Witness to Wings (10/4)

[01:33:57]
On first arriving in Providence, she used to haunt the tea house, as a general rule. Then, as she dove into her research, it quickly became the Lodestone labs. As Regent, it was the keep, it was any number of meeting areas.

The Dura of Now has chosen the tavern as her roost. Her crown one of horns, and her throne a seat along the bar.

She sits at a table this time though.

"It's been good to see people getting ready."
(Dura Levante)
[01:40:44]
Celius knew no difference. He knew not the progression of Dura's antics - nor the 'descent' of the means by which they'd come to find solace in many such places. People changed. Things changed. If they didn't, there would be no point -

That's what he told himself, at least.

The Solar isn't long after. The squeeze is a bit more difficult, given his newly acquired mass and the ever-consistent growth of his wings, but he manages to make it work - give or take a few awkward little plaps as his extended wing gently thwacks the Regent.

He's managed to sit at least.

"The attempt is often worth just as much as the end result." he chimes, directing his gaze toward the Nephilim.

"You're worried. That much is obvious, though, I suppose -" he trails...

"How long have you been here?"
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[01:46:42]
As much as she might've thought it could've never been her -

Here she is. All the things she'd never thought she be. Some of which she'd once reviled. Life was funny like that, but as any alchemist or artificer worth their salt knew? Change was important.

She takes the thump of a wing all in stride. The feathers are soft if naught else.

"You think you're going to get tired of those?"

"Mn. Not as much as I was before. For the first two. It's coming to a head and we'll be free of this war."

"It ends? We move on to what happens next."

He hits her with another one of those unexpected questions. Much like the colors.

"On Sarea? Eighteen years or so. In Providence? Roughly thirteen. Give or take. When I came here the Empire'd just opened academy. Nera, if you haven't heard of it. I graduated from there, came here to work."

"Research, if you can imagine."

She is quick to retort with a question of her own and seize some kind of conversational advantage.

"You don't just 'appear'. Which means you have to have civilizations. Societies." Wars too. "What was it like where you lived? A city? A...village?"
(Dura Levante)
[02:09:21]
Nobody ever ended up how they expected to be to an exact. The process of Life and Death was not so stable. Deviation. Variation. Changes ; They led to new experiences. They led to new trials. They led to new growth - be it for better, or worse.

In another time, and another life, there was always another try.

"Of the wings? No." he responds calmly, shifting his chair ever-so-slightly closer. "They're a part of me. It'd be like getting rid of your eyes - or ears. Something of that variation, really..."

He listens.

They speak of their struggle. Of the worry that had dulled with the acceptance of reality. Of the end result, and the lack of care thereof -

And then of bette times. Sarea. Providence. An academy, of some sort.

Research. He has to stifle laughter - albeit brief - at that. It's time to answer, then, though -

"We do." he adds, calmly. "Sol isn't - very different from here, as far as I've been made aware during my stay. It was a bit more advanced, sure, but - here, of course, meaning the planet as a whole - though Sarea would be of equally apt comparison. I lived in a mining village a ways off from the City that Ezrean's family was big in - Collection, Processing, Forging, Gem-cutting - that whole deal."

Lips purse. A sour thought crosses his mind.

"The tools never got used for anything good, of course."

They likely left more questions than answers, too.

"..What did you plan on researching? I'm having trouble visualizing this."

He retorts, again, with a question of his own - though it seemed wholly unintentional.
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[02:19:28]
Maybe, more charitably, it was not a lack of care. As much as she might try to brush it off, there was care. This wasn't Kal Azul, but in its own way? It had become home. Also a burden, but still home.

Whichever way the coin flips, actions will have to follow. However the dice are counted.

They choose at some point, not to discuss business. They take a diverging path instead.

"I though maybe the Dragons plucked you up from the river of souls, stuffed you in bodies, gave you armor, and let you loose." It could be a joke, or she could actually be series.

"Sarea's only a really small part of Rhyst. You should see more of it when you get a chance. Don't get me wrong, Sarea is still beautiful. I shouldn't be surprised that you have whole civilizations and cities. I've traveled to the Sea and seen other people and towns."

"So did you...work there? Like that? You made tools?" There's a whole mystery to this. A story to uncover, but she watches him as his more sunny disposition wavers.

Dura takes a moment to look down at herself when he sounds incredulous. Oh, right. Her...everything.

"I came from a place called Kal Azul. We have a lot of trouble with the curse of Undeath on our soil. Lots of Voidic corruption from Karrador's rampage."

"I wanted to - and started on - making more efficient foci. Something to gather energy and fuel cleansing rituals."

"I...got a pretty good ways along with my research, actually."

She could be pulling his leg. Dura, with all the scars and propensity for drink, now no longer looks the 'bookish' sort.

(Dura Levante)
[02:36:50]
"It certainly might've looked like that if you actually saw it." he retorts, somewhat jestingly. It didn't take long for him to put a more happy demeanor back up, even if the wake of such negative thoughts. He ponders, briefly, the rest of Rhyst - the islands that might be beyond the Horizon. The lives he knew to be so. The countless things that sit just beyond his grasp - left to bounce around within his mind.

His duty was here.


"For a time." he responds. "I never made weapons, though ; nor armor. I carved and set gems. Adorned jewelry - magical, or otherwise, with the necessary components. It was - Easy." he admits. It was likely just a matter of personal belief, though, if not outright humility.

He knew the question was coming, really. It was only a matter of time. His aversion to that fact is just as easily disregarded as Dura lays their initial plans out for him, though - their once-goal ringing through his ears like a bell. It draws a light smile upon his face, if for no reason other than the well-meaning intentions.

"Endearing..." he mutters under his breath, resting his gaze upon the Regent casually. "Why did you stop? Was it due to your tasks here? No longer the - time, I suppose?"

It was almost a sad thought, really, though he'd not convey his beliefs regarding that. He gives her a once-over - okay, maybe a twice over - okay, maybe a -

They didn't fit the 'bookish' bill. It'd be impossible to disregard the possibility, though - topic of change, and all.

"How did you plan on designing the focus?"
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[02:53:16]
"When I see Zahhak I'll have to ask him for a demonstration," she remarks back, continuing on with the light-hearted ribbing. The mood remains...pretty buoyant. Peaceful, even.

Even if their respective duties chained them here. A pity, with the wide world to see.

"Wait...gems?" Dura sits up straighter, her interest clearly piqued beyond the sternness she presents. "Really?" It sounds almost like excitement. It might be excitement actually.

"Yeah. Well. When the Regent died. I was named his successor." That was the heart of the truth. A lot of details surrounded it, as these things often do, but the short version? It would suffice.

"He was. A good man. We still need to hold a vigil for him and the others after the war is over." She does not linger on the topic too long, and not out of irreverence. "But I took his place after him and got drowned in paperwork since."

But once he touches on the topic of the how, the why, excitement shines through all the more.

"I'd actually devised a way to manipulate the components of a given crystalline structure with my weaving. To make it move and shift and even change the positions of facets. It took ages, but -" There's unmistakable pride as she lifts aloft the crystalline arm.

"I actually got this out of it. It's experimental, but it works better than any other naturally hewn focus you can find here on Sarea I'd bet. I could go on all night about this thing, my research."

She doesn't. Instead she looks back to him.

"Did you. Have a favorite thing you made? A piece you liked best?"
(Dura Levante)
[03:10:13]
He offers a low, steady faucet of laughter at the initial remark, drawing to pause as they came across the revelation of what first he'd said. A brow raises, offering some level of confusion to be quickly swept away by the softness of the words that followed - "Yeah. Gems. It's a personal preference, I suppose - I quite enjoy gems for what they are, and what they can do."

A gaze flits, briefly, toward their arm.

Successor, huh. There was a lot of weight in a duty like that - especially when you took into account the person that preluded it. He opts not to comment, instead giving the Deft-turned-Nephilim a light squeeze on the shoulder with regards to his presence as a whole.

"We'll hold the Vigil after this - Whatever happens. Don't join the names, yeah?"

That, too, is a comment made in jest, though the realism of it couldn't help but to be noted. He knew that. He was aware of that fact when he spoke it. It was an unavoidable thing in the context of the world she lived, and the world he entered. It didn't differ too much from home in that aspect, really.

Attentive, too, is his stare as they speak of the manipulation. The crystalline structure is granted yet another cursory glance, beset upon by a brief, gentle nudge with bare digits (though most notably whitened - a likely byproduct of his recent evolutions.) The feathers smoothened up the length of his forearm bristle lightly, if allowed the gesture -

"Interesting..." he mutters, quietly -

Ah.

"..I'd have to think about that, actually. I've made a lot of things. As a collective whole, I think I'd be most proud of all of the things I armed the Seraphim on Solace with. I made - basically all of them their rings, and amulets. The contribution I made in keeping them all safer is..." he trails.

He blinks. His attention remains on Dura throughout, which seems to jolt him back to reality.

" - I'll think of a singular piece. You said you could go on all night about your research, right?"

His arms gesture widely. His wings follow suite, quite dramatically -

"Why don't you? I'll listen."
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[03:14:20] Asphodel says, "...do you need stenography?"
[03:14:28] Dura Levante says, "I uh."
[03:14:33] Dura Levante says, "...No, Asphodel."
[03:14:42] Dura Levante says, "It's a nice cape, though."
[03:15:23] Asphodel says, "Oh, okay!"
[03:15:29] Asphodel says, "Wolf-nanny gave it to me."
[03:15:34] Asphodel says, "It feels Significant, somehow."
[03:15:36] Dura Levante says, "Meredith?"
[03:16:19] Asphodel says, "Yeah."
[03:16:23] Asphodel says, "She's my nanny, and a wolf."
[03:16:26] Asphodel says, "Thus the epithet."
[03:16:34] Dura Levante says, "Definitely makes sense."
[03:16:44] Asphodel says, "They usually do!"
[03:17:36] Asphodel says, "Anyway! I'll leave you to this."
[03:24:21]
When was the last time she got a chance to simply talk? There's no chatter about politics or treaties. They find more common ground that not, even, though there are still the obvious differences between them.

"A lot you can do with them, right?"

"...But yeah. After this is all over. I'll be there for it."

That was the reality of their work, of Sarea, of Rhyst and its tendency for violence among its various peoples.

Dura keeps her arm held up for him to inspect, the forearm sideways as he brushes his fingers along it. It feels warm to the touch, as if it were actually flesh. An odd thing.

"I figure you have then if you've mass produced them. Makes sense. I always liked the gifts I made for people best. The things that weren't part of weapons." The pieces that took personal flourishes for their owners.

She wasn't always a bitter, horned wretch, after all. Not that the Seraphim would know besides.

"Oh, then we will be here all night. See, it all started when I found out when crystals could, when mana was run through them, resonate at different frequencies, right? They could be audible, or-" Whatever the Regent's about to say next, she chokes on the words and they fall short. She lurches forward against the table and wheezes.

"Hrrrrrrrrrrk..."

It's a shame, because she finally found a willing audience for her to flood her research with.
(Dura Levante)
[03:46:32]
"A lot." he's quick to respond, sharing a similar enjoyment of gem-craft and the likes. Their assurance of their own persistence brings him some degree of calm where once worry reigned, though he knew it not. The reality of it all was not lost to him, but that didn't mean it had to weigh him down -

Not there. Not here.

Fingers graze the mass of crystalline construction gently, taking note of the sensation of flesh-like warmth that persisted. It was an oddity for sure - he had to note at least that, conveyed upon his countenance with the raise of a brow. It persists, briefly, as if in preparation to inquire further the machinations -

It was nice. A stark contrast from the usual state of things, he had to note. To him, who quite enjoyed her company while she was being a bitter, horned wretch? This was just validation. Proof, perhaps, that he'd seen something beyond the surface -

And then she starts wheezing and lurches.

The Seraphim doesn't waste any time. His presence looms, steady hands taking hold of the Regent. The one time Corvus wasn't there - the ONE time.

"Regent -"


"Are you alright, Dura? You -" he speaks, drawing to a pause with a light shake. He's already standing up, of course - he may have to drag her elsewhere.
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[03:54:21] Chat command attempt: /who
[03:57:01]
The prosthetic limb, which had at some point become a focus, was the culmination of years upon years of research. Trial and error, foolish but fruitful self-experimentation. It feels, it moves like flesh but it surely can't be.

It's a different speed. There's not even any alcohol involved as yet. Casual conversation, a sharing of hopes and stories.

They get a few peaceful moments, stolen as they can. One can't expect life to give these things for creatures like her. This fact is only cemented in her mind as she feels it.

Pain. The precursor to more of it as she braces her hands against the tabletop. She feels it right where Hesychia said it would be. Between her shoulders. It can be nothing else.

And hands settle on those shoulders, stolid and steadying, but they don't feel right. Nothing feels right. Everything is wrong.

"Celius," she starts through gritted teeth. "You need."

"You need to go. This is. It's not gonna be good, Cel." A shortened name where there's a perceived need for urgency.

"Please."

Angels had it easy. It was pain free and light. The Nephilim don't have that luck, and there's the cracking and twisting of bone.
(Dura Levante)
[03:59:08] Chat command attempt: /who
[04:17:38]
The seconds feel like they drag on into hours. The Solar, known for the impenetrable defense that was his demeanor - his mentality - his strength of mind, and soul - cracks ever-so-slightly. Worry drags through his expression of calm, bringing ruin. Narrowed hues ignite with a steady gold, flourishing underneath the light of Dura's soul -

'You need to go.'


Not even a moment passes. Emotion, versus Realism. He'd always found the perfect balance in that fact - a balance that seemed destined to be tested in this moment. Made no clearer is this fact than the singular utterance of retaliatory speech, offered introductorily with a singular syllable -

"No."


He remains a constant in that fact, unerring in the deliverance of the words next. It's spoken in full acceptance of the situation - in preparation of what might follow. In readiness, for whatever was to await him - or her.

"I made a promise, Dura. Did I not? My word is beyond whatever may befall you."

He was, after all, more concerned about what might befall her.

Safiya chose a pretty bad time to walk in. Couldn't be faulted, though - it -was- a bar.
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[04:19:21] Celius Vaelstrum says, "i meant to type me but i don't think it matters)"
[04:26:31] Chat command attempt: /who
[04:26:41]
It really is about to suck. And like any animal in distress, her first thoughts are ignoble ones. Hide. Flee. Find a hole, feel the pain.

Safiya arrives at an arguably bad time. If she thought that this was going to be a quiet conversation, she is sorely mistaken.

The Regent currently is hunched forward, her face a grimace of pain. There is a shifting along her back, beneath the muscle and flesh, and between her shoulders. The sound of twisting and wrenching bone is audible and no doubt obvious to any kind of medic.

"Nononopleaseleavepleaseleavepleaseleave-"

It's not something she wants people to be present for as she's in a state of agonized vulnerability.

Her hands come over the back of her head, as if she's ducking to cover her skull against a crumbling ceiling. The ceiling holds fast. The structural integrity of her back, however, does not.

There's a visceral burst as it flays open and two newly grown appendages spring up and unfold. Two black, leathery banners stretch from the Regent's back.
(Dura Levante)
[04:36:44]
Safiya has a bad knack for stumbling into intimate emotional moments, though her knack for being nigh on socially invisible in spite of the glories of her lineage seem to serve her well in such moments of misfortune.

Fingers card together in front of her stomacher, posture close and reserved, her head tilts a little at the exchange.

She hardly needs to look at anyone at this point, leylines reach out, grasp, entwine, thread, analyze, diagnose before she can ever get a good look, blood to blood, tidal heartbeat to tidal heartbeat, her breath slows as her eyes track to Dura and the physical changes, distress.

It's in her eyes, swirled into the brighter greens of their teal cycle that she was expecting a conversation, quiet or otherwise, comprehensible, she's wearing a dressed down version of the monster's smile, pointed teeth and easygoing aplomb. The wavelengths shorten to blues in the slate range, transitioning through every hue of green and blue in between, roiling unevenly like the surface of water.

"Fah'Nadir isn't winning much popularity in these later days." She observes purely to fill the silence.

There's no reaction to body horror, none at all, it's about the most natural thing in the world to someone whose blood runs with the astratum horror that is the legacy of her family's original sin, magic reaches out to deaden pain.

A doctor's got to help, after all.
(Safiya Enathrae)
[04:43:10] OOC - Lindah: 117 deer roasts up for sale
[04:43:27] OOC - Saba: We give those away for free here.
[04:43:52] OOC - RunicWriter: Stack damage
[04:44:58] Chat command attempt: /who
[04:48:43] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(i apologize i got very distracted)"
[04:48:50] Dura Levante says, "(its coo"
[04:49:21] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(7 episodes for house of the dragon to actually get interesting)"
[04:56:26]
Their thoughts were noted. They run amok through the Solar's skull, threatening the sanctity of his word and honor with everything that they could. To leave - to abide by her current wishes - her instinct - and cast aside his promise -

To stay, was to abide by himself. To abide by his words. His truth. His honor. His promise. To stay was the only path he saw before him, and he would walk it until it forked yet again before him - there was nothing else in the moment that he lived.

" It's fine, Dura.. "


Words are spoken with a honeyed tone, draining outward with the cast of a gaze of worrisome reinforcement. Fear, contained therein, is set awash by a contesting force solidified in the confidence with which he spoke it.

This was expected. They knew it was going to happen. That it would come here and now, though, in a time such as this - a place such as this - proved the malice of that which had perpetuated it, be it the intent of Fah'nadir, or Nevanerro, from whom the power was drawn.

His grip merely grows stronger. Cerulean regards the distortion of flesh with readiness, pulling the Regent forth into his hold so as to hide them away from the world. Safiya's approach and efforts, noted -

Go uncontested.

"You're fine, now. It's going to be alright.."
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[04:57:16] Persimmon Castilund says, "Dura ..."
[04:57:18] Persimmon Castilund says, "Again?"
[05:04:59]
The intent was to just be a quiet conversation. There are other designs beyond the control of either of them.

And maybe it's good that the doctor and spawn of the Enathrae happens to be the one through the door. She's probably one of the ones most liable to not look twice at someone violently sprouting wings in the middle of a bar.

Where she lacks paste or unguents, the Enathrae is there almost immediately. Fortune works in part in her favor.

She'd been warned of the natural progression. Dura's got that going for her in that it's not a complete surprise.

Sprouting new limbs is pretty jarring, as it turns out. Hands at her shoulders keep her steady before she's reeled in. There's a strange mote of comfort to be found.

And then she hears him. The proprietor.

"...Okay. So I know this doesn't look good. But I am sober."
(Dura Levante)
[05:11:49] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(hey persimmon check this out)"
[05:12:16] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(who did that)"
[05:12:30] Persimmon Castilund says, "nice )"
[05:12:33] Persimmon Castilund says, "thats a lot of them )"
[05:12:38] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(it fires 6)"
[05:13:01] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(i need to test this..)"
[05:13:18] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(this can't just be rng)"
[05:13:28] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(the moment i targeted you it started only firing in ur direction)"
[05:13:43] Chat command attempt: /who
[05:16:11]
"I am given to understand from my, admittedly woefully limited conversations and experiences treating similar patients that this is the final of any more dramatic physical changes and by far the most discomfiting and you are already through the worst part of it."

Maybe it's cold comfort, the reassurances but she's so calm about it, clinical.

"I'm given to understand that some people going through this part of the process are prone to throwing up, so it's probably great that you're not drunk, would probably exacerbate that particular symptom."
(Safiya Enathrae)
[05:16:45] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(yeah this has light targeting.)"
[05:27:34]
It felt like awkward situations were just drawn to these two, weren't they? A little bit of peace. A little bit of quiet. A little bit of enjoyment, and then - well, this happens. It wasn't an entirely unexpected thing at this point, but -

Well.

"Drinks still on you...?" he muses, if ever a time to do it. The Solar's attention remained wholly upon the Regent, taking a note of immediate care to not contact the freshly sprouted wings - more-so as a preventative measure toward potential discomfort, rather than an aversion to the concept.

It was late.

This was a pretty fun conversation until it wasn't. That wasn't anyone's fault, though. The Solar turns back toward Persimmon, staring, blankly, for but a moment - they'd never actually spoken to his knowledge, so this was...well, a good first introduction he supposed.

"Hello. I am Celius. I. Uh."

he blinks a few times.

"apologize?"

A hushed tone reaches out to Dura.
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[05:28:06] Celius Vaelstrum whispers, "I'm going to take you to your place so you can get some rest."
[05:28:17] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(i banished him with a single apology)"
[05:28:21] Celius Vaelstrum says, "(i stay winning)"
[05:32:43]
Catastrophe is drawn to the Levante in an ancestral curse, one that's entirely separate from the one that draws Fah'nadir's spite. Nope, she earned these horns, baby. Not that she meant to.

Dura snorts and huffs out a strained laugh. After all this, the Solar still has room for a joke. The absurdity deflects more further awkwardness.

"Yeah. The doc says this is the last of it. Unless I grow another pair of wings or horns - the drinks are on me next time." It was late. She palms the back of her head and rubs the nap of her neck, giving Safiya a sheepish glance.

"So. You happened to be here at a good-slash-bad time. But thanks. Cuz that probably would've kept hurting."

"Now I'm gonna. I'm gonna go crawl home." Not literally. Dura is very much standing, if a little wobbly from some rattled nerves.
(Dura Levante)
[05:32:50] Dura Levante whispers, "Yeah that'd be. Great. "
[05:32:50] Chat command attempt: /w Yeah that'd be. Great.
[05:39:37]
"You could probably use the respite given the long days and the threat oncoming. Sorry for the intrusion." She addresses both the regent and the hertofore mostly unfamiliar Seraphim.

"Safiya Enathrae-Aurelius." She introduces herself with equal matter-of-factness to how she addressed the sudden pterygogenisis, but she's back to the smile, it gets bigger a half moon that flashes pointed faerla teeth and genuine cheer for all of its apparent menace.

"Ahh-- Dura I did actually come looking for you in particular. I have a research project ongoing and it would benefit from..." she wrinkles up her nose making a little face of disgust at herself "I won't waste your time, I was hoping to get a brief look at the engraving work on the lodestone. I'm trying to make another one and I don't want to mess it up. Another day though."
(Safiya Enathrae)
[05:41:32] Celius Vaelstrum says, "Celius Vaelstrum. Solar, and - We will. Cover that another time, I think."
[05:41:35] Celius Vaelstrum says, "Thank you, Safiya."
[05:41:40] Dura Levante says, "Yeah. We should. Talk about that."
[05:41:44] Dura Levante says, "Soon. Tomorrow?"
[05:41:51] Safiya Enathrae says, "I'll be around tomorrow."
[05:41:52] Dura Levante says, "I gotta...man. Growing wings makes you kinda' tired."
[05:41:56] Dura Levante says, "Sounds good."
[05:42:58]
The Regent gets up and tries to coordinate the leathery wings. It's not happening. They start to flop around awkwardly. She grimaces.
(Dura Levante)
[05:44:05]
Celius takes a brief note of this, recoiling, briefly, before -

Just straight up lifting the Regent, wings and all. A hand loops under and supports them, and he starts trudging on off.
(Celius Vaelstrum)
[05:44:44]
Dura is hoisted. One of the wings, unfortunately, gives him a leathery slap in the face. "Oh, fuck - sorry."
(Dura Levante)
[05:45:09] Chat command attempt: /emote fucking dies
[05:45:18] Dura Levante says, "...So uh."
[05:45:20] Dura Levante says, "This is me."
[05:46:16] Dura Levante says, "Does this mean I owe you two drinks?"
[05:46:18] Dura Levante says, "Or. Five?"
[05:46:20] Dura Levante says, "Seven?"
[05:46:30] Celius Vaelstrum says, "One will do. Unless, of course - You're offering."
[05:46:38] Dura Levante says, "I'm offering."
[05:46:45] Celius Vaelstrum says, "We'll see how far it goes."
[05:46:54] Celius Vaelstrum says, "Rest well, Regent."
[05:47:00] Dura Levante says, "Careful about making deals with Devils, Solar."