Private Dunnstads Reunion

[Nyx]

By the sea—
Don't you love the weather?
By the sea—

"Shut. Up!"

Trissayne presses the meat of her palm against the center of her forehead, hoping against hope that the pressure alone would stop the fucking voices inside her skull. It didn't, of course, but the buzzing was quieter at the very least.

...She didn't know if she should be thankful for that; after all, which one was more fucked up? The sound of six billion flies, wasps, and bees coming to kill you or the disembodied voices of people you'd never met laughing, talking, crying, screaming, humming—inside your head.

Both of them sucked.

And yet, she couldn't stay away. Her dreams, when she had them, were filled with TerraSphere. When she wasn't playing this stupid game, she was wishing that she was; and when she was here, it was nothing but torment. It wasn't fun anymore. She didn't find joy in getting experience points and leveling up. Everything was so stale.

And she wasn't sure if that was due to that stupid event she was in or if it was Lucia's fault. The grand fuckin—

Sharp pain spikes through her skull and her eyes flutter with vertigo. She barely manages to catch herself on the side of The Siren's Landing and even then, a small trickle of blood drips from her nostril.

Nice. Girl.
Manners.
Behave girl!

Swallowing, she nods, more to the voices in her head than anyone—or anything—else. As she collects herself, she chances a look inside the building, the familiar restaurant that she and Hayate had gotten drunk at forever ago. How long had it actually been? Trissayne couldn't say. The days felt like weeks and weeks felt like months now. What had happened to him after the battle? To Zelrius?

...Apparently, nothing if her eyes were to be believed. Because there they were, sitting together, eating and drinking, and enjoying the ocean breeze that wafted through the windows.

Friends?
Comrades, I think.
Betrayers—
They didn't know.
They left!!
Hear the buzzing?
Fear?
No. Glory.

The little bell over the door dings as Triss shoulders it open, her pace quick as she crosses the hardwood floor, weaving through tables until she stands directly beside Zelrius's and Hayate. "You're alive!" she breathes, the relief she feels immediately pooling at the corners of her eyes. She lifts a hand to swipe at her cheeks before the tears have the chance to fall.

"I—I haven't—I didn't—" She swallows and shakes her head, a small wince making her eyes pinch before she tries again. "What happened?"

@Zelrius @Hayate

 

[Zelrius]

"Trissyane, huh?" The thumping against the wooden table by his tapping index finger got faster as the name came up in the conversation between the Adventurers. She wasn't part of the wagon train on the way back to Finweald, was she even there at the fight? Of course, she helped develop the mist, and she wouldn't have turned away. His eyes moved up, peering past the brows of a tilted down head at Hayate. He'd have the answer for certain, but the answer was much easier to make up out of thin air - easier to deny that way. Even if he didn't want to put it into such thoughts or words.

For the first time in his life, Zelrius was thankful for the mug of ale placed in front of him. Reaching for the rough, rounded cup of liquid and tipping it back, setting it back down with a long glance out the window, letting the waves and ocean air cloud the memories of that day. His glance follows the small bell, eyebrows lifting to the middle of his forehead in surprise, heart dropping into his chest when he saw the woman, her accent thick as ever.

A hand down, and the man slid out of his chair, standing up and opening his arms to offer her a hug. Following through the embrace should she accept, and following up with a usual wisecrack. "For better or for worse! Looks like you're alive too." His lips betrayed his words, the smile being half-assed, and bitter. After the hug, he turned, a hand on her back to lead her to the table and give Hayate a chance to say hello and hug if he wanted to.

"It's a long story. Cart ride back, the fight with Mother." He stopped, swallowing. The next question was going to be 'How about you?' But he still wasn't ready for that answer. A silent hope that if he didn't bring it up, neither would his friend, and they could just pretend it never happened. "Are you doing okay? Were you just in Stokbon? How was the Capital?"

 

[Hayate]

It was mostly small talk between the friends, as he himself was still recovering from the whole mess of an incident that was the Red Fever Expeiditon. It....had changed and affected him in ways he wasn't sure he liked. Showed him parts of himself he had long buried, gave truths to the inner words and demons whose sharp claws rended his heart and mind. While they were together, eating and drinking. He was not enjoying it at all. It was hard to, and the source of all his confusion? The one he was avoiding as he always did when he fucked up had found him. It was hard to ditch a friend when they could see where you were on the map unlike in the real world. It was harder still to leave this world in spite of it, due to all its wonders. Even if the shadows of its dangers loomed a little longer.

His prayers that they just wouldn't see each other again rang hollow, maybe because he wasn't the most devout. But Trissayne herself arrived, and of course? She was worried about them and their safety, no mention of what had happened to her or her loss. Which only spurred the depressing thoughts and feelings within more. Slumping down into his chair, he burried his face in his drink awkwardly. Plus? Was there much for him to say. Zelrius had already asked the question he wanted to but didn't have to gall to ask.

Until directly promted, he was just going to nibble halfheartedly at the food and try to get himself drunk again. Which sadly didn't seem to be working at all. His shame and guilt was just written all over his face. One thing of note? His usual bow and quiver were no where to be seen. Either they were not equipped on his person, or he had gotten rid of them.

 

[Nyx]

Campfire?
Brimstone.
Gunpowder!
No. Idiot. Cordite.

As Zel's arms enclose her in a hug, she can't help but inhale. And the voices immediately pick up, arguing about the specific scent that floods her nostrils. Whatever it is, she likes it, and it helps that dark part of her brain remain here, grounded, instead of worrying about pulling back, pulling away, and finding him attempting to fuse with her. That was the last time she had been touched and the scar it left was one she didn't want to examine too closely.

...Her real life was already devoid of physical affection. She didn't want to be afraid of the same here in the game world, where everything was supposed to be fun.

She winces at the thought.

He pulls back too quickly and Trissayne is remiss to let go, but she does. She even takes a step back to give him space, to give him room to breathe without her crowding him even though she can feel the clench in her chest, the hitch in her lungs as she exhales. She had gotten attached too quickly. And this notion is only reinforced when he gestures to Hayate; her second real friend in this game, one who does not rise when she approaches and does not attempt to hug her.

Hate?
Fear?
Shame.
Guilt.

"Hayate," she murmurs in greeting, her hand lifting, her fingers flexing in the most demure wave she could give before her arm fell back to her side. The other reached out for the open chair at their table, curled around the back of it, and pulled it out. She plops down without preamble, inviting herself to their lunch whether they liked it or not.

Emerald eyes snap in Zel's direction at his question and before she can open her mouth, she can hear the buzzing. It's low, a mere hum that sounds more like a fan in the background than thousands upon millions of insects coming to rend flesh from bone. Her mouth dries and her eyes drop to the table, her fingers sliding off the hardwood and into her lap, her shoulders curling slightly forward. She had to protect herself. What if they showed—

"Stok—No, no," she answers, her words clear, her accent missing. She hates that it was taken from her, that it's now part of Alice instead of part of her. The mere thought of it makes her want to wail and tantrum until the world righted itself and things were stable once more.

Foolish.

"Uh, no. There's a carriage that—Hayate and I ate here before." Her attention diverts to Hayate and then back to Zelrius, her smile strained. "I just happened to—It's the ocean, really. The smell. The waves." The waves would drown out the voices, the buzzing, and she could just sit in the salty breeze for a little while. Pretend that everything was okay, that she was okay and not a fragment of the woman she used to be.

She swallows. Her hand reaches up, her fingers cupping the rear of her neck and squeezing. She winces.

"No, I'm—Zelrius, you didn't—Hayate, you didn't—"

Her gaze is like a seesaw, drifting from one male to the other and back again, never stopping on one, never focusing on either. Always between because the weight was shared. They were both at fault.

They both left her.

"During the fight, you—I...died."

Her voice drops to a whisper and her throat clenches.

Made you better.
Stronger, better.
Know better. Know more.
Soon.

She shakes her head in an effort to concentrate.

"You both...ran off. The swarm—the flies and the...the...the fucking buzzing." Her eyelashes flutter and nostrils flare as her breathing picks up, her eyes widening. "I called—I yelled—screamed—for help. You...You both..."

They left.
They left you.
They left you behind.

 

[Zelrius]

The answer was written on both of them. A friendly, brief meeting in the nice ocean air was already turning sour. The washing of the close by waves, and call of seagulls turned from relaxing, to increasingly irritating. The door wasn't that far away - he could just make an excuse, leave them with each other. And then probably, neither would ever talk to him again. He settled into the seat, there would be no running from this. Maybe it wasn't going to be that bad.

"He was saying something like that. I just figured, you're in the Dunnstadds, might as well stop by the Capital and restock, right?" Reasoning enough for his first question regarding her trip here. It was tense in the air, he could feel it - see it. Both of his friends and companions. The clarity of Triss's voice compared to their first meeting. Watching her hand lift, his chin tilted, brows furrowed, with a glance toward @Hayate, before back to Trissyane.

The tight way she spoke next instantly answered the questions that raced through his mind. Died. He knew what that was like in this game. It was how he imagined it would be to die for real in actual life. When your health is low, and your heart is pumping. Rattling your ribcage, and fighting the constraints of every vein. The black tendrils that snake at the ends of your vision and around your mind. Demanding that you flee, even when wholly unable. A terrible way to go, even more so when mixed with the chaos of the battlefield.

Ran off? He looked to Hayate quickly with a blink. Eyebrows up, hands up immediately, trying to contain the light shaking. "Woah, what? I didn't- I mean. I was fighting the Kurungaar." That was true. He had jumped ahead, completely abandoning Childress's plan to fight off directly. And then ran to reposition Hayate using the speed granted to him by the flames. "Right? I was there the whole time." Looking to his fellow adventurer for some aid in this explanation. He didn't remember seeing her there. The fucking bugs. The cinders that rained down around him. The shouting and calls of people. He remembered all of that, and now, he remembered her silver hair glinting somewhere underneath all of the crimson. Was that implanted by his brain into the memory, a way of fighting the growing shame? Of putting himself down? No, clearly she's just wrong. He was enjoying the game, living the fantasy.

And it was cruelly selfish.

This wouldn't be the first time that thought had bounced itself around for Zelrius.

 

[Hayate]

Could he sink any lower in his chair? No, but hs sure as hell wished that he could. Each word she spoke, was another stab and twist of the dagger in his chest. She had died and he had left her behind. Alone. A situation he knew all to well from both sides as it was something that he always felt outside of the game. Something that he played to escape, to become better, to be different. It was a new world and a new him, or so he thought. But all that happened instead was the adage, old habits die hard. And what was his most common response to anything that bothered him? Leaving. It's why he had so few people that he could call or consider friends. And one of the few he could here, where he felt things were better, he had already wronged and fucked up.

Layering his arms atop of one another and resting his chin upon them, he stared at the table instead of meeting Triss's face or eyes. He wouldn't and couldn't, face what he feared he would see there. Hatred and judgement, of the betrayal. Her could already hear it in her voice, to see it would break him further. It was a confrontation of the likes he had little experience in handling. What could he even say? Did he have the right to try and make explainations? Could he even tell her that he had done what he could after leaving her to die, to avenge her. To pour out all his anger, hate, fury, and agony unto the beast. Shooting at its body until his fingers bled and ran raw.

Or how he had yet to do anything out of a city since, loitering about aimlessly having lost his sense of direction. Merely forcing a mask onto his face as he wandered without a clue. All the food and drink he used to enjoy, turned to the ashes left behind by a cigarette. Something which also brought him no peace. Silent for so long, the emotions ran across his face and furrowed brow as Zelrius tried to explain his part of the story, of what he had been doing. For all the good it was in making things right.

A soft mumbled, "Sorry. I- I. I couldn't. Sorry." was directed to @Trissayne Lavelle as @Zelrius question and ascertation was left unanswered by the archer. He was dealing with his own troubles, and wasn't able to affirm anything for the swordsman.

 

[Nyx]

Her gaze narrows on the swordsman sitting opposite of her.

"Every—We were all fighting that...that...thing," she says by way of reply. Blinking, she glances at Hayate, but realizing that he refuses to meet her gaze, she ends up turning back to Zelrius instead. She wasn't blaming him—

Why not?
It's his fault!
He left. He abandoned you.
He took—

"...W-we were further back, me and Hayate. There was a small hill—" She presses her lips together to silence the explanation before it was given life. Clearing her throat, she drops her focus to the table they all sat at, laden with food and drink, innocent of the emotions that swirled just above it.

This should have been a happy time, something joyous or playful, maybe even akin to friends getting together to plot out the next quest they wanted to complete. Instead, there was discomfort tingling at the tips of her fingers and plastering her tongue to the bottom of her mouth.

And there was an ache at the back of her mind, a buzzing that encouraged her to explain, to narrate, to detail exactly what happened. Because the Truth of the matter was paramount and it would keep the humming, buzzing, screaming—

"Y-You were always out front," she tells him, forcing herself to sit still, to sit straight in her chair, to breathe through the anxiety that constricted her lungs, and to hold his gaze as she did so. She even offers him a smile, but it's strained, more a grimace than something tethered to a positive emotion. "We could see you. Leading the charge. Always in front."

Courage!
Glory!!
Victory!!!
Egocentrism at its finest.

The harsh grating of that voice, specifically, makes her wince, but she pushes onward nonetheless. "You—For a moment, you came back. But, you—You grabbed Hayate—it was after that first explosion—beam—thing. And...and...you—you didn't—you didn't look...back."

She can feel the mud dragging her down, coating the insides of her boots, worming inside her pockets and clouding her lungs. She can hear the chaos of the moment, the screams and shouts as people fell around her, as friends looked around for friends and found them missing...or dead beneath their feet. Her throat tightens as the humming gets louder, the buzz of the swarm making her blink, making a tiny drop of sweat melt down the side of her face.

Her fingers curl into fists in her lap and her nails imprint half-moons onto the meat of her palms. Anything to keep the tears at bay.

Hayate's apology is almost lost to the sound of her sniffling, but she shakes her head and clears her throat a second time, another watery smile spread thin across her lips. "Neither of you—Everyone was so focused—And the swarm just—"

There is no way to complete that sentence and Trissayne gives up as quickly as she had started. Swiping up a napkin from the table, she promptly dabs her eyes. She was so fucking tired of crying.

"I just thought—"

Another sentence dies before it's given a chance to develop.

"—Why?"

The question is a mere whisper of sound. It was quiet enough to believe that maybe Triss hadn't said anything at all; maybe it was an echo from a nearby table or a disembodied voice from some long-dead memory. But when two stray tears flee from the corners of her eyes, leaving blackened streaks down her face, it's impossible to discount her question.

"Why did you both leave me behind?"

@Zelrius @Hayate