if all of this is just his way of trying to say “I love you” and he’s trying to tell her and she’s just not listening? Maybe he’s trying and just doesn’t know that he is because he’s drawn some stupid, arbitrary line in the sand. Maybe he just thinks he can’t cross or doesn’t feel like he should. Or maybe she's wrong and all this is as platonic as he claims things to be. What does he want from her? Because she’ll give it to him, whatever it is. Does he even know what he wants? ]
I’m just… scared of some things, that’s all. And I doubt most of those fears will ever go away.
[ Like how, someday, he won't remember her. She’s fine with the world killing her once. But making the people she loves most forget her is like killing her twice. ]
And that’s fine. I know there’s nothing wrong with being scared of something, so long as it doesn’t interfere with living. [ She smiles wryly, almost to herself as she pulls back from him so that his forehead no longer rests against hers any longer. ] ...But maybe now I’m starting to let it.
[ And that’s not fair to either of them.
It doesn’t take long for one of her hands to find his jawline, tracing a path along it until it finally comes to rest at the spot where her hands have always felt like they belonged. She lets her palm rest there, clasped around his cheek for a moment before she lets her thumb curl under his chin to push his head upwards just a little more. The other brushes gently down his temple. ]
I... It’s like I told you before. [ She says, careful, weighted, and cautious like any word she says could fall and shatter like untempered glass. ] You’re the person I love most in this tiny, unfair world we've been put in. And I mean it. I love you more than anything else this world could possibly give me. [ Then, after a moment of hesitation, she finally allows herself to lean inwards again, letting her lips find his, kissing him like she might something doomed to be fragile and fleeting before slowly pulling away. She’s still not sure if what she’s doing is right or wrong, but at least it feels like something she should do. ] ...Do you understand? All I want is to be able to stay with you for as long as Alrest will let me. It’s like that memory. It was never really about the snow.
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And her lips upon his. Brief, fleeting, no more than as if a snowflake had been there and melted upon his skin. His eyes widen when she pulls away, and the sudden grief and anguish he feels is very real, as he hears her wish, constricting around his heart like a vice. Everything she wants, he wants too. He wants her to be there for as long as possible-- no, longer than what is possible. He wants to grant whatever wish she has, he wants to see her smile, continue seeing her smile... and he doesn't want to ever let her go.
In the few tense seconds after her lips leave his and she speaks again, he is only staring down at her, frozen and unblinking that she might as well have said that she relinquishes him as a Blade. His lips part, and while they move to form he name is voice is so soft that nothing can be heard. She's taken the breath away from him, just as she has taken his heart, and has left desire in its place.
All at once his hand that had been just brushing against the strands of her hair suddenly goes to the back of her head and he lifts her to him just as he moves down, his mouth taking hers over completely. Her kiss had been sweet, light. His is hard, powerful... desperate, as if he's had this hunger within him this entire time and only now the pain of starvation has struck. It hurts to acknowledge it, and so maybe the kiss itself is a distraction from actually saying anything more, thinking anything more, because the future is uncertain and dreadful and he only wants to focus on her-- on her lips, her warmth. And her body, for the hand behind her is raking along her back as if he can't find just one best place to touch her and hold her to him.
Yet there is also a uncoordinated force to his actions that comes with that desperation, as if he's completely forgotten about her injured ribs. ]
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But the pain is not important to her.
If this is what he wants. If this is what he needs from her, then she will give it to him, because he so often asks for nothing. It’s not like she doesn’t have the same spark pulsing somewhere deep within her, an eager host to the same kind of physical desire that would have no qualms with tempting her into taking one of his hands and guiding it to where she’d respond to his touch most, were its voice even a little louder.
But survival is her body’s current priority, so the voice is quieter, tamed by exhaustion and cold and the unwillingness of her body to move more than it has to in order to find the warmth it needs to stay functioning. It's a mere whisper against the loudness of his own, and she’s not sure if she can hope to keep up with him, to match his need in kind. But that doesn’t mean she won’t try. She can feel herself shifting not long after his lips press down upon hers, as she tries to twist and tilt herself into a better position that will afford her a bit more strength and leverage. She can certainly feel its toll, as each unwelcome movement sends sudden, lancing pain down her side, warning her that this is no war she can hope to outlast by stubbornness and strength of will alone. But she doesn’t care, and she reaches a hand down to grasp his shoulder, in order to better support her and the weight she trying to carry herself. All so she can properly kiss him back. To give him whatever he's trying to draw out of her as he clutches her to him.
Seconds later, she pushes back against the hard, consuming need she’s finding there as he kisses her and she tries to kiss him back, meeting his strength with her own, strength that will have to be enough, even though she already feels like she won't be able to hold out as long as he undoubtedly can. The pain in her side will take her first. She can sense her breathing rapidly becoming less steady, less even, as it becomes unnaturally fast and shallow, as any breath she takes in deeper than the last threatens to hurt her more than the one that came before it.
But she doesn’t care.
She wants him to feel her, to know that she’s there, and will be so long as this world lets her. So she closes her eyes, nails digging into the skin of his shoulder far harder than she means to, and tries to ignore everything else, one of her legs desperately twisting around the ankle that he had put between them. ]