Kyriakos: DAY 86

[takewing]

[Suddenly, the books on several of the shelves spring to life--they flutter around the room and open above those present. As they do a magic circle springs out of their pages, enveloping the players in a beam of light and making them vanish into their pages--two to a book. Inside is a featureless room with an indestructible paper-like substance lining floor, walls and ceiling, inlaid with an intricate pattern of metallic roses. My, what long thorns they have …

On the floor somewhere nearby is an incredibly sharp quill and a bottle of an inklike substance--which is clearly labelled as ‘Not intended for ingestion unless you wish to die painfully, you twit.’]

((HERE))

Comments

[takewing]

If I make any attempt to survive this game, it will be for you, Spark. Just you.

But my heart wouldn't be in it. [She speaks softly and earnestly, fingers clenching tight around the bottle of ink.] My heart would be with our friends and teammates who are trying desperately to survive. If I lived, while they died … yes, I would blame myself.

[unlocksmith]

For what?

[lowering the quill knife to his side, and addressing her completely]

For. . . survivin' when others died? Or for what you view as being complicit with their murders?

[no accusatory, merely an attempt to understand. the question is genuine]

[takewing]

…

[Sighs, capping the bottle, and turns to face him.]

If I tried to survive this, I'd be walking down a path that I don't truly believe in. Out of … love for you. [Tilts her chin up, meeting his gaze firmly.] And I do love you, Spark. You are home to me.

… but I don't have it in me to be that selfless. I'd regret living while my friends died; knowing that most of them are far more scared to die than I am; knowing that while I spared you some suffering in this game, I had to give in to Nyssa to do it. Knowing that one choice to abstain could mean life for somebody else …

[unlocksmith]

. . .

[his grip tightens on the knife, knuckles practically turning white]

. . . I am not selfless enough to let you die.

[takewing]

I'd come back.

… my answer would the same with or without revivals. [Revivals don't make death okay, after all.] But I will come back from this.

[unlocksmith]

[the sure don't, and his gaze narrows at her. briefly]

I am not selfless enough to let you go through with this. Revivals or not.

I can't, Bl--. . . Nalea. I can't.

[takewing]

[Tenses briefly at the use of her name, flicking a glance at the rose patterns on the wall.]

I can't not. I know myself well enough to say that I will never forgive myself if I walk out of here and find any one of my friends dead. And Nyssa—[her lip curls.] Nyssa. The idea of giving her the satisfaction makes my skin crawl.

[unlocksmith]

[suddenly gripping at her wrist-- firmly, but not so tightly it hurts]

And I will never forgive myself if you don't walk out of here alive!

[takewing]

[tense tense tense under his grip, but she slips the bottle into her pocket and grabs his hand.]

[she says nothing for now, chewing over desperate arguments and counters and, gods damnit, they can't both get what they want—]

[unlocksmith]

[he's about as tense as she is, his teeth gritted together tightly]

You are-- you are a good person. . . I don't understand it, but I admire it, because I cannot be even one-tenth of the person you are.

But how many times. . . how many times will I have to watch you die while we're here? How many times will I have to hold your cold hand as your life painfully returns?

How many times will I stand helplessly by as you die for your beliefs?

[takewing]

[she was afraid it might come to this.]

… There is no way for me to answer that without hurting both of us.

[her voice and expression are absolutely neutral, but there's something raw, something painful flickering in her eyes.]

Do I give up who I am for you? Do I force you to suffer for me? I'd rather do neither.

[unlocksmith]

You would do neither. I would not force you to.

[she might be able to tell that he's trembling, ever so slightly]

There will be. . . numerous times after this in which you will give up your life to preserve who you are in here.

[he lifts his free hand up and places it over his heart]

I know you. I know Kyriakos. I know this will not be the last time we're asked to make a decision like this one. This time. . . I am asking you to consider allowing someone else to carry that burden for you.

[he tilts his head up, expression firm]

. . . allow me. Please. This once. . . allow me.

[takewing]

[…]

[r-r-r-r-r-r-r-record scratch]

[unlocksmith]

[his grip tightens, ever so slightly]

And in case you believe this offer is as half-hearted as your attempt at survival would be, it is not. I have no death wishes. . . on the contrary, I have every will to live and every ounce of tenacity within me to fight for it.

[his hand slides from her wrist, to her own hand, fingers closing around hers]

But I can't protect you. As much as my heart wishes I could, I can't. That is the way of this place, and it is my burden to help you when your beliefs and convictions mean your life is forfeit.

I am. . . asking that you carry that burden for me. Only for today. Only for this game. Because for once, I have that ability to shield you as you shield others. And if this is what it takes in order to protect every inch of you, including what's in here. . .

[he reaches out to place a hand over her heart, still trembling]

Then it is worth my life. And more.

[takewing]

I …

[nope, nope, record still scratching]

[and thus she stands still, utterly still, eyes wide with disbelief]

[unlocksmith]

. . .

[in her silence, he leans forward to thunk his forehead against hers]

[takewing]

[good job breaking it, champ]

[because no]

[no, no, no no no she can't sit safely and watch him die, she knows she can't, and just the thought of trying sends a rush of panic straight through her. Heart racing, breath coming far too quickly, she stands there and wrestles for self-control.]

[unlocksmith]

Nalea.

[he knows her well enough to tell when something is wrong, and he lets go of her hand to take her shoulders gently]

Nalea.

[takewing]

[They were ripped to shreds in front of me, over and over and over, I couldn't—I couldn't do anything — I can't do it, I can't I can't I can't I can't]

[She gives her head a faint shake, trying to focus through the pounding, through the rush of memory she'd tried so hard to bury … and it's like she can't even hear him.]

[unlocksmith]

[WHAT DID HE ACCIDENTALLY DO]

[he'll keep calling her name until he gets some kind of response]

Nalea. What's goin' on?

[takewing]

[It takes a few more calls before she manages to respond, hands coming up to shakily grasp at his shirt. She gives her head another shake, still struggling for breath, still with that same glazed, unfocused look, still trembling.

She mumbles something faintly between gasps.]

[unlocksmith]

[she'll feel his hand slide up against her cheek]

Nalea? Hey, what. . . [what was that]

What's wrong?

[takewing]

[Her cheek is warm, and just a little clammy.]

P-Panic … can't hear—n-need a moment—

[Leaning against him more heavily now; he's the only thing keeping her on her feet as she rides this out.]

[unlocksmith]

Wh--


[?????]

[continues to hold her upright, one arm sliding around her back]

[takewing]

[it's … probably another minute or two before her breathing evens out, and she slumps against him, face buried against his shoulder.]

H-Ha ...