[It's easy enough to make a simple ether-like potion for her to breath in alongside the herbicide potion set aside for later, and before long he has her laid out on the cleared table. Fresh gloves, washed hands and his razor sharp and ready to work.
He cuts away the bloom first, setting it aside. A thinner blade takes as much of the stem as he dares, leaving just enough to pinch between his fingers. A few drops of the poison on the open plant flesh and it acts quickly, shriveling down down towards the hidden roots.
He has to act quickly, carefully pulling the dying plant matter free as it loses it's grip- he can not afford to leave any debris behind to cause infection. He lays the withered spidery mass aside... no leaking fluids. A good sign. Now a healing spell to urge the brain and bone to knit any gouges the plant has made and-
- he freezes, looking back into the lit socket. A fresh sprig of green, already recovered while he looked away to put his tools down]
... no. That's not possible...
[he must have just missed some.
He pinches the growth again, crushing it this time to open a wound in the stem. More poison and it withers again... but it is not a small bit of missed debris like he assumed that comes free. It's more roots. White and fleshy suggesting new growth.
it was regenerating. And fast. Too fast.
He curses under his breath. The poison would have to be stronger... but the risk.
Damn it all, he would have to use Restore and healing to heal her after- if he lets the roots take hold it won't matter what other damage there is, she would be dead or crippled regardless. So he steps back to start brewing. Stronger, faster acting. In the short time he's away new greenery appears, a bud, a bloom. He snarls at it like it's an enemy on the battlefield.
Because it is, isn't it?
Bloom cut away, more poison, more roots. Thicker roots. leaves and thorns. Like the wives tale of shaved hair coming back thicker. Panic bubbles in his gut. He can not stop now he's already done too much to give up. Bloom after bloom and he fights it with a fanatic's desperation.
She's stiring. Growling. He can smell fire and hear chimes of dragonsong. No, no he had ACCOUNTED for her higher than human stamina he should still have time-!]
Bryn... flames Bryn please, stay asleep-!
continued surgery cw, immolation, eye squick, dismemberment
[ At first, it really is like a pleasant dream - far better than the ones she's had of late, if nothing else. They have the feverish, hypervivid quality of sickbed dreams with people and places and chronology slipping out of order as they go. She dreams of Reifr in the trial room, twisting someone's words until a contradiction makes itself known. She dreams of meeting Stella at the ball she'd once met Reifr so long ago. Rakel tending to the gardens and talking poisons and curses with Hubert, Zenos in the guttering flames of a dead dragon's hoard.
Her brother, holding her as she'd cried in the garden all those weeks ago, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles as she sobbed like her heart had split in two. She realizes, like missing a familiar step in a stairwell, that he'd done so before when they were children. The day they'd sent him to Favollr, she'd cried and cried. And begged for him to stay.
How had she forgotten that?
The stirring of alarm that had come with the realization doesn't pass as she expects. She waits for it to wane, but a sense of cold alarm is welling up through her like icy water and she realizes abruptly that she's much too awake to still be dreaming. Around her, her body feels like it's stirring under someone else's direction and she tries to cry out in - alarm or warning. Her mouth is numb and the words come out in fractured notes of dragonsong instead. Something else bubbles in her throat too - fire. Her eyes aren't fully open but suddenly she sees it in perfect clarity - Hubert leaning over her, close enough that when her mouth lolls open and a plume of fire spews out, he'll have no chance of getting away.
He- he has to move. She has to tell him to get away she has to- ]
Stop...
[ She has to tell him to - ]
STOP IT!
[ She doesn't know which one of them moves her arm. Maybe she makes to knock Hubert's away. Maybe Wagner wants to claw at his remaining eye. She feels like she's split in two, perfectly divided down the middle and her mind is in such an unravelling that she doesn't feel it when Hubert's arm in her grip just
[It all happens so fast that reacting is impossible. One moment she is chiming those strange notes he's heard before, the next moment is fire and agony.
The fire, his brain decides with a foggy detachment, is the primary threat. So he jerks away in a panic. He smells burning hair and skin, and he knows the sound that isn't dragonsong is him screaming.
There's another noise too. A slick wet popping sound like twisting a undercooked wishbone. The pain is sharp and terrible and not nearly as clean as a blade taking his arm from the shoulder would be. But her strength is so overwhelming that it's effortless. So fast that he doesn't, at first, feel it.
He reels back, his feet tangling and hitting the floor with a grunt. Put out the flame he has to put that out first or it will spread and stick like he knows her fire does. So he rolls frantically, his skin screaming at the rough Potion's Room floor scraping his exposed nerves. But it works- he lays there smoldering and quickly soaking in his own gushing blood.
Don't pass out don't pass out...
But his vision is darkening quickly, he lays there gasping like a fish, trying to reach for his magic, his spells circle sputtering off and on as his concentration breaks apart.]
cw for all of the above, eye squick, drowning imagery, u name it
But that's not how her voice sounds. And even if she tries, no words come out of her mouth. She still can't see, as if someone had shielded her view with their hand but she can move. Just barely. She struggles to try and sit up but her body won't cooperate and more of those eerie strings of melody are coming out in place of words. Even so, the cadence of the song makes it clear she's trying to say his name.
But then something changes. It's like being pushed under cool, dark water and letting it fill her mouth and lungs. That voice that is and isn't hers singsongs little fledgling, little fledgling, go back to sleep and she feels her body move of its own accord.
On the table, she sits up with an eerily smooth and easy movement. Her head is tilted back as if scenting the air then it turns to find Hubert. The rose in her eye is still there – if anything, it's grown even more, bulging out of her eyesocket. Her remaining eye is glassy and the pupil is slitted like a cat.
[The dark edges were pushing in deeper, his head lolling back on his neck. So this was it. He was finally going to die. He had given into his sentimentality and tried to save Bryn instead of quietly slitting her throat on the table as he should.
Well, by now he had expected it. This beast with her face would devour him, and he at least hoped he would bleed out before-
And you will leave every one of your charges to die, coward.
-his father's voice rings through his head like a slap.
Get up, Hugh. NOW!
He groans, biting his lip hard enough to bleed, cutting into his foggy mind with a new pain. The focus is just enough for his spell circle to become more solid. Still wavering but there. MAYBE a Luna would be enough to stop her, but if it wasn't enough such a strong spell would drain him completely. No, he has to... has to... lead her away.
With a 'pop' of rushing air and purple magic he is gone, leaving a pool of blood and his fucking arm behind.
He doesn't get nearly as far as he had hoped- his Warp was already crippled by the wards of this place, but even so at best he is outside the room. Another hop. Another. The trail of blood is strange, looking more like pools of gore were simple dabbed there by an amused god rather than someone actually dragging themselves away. He reaches the stairs:
If you go down you will lead her right to them. Up, as far away as possible and hold your ground. If anyone is patrolling the sound will bring them to you.
Wise enough words. He struggles to his feet, only willpower keeping him going. He can't warp again, he's too exhausted. So he will have to walk it.
All. The way. Up.
Praying he gave himself enough space with his magic that she won't catch up instantly he makes his way up. Step by agonizing step. By the time he reaches the Solarium there is nothing left, and he hits the ground with a weak cry.]
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[ The bitterness with which she says that is directed at herself far more than Hubert.
She sighs and nods. ]
Very well. Do... whatever it is you need to do.
cw: vague surgery stuff god this thread I swear
He cuts away the bloom first, setting it aside. A thinner blade takes as much of the stem as he dares, leaving just enough to pinch between his fingers. A few drops of the poison on the open plant flesh and it acts quickly, shriveling down down towards the hidden roots.
He has to act quickly, carefully pulling the dying plant matter free as it loses it's grip- he can not afford to leave any debris behind to cause infection. He lays the withered spidery mass aside... no leaking fluids. A good sign. Now a healing spell to urge the brain and bone to knit any gouges the plant has made and-
- he freezes, looking back into the lit socket. A fresh sprig of green, already recovered while he looked away to put his tools down]
... no. That's not possible...
[he must have just missed some.
He pinches the growth again, crushing it this time to open a wound in the stem. More poison and it withers again... but it is not a small bit of missed debris like he assumed that comes free. It's more roots. White and fleshy suggesting new growth.
it was regenerating. And fast. Too fast.
He curses under his breath. The poison would have to be stronger... but the risk.
Damn it all, he would have to use Restore and healing to heal her after- if he lets the roots take hold it won't matter what other damage there is, she would be dead or crippled regardless. So he steps back to start brewing. Stronger, faster acting. In the short time he's away new greenery appears, a bud, a bloom. He snarls at it like it's an enemy on the battlefield.
Because it is, isn't it?
Bloom cut away, more poison, more roots. Thicker roots. leaves and thorns. Like the wives tale of shaved hair coming back thicker. Panic bubbles in his gut. He can not stop now he's already done too much to give up. Bloom after bloom and he fights it with a fanatic's desperation.
She's stiring. Growling. He can smell fire and hear chimes of dragonsong. No, no he had ACCOUNTED for her higher than human stamina he should still have time-!]
Bryn... flames Bryn please, stay asleep-!
continued surgery cw, immolation, eye squick, dismemberment
Her brother, holding her as she'd cried in the garden all those weeks ago, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles as she sobbed like her heart had split in two. She realizes, like missing a familiar step in a stairwell, that he'd done so before when they were children. The day they'd sent him to Favollr, she'd cried and cried. And begged for him to stay.
How had she forgotten that?
The stirring of alarm that had come with the realization doesn't pass as she expects. She waits for it to wane, but a sense of cold alarm is welling up through her like icy water and she realizes abruptly that she's much too awake to still be dreaming. Around her, her body feels like it's stirring under someone else's direction and she tries to cry out in - alarm or warning. Her mouth is numb and the words come out in fractured notes of dragonsong instead. Something else bubbles in her throat too - fire. Her eyes aren't fully open but suddenly she sees it in perfect clarity - Hubert leaning over her, close enough that when her mouth lolls open and a plume of fire spews out, he'll have no chance of getting away.
He- he has to move. She has to tell him to get away she has to- ]
Stop...
[ She has to tell him to - ]
STOP IT!
[ She doesn't know which one of them moves her arm. Maybe she makes to knock Hubert's away. Maybe Wagner wants to claw at his remaining eye. She feels like she's split in two, perfectly divided down the middle and her mind is in such an unravelling that she doesn't feel it when Hubert's arm in her grip just
just ]
the cws just keep going
The fire, his brain decides with a foggy detachment, is the primary threat. So he jerks away in a panic. He smells burning hair and skin, and he knows the sound that isn't dragonsong is him screaming.
There's another noise too. A slick wet popping sound like twisting a undercooked wishbone. The pain is sharp and terrible and not nearly as clean as a blade taking his arm from the shoulder would be. But her strength is so overwhelming that it's effortless. So fast that he doesn't, at first, feel it.
He reels back, his feet tangling and hitting the floor with a grunt. Put out the flame he has to put that out first or it will spread and stick like he knows her fire does. So he rolls frantically, his skin screaming at the rough Potion's Room floor scraping his exposed nerves. But it works- he lays there smoldering and quickly soaking in his own gushing blood.
Don't pass out don't pass out...
But his vision is darkening quickly, he lays there gasping like a fish, trying to reach for his magic, his spells circle sputtering off and on as his concentration breaks apart.]
cw for all of the above, eye squick, drowning imagery, u name it
At first, she wonders if it might be her.
But that's not how her voice sounds. And even if she tries, no words come out of her mouth. She still can't see, as if someone had shielded her view with their hand but she can move. Just barely. She struggles to try and sit up but her body won't cooperate and more of those eerie strings of melody are coming out in place of words. Even so, the cadence of the song makes it clear she's trying to say his name.
But then something changes. It's like being pushed under cool, dark water and letting it fill her mouth and lungs. That voice that is and isn't hers singsongs little fledgling, little fledgling, go back to sleep and she feels her body move of its own accord.
On the table, she sits up with an eerily smooth and easy movement. Her head is tilted back as if scenting the air then it turns to find Hubert. The rose in her eye is still there – if anything, it's grown even more, bulging out of her eyesocket. Her remaining eye is glassy and the pupil is slitted like a cat.
Or a beast. ]
no subject
Well, by now he had expected it. This beast with her face would devour him, and he at least hoped he would bleed out before-
And you will leave every one of your charges to die, coward.
-his father's voice rings through his head like a slap.
Get up, Hugh. NOW!
He groans, biting his lip hard enough to bleed, cutting into his foggy mind with a new pain. The focus is just enough for his spell circle to become more solid. Still wavering but there. MAYBE a Luna would be enough to stop her, but if it wasn't enough such a strong spell would drain him completely. No, he has to... has to... lead her away.
With a 'pop' of rushing air and purple magic he is gone, leaving a pool of blood and his fucking arm behind.
He doesn't get nearly as far as he had hoped- his Warp was already crippled by the wards of this place, but even so at best he is outside the room. Another hop. Another. The trail of blood is strange, looking more like pools of gore were simple dabbed there by an amused god rather than someone actually dragging themselves away. He reaches the stairs:
If you go down you will lead her right to them. Up, as far away as possible and hold your ground. If anyone is patrolling the sound will bring them to you.
Wise enough words. He struggles to his feet, only willpower keeping him going. He can't warp again, he's too exhausted. So he will have to walk it.
All. The way. Up.
Praying he gave himself enough space with his magic that she won't catch up instantly he makes his way up. Step by agonizing step. By the time he reaches the Solarium there is nothing left, and he hits the ground with a weak cry.]