OPENING MINGLE LOG: THE LOUNGE

[yourkeepers]

	THE LOUNGE

Once used for the Keeper's extravagant, personal parties, the Lounge seems just slightly larger than average in scale, making the many cushions and couches more than enough to rest on. The lighting shifts between shades of purple and blue. Living trees grow from the floor in decorative intervals, and flickering candles light the various tables. The roof appears to be a vibrant night sky, displaying alien constellations and nebulas that shift over the day.

Comments

[brassandblood]

She could tell he was scared. It was a reasonable reaction, now that both of them knew she could hurt him badly, maybe even kill him. Even if she had no intent of doing so, she could hardly blame him.

She knelt down next to him, careful to keep her hands away. No need to make him more nervous. "Do you still need me to...fix it for you? Though I will warn you, if reshaping hurts, there will probably be a lot of pain again."

She felt a prize fool. She'd been trying to help and instead she'd hurt him far more than a temporary theft.

"If there's anything else you'd like me to do - to make up for it, I mean - please tell me. I owe you that much, for what I did to you."

[ironspirit]

He pulled himself a little closer as she sat down, shifting his gaze to the side so he didn't have to look at her. He didn't want her to think he was scared, even if he definitely was, because fear was a weakness and he didn't want anyone thinking he was weak. He was tough, and strong, and he didn't need to be scared of anything. He could handle a bit of pain. His sister would be able to handle it, so he could definitely handle it, too.

But his fingers were starting to rattle together. He paused to smooth them out on his legs, pressing them against the thin fabric to muffle the noise.

"... I can't move my legs," he said nervously, not quite answering her question.

[brassandblood]

The forge could see it written all over his face, how scared he was. That was even without how the blades of his fingers rattled together, putting the lie to him trying to hide it. She'd done this to him. She had to set things right. She just wished it didn't have to cause him even more pain.

With a sigh she held out her hands, palm up. "Whenever you're ready," she said softly. "I'll make it as fast as I can."

[ironspirit]

He didn't answer right away, but he glanced in her direction, looking down at her open hands. They didn't even look that warm, compared to the last person who'd handled him. Maybe it was because her heat was just different, not hotter, and that was why she was the only fire that could burn him. Staring at those hands, he briefly contemplated turning her offer down. Things heal, the valravn had said before, and maybe he'd be able to recover on his own, given time. But that could be a long wait. He had things he had to do. Speeding up the search was worth a little pain, right?

After a moment of unsure staring, he slowly started to collect his pieces. His hands felt a little clumsy, his blade heavier than before, but he managed not to drop anything. He drew a sharp breath to steady his arms as he held them out to her.

"Don't mess me up, okay?" he mumbled, looking away again. "I really won't forgive you if you make me look stupid."

[brassandblood]

That gets a little smile out of her. "No, we can't have that," she replies. "I know what I'm doing, don't worry."

And she does - she's shaped pleny of swords in the service of their Master, and more than that she just...knows whatit's like, how it feels. Maybe she was a metalworker of some kind before.

She gently takes the blade and ruined hilt from him, takes a deep breath, and focuses on the metal in her hands. It warms to her touch, glowing a dull cherry red as it obediently shapes itself to what she wants. The grip re-forms and squeezes in on itself until it's firm and sturdy, then molds itself to the blade, fitting itself into its old place perfectly.

The forge is breathing hard and sweating from the effort, but the work has taken not nearly as long as it would to re-forge the sword the normal way. She hands him back to himself gently. "There, how is that?"

[ironspirit]

He braces himself, putting his trust in her despite the growing anxiety pulling at his chest. At least he knows to anticipate it this time. He clenches his teeth and grips the sides of the cushion. It'd be quick. He can handle it, for sure. He just has to keep reminding himself of that.

But the sharp burning sensation still takes him by surprise, despite all his attempts to prepare, and he chokes back a cry. Don't scream, damnit, don't you dare scream this time. As his hilt melts and twists into shape, he briefly has the sense to wonder if this is what burning felt like to everything else. Maybe this was a lesson in why he shouldn't burn stuff so much.

It's not just the pain but... something else. Something more painful and terrifying than he can even comprehend, like the vague outline of a nightmare after waking. It lingers even after the moulding is complete. The pain in his body quickly fades with the cooling steel, but in his mind it only seems to get worse, like his body is melting away until all that's left is that terrifying and overwhelming fear.

He doesn't respond to her voice. He's frozen, breathing shallow and panicked, gasping for air to scream with and finding none.

[brassandblood]

He hadn't cried out, so it's only now that she takes a good look at him and realizes that he's hyperventilating in terror. She did hurt him.

She curls his hands around his hilt, careful not to cut herself, and pats his shoulder, trying to get him to wake up from his stupor. "Sword?" she says softly. If only they had something to call each other, so she could get his attention.

[ironspirit]

He grips himself tightly with her lead, and it helps, just a little, to have all of him accounted for. It's something he can ground himself with—evidence that he's in one piece. He starts to draw long, shaky breaths, willing his nerves to calm.

Eventually, his breathing starts to slow to something more normal. He lets out a weary sigh and allows himself to sink back into the soft cushion. He lifts his other body up to rest it across his chest, gripping the edge of the blade lightly with the hand not on the hilt in a sort of half-hug. He's safe. He's still confused, and frightened, but he doesn't want to dwell on it. He doesn't want to think about it at all. The unpleasant thoughts and feelings are pushed back into the dark corners of his mind.

And then he finally remembers that the forge is still there. The hand on his shoulder is a bit unnerving, considering the circumstances, but he doesn't try to shake her off besides glancing at it nervously (what does he know, maybe trying to push her hand off would activate her creepy metal-melting powers again).

"Um." He swallows, his throat uncomfortably dry. Between his pauses he relights his crown of flames and bends his knees a little, testing out his recovery. "I'm fine. Sorry."