[ Another night, another vision. It's sometimes the same thing, often the sight of the meadows when their eye opens. The feel of the grass beneath him, the smell of flowers intermingling with the scent of burnt sugar. The quiet sounds of birds in the distance. Nausea bubbles in their stomach, their breathing kicking into something panicked, quickly sitting up -
reaching for something beside them. Scrambling for purchase, for something to grab, feeling fingers curl around the handle of their knife as they curl it close. Body curling into a ball from where they sit up in the bed. Bed... bed? Not the meadow... but the image of the Clocktower comes to mind, imagining quiet snores beside them. Still the loop. Always the loop. They can always hear the sound of their nickname beside them, "Hey... hey Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni."
(CW: SELF HARM) It happens quick, the sharp sudden glide of that blade across the palm of their hand. Something small, clean, dull in mind when it comes to pain but fresh enough it has them focus on it. Real. Even as they stare at the blood that pools a little. (/CW)
A deep breath in, and out. Blinking slowly as they take the sight of their shared room around. ..Right. Air...port. Lounge. Starfarers. Theirs and.. Artemy's shared room. Not the Clocktower. Not Isabeau. Not.. Dormont. Not Vaugarde. Another deep breath in, and out. Shifting to the side of their bed, peering over at the other bed as they try to quietly slide off. Should bandage their hand. Artemy should have some supplies but.. can't wake him. Shouldn't.
Quietly, they peer over to make sure they haven't woken him yet but.. ]
artemy is used to drifting in and out of his consciousness, getting just enough sleep, coasting over the edges of it. he can fall in and out easily enough - the military taught him that. he sleeps with his legs elevated, hands resting over his diaphragm like a corpse. usually. tonight, he sleeps opposite, still, but curled up, hunched like he's guarding a leg. the sleep it not so fitful.
(he's bandaging up someone on the russian front, a gunshot goes off, he pushes someone off of him to run, to go, to go, and then something explodes, and the shrapnel buries itself in his knee. when he runs, it feels like he has hot coals beneath his kneecap, when he leaps and lands poorly it's a splintering pain - radiating up his thigh, making him limp on the bad days, aching in the cold, it was already bad.)
(he smells blood on the cold, cold floor of the eudora's cargo bay, carried to the healing pod. when he opens his eyes, he sees the people he's known for weeks - a tuft of white hair, the particular weight of someone's hand, familiar flashes of red while his vision swims. later, his body misses what it's like to have a right leg, bites at its own nerves over and over again like so many teeth, keeping him awake.)
the movement is slight... but it's enough to stir him out of the memories that make him sweat all over, down the nape of his neck, cold and prickling. his breathes in once, sharply as he comes fully too. siffrin is quiet, it's almost impossible to hear them, but some nights he catches them, holding his breath, still as stone, as earth. this night, he feels it, like these memories have made him all the more aware of this person he's grown to care for, attuned not on any other level beyond the way artemy cannot help but forge a connection, tie the binds with elegantly woven knots, the gentle hands of a surgeon don't always have to cut.
there is a modicum of privacy when it comes to the both of them, after everything at the start of the week... after everything today. god he's so tired. he thinks about his town, dying, gasping, everything within reach but so far away, and he thinks about how his nerves will deaden and if he dies, well, this may as well not have happened. right?
tonight, though.
well, tonight he sits up a little bit, one elbow and then the other slowly, unfurling with a wince and looking across the room. his eyes peer over slightly as he readjusts to face them, eyes flicking down slightly. maybe it's wrong to call attention to it, breaking a pattern by addressing it right here in this moment. his voice is hoarse with little sleep. ]
[ Their gaze drifts out, enclosing that fist tightly to secure that (stupid, idiot, why did you do that) injury in their hand. Bandages. It'd be so easy if they just had their healing. Even though it isn't as good as Mirabelle's. Their head swims a little, feverish, too hot and also too cold. Ah.. as if they could forget, the constant in and out of their Craft sickness kicking in. They haven't healed completely from it. Too soon. Too soon.
A shaky breath escapes before they realize it, and in that moment they notice that movement and glance over to see the man sitting up. So used to the silent privacy the both of them have offered to another. But that gets lonely, doesn't it? Feels like there's a wall. A wall between them and everyone else and they - hate being left alone to their own devices. They crave remembrance, they crave connections. Their next exhale is a bit easier. ]
..Artemy. Sorry, did I wake you?
[ Stars, what time even is it? Still dark enough, so not yet morning rise but it's definitely late. Instead of shuffling off, they stand there, shifting a little from one foot to another. ]
[ slowly he sits up, first elbow to palm, then pushing the blankets off to make himself fully upright. worry nips at his periphery, but he pushes it back towards his . ]
No... I was already up.
[ he was on the edge, there was no way to pinwheel his arms back and right himself again. so he just offers them a tired smile and carefully swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees. it's late, and siffrin is shifting from foot to foot enough so that artemy wills himself to move further, on his feet, expression soft as he nods towards them. ]
[ Part of their worry about rooming with any of the others was because of their... clinging nightmares. Not just because of their tendency to stay out until nearly morning. But.. better to come to a somewhat understanding with Artemy than worry and bother any of the others.
Given they have enough on their plate as is. And, maybe, there was a small hope that at least with him he would understand. And it's worked out so far. Except for, well, now. Seeing the glimpses of worry as their eye adjusts to the lighting. ]
Ah, no. Nothing just.. needed a drink of water.
[ They feel naked without their cloak to hide. And harder still is their gloves being off, tucking their hands behind their body to hide from view. But even as they try to hide and stifle their self made injury, it'll quickly become apparent as blood drips to the floor. Nothing heavy, nothing drastic. However standing here clearly isn't making it any better. If only they could remember where the supplies were stashed.. ]
[ the blood catches his attention as it drops to the floor, but he isn't jumping or leaping or yelling, just moving quietly to where there are supplies tucked away for first aid. he carries them on his person, but there's also a general reserve in a dresser drawer up top.
sometimes you don't care to have many clothes, but a small stash of first aid items is critical to equip one's self for the arrivals on thursdays. he doesn't know what he'll need, but he grabs what he thinks he might—bandages, gauze, something to clean and disinfection, butterfly closures, just in case. ]
I can get that for you after you sit down.
[ he says it softly, like if they really wanted one, artemy would pad out and grab one without hesitation. glancing over his shoulder as he shuts the drawer with a heel of his palm. ]
[ The reaction is... in a way, familiar. Briefly it feels like a certain supposed Researcher would behave. In the form of a falsely pointed sigh, shuffle off, coming back with what's needed... their thoughts spiral negatively. Is he disgusted with them? Disappointed? Ashamed?
(you're such an idiot, of course it'd be there, why didn't you just move more quieter, faster)
There's an obvious hesitation before they slowly, slowly sit back down and move their hand onto their lap but extended out nevertheless. That fist still tightly enclosed to keep mostly in check until opening to reveal said injury to their palm. A clean steady slice once and done. Despite their earlier panic, it didn't waver.
An explanation would be expected in this moment. What happened. What were they thinking. But their words fall empty, silent, and they just lower their head to stare at the floor instead. ]
[ there is no follow up for an explanation. artemy moves quietly and goes to sit beside them, meeting their eye a moment and then letting his eyes trail back towards the clean cut. there's maybe something that looks like a tired ache in his expression. his brow pinches only slightly, not in disappointment, or disgust, or shame, but in concern. he hesitates, but then holds out his own hand, hovering it just beneath theirs.
they hurt similarly, but seeing this cut now, hearing the shift in breath, feeling it deep inside himself after what they've both had to see of each other. ]
Just going to take a better look, alright?
[ he's slow, steady hand taking siffrin's if permitted, cupping it from beneath at the knuckles and drawing it with just a little closer. his own hands are steady, rough to the touch, but warm. his eyes train on the small wound a moment, but flick slightly to look at them.
his free hand reaches a bit, touches their arm ever so lightly. ]
I'll clean this up, then bandage it... [ if agreeable. then, softer: ] Did you go somewhere else... in your sleep?
[ There's no answering verbal reply, their hand shifting with small curls of their fingers before it relaxes again and they finally nod once more. Permission given. Allowing that hand to cup beneath, keeping their gaze focused somewhere else. Not at him, too ashamed for that. Not at their own hand, guilt swimming. Their arms feeling almost itchy when they do.
The touch to their arm does make them jump a little. Some tension. But it loosens just a little, only once they're sure he's not going to be searching their arm. Find out for himself just how broken they are.
There's another silent nod. Clean up and bandage is fine. Their gaze staring off, until slowly looking back up to meet that gaze. ]
..I did. Back to the.. loops.
[ Felt like he was back.. stuck again. His voice is so, so quiet. Almost a whisper. It may as well be, not wanting anyone else in their team to know they're awake. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK 3, WEDNESDAY LATE LATE NIGHT / CW: SELF-HARM
reaching for something beside them. Scrambling for purchase, for something to grab, feeling fingers curl around the handle of their knife as they curl it close. Body curling into a ball from where they sit up in the bed. Bed... bed? Not the meadow... but the image of the Clocktower comes to mind, imagining quiet snores beside them. Still the loop. Always the loop. They can always hear the sound of their nickname beside them, "Hey... hey Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni."
(CW: SELF HARM) It happens quick, the sharp sudden glide of that blade across the palm of their hand. Something small, clean, dull in mind when it comes to pain but fresh enough it has them focus on it. Real. Even as they stare at the blood that pools a little. (/CW)
A deep breath in, and out. Blinking slowly as they take the sight of their shared room around. ..Right. Air...port. Lounge. Starfarers. Theirs and.. Artemy's shared room. Not the Clocktower. Not Isabeau. Not.. Dormont. Not Vaugarde. Another deep breath in, and out. Shifting to the side of their bed, peering over at the other bed as they try to quietly slide off. Should bandage their hand. Artemy should have some supplies but.. can't wake him. Shouldn't.
Quietly, they peer over to make sure they haven't woken him yet but.. ]
no subject
artemy is used to drifting in and out of his consciousness, getting just enough sleep, coasting over the edges of it. he can fall in and out easily enough - the military taught him that. he sleeps with his legs elevated, hands resting over his diaphragm like a corpse. usually. tonight, he sleeps opposite, still, but curled up, hunched like he's guarding a leg. the sleep it not so fitful.
(he's bandaging up someone on the russian front, a gunshot goes off, he pushes someone off of him to run, to go, to go, and then something explodes, and the shrapnel buries itself in his knee. when he runs, it feels like he has hot coals beneath his kneecap, when he leaps and lands poorly it's a splintering pain - radiating up his thigh, making him limp on the bad days, aching in the cold, it was already bad.)
(he smells blood on the cold, cold floor of the eudora's cargo bay, carried to the healing pod. when he opens his eyes, he sees the people he's known for weeks - a tuft of white hair, the particular weight of someone's hand, familiar flashes of red while his vision swims. later, his body misses what it's like to have a right leg, bites at its own nerves over and over again like so many teeth, keeping him awake.)
the movement is slight... but it's enough to stir him out of the memories that make him sweat all over, down the nape of his neck, cold and prickling. his breathes in once, sharply as he comes fully too. siffrin is quiet, it's almost impossible to hear them, but some nights he catches them, holding his breath, still as stone, as earth. this night, he feels it, like these memories have made him all the more aware of this person he's grown to care for, attuned not on any other level beyond the way artemy cannot help but forge a connection, tie the binds with elegantly woven knots, the gentle hands of a surgeon don't always have to cut.
there is a modicum of privacy when it comes to the both of them, after everything at the start of the week... after everything today. god he's so tired. he thinks about his town, dying, gasping, everything within reach but so far away, and he thinks about how his nerves will deaden and if he dies, well, this may as well not have happened. right?
tonight, though.
well, tonight he sits up a little bit, one elbow and then the other slowly, unfurling with a wince and looking across the room. his eyes peer over slightly as he readjusts to face them, eyes flicking down slightly. maybe it's wrong to call attention to it, breaking a pattern by addressing it right here in this moment. his voice is hoarse with little sleep. ]
... Siffrin?
no subject
A shaky breath escapes before they realize it, and in that moment they notice that movement and glance over to see the man sitting up. So used to the silent privacy the both of them have offered to another. But that gets lonely, doesn't it? Feels like there's a wall. A wall between them and everyone else and they - hate being left alone to their own devices. They crave remembrance, they crave connections. Their next exhale is a bit easier. ]
..Artemy. Sorry, did I wake you?
[ Stars, what time even is it? Still dark enough, so not yet morning rise but it's definitely late. Instead of shuffling off, they stand there, shifting a little from one foot to another. ]
no subject
No... I was already up.
[ he was on the edge, there was no way to pinwheel his arms back and right himself again. so he just offers them a tired smile and carefully swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees. it's late, and siffrin is shifting from foot to foot enough so that artemy wills himself to move further, on his feet, expression soft as he nods towards them. ]
Couldn't sleep...? Did you need something?
no subject
[ Part of their worry about rooming with any of the others was because of their... clinging nightmares. Not just because of their tendency to stay out until nearly morning. But.. better to come to a somewhat understanding with Artemy than worry and bother any of the others.
Given they have enough on their plate as is. And, maybe, there was a small hope that at least with him he would understand. And it's worked out so far. Except for, well, now. Seeing the glimpses of worry as their eye adjusts to the lighting. ]
Ah, no. Nothing just.. needed a drink of water.
[ They feel naked without their cloak to hide. And harder still is their gloves being off, tucking their hands behind their body to hide from view. But even as they try to hide and stifle their self made injury, it'll quickly become apparent as blood drips to the floor. Nothing heavy, nothing drastic. However standing here clearly isn't making it any better. If only they could remember where the supplies were stashed.. ]
no subject
sometimes you don't care to have many clothes, but a small stash of first aid items is critical to equip one's self for the arrivals on thursdays. he doesn't know what he'll need, but he grabs what he thinks he might—bandages, gauze, something to clean and disinfection, butterfly closures, just in case. ]
I can get that for you after you sit down.
[ he says it softly, like if they really wanted one, artemy would pad out and grab one without hesitation. glancing over his shoulder as he shuts the drawer with a heel of his palm. ]
... Will you show me what's behind your back?
no subject
(you're such an idiot, of course it'd be there, why didn't you just move more quieter, faster)
There's an obvious hesitation before they slowly, slowly sit back down and move their hand onto their lap but extended out nevertheless. That fist still tightly enclosed to keep mostly in check until opening to reveal said injury to their palm. A clean steady slice once and done. Despite their earlier panic, it didn't waver.
An explanation would be expected in this moment. What happened. What were they thinking. But their words fall empty, silent, and they just lower their head to stare at the floor instead. ]
no subject
they hurt similarly, but seeing this cut now, hearing the shift in breath, feeling it deep inside himself after what they've both had to see of each other. ]
Just going to take a better look, alright?
[ he's slow, steady hand taking siffrin's if permitted, cupping it from beneath at the knuckles and drawing it with just a little closer. his own hands are steady, rough to the touch, but warm. his eyes train on the small wound a moment, but flick slightly to look at them.
his free hand reaches a bit, touches their arm ever so lightly. ]
I'll clean this up, then bandage it... [ if agreeable. then, softer: ] Did you go somewhere else... in your sleep?
no subject
The touch to their arm does make them jump a little. Some tension. But it loosens just a little, only once they're sure he's not going to be searching their arm. Find out for himself just how broken they are.
There's another silent nod. Clean up and bandage is fine. Their gaze staring off, until slowly looking back up to meet that gaze. ]
..I did. Back to the.. loops.
[ Felt like he was back.. stuck again. His voice is so, so quiet. Almost a whisper. It may as well be, not wanting anyone else in their team to know they're awake. ]