[They could tell him about their own experience. That when they returned for those brief few days, not even a minute had passed since they'd exited into the WARP station of District P. But would it help?
When time is of the essence, when someone's life might be on the line, when months have passed when moments count... Could something purely anecdotal be of any comfort?]
< Sometimes... keeping your mind and body busy is all you can really do. The time's going to pass by whether remain still or we keep moving, so I don't think there's anything wrong with making use of that time. >
[He doesn't know if anything can truly reassure him—or even if he should be reassured. Dante's attempt still means something, despite that, and he lets out a hum of agreement after a moment, the slightest of smiles on his face as if to reassure them.]
You're right. I know that when it comes down to it. But it's good to hear it from someone else now and again.
[He doesn't say that he's been holding back. Like he feels like he might be able to tear himself out of this place—but that it might be at a price he isn't willing to pay. He could be doing more. He could always be doing more.
He lets out a slow breath, letting his gaze move to the darker corner of the room before returning his attention to his companion.]
What about you, Dante? [He knows their team is alive and well, because Dante takes all that on their own shoulders. He remembers their poor joke about managing to avoid getting hurt. He finds himself asking anyway.] Are you and yours alright, back home?
< For the most part. The mission we'd just finished, it's the kind that tends to wear on us more than the others. More, um, involved, I guess you could say. But it was successful in the end. We got what we went there to get. >
[And Don Quixote had gotten something out of the experience as well.]
< It's hard to say what's gonna come up next for us, but... I've been trying to to face it all with a little more optimism lately. >
[Altius wishes he could assure them it will work out, but he supposes he's wished something similar his whole life, generally speaking. To know that it would all be fine in the end.
Instead, he puts his hand on their shoulder and comes to this:]
I hope things get easier for you. [He knows it won't. But... still, he wants that for them. His gaze moves down over their shoulder, a barely-perceptible tightness to his gaze even though his voice doesn't waver.] If not that, then... at least that you find things to make it worthwhile.
[They can say that much with certainty. Seeing the others grow, watching as they take the steps they need to take to reach their dreams, being able to help them along in that process... It's worth it. No matter how much it hurts, it's always worth something in the end.
They go quiet for a moment, staring somewhere ahead of themselves, but then they pull away, just enough pull the syringe out from earlier.]
[His own eyes look to something distant with Dante's reply as he fights to keep his cynicism contained, but it's gone by the time he returns his attention to them, and then they've given him an entirely new thing to focus on—the green liquid, certainly, but every implication to the decision, every aspect that Dante can't know. How he knows of their dedication, their "duty" to pull those others back from death. The fact that he's more than capable of defending himself. The fact that he already has what this would grant him.
A complicated expression comes to his face, touched and dismayed and confused all at once.]
Dante, [he starts, uncertainty in his astonished reply as he holds his hand up to block the offer.] No, you—don't need to worry about me.
< I know. Even if we die here, we come back, so for all I know if things are bad enough for you to need it, it might just be easier to die and return. But... >
[A moment's hesitation. They can't be sure of this. It might even be a waste of resources. They know they'd get an earful if anyone were to hear about this moment back home.
But it feels like the right thing to do.]
< You said something about maybe being able to bring something back with you. Even if we don't know for sure if it's possible, maybe it'll help. >
< As long as his head's intact and he hasn't died, the HP ampule will take care of everything else. >
[Altius's brow furrows further. The offer is beyond thoughtful. Logically, he should take it; for his facade, it would only make sense to accept it, to thank Dante, to hope for that possibility. If he protests too much after expressing his worries over Ferran, what would that say? About the truth of what he said, about why he'd refuse?
The corners of his lips pulled downward, there's a grim, focused look on his face, more than Dante might expect out of someone accepting something that could be important to either of them.
[But then the world is spinning again in a screeching swirl of light and sound and everything, and Altius reels back with his hand over his eyes, words cut off in the back of his throat with a noise of pain.]
[As much as he appreciates the concern in their exclamation, the sound only serves as a hammer to his senses, and his shoulders tense under their touch as his free arm keeps him upright. He feels like he's been knocked off a building, with none of his usual reflexes to rebalance him.]
Sorry, [he offers as a strained mutter, though he can't quite parse what Dante is saying at first. Still, his attempt to squint his eyes open gives him the shape of the pillow in Dante's hands even with his doubled vision, and he slowly, carefully angles himself to lie sideways to avoid making the disorientation worse.]
Damn it. [This forsaken place and its tests. How long is this going to keep happening before the affliction gives up?]
[They wince apologetically as they feel him tense, and wait until they're sure he's going to stay resting before they grab a chair and sit across from him.]
< Don't apologize. You still need some time to recover. I should have been letting you rest this whole time. >
[Hand pressed against his eyes again, he tries to steady his mind and his breathing despite the intensity of that not-light Dante harbors, to focus on restoring himself. He can't sense the presence of whatever's causing this condition, which is part of why it keeps taking him by surprise.
To keep up with this, he is going to need much more rest than usual. How aggravating, when who knows what those snakes or the other Chosen might get up to in the meantime...
There's a reluctant acceptance in his slow, quiet response.]
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expiationlogs2025-05-13 12:07 pm
no subject
When time is of the essence, when someone's life might be on the line, when months have passed when moments count... Could something purely anecdotal be of any comfort?]
< Sometimes... keeping your mind and body busy is all you can really do. The time's going to pass by whether remain still or we keep moving, so I don't think there's anything wrong with making use of that time. >
< Besides, it's not like that's all you did. >
no subject
You're right. I know that when it comes down to it. But it's good to hear it from someone else now and again.
[He doesn't say that he's been holding back. Like he feels like he might be able to tear himself out of this place—but that it might be at a price he isn't willing to pay. He could be doing more. He could always be doing more.
He lets out a slow breath, letting his gaze move to the darker corner of the room before returning his attention to his companion.]
What about you, Dante? [He knows their team is alive and well, because Dante takes all that on their own shoulders. He remembers their poor joke about managing to avoid getting hurt. He finds himself asking anyway.] Are you and yours alright, back home?
no subject
[And Don Quixote had gotten something out of the experience as well.]
< It's hard to say what's gonna come up next for us, but... I've been trying to to face it all with a little more optimism lately. >
no subject
Instead, he puts his hand on their shoulder and comes to this:]
I hope things get easier for you. [He knows it won't. But... still, he wants that for them. His gaze moves down over their shoulder, a barely-perceptible tightness to his gaze even though his voice doesn't waver.] If not that, then... at least that you find things to make it worthwhile.
no subject
[They can say that much with certainty. Seeing the others grow, watching as they take the steps they need to take to reach their dreams, being able to help them along in that process... It's worth it. No matter how much it hurts, it's always worth something in the end.
They go quiet for a moment, staring somewhere ahead of themselves, but then they pull away, just enough pull the syringe out from earlier.]
< ...Here. You take it. >
no subject
A complicated expression comes to his face, touched and dismayed and confused all at once.]
Dante, [he starts, uncertainty in his astonished reply as he holds his hand up to block the offer.] No, you—don't need to worry about me.
no subject
[A moment's hesitation. They can't be sure of this. It might even be a waste of resources. They know they'd get an earful if anyone were to hear about this moment back home.
But it feels like the right thing to do.]
< You said something about maybe being able to bring something back with you. Even if we don't know for sure if it's possible, maybe it'll help. >
< As long as his head's intact and he hasn't died, the HP ampule will take care of everything else. >
1/2
The corners of his lips pulled downward, there's a grim, focused look on his face, more than Dante might expect out of someone accepting something that could be important to either of them.
He can't do it. He takes in a breath.]
... there's something I need to te—
2/2
no subject
[The word comes in a sharp whistle and bells as they hop to their feet, a hand immediately going for Altius's shoulder.
The ampule is tucked away somewhere safe once again, and Dante looks around before snatching up a throw pillow from somewhere nearby.]
< Here, lay down. You should rest. >
no subject
Sorry, [he offers as a strained mutter, though he can't quite parse what Dante is saying at first. Still, his attempt to squint his eyes open gives him the shape of the pillow in Dante's hands even with his doubled vision, and he slowly, carefully angles himself to lie sideways to avoid making the disorientation worse.]
Damn it. [This forsaken place and its tests. How long is this going to keep happening before the affliction gives up?]
no subject
< Don't apologize. You still need some time to recover. I should have been letting you rest this whole time. >
no subject
To keep up with this, he is going to need much more rest than usual. How aggravating, when who knows what those snakes or the other Chosen might get up to in the meantime...
There's a reluctant acceptance in his slow, quiet response.]
When this passes... I suppose I'll go home.