Written Wonderland

Xavier ruffled Evan's hair with a giggle, eliciting a laugh from Evan as well. He flinched a little, but his smile was wide, and he gently and playfully tapped his knuckles to Xavier's shoulder once he got over his surprise. Xavier somewhat dramatically threw himself down on the bedroll, arms open wide to invite Evan in. Evan laughed again and dove in to give Xavier a kiss, purely guided by impulse in the moment.

Xavier was grateful that ruffling Evan's hair only earned him a light rap of Evan's knuckles on his shoulder.

But then before he knew it, Evan was lying beside him and kissing him, his mouth so pleasant and warm and pliant against Xavier's. It was so wild to think that Evan's lips had likely kissed the goddess'. Wait, did she kiss? Xavier wanted to ask, but his lips were busy returning Evan's hunger and intent.

Xavier had already lost track of the scale, but maybe that was all right. They had decided Evan would care for it. But the temptation to stroke Evan through it was strong. So many games they could play!

Even through the haze of Evan's lips on his own, he had a tugging sense of responsibility. He pushed Evan away playfully with one hand on his chest, reeling a little as their kiss disconnected.

"Evan," he said, dizzy, blinking. "I gotta be... you gotta sleeeeeep." There, that was coherent enough wasn't it? He blinked again, giggling.

Xavier returned his kiss with joy, and Evan lost himself in a hazy trance, hands caressing the lieutenant's neck and into his hair as their lips danced together.

It was all too soon that Xavier gently pressed against his chest, calling Evan back into himself, and Evan pulled out of the kiss, breathless exhaustion plain on his face. At least Xavier's hand was joyously warm.

"Evan," Xavier said, "I gotta be... you gotta sleeeeeep." He giggled, and Evan giggled, too. Gods, they were a bit slap-happy. When was the last time he'd gotten to be this deliriously cozy with someone?

He curled a brief, mischievous grin and placed one last quick kiss on Xavier's nose before rolling over, though as soon as his other shoulder settled onto the bedroll, he let out a deep, tired sigh. He'd had mechanations to carry the playfulness a bit farther--to wiggle and tempt the lieutenant's thoughts, if nothing else--but gods, it seemed he'd used all the steam he had left. Or, rather, he used the last of it to gently place his hand on the scale beside him, and cooperate with whatever adjustments it seemed like Xavier might need.

Once they both settled into stillness, Evan all but tumbled into sleep, offering Xavier one last thought of gratitude on his way there.

Evan giggled, and as much as they were having fun, a melancholy tugged at the corners of Xavier's mind. He wasn't sure he had seen his captain this tired before. But those thoughts immediately got brushed away as Evan put on his iconically mischievous grin and kissed Xavier's nose. Xavier gasped, half in surprise and another half mock indignance, but then Evan was rolling away from him, albeit snuggling into Xavier to stay on the bedroll. Then, Evan sighed, and Xavier put his arm around his captain's waist in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

They nestled together, getting comfortable, and Xavier watched Evan place a hand on the scale as though to comfort it, or maybe himself.

It was no time at all before Evan's even breathing made it clear that he was asleep. And here Xavier had been prepared to settle in for a while. He laid there with Evan, unsure how long to stay. He slowly ran his thumb in a circle where it landed on Evan's waist, the hard muscles there certainly exciting Xavier. But, the lieutenant did not act on anything more. He listened to the sound of Evan's breathing, he pulled Evan closer, and finally, when it was clear that Xavier himself would not be able to fall asleep--try as he might--he figured he could at least make sure that Evan wasn't missing anything while he was getting his much-needed rest.

After all, everything here had already been so much more than Xavier had expected of this morning. He shouldn't stay here and get greedy. Besides, Evan wanted Xavier to help out with the ceremony preparations.

Very carefully, Xavier extricated himself from behind Evan and stood up. He laced up his boots, sneaking glances at Evan in between lacing. It was so intimate to watch someone sleeping, and Evan really was out cold. Finally, when Xavier thought he looked presentable and ready to leave, he looked at Evan one more time and decided to offer one soft, quick kiss to the scale before heading out the tent flaps.

((OOC: Just noting here so we don't lose track of it in the event that it becomes relevant, but Xavier does not yet know that Ponderance has gone missing.))

Xavier settled in against Evan, arm draping over waist, and warmth bloomed in Evan's lower back as he slipped beneath consciousness. The goddess' pants smoothly hugged and caressed his legs, the scale beneath his hand emanating comfort and affection. He felt so completely and utterly held, safe, accepted... loved. Like he’d made it to that village he’d imagined all those years ago, hands lifting him onto a bed by a warm fire, welcoming and tender ad caring. Like he’d finally found a place to belong.

But guilt tugged at him. A cord pulled taut through the core of him, making sure he couldn't fully relax into deserving this. A storm brewed in the distance, beckoning his attention away from the hands that tenderly caressed him by the fire. Evan tried to ignore it, to focus back in on warmth and care and welcome, but the storm was persistent, offering up flashes of battles and bar fights and a man, seated and restrained as Evan's sword plunged through him. Finally, the storm won out; thunder cracked and a red-hot line of blood slashed open a portal, inviting a demon through it. It looked Evan in the eye and screeched, and everyone else scattered.

In the end, Evan was glad that they did; they didn’t deserve to be collateral.

He fought the demon, though he didn’t exactly know why. He just knew it was something he was good at. Quite frankly, he enjoyed the way his sword sang through the air, and he didn’t mind it when the demon got in a scratch--really, it only felt fair.

((OOC: I don't think the fight will last long tbh, but you mentioned Dehaljadrun would probably have an effect, and I think what happens after the fight is HIGHLY malleable if she gets involved at all. Heck, the fight itself probably is, too. I'm not sure exactly what the demon looks like; probably a mixture of Dehaljadrun's and Rhys' and maybe other random things too... it might be shifting shape throughout the fight, but not in a way that Evan notices? Couldn't quite figure out how to describe that within the post.

Dehaljadrun doing things elsewhere))

Evan sank into almost a trance as he fought the demon, their battle a dance of lunges, dodges, and swipes. He felt comfortable in his purpose here--grateful, even, to serve it. The demon landed slashes on his skin with claws, or maybe teeth, and the stings of pain were thrilling.

Evan almost felt sorry for the demon--or even perhaps disappointed in it. It screeched in pain when he landed a blow, its fervor waning, and Evan found himself holding back--more out of a strange sort of attachment than any kind of mercy. Putting off a feeling of empty aimlessness he felt looming once this was done.

“Evan.”

The demon had stopped fighting him altogether. It was a man now--a soldier, supposedly an ally. Lieutenant Pemberley, uncharacteristic emotion welling as tears in his eyes.

“Please. Stop this.”

Evan grew angry. He imagined running Pemberley through--maybe he even did, but in a blink they were back to standing before each other, Evan’s hand stayed despite the powerful urge within him to carry on.

“You’re one to talk,” he snapped, his sword ringing as he gruffly slashed it through the air down by his side.

And yet, there was an echo of something else wafting through the fabric of their present interaction. A path where Evan hadn’t held back--where he’d run the demon through, all too easily, and guilt had flooded in after. Where he’d thrown himself down on the forest floor, scuffing his own cheek against tree roots, a silent but potent invitation practically screaming for someone to come and punish him for what he'd done.

He didn’t let himself get pulled into that reality, though; instead he cast his sword aside and took a step forward, shoving Pemberley’s chest as he met him sharply in the eye.

“Fight me.”

((OOC: Apparently I don't know whether Philip is wearing clothes either lol))

The dream grew blurry for a moment, and Evan faded into and out of focus. The goddess worried the dream might end. Perhaps the force of both of their wills and subconsciousness acting on the fabric of the dream was too much for it. But the goddess' view of Evan sharpened again, and she breathed a sigh of relief back in her body where she still knelt.

"You're one to talk," Evan snapped, his anger causing embers to fall through the air between Philip and him. Evan slashed his sword through the air at nothing in particular, and the goddess flinched reflexively.

Evan blurred again, and the dream almost tore away into another direction entirely, one filled with guilt and Evan's screams, but Dehaljadrun gently steered the dream back here. There was something here for them. There had to be.

At the same time, Evan threw his sword to one side and shoved Philip in the chest, his eyes sharp but no longer empty.

"Fight me," Evan said roughly. And suddenly, Philip's eyes were the goddess' eyes, a deep, rich red and purple. Philip followed Evan's orders blindly, throwing a punch and then another, giving Evan little time to block or strike offensively. But Philip's blows, when they landed, noticeably avoided sensitive or vulnerable areas, and the wounds Evan had collected from the demon began to close. Still, some of Philip's blows connected, and eventually Evan fell to the ground with Philip standing over him.

But the goddess saw the purple fading from Philip's eyes, and she instinctively thought, Now.

Forming herself into the dream, the goddess pulled the embers from the air and swirled them together until she was there, standing beside the two men. She placed a hand lightly on Philip's chest where he stood, breathing heavily, but she was looking at Evan with sorrow in her eyes.

"I'm here, Evan. I'm here," she said. "Fight me instead." She took up a defensive stance in front of Evan, almost as though protecting Philip.

Philip swung without hesitation. It honestly surprised Evan, and he had only enough time to swivel and accept the blow on his shoulder. He flashed a grin and started to swing for Pemberley, but had to redirect his momentum toward deflecting another punch--and another, and another. Gods damn, the lieutenant was moving fast. Evan did his best to keep on top of dodging, deflecting, and blocking, expecting to find an opening, but Pemberley was unwavering. Finally, Evan just recklessly swung, and did get Pemberley in the side below his ribs. He had only a fleeting moment to celebrate the small accomplishment before Pemberley clocked his own side, and then his cheek in quick succession, knocking him off balance and stumbling with a thrilled panic to the ground.

Evan looked up to assess Pemberley's approach--whether he could go ahead and try to stand, or whether he needed to block a further onslaught. Pemberley stood over him, his eyes a dark purple, though fading. He seemed surprisingly far away, and Evan nearly started standing, but embers swirled through the air between them, and he found himself frozen, like somehow if he remained still he might not be seen by whatever presence seemed to be coalescing.

The goddess--the goddess--stood between him and Pemberley, one hand on the lieutenant's chest to ensure he stood down. Evan gaped, a million emotions swirling around inside of him at once. He felt shocked that her very existence had escaped him during his fights, and he felt terribly caught out at her arrival. He felt ashamed, half like a jealous lover had walked in on a guilty tryst and half like he'd just come home after a fight, his mother looking sadly at a ripped tunic she'd just bought him--at her bloodied son whose rage she wished would just... go away. Or at least, she might ask, why couldn't he channel it productively?

"I'm here, Evan. I'm here," the goddess said, and Evan felt a sob stick and ache in his throat. "Fight me instead."

She took up a defensive stance, and anger did flash in Evan as he realized that, ostensibly, she was protecting Pemberley. Evan felt betrayed and indignant, even as he still felt guilty and ashamed, and he could feel a pull toward a spiral.

"I don't want to," he said hastily instead, pushing himself up slowly to his feet despite the heaviness of his body. He met the goddess' gaze with wide, wet eyes. "I don't know what I want."

Maybe he would find it. He tried to, as he stood there with his palms spread openly by his sides as if in a mixture of offering or receptive, his eyes searching the goddess' face as though it might hold a clue. Maybe, more than anything, he wanted to know how she was. What it meant that she was here. Had she just come to see him--and found him like this? Did she need something from him? But the words to ask kept sticking in his throat.

A thousand thoughts seemed to swirl in Evan's mind at her arrival, all the of them making him feel a little more real, lucid even. Some part of her lamented that. There was something so sacred about the subconscious-fueled dream state, and she had broken it by intervening. He knew she was here now; he recognized her and knew what she was to him, to some small degree at least.

"I don't want to," Evan said quickly, pushing himself to his feet with some frustrated difficulty. His eyes were wide and wet. "I don't know what I want."

She knew in that moment she was not here to give Evan what he wanted. Except, at least, to be with him. Or was that what she wanted? She had wanted him to take the scale, had she not? Was this all just selfishness again?

Not wholly, she thought. She wanted to take some kind of accountability. Without spiraling, this time.

Evan spread his palms to either side of himself, looking very much like he wanted to say something as his eyes raked over her face, but he stayed silent.

"Philip didn't hurt you," the goddess said, "I did." She wanted to make it clear why she had wanted to take the blows. But, she lowered her arms anyway, almost disappointed to have taken the fight out of him.

She felt a tug back toward her body, her realm, the palace she had been rebuilding. That was what she wanted. But she had to stop this, whatever it had been. Remembering the sword through the chest and the pain she had felt, she closed her eyes tightly for a moment.

When she opened them, she saw Philip moving out of the corner of her eye and eyed him warily. This combined figment of their shared subconsciousness could not simply be willed away--it had agency of its own to some degree. It held answers, she knew. But she also knew they were not going to solve everything Philip represented here, now.

Philip's form wavered into shadow again, and the goddess watched as Philip took off the cloak she had created and threw it almost gently into the sky where it became part of the fabric of the dream again, dispersing into moonlight. The demon took shape again immediately and looked at Evan with curiosity, all the violence having gone out of it.

And then the goddess knew what she needed to do. She looked at Evan and said, "I hurt you both. Horribly." She said it simply, without despair. It was time for her to truly admit to this and to seek, of all things, redemption. The demon's tail lost its edge and sprouted fur.

"I've prioritized my own freedom over the well-being of your entire army. Of an entire country of Shel'ti," she said, and the cracks in the demon's skin glowed less and started to close, its height reducing slightly.

"I let my desire for revenge ravage your people, just like your king." Gods, that hurt to say, but it was true in a number of ways, and there was no point in hiding behind what greater evils Rorrim himself may have caused. The demon got down on all fours now, its eyes widening as more soft fur sprouted from its back.

"I've consumed myself and my realm out of loneliness and heartbreak, and there's been a gaping hole where a goddess should be," Dehaljadrun said, losing only a little of her confident posture but still holding her head high. The demon was now the size of a large cat, and though it was still horned, it looked rather harmless as its wide eyes glanced between Evan and the goddess.

Stepping closer to Evan now, eager to embrace him if he would allow it, she finally said, "All I can do now is heal and ask for forgiveness. Ask for it, and give it to myself." After a moment, she added, "Whether or not you're with me." She wanted to reassure him that none of this was dependent on him. This was her journey, and she needed to follow through with it even and especially if Evan did not return.

The horned creature nuzzled the side of Evan's leg, glancing up at him with a tilted head.

Maybe this was not the dream Evan wanted, but somehow she doubted he had really wanted the earlier one either. And, for now, this was all she had to give him. This was all she had to give herself.

"Philip didn't hurt you," the goddess said, "I did."

Evan wanted to protest. But as his mind tried flailing toward counter-arguments, he flinched away from them just as fervently, not wanting to trudge through all that would entail. Besides, somewhere deep down in his gut, he knew the goddess was right, even if he didn't want her to be.

Pemberley fetched Evan's attention back to the present as he wavered into shadow, shrugging something off before sinking into the form of a demon again, black and horned and pulsing with veins of light. It looked... curious, though. No pained or raging shrieks tensing its throat. The sob still stuck in Evan's throat throbbed.

"I hurt you both," the goddess said, pulling Evan's attention back to her. "Horribly. I've prioritized my own freedom over the well-being of your entire army. Of an entire country of Shel'ti. I let my desire for revenge ravage your people, just like your king."

Gods, Evan's chest hurt. All the way from his throat down his sternum, pulsing with ache and burning. He could tell the demon was changing in his periphery--growing smaller, dimmer, more animal-like--but he couldn't take his eyes off the goddess. He wanted to object to what she was saying, but he couldn't. He scratched at his chest without fully realizing, though trails of heat scorched across his skin as he did so.

"I've consumed myself and my realm out of loneliness and heartbreak," she continued, "and there's been a gaping hole where a goddess should be."

The goddess stepped closer to him, and he wholeheartedly embraced her, a single sob finally escaping his throat as he held her tight.

"All I can do now is heal and ask for forgiveness. Ask for it, and give it to myself." After a moment, she added, "Whether or not you're with me."

At that, Evan furrowed his brow and pulled back a little, enough to look her in the eye. He didn't like thinking about not being with her. He didn't like thinking about a lot of this. Any of this, really. To be honest, he missed fighting the demon--the simplicity of purpose, the confidence of his value in that role, the clarity of thought and action. Though, he knew he was romanticising even that. Especially when the demon--now a large horned cat--nuzzled the side of his leg, looking up at him with a curious, tilted head. There was absolutely no sense in fighting it now. In reality, there never had been. But, absent that, he had no idea what to do.

Evan looked back up to the goddess, his hands holding her arms with a sense of desperation, his eyes afraid and terribly sad, his throat still unbearably throbbing. He knew he couldn't speak--not without unraveling, which he saw no point in right now. He was still on the precipice of a spiral, his subconscious practiced and frankly eager to wallow in a cacaphony of outward rage and inward loathing. He so desperately wanted not to give in to that, though. He wanted to be better. But what did that look like?

Finally, Evan gathered together some kind of courage or resolve, and he eased his grip, pivoting to lead the goddess tenderly by one hand, if she was amenable.

He led them into a forest, muddy with rain and frigid cold. They both recognized it. But it wasn't so bad, now. The goddess was here with him, his wounds had all long since healed, and he felt confident that he would reach his destination. He walked with purpose through brush and over tree roots, trudging with dedication through the rain, though he was attentive to whether the goddess was having any difficulty keeping up. After some time on their journey he began to sob as he walked, finally letting the knot in his throat unravel now that he had direction. They were both soaked with rain, anyway, and he could feel it washing away muck from deep within him.

((OOC: He's heading back to the village the dream started in, which I think his subconscious knows in a way the goddess might be able to also know? It just wasn't quite fitting into the post--like most-consciously, Evan just knows that he needs to go through this forest right now, and isn't quite seeing what's on the other side, just that he has to get there.))