@unspooling
Sep. 12th, 2024 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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morphicpoolsSince Avernus, there has been no time. No time to grieve or to rage, no time to celebrate, no time to sing or pray. Not for Zevlor, at least. Some of the others have managed to eke out moments of comfort between them, and not all of those moments have ended in disaster, but Zevlor is always on duty. Two Hellriders and a group of untrained civilians does not make a secure expedition to cross the wilderness with.
Which is why tonight is so surreal. Yes, the party was his suggestion, because his people need the morale and their heroes deserve to be lauded. He's certainly not expecting to have much fun; he'll be fretting over their next steps all evening, but watching the others get drunk and cuddle ad dance will be something of a balm for his hell-scorched soul.
Not everyone loves a party, though, and as the night wears on and a few of their more notorious couples start to slip off into the bushes for a little more private enjoyment, Zevlor can't help but notice Kael looks ill at ease. There has always been something strange about him, to the tiefling's eye; he knows a warrior's thousand-yard-stare by heart, having seen it on other faces and in his own mirror, but with the massive drow it seems to be more than that. He looks like someone who's moving through the world on pure instinct, fueled by uncertainty, leaning into one immediate need after another rather than sitting back and making plans, remembering home, seeking connection.
Maybe it takes one to know one. Zevlor's sense of identity was shattered when he lost his home and his career as a Hellrider in one fell swoop.
He watches the drow disentangle himself, metaphorically, from Bex and Danis and their enthusiastic chatter about plans for their home in Baldur's Gate (yellow wall paint for the kitchen, blue for the bedroom, and white rugs are lovely but awfully impractical and they're going to have pets of course...), and takes the opportunity to approach him with a cup of hot tea.
"Man cannot live by wine alone," he says, offering it out. "You look like you could benefit from a break from socializing."
Which is why tonight is so surreal. Yes, the party was his suggestion, because his people need the morale and their heroes deserve to be lauded. He's certainly not expecting to have much fun; he'll be fretting over their next steps all evening, but watching the others get drunk and cuddle ad dance will be something of a balm for his hell-scorched soul.
Not everyone loves a party, though, and as the night wears on and a few of their more notorious couples start to slip off into the bushes for a little more private enjoyment, Zevlor can't help but notice Kael looks ill at ease. There has always been something strange about him, to the tiefling's eye; he knows a warrior's thousand-yard-stare by heart, having seen it on other faces and in his own mirror, but with the massive drow it seems to be more than that. He looks like someone who's moving through the world on pure instinct, fueled by uncertainty, leaning into one immediate need after another rather than sitting back and making plans, remembering home, seeking connection.
Maybe it takes one to know one. Zevlor's sense of identity was shattered when he lost his home and his career as a Hellrider in one fell swoop.
He watches the drow disentangle himself, metaphorically, from Bex and Danis and their enthusiastic chatter about plans for their home in Baldur's Gate (yellow wall paint for the kitchen, blue for the bedroom, and white rugs are lovely but awfully impractical and they're going to have pets of course...), and takes the opportunity to approach him with a cup of hot tea.
"Man cannot live by wine alone," he says, offering it out. "You look like you could benefit from a break from socializing."
no subject
Date: 2024-11-01 12:50 pm (UTC)But he's not there now, and his actions have always been reasonable, even kind, towards Zevlor and his kin, and so he ignores the primal unease and just lets him hold on.
"Often, when someone is getting lost in their own head, it helps for them to interact with their surroundings on a basic, sensory level. Feel the earth under your feet, how your toes fit into your boots. Listen to the leaves rustle, breathe in the air, feel how it's cool when you inhale and then warms up inside your lungs. Smell the woodsmoke from the bonfire."
"It doesn't always work, but it's a distraction that can help calm you."
He feels the squeeze to his arm. He's wearing splint mail, but his bracers are mostly leather. It occurs to him that he's put himself in danger of having his arm broken, which is a wild thought to have in a quiet conversation by the water. His own grip tightens, as if to meet a subtle challenge, and the tips of his claws press against Kael's sleeve, as if to remind the both of them they're there. But he doesn't let go or back away, and his expression remains calm, fearless.
"If it were muscle pain, I'd recommend compresses or massage, but I'm not sure that will work for your head. I'm afraid you're a mystery that will take time to unravel, my friend."