Feeling the full span of that palm against their back, the warmth that bleeds through, it grounds them. An anchor. Stability. Something they cling to tightly in their mind, a reminder of their physical body being here. Not there. Not in a poor stupid blinding attempt to try and force themselves to remember something that's gone. Something that can never be. ]
I'll... be okay.
[ The words rasp a bit, their breathing still a bit tight, a small struggle that's felt through the check. One gloved hand curling into a fist against the ground, digging fingers against as they try to take another breath in. And out. Calm down. It's fine. Just.. don't think about it.
(Because no matter what, you won't ever be able to remember it. It's gone.)
It takes a bit, to shake off that curling deep despair that settles so familiarly in their stomach. That sharp tug that comes with the feel of their loop restarting. A close of their eye, sucking in another shaky breath again, and out. A smile finds its way naturally to their lips, one always meant to reassure and convince that everything is okay. But guilt gleams in their eye. ]
[ reaffirmed, but knowing that there is more to it than that. artemy
is still as stone save for his own breathing, slow and even, heartbeat the
only thing racing between his ribs. that smile is one that artemy knows, if
only because he's given it to others himself, if only because he's surely
seen it on a few familiar faces that he misses more than he could
say.
the guilt... oh don't be guilty.
because they're written differently, but the sense of loss is still
profoundly the same. mind versus body, but one doesn't exist without the
other. and in the end, the opposing force creeps in regardless. blood for
guilt for loss for flesh. ]
Even if that smile is less reassuring with the blood...
[ soft, painful jest as he perhaps squeezes their shoulder with a
palm, fingers briefly lifting to flick their hat a little bit to meet them
eye to eye. he has so many questions and none of them right for this
moment...
There's a small laugh, convincing to most if not to everyone that hears, but to those more knowing, to those familiar - it's empty sounding. Just as their practiced smile is, their gloved hand wiping at their mouth, getting rid of any clinging blood from view. ]
It's.. happened before. It'll probably happen again. That's.. how these things go.
but not necessarily one that takes Siffrin at a surprise. Not when they're so focused on the one that plays from the other man. Of a situation so familiar but also not. Death again and again. But simple actors, forced into a play, repeat and go over and over, at the end of every loop and to begin anew they say the same words to themselves over and over.
(Get back to the stage, Siffrin.)
Their eye stares up at Artemy, searching, wide and.. confused. Because he...? Him as.. well? ]
..You were trapped also? How... long? How many loops..?
[ How many deaths? How long was he strung along like a puppet. An actor forced to play their role over and over, to remember the script and line word by word and stars they're out of it now, they're done they know they're done but it feels like the stage has its hands back around them again. ]
... I've lost track. Maybe as many as that - sixteen, give or take.
[ he's sure immortell will remind him again. it's too many times really. he hates keeping track. and what he hates more is the realization - something's broken, something's failing, rotting. his chest aches, and he looks to them, confusion meeting confusion, the realization sinking in like so many teeth.
oh what a mess they're in. ]
I've met people used to dying... but no one like...
[ he trails off, shaking his head softly. his voice is astonished, but it's also mournful. it's not quite the same, but the pieces still fit together, adjacent, the paths are just set up differently, the loops vary - larger or smaller, some shorter, some more jagged. he just holds himself quietly, his chest aching, his body aching, like he's remembering what it feels like to be tired, like he can't feel his own arms for a moment - a terrifying moment where fingers curl into fabric slightly for further purchase. don't forget - feel it. it's there. they're there. solid, you can touch, you can feel -
the absolute devastation of having to fall back to the very beginning of putting on such a face that artemy wants to shake them.
but those are the L/lines. ]
But all the way back to the start... again. Siffrin...
[ this is like a long, looming pause, a measure of rest but not so restful. people keep dying, there's no resetting, there's no place to mark your spot in time. artemy would pray for clocks, to touch the sharp shape of a minute hand and feel the world still around him for a second, remembering him like a finger between the pages of a book.
what he'd give for that right now. instead, he lets his other knee hit the ground. he is tired, his chest is tight. ]
[ It's one thing to be stuck in your own seemingly never-ending loop. It's another to hear someone else they care about - someone they like suffer their own endless horrors. That trail come off and they do not answer, they don't need to, because they understand. It's the same. Outside.. Loop joining them on their own, but there's a difference with being the sponsor and being said actor.
Sixteen. Still early. But also, not. Not when those loops can extend as long as they can. Does that make it harder or easier?
(Keeping track is a quick way to lose one's sanity but you couldn't forget anyway.)
(The number was always there for you to see.)
(Even though some loops you'd forget. Easy to forget when the same things happen over and over and...) ]
..Always at the meadows, where I woke up. That was the start of them in every loop.
[ And it still haunts them. Does Artemy hear them? Whenever they constantly wake from their nightmares in their shared room. Probably no, they're so used to keeping quiet, stifling their noises, sneaking out when they can to have a moment to let everything out alone. But every time they close their eye, they can see it - the meadows around them, laying down.
Their eye raises with worry as Artemy's body plops further next to them, ignoring their own nausea as they look him over. Okay? Is he alright? And yet, that question comes and they still... ]
..Over a hundred loops. Almost two hundred. Wasn't.. always the same two days, but sometimes they were.
[ The same two days almost two hundred times, they don't want to even remotely consider how much that would be in actual days. How long timewise they've been stuck in those loops. Tired. And as if they have fully recovered from said loops, as their face looks a bit flushed, as if sick. Feeling warmer than normally. Fortunately they aren't standing but they slowly shake their head. ]
But I'm out of them now. [ Brows furrow. ] I.. think.
Almost two hundred... I... I would hope that you are out of them.
[ the words leave him with a breathlessness to it. two hundred times over and over again, and the realization that they'd ended up back in that meadow again.
(the truth is, artemy hears them, lays on his side with his arm under his pillow in the hours when he's found himself awake, catching his breathe because he feels as though he's suffocating some nights, it's either the plague whispers in his ears, or the eudora becomes his metal coffin, and always, always he wakes up with his leg throbbing in phantom pains, itching and burning, shooting up to his hip.)
but he himself would rather someone never have to hear the sounds he makes when he dreams about his son dying, when the plague takes murky in his dreams, when he has to die again knowing his father put him here, in this position.)
he sees that eye, and he shakes his head a little. they both are sat there together, tumbled toys with strings cut for now (for now?) for now, and artemy lets his hand slowly pass a little, up and down, a steady, slow rhythm.
he nods a little bit. ]
A beastly thing... time... over and over again, never enough of it even when you think you've stepped just right. Done the right dance.
[ he sees these flush, frowns somewhat, wants to press the back of his hand to their face - nearly does but just hovers. are they feverish...? he wants to check but waits to be given the go ahead, murmuring in the meantime. ]
... Need help standing...? Want to lay down somewhere...?
[ says the guy who got down on his knees. his stamina isn't what it used to be. still decent within the confines of these games, but an echo of it lines his bones in this moment. he'll never stop caring. ]
..I am. Nothing to worry about there. But I.. guess you could call me an expert lead when it comes to a stage play like that.
[ Director in their own play, acting to perfection, following the script line by line to every small detail. Memorizing even lines of other actors, able to repeat them without so much as a hitch. How exhausting that is.
It's the featherlight weight, but solid, warm, brushing in a rhythm that has their body shiver. But makes them breathe a little easier. Repeating small repetitive breaths in and out, just as they're always used to doing. Wait for that ache in their throat to die down, clear of its raspy mess. Like they haven't just swallowed a thousand nails. ]
..Didn't think there'd be anyone else following their own script.
[ That hand raises, comes close to their face, and their own response is a slow almost dizzied blink. They're definitely feverish though. But they don't turn away that request to check, just stay where they are. ]
I think.. I need a moment to sit for a bit. I'll be okay after.
[ Mostly because they troubled Artemy to get down here in the first place, and they remember one leg causes him some trouble so. For now, they can just sit here. Until they both feel fine enough to get up. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Feeling the full span of that palm against their back, the warmth that bleeds through, it grounds them. An anchor. Stability. Something they cling to tightly in their mind, a reminder of their physical body being here. Not there. Not in a poor stupid blinding attempt to try and force themselves to remember something that's gone. Something that can never be. ]
I'll... be okay.
[ The words rasp a bit, their breathing still a bit tight, a small struggle that's felt through the check. One gloved hand curling into a fist against the ground, digging fingers against as they try to take another breath in. And out. Calm down. It's fine. Just.. don't think about it.
(Because no matter what, you won't ever be able to remember it. It's gone.)
It takes a bit, to shake off that curling deep despair that settles so familiarly in their stomach. That sharp tug that comes with the feel of their loop restarting. A close of their eye, sucking in another shaky breath again, and out. A smile finds its way naturally to their lips, one always meant to reassure and convince that everything is okay. But guilt gleams in their eye. ]
.. Sorry. I'm okay now.
no subject
You will be. I will see to it myself...
[ reaffirmed, but knowing that there is more to it than that. artemy is still as stone save for his own breathing, slow and even, heartbeat the only thing racing between his ribs. that smile is one that artemy knows, if only because he's given it to others himself, if only because he's surely seen it on a few familiar faces that he misses more than he could say.
the guilt... oh don't be guilty.
because they're written differently, but the sense of loss is still profoundly the same. mind versus body, but one doesn't exist without the other. and in the end, the opposing force creeps in regardless. blood for guilt for loss for flesh. ]
Even if that smile is less reassuring with the blood...
[ soft, painful jest as he perhaps squeezes their shoulder with a palm, fingers briefly lifting to flick their hat a little bit to meet them eye to eye. he has so many questions and none of them right for this moment...
except give me your knees /deposits this in your mouth.
(artemy doesn't let go of them.) ]
no subject
There's a small laugh, convincing to most if not to everyone that hears, but to those more knowing, to those familiar - it's empty sounding. Just as their practiced smile is, their gloved hand wiping at their mouth, getting rid of any clinging blood from view. ]
It's.. happened before. It'll probably happen again. That's.. how these things go.
[ And yet, as that memory comes, another memory comes to play, of earlier times but no less reminding -
but not necessarily one that takes Siffrin at a surprise. Not when they're so focused on the one that plays from the other man. Of a situation so familiar but also not. Death again and again. But simple actors, forced into a play, repeat and go over and over, at the end of every loop and to begin anew they say the same words to themselves over and over.
(Get back to the stage, Siffrin.)
Their eye stares up at Artemy, searching, wide and.. confused. Because he...? Him as.. well? ]
..You were trapped also? How... long? How many loops..?
[ How many deaths? How long was he strung along like a puppet. An actor forced to play their role over and over, to remember the script and line word by word and stars they're out of it now, they're done they know they're done but it feels like the stage has its hands back around them again. ]
no subject
[ he's sure immortell will remind him again. it's too many times really. he hates keeping track. and what he hates more is the realization - something's broken, something's failing, rotting. his chest aches, and he looks to them, confusion meeting confusion, the realization sinking in like so many teeth.
oh what a mess they're in. ]
I've met people used to dying... but no one like...
[ he trails off, shaking his head softly. his voice is astonished, but it's also mournful. it's not quite the same, but the pieces still fit together, adjacent, the paths are just set up differently, the loops vary - larger or smaller, some shorter, some more jagged. he just holds himself quietly, his chest aching, his body aching, like he's remembering what it feels like to be tired, like he can't feel his own arms for a moment - a terrifying moment where fingers curl into fabric slightly for further purchase. don't forget - feel it. it's there. they're there. solid, you can touch, you can feel -
the absolute devastation of having to fall back to the very beginning of putting on such a face that artemy wants to shake them.
but those are the L/lines. ]
But all the way back to the start... again. Siffrin...
[ this is like a long, looming pause, a measure of rest but not so restful. people keep dying, there's no resetting, there's no place to mark your spot in time. artemy would pray for clocks, to touch the sharp shape of a minute hand and feel the world still around him for a second, remembering him like a finger between the pages of a book.
what he'd give for that right now. instead, he lets his other knee hit the ground. he is tired, his chest is tight. ]
How long has it been... for you...?
no subject
Sixteen. Still early. But also, not. Not when those loops can extend as long as they can. Does that make it harder or easier?
(Keeping track is a quick way to lose one's sanity but you couldn't forget anyway.)
(The number was always there for you to see.)
(Even though some loops you'd forget. Easy to forget when the same things happen over and over and...) ]
..Always at the meadows, where I woke up. That was the start of them in every loop.
[ And it still haunts them. Does Artemy hear them? Whenever they constantly wake from their nightmares in their shared room. Probably no, they're so used to keeping quiet, stifling their noises, sneaking out when they can to have a moment to let everything out alone. But every time they close their eye, they can see it - the meadows around them, laying down.
Their eye raises with worry as Artemy's body plops further next to them, ignoring their own nausea as they look him over. Okay? Is he alright? And yet, that question comes and they still... ]
..Over a hundred loops. Almost two hundred. Wasn't.. always the same two days, but sometimes they were.
[ The same two days almost two hundred times, they don't want to even remotely consider how much that would be in actual days. How long timewise they've been stuck in those loops. Tired. And as if they have fully recovered from said loops, as their face looks a bit flushed, as if sick. Feeling warmer than normally. Fortunately they aren't standing but they slowly shake their head. ]
But I'm out of them now. [ Brows furrow. ] I.. think.
no subject
[ the words leave him with a breathlessness to it. two hundred times over and over again, and the realization that they'd ended up back in that meadow again.
(the truth is, artemy hears them, lays on his side with his arm under his pillow in the hours when he's found himself awake, catching his breathe because he feels as though he's suffocating some nights, it's either the plague whispers in his ears, or the eudora becomes his metal coffin, and always, always he wakes up with his leg throbbing in phantom pains, itching and burning, shooting up to his hip.)
but he himself would rather someone never have to hear the sounds he makes when he dreams about his son dying, when the plague takes murky in his dreams, when he has to die again knowing his father put him here, in this position.)
he sees that eye, and he shakes his head a little. they both are sat there together, tumbled toys with strings cut for now (for now?) for now, and artemy lets his hand slowly pass a little, up and down, a steady, slow rhythm.
he nods a little bit. ]
A beastly thing... time... over and over again, never enough of it even when you think you've stepped just right. Done the right dance.
[ he sees these flush, frowns somewhat, wants to press the back of his hand to their face - nearly does but just hovers. are they feverish...? he wants to check but waits to be given the go ahead, murmuring in the meantime. ]
... Need help standing...? Want to lay down somewhere...?
[ says the guy who got down on his knees. his stamina isn't what it used to be. still decent within the confines of these games, but an echo of it lines his bones in this moment. he'll never stop caring. ]
no subject
[ Director in their own play, acting to perfection, following the script line by line to every small detail. Memorizing even lines of other actors, able to repeat them without so much as a hitch. How exhausting that is.
It's the featherlight weight, but solid, warm, brushing in a rhythm that has their body shiver. But makes them breathe a little easier. Repeating small repetitive breaths in and out, just as they're always used to doing. Wait for that ache in their throat to die down, clear of its raspy mess. Like they haven't just swallowed a thousand nails. ]
..Didn't think there'd be anyone else following their own script.
[ That hand raises, comes close to their face, and their own response is a slow almost dizzied blink. They're definitely feverish though. But they don't turn away that request to check, just stay where they are. ]
I think.. I need a moment to sit for a bit. I'll be okay after.
[ Mostly because they troubled Artemy to get down here in the first place, and they remember one leg causes him some trouble so. For now, they can just sit here. Until they both feel fine enough to get up. ]