Isidor Briar Durant (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heirtothedragonsfire) wrote2018-01-14 12:22 pm
heirtothedragonsfire) wrote2018-01-14 12:22 pm
After Necromancer Caelus || Resurfacing
The door clicked closed behind her with a strange finality. The apartment was so quiet. Sleek, modern furniture sat in perfect order. Pristine. She dropped her bag and looked down at herself. She was covered in dirt, in grime, in mould and liquids she didn’t even want to think about. She kicked her bag to one side and headed to the bathroom. As she hung up her cloak and took off her boots, she sent a joint text to Viatorus and Stathis. They needed to know she was safe, after all.
Not a moment later Viatorus called her. Despite her reiterations of how tired she was, he stayed on the phone for an agonisingly long ten minutes. She promised to tell him everything once she’d had some rest and he finally let her go. By the time she was off the phone Stathis had sent back a text requesting a written report and suggesting a time for a debriefing. She threw the phone onto the bed and pushed those thoughts aside.
Each piece of clothing made her shudder and gag as she removed them. Everything had pasted onto her, and the way she had to peel everything off a reminder of how much blood, sweat, tears, and human decay she had waded through. It stunk. She looked at the pile on the floor and considered burning it all. Not the cloak, though. She wouldn’t touch her cloak. After trying and failing to decide on what to do she decided that it was a problem for another day.
As soon as she stepped into the shower she sighed with relief. The heat eased her tense muscles, the soap reassured her that she could wash it all away. She stretched and closed her eyes. A mass of writhing flesh in the dark, pressing against her, caressing her face. She opened them again. Through her shuddery breaths the water didn’t seem so comforting anymore. It was the moisture on cold cave walls, the water rank with rotting flesh. She turned the temperature up to scalding and grabbed more soap. She didn’t even notice the first few tears, but soon she was sobbing. No matter how much she scrubbed it just wasn’t coming off. She couldn’t get it off. The death, the dirt, the blood and bile was all clinging to her. She couldn’t get it off. It was staining her. She just wanted it gone.
By the time she crawled out again she was red and felt no better than when she went in. Instead of pyjamas she dressed in a tracksuit. The material was soft, warm, but thick, and she could move freely. She could run if she needed to. When she turned on the hairdryer it was immediately switched off again. The noise was too much. The shrieking of tortured souls. She couldn’t hear anything beyond it. Anything could take her completely by surprise. Instead she tied her hair up loosely. It was not as if she was getting any sleep anytime soon anyway.
With a glass of wine in hand she sat cross legged in her study, staring at her laptop. The report was cold and inelegant, but she was hopeful Stathis will be able to look past that. This wasn’t Durant business, after all, and if he got it quickly he would have to understand that speed took place of quality. Anything he didn’t understand he could ask her about later. Hopefully that wasn't much. She didn’t want to relive it. Ever. By the time she was done it was a paper of cold fact with little detail, little observation, and fewer personal opinions. Let it be enough, she thought to herself, let that be enough for them.
When morning came she was curled up on her bed with a blanket half over her and barely a few hours sleep. She rose with her alarm, headed to the shower, kept it on scalding, and got ready for work. This time she had to use the hairdryer, and she had to spend more time on her makeup. She didn’t notice the small bruises and scratches before, but she did her best to hunt them down now. The only thing she couldn’t fix was the red intruding on the whites of her eyes. She must have cried again last night. She didn’t remember. She couldn’t feel anything anymore.
The office was exactly how she left it. No sooner had she sat down then there was a knock on her door. A middle aged man with dark, brittle hair stepped inside. “Miss Durant.”
She put on a smile for him and straightened in her seat. “Roy. What can I do for you today?”
“I’ve sent you an email about today. You’re due to present that forecast at ten, and then at half twelve there’s a meeting about our competitors.” Roy shrugged and explained, “A couple of them lowered their rates for the next few months and the deals are becoming very popular. So we need to decide on a response.”
It took Isidor a minute to realise she was staring blankly at him. She smiled. “That’s fine.”
With a nod he turned and headed out again. The door clicked closed and a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. This was a mistake, she realised as she slouched over her desk. Putting on the smile was too tiring, paying attention was too difficult. The past week had been beyond any trial she could have expected, but to endure this as well? She couldn’t just leave. They needed her here, and she had said she would be in. What if things fell into complete disarray? What if she needed more time off and her uncle found out? She couldn’t show weakness and she couldn’t let her people down.
The projection was a mess. Easy, expected questions were impossible for her to answer; some of her documentation was missing; and she phased out several times while standing in front of her team. Jessica, their kind but stern faced middle aged head of HR, gave her a minute before she approached at the end of the meeting.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line that suggested she’d already come to her own conclusions when she asked, “Miss Durant, are you all right?”
If she’d had the energy Isidor might have laughed. If only it had been another meeting. Jessica was probably the only one brave enough to walk right up to her and ask how she was doing.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she answered more tersely than she’d meant to.
Jessica nodded slowly, unconvinced. “Good… I’ll talk to you later about the requests Jameson sent in.”
Isidor nodded in return and cleared away her papers to head to the next office. Despite the disaster of her presentation she felt a sense of relief. Jessica had left her alone and the next meeting wouldn’t rely so heavily on her contribution. If she could just get through the next few hours she could get through the day.
Her hopes for a smooth meeting were dashed swiftly as soon as it started. A couple of snide jabs between coworkers told her that office politics were going to make this uncomfortable for all involved. She wasn’t in the mood. Whether she’d been gone long enough for them to forget or they didn’t see the glare growing across her face, the two men persisted in their bickering through her warnings. The longer it went on the more her anger rose, the more her arm ached. She tried to be patient. She tried to be calm. She wanted to scream at them for their childishness, for making her sit through this after she had faced a horde of zombies, after she had nearly been killed by her own friends. In the end raising her voice and putting them in their place was all she could do to keep herself from letting her magic express how angry she was. They stopped bickering, but tension and stinted conversation plagued the rest of the meeting. Everyone fled from the room without delay once they finished. Everyone but for the quarrelling men who she kept behind to be scolded like schoolchildren. They slunk out of the meeting room, thoroughly embarrassed. Roy was waiting for Isidor when she finally left.
Concern conflicted with disapproval on his face. "What was that all about?"
"I won't have petty squabbles in my office," she told him firmly. "We have more important things to focus on than personal conflicts."
Roy followed her into her office, checked behind him and closed the door. He heaved a sigh and lowered his voice. "Miss Durant… If you need to take another few days off we can handle this."
Isidor froze and fixed a sharp stare on the man across from her. When she straightened slowly to fold her arms he knew he'd better explain himself.
"We know your family is involved in a lot of important business," he told her quickly. "It wouldn't hurt for you to take a bit of time for yourself. No one can be expected to work all the time." Gently he added, "In all my years of knowing you I've never seen you raise your voice at anyone."
It was the kindness that did it, the concern. Isidor's glare softened and she felt genuinely bad. She'd let her colleague down.
"No one would blame you for taking a half day," he suggested. "You could work from home if you wanted to..."
Eventually Isidor nodded and smiled ever so slightly. "I might do that. Thank you, Roy."
Although he still looked a little worried, Roy smiled and gave her a nod. Soon she was alone again. And felt worse than ever. He was right. She needed to cut her losses and head home. As she began to gather her things together her stomach began to knot. The idea of going home, of sitting alone where all of her memories had time to resurface made it difficult for her to breathe. With a quick exchange of texts she'd rescheduled her meeting with Stathis.
During the ride to the family manor Isidor spent her time trying to prepare herself. The unexpected events of the day had knocked away at her ability to compose herself. Just beneath her skin a sea of unwanted emotion threatened to break free. She needed to be steady, to be professional. When she stepped into the parlour a sense of relief soon followed as she greeted her uncle. Somehow she'd forgotten what a calming presence he could be. Not because he was kind or gentle, but because he was open and straightforward. He asked what he wanted to ask and accepted what she told him. None of the friendships involved interested him, so she didn't have to avoid talking about Harrowheart. A true patron, his primary concern was what magic was involved, what threats she faced, how she dealt with them, what injuries she sustained, how safe she was, and by what measure she succeeded. It made it all sound so… simple. Victories and losses. Threats and counter measures. Action and reaction. Simple. Easy.
At the end of their conversation he suggested that she write up an assessment of the magic she witnessed and experienced. Being the closest thing to a scholarly activity she'd been given in a long while, she gladly agreed to it.
They got up to say their goodbyes and he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Isidor… Are you doing all right?"
She forced a bright smile. "Of course. I'm fine." He frowned at her until her smile became a thin line of pressed lips. "I will be."
Stathis gave a grunt of approval and nodded. "We'll talk again soon."
Faced with the fear of a quiet apartment once more, Isidor ensured that Viatorus was waiting for her when she returned. He had let himself in with his spare key as instructed and jumped to his feet when she came through the door. Isidor eyed way he hesitated. Runa must be rubbing off on him. She could swear he looked like he wanted to give her a hug. Instead he stood, looking anxious and excited and awkward in the way he always did. He hovered around her, darting away only briefly to make tea, and waited until she'd had time to settle before he started asking her questions.
First and foremost: Was everyone ok? A question he'd asked when he'd called but he clearly hadn't believed her answer. Secondly, what happened? And yet again Isidor found herself recounting the events of the past week. More than ever she felt tired. This version of the story was concise and factual like it had been for Stathis, except that Viatorus periodically asked about how people felt, and how they reacted. It chipped away at the distance and apathy she had been building up.
"Poor Harrowheart," he murmured finally. The silence had hardly settled when he asked, "How is he now?"
It was just one question too many, asked at the wrong time. Something painful cracked within her and she snapped. "I don't know! How could I know? Clearly I don't know anything about him! I have no idea who he is, or what he is, let alone how he is! How am I meant to know how he's doing or how he's feeling? He could be half rotten for all I know! Or in-in eternal torment! How could I know? How am I meant to know?"
Seeing Viatorus' expression of utter shock immediately made her feel guilty. She ducked her head and looked away to avoid his gaze.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry, I'm just…"
"Drowning, I know."
Isidor's head snapped to her brother in surprise.
He smiled a meek, watery smile and dipped his eyes to his hands as he wrung them. "I know you're trying to hide it, but… Well. Some things are just too… too strong to hide."
Although she stared at him in shock she realised that she really shouldn't have been surprised. He was an empath. Picking up on emotions was what he did. It was just that he'd never done this before. He'd never called her out on her own feelings before. She'd always thought she'd always been able to control them enough to keep them hidden. Now she had to wonder if she ever had him fooled.
"Those things you faced, the things you saw…" For a long minute he went quiet and still, staring into nothingness. Then he lifted his head and tried to smile encouragingly for her. "You're allowed to be scared."
"No I'm not." It came out quicker than she could stop herself thinking it. Out of habit her determination began to surface and a frown replaced her shock. "Even if I was scared, which I'm not, I couldn't afford to be."
Viatorus mirrored her expression, but his brow was knotted in worry rather than stubbornness. "Isidor, I know you're scared. A million other things too, but scared. I know that feeling of drowning in your own senses, in your memories, your mind… I know what it's like to be gasping for some sense of calm, of safety. And Isidor, when I was going through that it was you who helped me through it." He leaned forward in his seat. "Let me help you. Please, let me repay you. Talk to me."
I'm fine. I am a patron, this is nothing. I am a Durant. I will be fine. I am fine. I'm fine. It was on the tip of her tongue. Practiced words and hollow reassurance so close to slipping out reflexively. Somehow she managed to hold them, staring blankly at her brother's earnest offer. This… All of this… felt so surreal. This couldn't be her. She couldn't be in this situation. This wasn't right. It wasn't right. She was Isidor Durant, daughter of the Archon, daughter of der Drache. She was infallible. She had to be infallible. She had always been infallible.
Her eyes flickered up and down the young man in front of her, the way he so naturally curled in on himself, even as he leaned forward eagerly to offer his help. For her to accept that help, for her to be helped by her scholar, would be admitting that she was failing as a patron. That she was failing. After enduring everything she had endured she couldn't fail. She just couldn't. The thought of it was unbearable… But she couldn't refuse it either. Wasn't this what they needed? Open conversation? Discussing their feelings? Wasn't this the perfect way to allow her to ask Viatorus those hard questions she needed to ask? To tell him those things she needed to tell him?
But it was so hard. So very hard.
Isidor forced a smile. "You are helping, V." His shoulders drooped at her half-answer so she hurried to add, "If I need to talk you'll be the first person I come to. But right now I'm just so tired." She sighed and slouched, keeping that smile in place. "Let's talk again tomorrow, will we? And you can tell me what you did while I was away." Tilting her head she managed a playful narrowing of her eyes. "I'll want a full report."
Whereas Isidor tried to pretend she was all right, Viatorus' flickering smile didn't even attempt to hold the same pretence. He watched her for a prolonged moment, but then nodded. "You should get some rest. I-It's been a long week for you."
At least her relief was genuine. She accompanied him to the door, assured him again that they would talk more tomorrow, and then said her goodbyes. The door clicked closed and silence descended. She spun around and switched on the television. The noise was a comfort and allowed her to relax into the couch, pulling up her legs to curl up while she flicked through the channels. Murder, politics, mass murder, and an overwhelming amount of banal game shows. She settled onto a channel running a series of quiz shows. Simple. Correct or incorrect. Winning or losing. Nothing but fact here. They were either good enough or they weren't. She didn't choose a person to root for. She simply watched them get whittled down to a final competitor with a cathartic indifference.
It was hard for her to tell if she dozed off or if time had passed without her realising it. Everywhere was dark except for the light of the television and that made her sickeningly disoriented... Oh. Wait, no. That was hunger. That was why she was awake, why she felt the need to move. When had she last eaten? As she got to her feet a pain struck her stomach. Not recently enough. Not since... Not since yesterday. Her whole body was weak... Like it had been in the cave, after all that casting. She gritted her teeth and opened up the fridge. It was fully stocked, but everything looked so... awful. All she could see was the slight putrid moisture on all the meat, the shrivelling of decomposing vegetables, and she was certain cracking the eggs open would reveal how rotten they were inside.
As she closed the fridge she caught a glimpse of her arm and for a split second she swore she could see it covered in grime, scarlet and brown. Scarlet and black like a demon's face. She withdrew her hand, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Just breathe, Isidor. Just... She needed to get it off. She needed to get it off. She turned and stormed to the bathroom, turning on every light along the way. Her clothes were still in a bundle in a corner. Only the cloak hung separately. Now she tore off more clothes and added them to the pile. The rot had spread. Frantically she looked over herself. She couldn't see anything on her, but she could feel it. She could feel it. It was on her skin. It was under her skin. Just because she couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there. The shower was left on scalding and soon she was emptying the soap, scrubbing desperately to feel clean. To feel normal. To stop the images flashing across her mind. To get rid of the shadows behind her eyelids. To hush the voices invading her thoughts.
They didn't stop.
She couldn't get rid of them.
They only got louder.
Eight arms pulling her towards one body. Gnashing, pawing, desperate for her to join them, to feed them. That's what he was made for. Ribs for teeth, organs lolling as a grotesque tongue. Smashing, cutting, tearing. Help it be over. Death and the death. I can't. An unrelenting wave. More arms, skin sliding off muscle. Groaning, pleading, grasping desperation. Let me be gone. Hacking, yelling- her own voice roaring with the effort of it. I can't! Fighting. Fighting. Let me rest. Still fighting. Still fighting, still alive. Alive so she must fight. Drowning in blood and bile and rot. Take it! Take it! Take all of it! All the sweat, all the blood, all the tears and grief! Take it! Just don't take him away! Not this. Not again. Not again. Always fighting, but always failing. Failing. Still a little girl. Still fighting for lost causes. All that power and she still fails. Always failing. What a waste. What a disappointment...
✣ · ✣ · ✣ · ✣
"Did you get the report?"
"Yes."
"And now what do you think about him?"
"I think that now, even more than before, he is someone to make an ally of. He owes Isidor his soul. Even if she does not write that down, or believe it, I gather he is the type of person who would."
"There are a lot of assumptions being made that I do not like here..."
"Stathis. How is she?"
"There isn't a scratch on her. As it said in her report, she took a wound but it was healed by the spirits. I made sure of it."
"I understand. But is she all right?"
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a minute. Slowly Stathis answered, "As all right as we were." When no response came he added, "We have to trust her. She'll be fine... Vercor?"
"I trust her. Goodnight, Stathis."
"Goodnight."
Not a moment later Viatorus called her. Despite her reiterations of how tired she was, he stayed on the phone for an agonisingly long ten minutes. She promised to tell him everything once she’d had some rest and he finally let her go. By the time she was off the phone Stathis had sent back a text requesting a written report and suggesting a time for a debriefing. She threw the phone onto the bed and pushed those thoughts aside.
Each piece of clothing made her shudder and gag as she removed them. Everything had pasted onto her, and the way she had to peel everything off a reminder of how much blood, sweat, tears, and human decay she had waded through. It stunk. She looked at the pile on the floor and considered burning it all. Not the cloak, though. She wouldn’t touch her cloak. After trying and failing to decide on what to do she decided that it was a problem for another day.
As soon as she stepped into the shower she sighed with relief. The heat eased her tense muscles, the soap reassured her that she could wash it all away. She stretched and closed her eyes. A mass of writhing flesh in the dark, pressing against her, caressing her face. She opened them again. Through her shuddery breaths the water didn’t seem so comforting anymore. It was the moisture on cold cave walls, the water rank with rotting flesh. She turned the temperature up to scalding and grabbed more soap. She didn’t even notice the first few tears, but soon she was sobbing. No matter how much she scrubbed it just wasn’t coming off. She couldn’t get it off. The death, the dirt, the blood and bile was all clinging to her. She couldn’t get it off. It was staining her. She just wanted it gone.
By the time she crawled out again she was red and felt no better than when she went in. Instead of pyjamas she dressed in a tracksuit. The material was soft, warm, but thick, and she could move freely. She could run if she needed to. When she turned on the hairdryer it was immediately switched off again. The noise was too much. The shrieking of tortured souls. She couldn’t hear anything beyond it. Anything could take her completely by surprise. Instead she tied her hair up loosely. It was not as if she was getting any sleep anytime soon anyway.
With a glass of wine in hand she sat cross legged in her study, staring at her laptop. The report was cold and inelegant, but she was hopeful Stathis will be able to look past that. This wasn’t Durant business, after all, and if he got it quickly he would have to understand that speed took place of quality. Anything he didn’t understand he could ask her about later. Hopefully that wasn't much. She didn’t want to relive it. Ever. By the time she was done it was a paper of cold fact with little detail, little observation, and fewer personal opinions. Let it be enough, she thought to herself, let that be enough for them.
When morning came she was curled up on her bed with a blanket half over her and barely a few hours sleep. She rose with her alarm, headed to the shower, kept it on scalding, and got ready for work. This time she had to use the hairdryer, and she had to spend more time on her makeup. She didn’t notice the small bruises and scratches before, but she did her best to hunt them down now. The only thing she couldn’t fix was the red intruding on the whites of her eyes. She must have cried again last night. She didn’t remember. She couldn’t feel anything anymore.
The office was exactly how she left it. No sooner had she sat down then there was a knock on her door. A middle aged man with dark, brittle hair stepped inside. “Miss Durant.”
She put on a smile for him and straightened in her seat. “Roy. What can I do for you today?”
“I’ve sent you an email about today. You’re due to present that forecast at ten, and then at half twelve there’s a meeting about our competitors.” Roy shrugged and explained, “A couple of them lowered their rates for the next few months and the deals are becoming very popular. So we need to decide on a response.”
It took Isidor a minute to realise she was staring blankly at him. She smiled. “That’s fine.”
With a nod he turned and headed out again. The door clicked closed and a wave of exhaustion crashed over her. This was a mistake, she realised as she slouched over her desk. Putting on the smile was too tiring, paying attention was too difficult. The past week had been beyond any trial she could have expected, but to endure this as well? She couldn’t just leave. They needed her here, and she had said she would be in. What if things fell into complete disarray? What if she needed more time off and her uncle found out? She couldn’t show weakness and she couldn’t let her people down.
The projection was a mess. Easy, expected questions were impossible for her to answer; some of her documentation was missing; and she phased out several times while standing in front of her team. Jessica, their kind but stern faced middle aged head of HR, gave her a minute before she approached at the end of the meeting.
Her lips were pressed into a thin line that suggested she’d already come to her own conclusions when she asked, “Miss Durant, are you all right?”
If she’d had the energy Isidor might have laughed. If only it had been another meeting. Jessica was probably the only one brave enough to walk right up to her and ask how she was doing.
“I’m perfectly fine,” she answered more tersely than she’d meant to.
Jessica nodded slowly, unconvinced. “Good… I’ll talk to you later about the requests Jameson sent in.”
Isidor nodded in return and cleared away her papers to head to the next office. Despite the disaster of her presentation she felt a sense of relief. Jessica had left her alone and the next meeting wouldn’t rely so heavily on her contribution. If she could just get through the next few hours she could get through the day.
Her hopes for a smooth meeting were dashed swiftly as soon as it started. A couple of snide jabs between coworkers told her that office politics were going to make this uncomfortable for all involved. She wasn’t in the mood. Whether she’d been gone long enough for them to forget or they didn’t see the glare growing across her face, the two men persisted in their bickering through her warnings. The longer it went on the more her anger rose, the more her arm ached. She tried to be patient. She tried to be calm. She wanted to scream at them for their childishness, for making her sit through this after she had faced a horde of zombies, after she had nearly been killed by her own friends. In the end raising her voice and putting them in their place was all she could do to keep herself from letting her magic express how angry she was. They stopped bickering, but tension and stinted conversation plagued the rest of the meeting. Everyone fled from the room without delay once they finished. Everyone but for the quarrelling men who she kept behind to be scolded like schoolchildren. They slunk out of the meeting room, thoroughly embarrassed. Roy was waiting for Isidor when she finally left.
Concern conflicted with disapproval on his face. "What was that all about?"
"I won't have petty squabbles in my office," she told him firmly. "We have more important things to focus on than personal conflicts."
Roy followed her into her office, checked behind him and closed the door. He heaved a sigh and lowered his voice. "Miss Durant… If you need to take another few days off we can handle this."
Isidor froze and fixed a sharp stare on the man across from her. When she straightened slowly to fold her arms he knew he'd better explain himself.
"We know your family is involved in a lot of important business," he told her quickly. "It wouldn't hurt for you to take a bit of time for yourself. No one can be expected to work all the time." Gently he added, "In all my years of knowing you I've never seen you raise your voice at anyone."
It was the kindness that did it, the concern. Isidor's glare softened and she felt genuinely bad. She'd let her colleague down.
"No one would blame you for taking a half day," he suggested. "You could work from home if you wanted to..."
Eventually Isidor nodded and smiled ever so slightly. "I might do that. Thank you, Roy."
Although he still looked a little worried, Roy smiled and gave her a nod. Soon she was alone again. And felt worse than ever. He was right. She needed to cut her losses and head home. As she began to gather her things together her stomach began to knot. The idea of going home, of sitting alone where all of her memories had time to resurface made it difficult for her to breathe. With a quick exchange of texts she'd rescheduled her meeting with Stathis.
During the ride to the family manor Isidor spent her time trying to prepare herself. The unexpected events of the day had knocked away at her ability to compose herself. Just beneath her skin a sea of unwanted emotion threatened to break free. She needed to be steady, to be professional. When she stepped into the parlour a sense of relief soon followed as she greeted her uncle. Somehow she'd forgotten what a calming presence he could be. Not because he was kind or gentle, but because he was open and straightforward. He asked what he wanted to ask and accepted what she told him. None of the friendships involved interested him, so she didn't have to avoid talking about Harrowheart. A true patron, his primary concern was what magic was involved, what threats she faced, how she dealt with them, what injuries she sustained, how safe she was, and by what measure she succeeded. It made it all sound so… simple. Victories and losses. Threats and counter measures. Action and reaction. Simple. Easy.
At the end of their conversation he suggested that she write up an assessment of the magic she witnessed and experienced. Being the closest thing to a scholarly activity she'd been given in a long while, she gladly agreed to it.
They got up to say their goodbyes and he rested a hand on her shoulder. "Isidor… Are you doing all right?"
She forced a bright smile. "Of course. I'm fine." He frowned at her until her smile became a thin line of pressed lips. "I will be."
Stathis gave a grunt of approval and nodded. "We'll talk again soon."
Faced with the fear of a quiet apartment once more, Isidor ensured that Viatorus was waiting for her when she returned. He had let himself in with his spare key as instructed and jumped to his feet when she came through the door. Isidor eyed way he hesitated. Runa must be rubbing off on him. She could swear he looked like he wanted to give her a hug. Instead he stood, looking anxious and excited and awkward in the way he always did. He hovered around her, darting away only briefly to make tea, and waited until she'd had time to settle before he started asking her questions.
First and foremost: Was everyone ok? A question he'd asked when he'd called but he clearly hadn't believed her answer. Secondly, what happened? And yet again Isidor found herself recounting the events of the past week. More than ever she felt tired. This version of the story was concise and factual like it had been for Stathis, except that Viatorus periodically asked about how people felt, and how they reacted. It chipped away at the distance and apathy she had been building up.
"Poor Harrowheart," he murmured finally. The silence had hardly settled when he asked, "How is he now?"
It was just one question too many, asked at the wrong time. Something painful cracked within her and she snapped. "I don't know! How could I know? Clearly I don't know anything about him! I have no idea who he is, or what he is, let alone how he is! How am I meant to know how he's doing or how he's feeling? He could be half rotten for all I know! Or in-in eternal torment! How could I know? How am I meant to know?"
Seeing Viatorus' expression of utter shock immediately made her feel guilty. She ducked her head and looked away to avoid his gaze.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm sorry, I'm just…"
"Drowning, I know."
Isidor's head snapped to her brother in surprise.
He smiled a meek, watery smile and dipped his eyes to his hands as he wrung them. "I know you're trying to hide it, but… Well. Some things are just too… too strong to hide."
Although she stared at him in shock she realised that she really shouldn't have been surprised. He was an empath. Picking up on emotions was what he did. It was just that he'd never done this before. He'd never called her out on her own feelings before. She'd always thought she'd always been able to control them enough to keep them hidden. Now she had to wonder if she ever had him fooled.
"Those things you faced, the things you saw…" For a long minute he went quiet and still, staring into nothingness. Then he lifted his head and tried to smile encouragingly for her. "You're allowed to be scared."
"No I'm not." It came out quicker than she could stop herself thinking it. Out of habit her determination began to surface and a frown replaced her shock. "Even if I was scared, which I'm not, I couldn't afford to be."
Viatorus mirrored her expression, but his brow was knotted in worry rather than stubbornness. "Isidor, I know you're scared. A million other things too, but scared. I know that feeling of drowning in your own senses, in your memories, your mind… I know what it's like to be gasping for some sense of calm, of safety. And Isidor, when I was going through that it was you who helped me through it." He leaned forward in his seat. "Let me help you. Please, let me repay you. Talk to me."
I'm fine. I am a patron, this is nothing. I am a Durant. I will be fine. I am fine. I'm fine. It was on the tip of her tongue. Practiced words and hollow reassurance so close to slipping out reflexively. Somehow she managed to hold them, staring blankly at her brother's earnest offer. This… All of this… felt so surreal. This couldn't be her. She couldn't be in this situation. This wasn't right. It wasn't right. She was Isidor Durant, daughter of the Archon, daughter of der Drache. She was infallible. She had to be infallible. She had always been infallible.
Her eyes flickered up and down the young man in front of her, the way he so naturally curled in on himself, even as he leaned forward eagerly to offer his help. For her to accept that help, for her to be helped by her scholar, would be admitting that she was failing as a patron. That she was failing. After enduring everything she had endured she couldn't fail. She just couldn't. The thought of it was unbearable… But she couldn't refuse it either. Wasn't this what they needed? Open conversation? Discussing their feelings? Wasn't this the perfect way to allow her to ask Viatorus those hard questions she needed to ask? To tell him those things she needed to tell him?
But it was so hard. So very hard.
Isidor forced a smile. "You are helping, V." His shoulders drooped at her half-answer so she hurried to add, "If I need to talk you'll be the first person I come to. But right now I'm just so tired." She sighed and slouched, keeping that smile in place. "Let's talk again tomorrow, will we? And you can tell me what you did while I was away." Tilting her head she managed a playful narrowing of her eyes. "I'll want a full report."
Whereas Isidor tried to pretend she was all right, Viatorus' flickering smile didn't even attempt to hold the same pretence. He watched her for a prolonged moment, but then nodded. "You should get some rest. I-It's been a long week for you."
At least her relief was genuine. She accompanied him to the door, assured him again that they would talk more tomorrow, and then said her goodbyes. The door clicked closed and silence descended. She spun around and switched on the television. The noise was a comfort and allowed her to relax into the couch, pulling up her legs to curl up while she flicked through the channels. Murder, politics, mass murder, and an overwhelming amount of banal game shows. She settled onto a channel running a series of quiz shows. Simple. Correct or incorrect. Winning or losing. Nothing but fact here. They were either good enough or they weren't. She didn't choose a person to root for. She simply watched them get whittled down to a final competitor with a cathartic indifference.
It was hard for her to tell if she dozed off or if time had passed without her realising it. Everywhere was dark except for the light of the television and that made her sickeningly disoriented... Oh. Wait, no. That was hunger. That was why she was awake, why she felt the need to move. When had she last eaten? As she got to her feet a pain struck her stomach. Not recently enough. Not since... Not since yesterday. Her whole body was weak... Like it had been in the cave, after all that casting. She gritted her teeth and opened up the fridge. It was fully stocked, but everything looked so... awful. All she could see was the slight putrid moisture on all the meat, the shrivelling of decomposing vegetables, and she was certain cracking the eggs open would reveal how rotten they were inside.
As she closed the fridge she caught a glimpse of her arm and for a split second she swore she could see it covered in grime, scarlet and brown. Scarlet and black like a demon's face. She withdrew her hand, her heart hammering in her chest. She couldn't breathe. Just breathe, Isidor. Just... She needed to get it off. She needed to get it off. She turned and stormed to the bathroom, turning on every light along the way. Her clothes were still in a bundle in a corner. Only the cloak hung separately. Now she tore off more clothes and added them to the pile. The rot had spread. Frantically she looked over herself. She couldn't see anything on her, but she could feel it. She could feel it. It was on her skin. It was under her skin. Just because she couldn't see it didn't mean it wasn't there. The shower was left on scalding and soon she was emptying the soap, scrubbing desperately to feel clean. To feel normal. To stop the images flashing across her mind. To get rid of the shadows behind her eyelids. To hush the voices invading her thoughts.
They didn't stop.
She couldn't get rid of them.
They only got louder.
Eight arms pulling her towards one body. Gnashing, pawing, desperate for her to join them, to feed them. That's what he was made for. Ribs for teeth, organs lolling as a grotesque tongue. Smashing, cutting, tearing. Help it be over. Death and the death. I can't. An unrelenting wave. More arms, skin sliding off muscle. Groaning, pleading, grasping desperation. Let me be gone. Hacking, yelling- her own voice roaring with the effort of it. I can't! Fighting. Fighting. Let me rest. Still fighting. Still fighting, still alive. Alive so she must fight. Drowning in blood and bile and rot. Take it! Take it! Take all of it! All the sweat, all the blood, all the tears and grief! Take it! Just don't take him away! Not this. Not again. Not again. Always fighting, but always failing. Failing. Still a little girl. Still fighting for lost causes. All that power and she still fails. Always failing. What a waste. What a disappointment...
✣ · ✣ · ✣ · ✣
"Did you get the report?"
"Yes."
"And now what do you think about him?"
"I think that now, even more than before, he is someone to make an ally of. He owes Isidor his soul. Even if she does not write that down, or believe it, I gather he is the type of person who would."
"There are a lot of assumptions being made that I do not like here..."
"Stathis. How is she?"
"There isn't a scratch on her. As it said in her report, she took a wound but it was healed by the spirits. I made sure of it."
"I understand. But is she all right?"
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a minute. Slowly Stathis answered, "As all right as we were." When no response came he added, "We have to trust her. She'll be fine... Vercor?"
"I trust her. Goodnight, Stathis."
"Goodnight."