ph_logs | think i need to feel the freedom

"It's what I am." His answer comes simply enough, "I inherited the birthright to cut open another person's flesh, but even with the birthright, it is still socially taboo where I come from. It is said to me derogatorily by others, but instead of shunning it, I embrace what I am."

He gives a small shrug. Artemy isn't one to brush off other people's words, nor is he one to take it too personally. It doesn't make him good or bad, it's simply what he was born to do, to cut flesh.

After another moment of silence, she tucks the knife away. Better to not have it out. Better not to forget it here, or forget herself, or run the risk of too much temptation.

"What happens to those who cut flesh without the birthright?"

Those like her, she means.

Edited 2025-02-15 02:46 (UTC)

He raises an eyebrow at that.

"Truthfully, I do not know. It never happened until- well, until the plague happened, and at that point, they were typically killed, since they were men who had gone mad and needed to be murdered to keep others safe."

He speaks about it impassively, coldly, he indeed was the one who had to do a lot of those spree killings.

"No one killed each other or really did any sort of crimes where I'm from." He shrugs, "It was just that kind of place. That question would have likely been better suited for someone like my father."

"You'll forgive me if I find that a little hard to believe. I can accept much about other worlds, but I've never once heard of a place of such peace."

Which might tell him something, it might not.

"Not without something underneath the surface to force it to be a certain way."

He shrugs his shoulders at that.

"Regardless of if you believe or not, it is the truth." He says, "Though I wouldn't use the word 'peace' to describe it. Despite a lack of crime, we had our own problems. Bigotry being the main one, I would say."

Forcing the Kin into servitude and locking most of them away in a giant building to work until they die is not exactly the picture of peace in Artemy's mind.

"More surprising to me that there was no crime, then. Resentment, anger..."

But there's the catch she was looking for, waiting for.

"...you didn't answer my question." Even as she had sidestepped his. "What makes you so sure that if we saw each other's hearts, you'd see mine as worth saving?"

"My people, the Kin, take their taboos incredibly seriously." He says, "Cutting flesh indiscriminately is as good as harming Boddho herself, the earth, our god." He explains further.

"And to answer your question, it's because I already have seen your heart." Artemy says casually, "The way you conduct yourself, help others, your guilt. Those are symptoms of someone with a good heart, full and in tact. You gave Dankovsky a chance when he pushes everyone away. I knew right then and there you were someone worth knowing."

She cannot look at him. Cannot make eye contact, not with such sincerity given to cut her open, not with what he's saying. A good heart? Her? Many would disagree, her included. But nothing she says is going to change his mind, she knows. Nothing will shake his resolve - even if a storm howls and rages, it will not bring him down.

It would have been kinder to simply open her chest.

Absently, her hand goes to the charm around her neck, toying with it for lack of anything else to touch.

"He reminds me of someone I used to know. Someone I haven't seen in a long time."

It's a faint defense, and not a true one.

Would it be kinder, though? Sure, it hurts. Sometimes love hurts. Sometimes being pulled out of the muck and being told you're worth something hurts. But eventually it doesn't hurt. Time soothes all wounds. But time cannot soothe a wound that's being held onto like a feral kitten grasps onto their mother.

"Hm?" Both eyebrows raise, "Now you've got me curious about who."

"His name is Astarion. He's proud, self centered, and not the best at getting along with others. When we met, he had a knife to my neck, and I had to push back and convince him I wasn't an enemy he wanted. But at the same time, he's brave, determined as anything, and no matter what he's said, I've never known him to leave anyone behind if they fell in a fight. He doubts himself, and he wants to make sure the world never does the same. His heart..."

There's a gentle fondness in her voice, as she speaks.

"He probably would strike anyone as an asshole. But I've never regretted inviting him to travel with me."

"It sounds like he was a very good friend to you."

Most people aren't perfect. Plenty of people come with a list of flaws. But it's the fondness, it's the way they treat you, the way they make you feel.

Artemy is thinking of his own asshole, one that Fever has had the pleasure of meeting.

"I would have liked to meet him. He sounds like the character."

"I wish you could meet him as well. He might get along with you just fine. But placing him near Dankovsky would be a game of chance - either they'd understand each other perfectly, or they'd be trying to tear each other's throats out."

That she'd be interested in seeing the results either way, she won't say.

"He'd absolutely hate being here. Even though I think it'd be good for him."

He chuckles over the idea of these two people meeting. Might be fun to watch. Though him and Fever both would probably end up wrestling their proverbial cats away from each other.

"It sounds like they'd understand each other alright. Understand each other so well that they can't stand one another." He knows if Dankovsky was put in front of a mirror, without any awareness that it was a mirror, he'd probably hate the reflection.

"Perhaps we'd have the joy of seeing how it works out someday? Unless, he is still of the living." Artemy quickly adds that last part, as an addendum. He's trying not to seem entirely thoughtless. No one REALLY wants their loved ones to die, after all.

"He's in a strange position. He's a vampire."

She says this as if it's perfectly normal.

"So he's living, but not in the same way as you or I are. But that doesn't mean he might not land on these shores, given how dangerous things could get back where I came from."

"He's alive enough, I'd wager." He says, a bit sarcastically, "From the way you speak of him he sounds like he's full of life."

It is meant as a complement. Artemy thinks he sounds great. Would love to watch him and Daniil fight about something that doesn't matter.

"Enough of it that I know he'll keep fighting, even if I'm not there."

She makes herself stop fiddling with the necklace, not wanting it to break. If the cord snaps, she can't wear it, and it'll be her fault.

"I know, I know, it's right and proper that him and the others are in that world, and it means I can believe they're alive. Just wish sometimes we could catch up one evening."

Though the tears have long since retreated from where they threatened, the melancholy remains. Of course it does. This is a melancholy conversation.

"But, well. It's better this way."

Girl he'll fix it for you if you did. Still, he notices, and it is enough to make him smile.

"Maybe so, but it's only natural to miss people. You know that I do."

He doesn't even have to explain, he knows that she knows. He's talked about it enough already.

Missing them was one thing, but...

"Artemy, do you intend on going back home, when the barrier is down?"

The question is a pathway into her real meaning, something she's long since accepted about herself.

Edited 2025-02-22 11:53 (UTC)

"I don't know-" He says, and it's so truthful. Part of him wants to stay, but part of him... the responsibilities he's left behind weigh on him. "I don't know if there's anything to go back to."

But is it worth taking the risk? He's under the assumption that everyone is dead, and in his mind, he's likely correct. The sand pest has probably taken everything from him. But wouldn't it still be his responsibility to go back to start everything anew? To rebuild his town?

It sounds like a lonely existence, but no one ever said duty wasn't lonely.

She nods slowly, taking in his answer. Her hands find each other on her lap, needing to hold, to touch something, and the look in her eyes is more distant. Every time she says it, it becomes a little more real.

"I'm not."

Perhaps it's horribly unfair, coming to him like some people go into that confessional in the Temple. But she knows she lacks the shame she should bear, just another item on the list that indicates she's less than a person. Another thing absent from her body.

"There's so little there for me, and so much here. Even if that's taking the easy way out."

He would tell her, this is what friends are for. Allies. That's what they are to each other.

Artemy just gives a simple nod.

"It's your choice to make." He says softly, "No one should be able to tell you that it's a wrong decision to make. We have led entirely different lives, and if being here allows you to start over without the past tugging at you, then so be it."

There's a long moment there, where she picks up the tea that's now noticeably cooled and sips it, telling herself to stop. Stop. The endless things she could say, she'd exhaust even his patience, and she has to close the gates, keep the river back again. Silence. Get hold of yourself. Be grateful you were indulged so long.

"...thank you, Artemy."

That's what you should be saying. That's the only thing you should be saying.

Artemy frowns slightly. Something still feels off to him. He can't explain why, but the atmosphere in the clinic hasn't gotten any lighter.

So he holds out his arms.

For a hug.

Yes he is offering her a hug.

Is he serious?

He must be.

Absurd as it seems, she finds herself rising slowly, taking steps towards him. It's silly, isn't it - and she's awkward when she's close enough to reach out, trying to figure out how to fit her arms around him. Stiffness and tension, wound up to keep it all together.

(It'd be too much to fling herself at him, at someone's arms and sink in the way she wants to. Too, too much. Don't cry, don't collapse. A new plant needs to sink roots into the earth or it shall die. Don't be pathetic.)

Harder to do this than to contemplate how much force would be needed to crack apart her bones, what knife to score the flesh. Pain is always easier to manage and take, measure and breathe through. Pain is understood. Familiar. This feels like the sanctuary of a hiding spot opened up, but there is no way to fix it.

Because in the end, she does want it, even if it's hard to say.

Artemy wraps his own arms around Fever as soon as she wiggles hers around his frame. He's a good hugger. Not too tight, but tight enough to feel secure. He smells of burnt leaves and autumn and a tinge of blood.

He probably could crack her bones if we're being honest enough. He's certainly large and strong enough. But he understands his own strength, he's in control, from giving hugs to knowing exactly the pressure required to sever flesh under a knives blade.

Artemy grew up comfortable and okay with physical contact and somehow that does come through. His father was strict, but not unloving.

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abhorrently - 2025-03-02 02:07 (UTC) - Expand