sterngaze | kenos

Entry tags:

inbox,
kenos

kenos | inbox

Liem Talbott

communion · mail · action

Liem's mindscape is dark; quiet; contemplative. Any feelings or sensations that Liem doesn't intentionally project himself seem distant, as though echoing from a far-off room. Following any given sense to its source is bafflingly difficult.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[ There is an obnoxious banging sound coming from Liem's front door.

Incessant, rough. It carries on, seemingly without end because apparently the individual on the other side of the door carries their discourtesy as a weapon, as the core of their person. It might give hint to who might be there, if/when Liem opens his front door. Set, dressed as he ever is ( gold jewelry, dark shendyt ), beautiful still, though amidst the dark, smeared kohl around his eyes there is the hint of exhaustion. A wrung-out weariness that cannot be physical, but emotional. ]

— oh good, [ he snaps, irritable. The moment he sees Liem, the worry that had creased his brow bleeds away, replaced with a disgruntled thing. ]

I see you did not catch your death on the Isles, only that you have been hiding.

[ WOW YOU'RE THE ONE WHO CAME TO SEE LIEM, SET. BEHAVE. ]

[Liem has just finished heating a pot for tea, and is in the midst of sitting down with it and a religious treatise he borrowed from Highstorm's library, when someone walks up to his door and begins banging on it like they're trying to hammer the thing down. He looks up with a startled frown; who in the world would be pounding at his door with such vigorous incessance? The noise draws him from the well-embroidered couch in his tidy sitting room, through a house that is as lightless as a well-appointed crypt, and to the narrow foyer into which his front door leads.

When he opens the door, his wary frown smooths quickly into a look of tired incredulity. Liem is sans jacket, in just a rust-coloured waistcoat, matching pants, and a lighter shirt. He is not wearing shoes.

There is a gaunt, sallow quality to his face as he squints against Springstar's eternal day, peering at Set from the dark of his home. Ironically, though he looks substantially worse than he had during the icy island expedition in the previous month, Liem has actually felt better in the last few days than he had for weeks previous. This is well, because he is running out of house-related errands to keep him properly busy.]

Did you track down my residence just to scold me like an errant novice?

[How had he tracked down Liem's house, actually? He hasn't told almost anyone where he lives. In fact, as far as he knows, Cetina is the only one who knows. Well. She was the only one.]

Or do you have business with me?

[ What is up with these questions? Did he not just make his intentions clear? Liem had been one of his partners in the cold waters of the Isles, smart and helpful with his abilities and vision, and he had also been the one to take the [TIME] for himself in the end. Perhaps it was better that way, than to allow it to pass to either himself or Voryn, who held little compassion for others — and an infinite amount of half-feral curiosity for the unknown. Liem had kept them on the straight and narrow, even when he and Voryn had... devolved into a scuffle.

Perhaps that, then, is why Set reaches his hand out to press his fingers to the high point of Liem's cheek. An emboldened gesture, and one so very much like him. He never asks, only takes, but demands others plead and beg him before granting them the same allowances. A bitter, conflicting god to the end. His thumb strokes over the space where his elbow had collided with Liam in that moment of wrathful fervor, and then he fits it to the door's edge.

Like he'll fight to keep the door open, if Liem tries to shut it on him. ] I came here for you.

[ For Liem. Not for business or scolding, simply for him.

( He misses Father Paul, with his lush conversations of god and divinity; they are the same things he likes in Liem, surprisingly. ) ]

All of Meridian's current generation of Shard-bearers ache for one another, and Liem Talbott is no where to be found among them for comfort. Let me in, priest. I thought I would come to your home and find you naught but a shard on the floor, all withered up from solitude.

[Nothing in Liem's brief — and, not-infrequently, frustrating — interactions with Set could possibly have prepared him for the answer he receives to his question. His incredulity transforms for a halting moment into a stunned look, reminiscent of a mouse that has just found itself in the sights of a stalking cat. At first he can only stare at the man as he transfers his fingers from Liem's face to the edge of his door. A faint, purple-grey tinge, like the suggestion of a bruise, touches his cheeks.

Of all the myriad things he'd thought Set might say to him, this had not been among them. He has no ready defence against it.

He looks at Set, properly, for the first time since he'd opened the door — still squinting against the oppressive glare of Springstar's twin suns. He looks tired, in a way he cannot recall seeing the desert god look before. It is not something he expected to see on the face of a deity, even one robbed of his world and his domains, brought low and forced to consort with mortals as Set has been.

… Even considering the party atmosphere that kept many of Kenos's shard-bearers busy in recent weeks, Liem has been remiss in keeping in proper contact with those of his sect.]

I just made tea, [he says by way of reluctant assent. The tight line of his shoulders relents some, and Liem steps back from the doorway, allowing the taller man passage into his thoroughly darkened home. Once the door is closed, only the light passing through its small, frosted-glass window illuminates the narrow entry hall within.]

As you can see, I am whole. But… Please, be welcome.

[ Oh hell, Liem. Don't blush like that.

Once he is invited in, he steps beyond the front door of Liem's home, bringing his arms around himself as he enters the darkened building. Thankfully, his eyes are keen enough to be able to see well enough, and he does not spend his time stumbling around lost, or banging into any of the priest's furniture. ]

You are sensitive to light.

[ This confirms it. Set is not blind to the interactions of others, as well as their interactions with the environment, but Liem has long been elusive — they had met in the dark of Highstorm, worked together in the dark belly of the castle upon the Isles and now? He sees the way that the man squints in the sun, sees how dark his home his. Ruthlessly, he'll follow Liem as deep into the rooms as he's allowed, like a stalking predator ( in the meager light from the front window, even Set's eyes reflect — the tapetum lucidum effect — as he glances back ). ]

Even some of the most asocial of us attended the masquerade. It was anonymous, and we all were able to mitigate some of the aches and pains without being humiliated by it. Why did you stay away?

[Don’t touch his FACE with no warning, and maybe then he’ll keep the blushes on lockdown. Under present circumstances, all Liem can do is pretend not to notice.

He retreats further into his home as Set prowls after him, up a short flight of stairs, coming to an open space that stretches from a sitting room at the street-facing end, through a dining area, to a kitchen at the house’s rear. In the near-blackness, the shapes of tidily kept, ornately carved furniture can be made out. In consideration of his guest, he twitches one set of curtains at the front window open slightly, allowing a double-slice of sunlight to filter through the thinner curtains beneath; the modest illumination reveals that the space is furnished in golds and pastels, ranging from blue in the sitting area to sunset colours in the kitchen.]

I am not well suited to it, [he agrees. He doesn’t bother to specify that it is not the light that bothers him, but the suns; the gleam of fire or magic, even when blisteringly bright, does not assault his senses the same way that even the pale light of dawn does.

Not that he has had the opportunity to experience any dawns in recent weeks.

He has to detour to the other end of the space to find another teacup for his visitor; he remains keenly aware of the man following him close behind as he stops in front of a spotless countertop.]

I do not find parties restful. [He opens a cupboard above the counter, reaches up to retrieve what he’s seeking.] I did not shun all company these past weeks; Hayame requested my advice when she was preparing for the event, and I delivered it to her in person. But I have afflictions of my own that pleasant company does not alleviate. Excess tends to make them worse, not better.

[ The faint gleam of Set's eyes lessens, the deeper into the darkness he goes; it is without hesitation that he follows Liem into his territory, running his hands over the brocade of an innocently-existing chair and pilfers one of the pretty pillows from it. The pillow comes with him, his thumb stroking over the embroidered pattern as he continues to revolve slowly, taking in all that Liem has done with his time. The comfort of a home astounds him. In fact, this is the second home he has been in — the first being Sebastian's, in Highstorm. There were some quaint similarities, but Set would be the first to admit that Liem's home felt real and warm and clearly was beloved by him. Sebastian's was akin to a showroom, made all-too perfect for guests, and reflective of nothing personal. ]

How ironic then, that the ascetic now finds himself in the company of a grand hedonist.

[ Excess was all Set lived for, at times. Drink, drugs, company, conversation, even sex when he was addled enough to partake. To meet someone like Liem was akin to meeting one's eternal opposite, to be mildly frustrated by the denial of delights and pleasures. In the kitchen, he gives pause to watch as Liem fetches a second cup ( polite of him ), and murmurs: ] You need not prepare me anything to eat.

[ A mote of honesty from the god of war, as he continues to stroke the texture of the pillow. ]

I — I do not like food. It makes me ill, even though I must eat. And drinks are, ah. Well, I suppose I will accept what you offer in that way. I am often a poor guest, because of these things.

[Liem is a little bemused to see, when he turns around with the cup and saucer in his hands, that Set is still in possession of the cushion he'd liberated from one of the sitting room chairs. The man displays just the sort of unabashed familiarity with Liem's home that he'd seemed to take with him on their first meeting, when Set had probed so brashly into his background, and into his space. If he recognizes Liem's desire for privacy, for distance from those around him, he hasn't thus far deigned to indulge it. Perhaps it is the divinity in him; the gods have their hands in everything, after all.

He recalls also that Set had been drinking on that first occasion, in Highstorm's public baths, so his admission comes as a surprise to Liem. Though his steady expression doesn't falter, he regards his guest for an uncertain moment before he speaks.]

That is not something I expected to have in common with you. Set, Lord of the Dark Desert.

[Did the gods not sup on the offerings made to them by their faithful? Perhaps a god of violence would not care for such pedestrian fare, but it is a shock to hear that something so mundane could turn his stomach.

Though more shocking is such a god's concern for manners as a houseguest, however limited it might be.]

Perhaps I am a poor host, then, since I have nothing else to offer guests. You are the only one yet to have found your way to my door.

[ Dark desert, he mouths. That's a new one. A different sort of familiarity with his domains, but one that is not untrue to say the least. Set cradles the small pillow he's taken along with him, head tipped to one side — eyes distant, brows slackened. It's as calm, as neutral as he's capable of appearing; the perpetual crease between his brow lessened, as Liem speaks of something that they share. A thin thread that binds man to divine, and Set thinks: Is this understanding someone? Perhaps not. He still struggles.

He does gesture, to the cup that Liem has brought down. ]

I only meant to spare you the song and dance of procuring what goes with tea. I do drink.

[ As Liem is correct, Set had been drinking ( copiously ) in the baths they had shared at first meeting. On the Isles, he had supped on wine and other drink, and rarely was easy to observe putting anything solid into his mouth. It was odd, it felt terrible within him, and he was deeply particular about the things he wanted to eat in the first place, when he actually had to. ]

It is that, [ for a moment, he draws the edge of the pillow up and towards his mouth. Briefly hiding behind it as he considers what he shares; it is difficult, to admit anything to others, for fear of them using even the most innocuous of facts against him in the future. It's habit, now. Opening to someone means allowing them to know things that could be used to harm, and he is — he is so poor, at seeing betrayal before it is upon him. ] Before I became this, I never needed to and I, do not like the way it feels to eat.

[ A step closer, and he fetches up against Liem's counter. Against Liem himself, the side of his arm light against the line of the priest's shoulder. So tactile, when he controls the sensation. ]

You are the same, though. What manner of illness overcomes you?

[Liem still does not know what to think of this strange man, who moves with strength of both body and purpose, who claims the mantle of the divine, but who is fallible in such mortal ways. He has ever shown the limits of his understanding with his greed for more of it, has proven susceptible to trickery that used his own hunger to blind him. His cleverness and his mercenary nature do not seem so inscrutable to Liem's mortal eyes, nor does Set's wariness when speaking of himself seem unfamiliar; Liem wonders if this is a revelation, or just his own arrogance and failure of imagination as a mortal man. It is normal for people to seek a mirror of themselves in the divine.

Still, the stillness that seizes him when Set steps closer is the normal, mundane stillness of a very private man whose space is being casually invaded while he's in his own kitchen. His brows crease in a slight frown as he looks warily up at Set, trying not to notice the heat of him through the fabric covering his shoulder.]

Food such as civilized people eat does not agree with me. It is like ash in my mouth, and it often goes down kicking and screaming.

[He cannot quite help the terseness in his tone, built up over many a year of priests and physicians attempting to sort out his diet. Often, in his younger years, he had been ill because of the failure or outright refusal of his guardians to feed him things he could actually tolerate. Understanding had been a rarity.]

Time spent in the sun makes it worse — but I simply fare better at some times than at others.

[ He's just a weird guy, Liem. Don't worry about it. ]

I believe I may understand.

[ Never will he say such a thing directly, he feels. Understanding between gods and immortals is one thing, but between mortals and gods? It is an endless struggle for him, wrought of his desire to live up to the expectations of his wife; Nephthys was gone, eradicated with the world, but he had an opportunity to bring her back and make her manifest. He was less interested in her, however much he loved her, and more focused on the well-being of their child, in the end. Yet, she had whispered words of harmony and empathy, urged him to embrace the complexity of mortal life and rejoice in experiencing it.

How easy for the goddess of peace to say such a thing, for she was readily beloved by her humans for so long. The most Set knows of, is the sobbing cries of a mother pleading with his wife to sate the god of war's ire and allow her child to return home from the borders intact and healthy. A quick offering of grain, of incense, for a swift and decisive war. Understanding was meant to be mutual, and what he tries to offer to those of Kenos is often — readily rejected, or misunderstood. But this?

This, he thinks he can do. Perhaps it is why he clings to their shared misfortunes with food. ]

The smell of certain foods nauseates me. Meat, especially. Solids are — entirely disagreeable, though if I must eat for my health, I like... tomatoes, and greens. And fruit. The taste of it is always new to me. Sometimes, overwhelming. A mouthful of ash, you say. Utterly foreign, to me.

[ Sensory overload, at the best of times and immediate illness, at others. ]

Why does the sun affect you so? For someone who has chosen the side of the light, it seems you could have done better for your health in Highstorm. Does your faith ask you to suffer for it?

[It is still strange to Liem that Set, the self-proclaimed hedonist, was unused to the experience of eating before now. Food has always held little temptation to Liem, unsatisfying as it is to his palate, but he would not have expected a god fond of excess to scorn the pleasure of food when he seems perfectly happy with drink. And yet, he cannot deny Set's oddly familiar relationship with solid edibles. If anything, the god's aversion to them sounds more intense even than his own. It is mainly the lingering effects of having food in his body that causes Liem so much grief; he at least doesn't tend to suffer from the mere smell, assuming he's not ill to begin with.

Though his expression remains wary, Liem raises a brow at the other man.]

Suffering is inherent to life.

[For mortals, he means: those still living in the material plane. There will always be hardships to overcome, just as life holds its own pleasures as well. He has long since stopped trying to steer the path of his own life by either star. Abadar's light is just as bright, and far steadier.]

If I wished only to tend my earthly needs, I would turn my face to Zenith, with its congregation of blood-drinkers. But even if Lady Yima could pull my patron from oblivion — which she has said she cannot presently do — she could not bring with him all that he guards and all that he has built. I will not consider my own temporary comfort to be of greater importance than the First Vault itself.

[He pauses; flicks his gaze away from Set's. This is a topic he prefers to avoid speaking of — one that has caused him lifetimes' worth of hardship, and has been met only rarely with understanding. Even if all the god has for him is indifference, though, he will accept it for the opportunity to be acknowledged, in even the smallest part. And surely a being like Set doesn't harbour the revulsions of a normal, mortal person.]

My ailment is my father's legacy. He was one of their kind: a vampire, a hunter of men, fearing only the sun. I have his eyes and his appetites, for all that I am a living man.

[ Congregation of blood-drinkers? Oh! Those entities.

Being one of the Meridian-aligned who still routinely enters ( and passes through ) Highstorm, despite the rising arrogance he finds in the citizens when they interact with him, he has plenty of knowledge about the surface culture, and some knowledge of the sub-cultures within. Liem's father is a vampire, vampires — he now assumes, require blood as their main source of food. The blood-drinkers of Highstorm, are vampires. Ones very much unlike Liem, who abstains from such things? How curious. ]

Uaa.

[ The sound he makes is one of wonder. A man who has just been exposed to something wholeheartedly new and who finds distinct delight in it. Set is a hedonist by make and nature, and information is something he also immerses himself in, as readily as the heat of a body or the long pull of alcohol from a bottle. The information about the extent of Yima's ability, he also carries with him now; perhaps, she might not be able to pull his child from the darkness, for Anubis had become — Anubis had been forced to become —

He forces himself not to think on that, with his host standing right before him.

Set is a man of easy contradictions. One who is revolted by physical contact, but one who initiates it without heed of others' propriety; it it, in fact, more of a dominance thing than a necessity, that he is the one to control movement and contact, before anyone else tries to dominate over him. So, as he take a hand from the embroidery of the pillow, it is only to rest it — harsh-fingered, to the sleeve of Liem's shirt. ]

Then. Your ailment could be resolved, were you to balance your diet?

[ There is more nuance to the question than Liem might realize.

It means something to him, too. Not just that Liem has shared it, but that — perhaps their experiences are similar. ]

Are you in pain now? Do you not have someone you trust to aid you?

[Liem is not expecting the expression of wonder at his reluctant admission, nor the sudden, intent question that follows the clutch at his sleeve. His grip on the porcelain in his hands suddenly becomes not just tight, but unaccountably restless. He doesn't know what to do with this level of investment — at least, investment that doesn't come pre-weighted with shame and obligation.]

Of course not. Who would I insult with such a request?

[It slips out of him, aghast, before he can think better of it. What self-respecting person would be truly happy to let him sup on their veins just to indulge his unsavoury wants? There had been a couple of people since he was ripped from his world who had been willing — who had invited it, even — but in his worse moments, he doubts that either of them really had much self-respect to draw on.

The hint of bruised violet returns to his cheeks, but this time it's motivated entirely by shame. He forces himself to hold Set's gaze regardless, his expression stubborn.]

It does not matter. I do not need such indulgences to attend to my duties. Abadar does not require me to suffer for my devotion, but I would rather suffer than shame myself by living as a parasite on the blood of my peers.

[ Insult? Shame? A parasite? ]

Liem Talbott.

[ The name escapes him, the closest Set may come to a gasp of shock. Or, perhaps, empathetic horror. It is breathless, a faint admonishment not for the fact that part of Liem's very nature requires such a thing, but that he - is ashamed of it. That he is stricken by his own self, in ways that. That. Set feels, too. The sensation of his stomach growling, the feeling of chewing solid food - most mortals find it rote, to eat and dine and complete the circle of digestion ( he will not think of it, cannot; as he oddly is not impacted by it? ) - but, to the former god? It is a shameful experience. It is horrifying, to him.

He feels wrong, when his body demands nutrients he has never needed before. When it weakens without them, when he must finally eat materials that then - they, just. He cannot keep them down, and the cycle of humiliation begins again. ]

You are not a parasite.

[ Perhaps that is why, in this moment, he feels as close to Liem as could possibly be. There is still a rift between them, a vast number of things that make them so very different, but this is - this one thing is. ]

I do not think of you as parasitical for your needs. I think you have yet to find a way to achieve symbiotic balance, between someone who may wish to take care of you - and, how you might take care of them. And while I am an easy man to insult, in this regard... you could never. I, [ he breathes out, small and shy: ] cannot bear the shame of my own body's needs, my own fledgling mortalities. I believe, that I can understand you.

[Of all the things Set might have said to him, in the face of his shame and his self-disgust, Liem does not expect the words that reach his ears. It's not as if he has only ever been spurned for his abnormality. He has known other people in the past who have not had any fear of him, and those who have insisted that he need not revile what is natural for his body — people who did not understand, who could not understand, his inability to reconcile Liem the blood-drinker with Liem the man. People who failed to grasp his despair at being unable to wrest such a simple part of his being within his own control, or his fear that his obsessive compulsion to drink — innate to him, and yet disturbingly foreign, something he can't accept as his own — would only run rampant over him if he ever allowed himself to feed it.

But the assertion that someone should wish to take care of him is too much to bear. Because it is degrading, to capitulate to his thirst and his pain and his weakness. It is something that should be beneath him — perhaps as a body's demand for food would be beneath the divine — and yet, he has been forced again and again to endure it — and worse, to enjoy it; to be unable even to maintain his own dignity in caring for the needs of his flesh. He does not want to care for such a thing — and it shames him terribly to think of someone else doing so for him.

The stiff line of his shoulders sags, defeated, as he lowers his gaze from Set's — to his mouth, his jaw. His neck.]

I would suffer mine in solitude if I could. But even that, I cannot do.

[At least Set needs not endure witnesses to his humiliation. There is another reason why Liem prefers not to drink from anyone he knows; if he must suffer someone to watch him — to feel him drink, he would rather it be someone he will never see again.

He closes his eyes, as if against that particular thought.]

What offering would suffice for the blood of a god?

[ The forests of Alenroux are especially dangerous. Even Gray, who feels she has a pretty fair record when it comes to monster-fighting, can feel how strangely formidable the creatures here are. Maybe they grow off the same fertility that makes the land so ripe for farming. In any case, she was unable to explore the entirety of the island on her own thanks to the more heavily monster-infested areas, but with Liem to help her along, she feels comfortable that they'll manage to make some progress.

It all goes swimmingly until it doesn't. More monsters rush them than expected, and Gray is caught off-guard by a particularly determined one — a stupid mistake that catches her in a broad swathe across her arm. She dulls the pain with magical strengthening and carries on, dispatching of monsters with Liem until the forest falls back into an oppressed silence.

Gray lets out a breath and looks to Liem to see how he's faring. She ignores her injury for the moment, a long gash that turns her white sleeve into a curtain of crimson. She continues to dull the pain, keeping the ache of it down even as the adrenaline begins to fade. ]

Mr. Liem? Are you alright?

[ Maybe, he understands Liem Talbott more than most. The shame and degradation of self he feels, when his stomach demands food? It is unbearable, and so he gives to drink, to illicit substances that diminish his body's newfound appetite. He ignores the burst of strange un-hunger that has awoken within his very soul, craving something he has not the word for, upon the night that a demon revealed to him the thing he found most appetizing. ]

If only I was still perfect, and if only you could be.

[ Mortals were imperfect, they flowed freely across time and space, given boundless opportunity to change themselves, to adjust their fate and become what they dreamed of. A god was a static existence, a narrow set of boundaries that ran deeply - not far. To some, Set's words might be infinitely cruel - to bring up perfection of body, the nebulous and unattainable thing that it was, could be perceived as an intentional slight. An insult. Yet, he says it anyways. Liem might understand the meaning.

Slowly, he sets aside his thefted item. Slowly, he pushes his hand down firmly, across the back of Liem's wrist, until the burning heat of his own body can be felt through any number of layers of clothing. He does not grasp nor pull on the priest, simply lingering as a pressure, an undeniable thing of diminished power and wounded dignity. ]

Aah, there is the separation of matters. As a god, it is practically my duty to attend to you in your own's temporary absence. [ He'll give Liem that, and Abadar, too. ] I ask for dedications of violence from Hayame and Dimitri. That they call on my name when they do harm to others, and I accept them unconditionally for it. You already have a god in your heart, so I do not wish to defile what you and he share.

[ So, he thinks. What could be worth his blood? ]

- knowing that your need shames you, your offering ought to shame me.

[Liem is in poor condition to be hiking around dangerous, monster-infested wildernesses at the moment. He'd wanted to, after multiple shifts spent staying at the Meridian outposts, as a watchman and support defence in case of encroaching monsters or hostile Zenites. The job had been too quiet; he'd felt like an invalid — and he wasn't. Compared to the rank and file of Springstar's military, he was much better suited to delving into the forest and hunting down dangerous beasts. He knew he could be more useful out here than back at the outposts, waiting out the worst of his withdrawal.

What if he felt ill for another four weeks? He couldn't let it put him out of commission for that entire time.

But it is tough going. He tries his best not to hold back their pace as he and Gray explore some of the more risky areas of the wood — but it takes them longer than they'd anticipated to reach the section they'd wanted to scout, and his fatigue is unquestionably to blame. Perhaps if they'd reached their destination earlier in the evening, the monsters wouldn't be so active. For all that Liem pulls his weight in actually exterminating the ones that come for them, he can't help but feel like it's his fault Gray is injured.

He is fortunate enough to avoid any especially bad wounds during the melee. There's an acid burn on his hand, and his hip is pretty bruised, but he can ignore the ache until they're back at camp. It's Gray's arm that worries him.]

A little roughly treated, but nothing serious.

[He doesn't need to examine her arm to tell that she's still bleeding; the sharp, beguiling smell of flowing blood envelops him when he steps closer, still dragging in heavy breaths from the exertion of their battle. He has to force himself to speak through a throat gone suddenly tight.]

Miss Gray, your arm. We should… tend it.

[Because he's worried for her, yes — but also because he's not going to be able to focus on anything else until they do.]

[In its own way, Set's lament is strangely comforting. Yes; the intangible promise of perfection was what bought Liem's loyalty to Abadar's church, just as it had for many others. An impossible goal for mortal men and women, but within the realm of Utopia, where reality spun like an immense and flawless clockwork, that wish could be granted. As painful as it has ever been for Liem to suffer the demands of his mortal body, there is still some measure of comfort in the knowledge that perfection is equally beyond the grasp of his human peers — and equally attainable for him as it is for any of Abadar's other mortal servants, once they are admitted to his realm.

After all, all mortals die eventually. He's just obliged to wait longer than others.

Slowly, deliberately, Liem sets down the porcelain in his hands, so he can brace his palm flat against the counter behind him. It is cool; solid. A necessary anchor against the incessant heat of Set's skin.]

What—

[Liem's eyes flick wide beneath frowning brows, fix hard on the god's face. His voice is soft with disbelief.]

Would you shoulder the burdens of every forsaken man and woman here? I have promised nothing to you, nor any of your family. You have no duty to me.

[When he had first encountered Set, naked and brazen in Highstorm's baths, he had thought he had no shame at all. To discover now how wrong he was brings Liem no joy at all.]

Ask of me what you will, and if it is mine to give, you will receive it.

[ If he sounds a little choked up, she chalks it up to him feeling winded from the fight. Completely normal and natural. She thinks to wave off his concern, more worried about lingering in the area for too long, but she wonders too if the excessive smell of her blood will just attract more monsters wherever they go. So she nods, using one hand to unshoulder the small bag of provisions she brought along just in case. Neatly arranged inside are a skin of water, some bandages, some snacks, and other miscellaneous trifles. She offers the whole lot to Liem. ]

I have some things we can use. Um, I'll probably need your help, though...

[ Only having one arm in commission and all. Though as she looks more closely at Liem, she has to wonder if he's as okay as he says he is. He's looking a little... sub-stellar. ]

Are you sure you're feeling alright?

[ It continues to elude him that Liem is aware of some aspects of the Ennead, of the pantheon of gods he was kin to and presided over humanity alongside. The bonds of blood did not truly matter at the heart of all things, but the bonds humans had forged to one another that defined their relationship to the world had invaded the rank and file of eternal, boundless beings. Marriage, progeny, superiority and inferiority — Ra had said as much at his trial, that Nephthys had not truly been unfaithful to him, because it was not divine to be wedded in the first place. Laying claim to one another was perverted. It would ruin them.

So, he wonders what Liem knows. Innately, he knows that it is truth — there is no 'other' to Set. He is all that he was, is and will be, drawn forth from the vast primordial sea of consciousness at given moments. Contradictions are not contradictions to the Ennead, nor to him. To know he is perceived another way is not, to him, wrongful. It is merely one more aspect of his fathomless existence, never a lie, never something he will avoid. Fate is absolute, to an absolute being. ]

Is that what you think I am doing? I failed in that duty long, long ago.

[ Brutally ensured that he did, in fact. ]

— I suppose, I would ask you for your services as a priest. Not as my priest, just as a priest. An advisor, of sorts. Maybe, a translator? I do not speak to mortals skillfully, and never have. Not like my siblings do.

[ It is a terribly isolating thing, to be incapable of understanding. Every moment of his life lent itself to being highly independent, peerless, and lacking in empathy. ]

[Liem allows himself to feel a little relief when Gray agrees to having her arm tended. Even before he saw her in action against the forest's resident monsters, it was fairly obvious that she was a strong and independent young lady. The chances of her insisting that they keep moving for now seemed more than a little likely, and in other circumstances, given the noise their fight caused, he might even agree with such a suggestion.

But he has no confidence in his ability to remain alert to danger with her blood soaking her clothes within mere paces of him.

Liem comes to settle next to Gray, eyeing the contents of her bag when she offers it to him. He turns his mind to his task with difficulty, and can't entirely keep it from wandering.]

Not entirely, [he admits, stripping the leather gloves from his hands and reaching to roll Gray's sleeve back from her wounded arm. His breath comes in shallow pants as he attempts to avoid breathing through his nose, but he manages at least to keep his hands steady.] I should apologize — I overestimated myself. I didn't expect my condition to become such a liability.

[It is a relief when Set relents, and demands something from Liem that he can actually offer without guilt. He does not know Set the man well — he does not particularly even like him, much as he respects his decisiveness and his dedication — but he has no desire to make their relationship something that causes him shame. He has been the object of such to too many people to wish to cause Set shame with his offering, any more than he would with his association, or with the act of drinking his blood. Regardless of his own feelings about his body's cravings, it is not the kind of equality he wishes to enforce in their deal.

He does not ask what failure Set speaks of. Liem's knowledge of Osirion's ancient pantheon is a broad but shallow thing; that there would be things about Set that he doesn't know would be unsurprising even if he had confidence that this was the same god written of in ancient Osirian scripture. And ultimately, the history of a foreign deity is not Liem's business.]

That I can provide, if it is your wish.

[He says it a bit warily. It is strange: the thought of being advisor to a divinity. He should not be surprised by now; Set is clearly not all-knowing, and he obviously values information. Liem had just been under the — perhaps mistaken — impression that he interacted with others in such a brash, graceless way because he did not care to do otherwise.]

Insight into the motives and manners of others; diplomacy with those whose goals are different from yours. These are things I have experience with — though I should admit that although I received a priest's education, I did not often practise as such. I have been Abadar's fist more often than his tongue.

[ Hearing how short his breath is becoming, Gray is a little concerned. He's starting to remind her of herself when she's about to have a panic attack. But she trusts he more knows what he's doing, and that he isn't about to collapse into a sad heap like she tends to do. ]

Your condition... Does it have to do with the sun?

[ He's usually well-covered in the daytime, so she figures there's something there. Maybe she isn't one to speak given her own eternal hoodedness, but she's fairly sure he doesn't have a specific face-related neurosis. Maybe he sunburns easily, or something like that. ]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 3 of 15

kenos | inbox

EARLY MARCH, BEFORE MANON.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

cw just some body dysmorphia + eating disorder chat, in case

no subject

SCREECHES IN

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject