[ The first night with roommates, he manages the whole night without alerting them to his... sleeping preferences. He'd stayed up later than the rest, working on his new notebook of observations in the dim light of a candle. When it was time to sleep, finally, he found that the bedding in the alcove of straw, the heat of the Draconae's city, the stagnant air... it made him feel restless. The ground at least had a gentle breeze from under the curtain, and he slept like he used to before joining the Express—with his back against the stones and fitful dreams of drinking with old friends.
The second night, he tries to do the same. Alas, he is tired from waking up too early and staying up too late again, and retires before the others have all returned to the room. When Clive discovers him on the ground in the blind spot behind the stone table, his skin is warm, his pulse skittering rapidly in his veins, but he doesn't stir apart from muttering something unintelligible, about marching and trouble. Come morning, he is still asleep in the alcove, pressed into the corner behind the pillows. The third, he is caught and moved once again, but manages to wake and flee before the rest in the morning, padding out of the room without boots on in hopes that nobody fucking asks him shit about why he keeps trying to sleep on the floor. He's got notes to write, babies to look after, ingredients to gather, spit and blood to trade for a spearhead.
The fourth night though, upon being lifted from the floor, he startles mid-dream of something that Dan Feng did. From the depths of the ancient sea, heavy roots of a divine tree begin to press against his sides, dig into his shoulder, to try and drag him one way or another, and eventually up into the sky towards the cracked shape of that thing—he has no way of knowing that it is just Clive, trying to be kind. That it isn't an abomination trying to drag him back into the darkness.
Clive will find a very wet hand slapped against his chest as all of the moisture in the room collects in a deep sea creature's attempt to blast him away by force; at most the water might manage to unsteady him for a step or two, but no more—the air inside the volcano is simply too dry. A flame will struggle to light a paper that has been soaked in seawater, and vice versa for a wave to crash its way through a desert without an ocean to feed on. The real concern is the amount of force behind the hand itself as Dan Heng tries to free himself—Vidyadhara have deceptively delicate frames for the amount of inhuman force they can manage to apply. Even Xianzhou natives, with all their stamina and durability granted to them by their celestial nature, have a hard time keeping up with the dragon people from the depths of the ancient sea.
Eyes lit up with an inhuman blue light, Dan Heng pedals backwards deeper into the safety of the sleeping alcove, gasping for air in panic. Two, three, four gasps later he realizes what he's just done and slams his hands over his ears, afraid that he's lost his touch so far that he dropped his shapeshifting too somehow in his dreams, and he screws his eyes shut to find the sanctuary of calm with the falling leaves in his mind's eye instead, hiding that unearthly, alien light. His ears are still small, and round, thank the Aeons, and apart from that brief moments of a High Elder's glow, nothing about Dan Heng makes him seem like anything more than just a teenager who has been struggling with a fever all week, and refusing to rest sufficiently despite it. Well, a teenager who can also blast a gallon of water from his palm with barely a gesture. ]
I... Sorry. [ When he next opens them, his eyes are the usual color of dark jade. He looks... miserable. Whatever dream had him so unnerved to try and strike out while still asleep hasn't sunk back to the depths. ] I didn't mean to...
[ He's just not used to sleeping outside the safety of the Archives for so many days in a row at all, anymore. The Express is home, now, and the Trailblaze's blessing of stamina takes the cost of wakefulness in equal measure. ]
Edited (gotta match my articles i guess) 2023-10-22 03:34 (UTC)
( Jill prefers to surprise Clive with her gifts, rather than give them to him in person. At least these particular ones -- she has one or two more of a more intimate nature that remain safely tucked away for later. Wrapped up in pretty patterned paper and tied with fancy ribbon, laid on his bed for him to discover after he returns from his errands, are three shirts: two that Clive already owns in black and white, and then a new one in red. All shirts have been altered, however.
The black shirt is embroidered on the hem of the neck and bottom with red, orange, and a shinier black thread to mimic flames, the horns, and the hard carapace of Ifrit, the face of the eikon staring down itself at the V of the shirt. For the white, the floss is black and red, and the patterns are reminiscent of the Fallen architecture of the Hideaway, with the Oath symbol repeating in the design. The last, the red one, the thread is white and black, and the symbols of Rosaria, of snow daisies and the phoenix decorate the hems, ending in the crest itself at the point of the V.
The card that lies on top is simple, Jill's familiar handwriting clear as day: )
Clive, Forgive me for writing to you like this when I can simply find you and talk to you. But some of the novelty of being able to do that hasn't worn off -- every day I find myself grateful to our hosts if only for this one thing. That you are here, and you are mine. I love you, and while the question of our relationship has never been in doubt, I am overjoyed to share my happiness at being yours with our family and friends.
Though Hilda seems willing to help where she can, and I cannot help but thank the Founder for her willingness. I truly have no idea where to begin.
[It is not without accident he's kept his distance; those memories still overwhelm Dion, and after Ramuh's -- Cid's -- withering lectures, he'd rather unburden himself before the anger that lives in him finds reason to rise again.
Though he has not felt it since that day. There's something else taking its place; something less likely to ignite, something he feels particularly when he picks up the dragon statue that Claude put so much effort into sending him.
No matter what he is dragged down by, however, he cannot ignore the way Thorne appears to be closing in around him.]
Clive,
Before I further burden you with my concerns... how are you? I hope --
I do not know how to reconcile those memories, and what we became, with what we have stood against together. So I would rather we do not consider those memories at all. Perhaps it was someone's fantasy, but it was certainly not mine.
[ he'd visited horizon for a brief chance at quiet, and found torgal pacing back and forth in the parlor car. the wolf had barreled into his knees, weight sturdy and warm, and refused to move even after dan heng had pet all over his head, and scratched behind his ears. something in torgal's golden eyes was unsettling, and the heavy paw against Dan Heng's leg pushed him to turn right back around, and make for the echo of familiar places.
clive's domain was empty, as was jill's. the air felt disconnected, carrying the salty tang of scalegorge waterscape along his footsteps. it felt wrong, enough to send him tumbling back out of horizon into his own body, the dying evening light cast through his window setting the small apartment he lives in ablaze in gold. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
in the nether.
The second night, he tries to do the same. Alas, he is tired from waking up too early and staying up too late again, and retires before the others have all returned to the room. When Clive discovers him on the ground in the blind spot behind the stone table, his skin is warm, his pulse skittering rapidly in his veins, but he doesn't stir apart from muttering something unintelligible, about marching and trouble. Come morning, he is still asleep in the alcove, pressed into the corner behind the pillows. The third, he is caught and moved once again, but manages to wake and flee before the rest in the morning, padding out of the room without boots on in hopes that nobody fucking asks him shit about why he keeps trying to sleep on the floor. He's got notes to write, babies to look after, ingredients to gather, spit and blood to trade for a spearhead.
The fourth night though, upon being lifted from the floor, he startles mid-dream of something that Dan Feng did. From the depths of the ancient sea, heavy roots of a divine tree begin to press against his sides, dig into his shoulder, to try and drag him one way or another, and eventually up into the sky towards the cracked shape of that thing—he has no way of knowing that it is just Clive, trying to be kind. That it isn't an abomination trying to drag him back into the darkness.
Clive will find a very wet hand slapped against his chest as all of the moisture in the room collects in a deep sea creature's attempt to blast him away by force; at most the water might manage to unsteady him for a step or two, but no more—the air inside the volcano is simply too dry. A flame will struggle to light a paper that has been soaked in seawater, and vice versa for a wave to crash its way through a desert without an ocean to feed on. The real concern is the amount of force behind the hand itself as Dan Heng tries to free himself—Vidyadhara have deceptively delicate frames for the amount of inhuman force they can manage to apply. Even Xianzhou natives, with all their stamina and durability granted to them by their celestial nature, have a hard time keeping up with the dragon people from the depths of the ancient sea.
Eyes lit up with an inhuman blue light, Dan Heng pedals backwards deeper into the safety of the sleeping alcove, gasping for air in panic. Two, three, four gasps later he realizes what he's just done and slams his hands over his ears, afraid that he's lost his touch so far that he dropped his shapeshifting too somehow in his dreams, and he screws his eyes shut to find the sanctuary of calm with the falling leaves in his mind's eye instead, hiding that unearthly, alien light. His ears are still small, and round, thank the Aeons, and apart from that brief moments of a High Elder's glow, nothing about Dan Heng makes him seem like anything more than just a teenager who has been struggling with a fever all week, and refusing to rest sufficiently despite it. Well, a teenager who can also blast a gallon of water from his palm with barely a gesture. ]
I... Sorry. [ When he next opens them, his eyes are the usual color of dark jade. He looks... miserable. Whatever dream had him so unnerved to try and strike out while still asleep hasn't sunk back to the depths. ] I didn't mean to...
[ He's just not used to sleeping outside the safety of the Archives for so many days in a row at all, anymore. The Express is home, now, and the Trailblaze's blessing of stamina takes the cost of wakefulness in equal measure. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
- winter gifts, before the 20th
The black shirt is embroidered on the hem of the neck and bottom with red, orange, and a shinier black thread to mimic flames, the horns, and the hard carapace of Ifrit, the face of the eikon staring down itself at the V of the shirt. For the white, the floss is black and red, and the patterns are reminiscent of the Fallen architecture of the Hideaway, with the Oath symbol repeating in the design. The last, the red one, the thread is white and black, and the symbols of Rosaria, of snow daisies and the phoenix decorate the hems, ending in the crest itself at the point of the V.
The card that lies on top is simple, Jill's familiar handwriting clear as day: )
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
a couple of days post-event 18
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
post god AU event
Though he has not felt it since that day. There's something else taking its place; something less likely to ignite, something he feels particularly when he picks up the dragon statue that Claude put so much effort into sending him.
No matter what he is dragged down by, however, he cannot ignore the way Thorne appears to be closing in around him.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
the night of the shitshow, after istredd's message.
he knows, thanks to that message from istredd and talking with cassian, that things are not good in thorne. ]
cadens was attacked. i'm safe.
(no subject)
(no subject)
mid-month 1/2.
clive's domain was empty, as was jill's. the air felt disconnected, carrying the salty tang of scalegorge waterscape along his footsteps. it felt wrong, enough to send him tumbling back out of horizon into his own body, the dying evening light cast through his window setting the small apartment he lives in ablaze in gold. ]
Clive?
[ no explanation, just trying to reach him. ]
an hour later.