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]

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."