the day after devastation is never an easy one, and though this was sort of a victory, it was pyrrhic. the world feels so much darker, waking up the next day. the letters on taair's desk, neatly addressed and co-written - the words of one, the writing of another - to marcoh's sister, stay tied with a ribbon, waiting to be delivered, instead of a nightly session of carefully coaxed words and laughter. photos printed and hung up on the walls feel like they ought to be black and white. an invitation for a dinner will now be a funeral.
there's nothing to be done, for the cold stroke of death.
outwardly, taair is busy with huohuo. he's quiet today, sure, but he's not always that loud. he doesn't sleep until he manages to finally rock her to bed out of her sheer exhaustion that night, and when he curls up around her it's then and only then he finally lets himself cry.
so, in the morning, he's almost unsurprised to see the little yellow flower, tucked against his ribcage, and his reaction is...decidedly calm. it's a death sentence, if not a fast one, but...
well. it's not the end of the world, if he dies. not really. what worth does his life have? what's worse is if he hurts someone else. it's something to monitor, to keep in mind, and... it gives him a bit of time to make preparations, too. he spends a bit of time gathering his affairs.
and for the rest of the day, taair goes right on moving. it's all soft smiles and warm company to those in need, stories to those who are alone and want to hear them. interviews like he does every day, taking down life stories and drinking stories and all the same. recording letters at the bedside of the hurt and the dying, final wishes to loved ones. he pens obituaries for the fallen, and dedicates his day to everyone around him. especially careful to avoid any contagious actions - especially careful to keep himself clean as he treats injuries, to ensure that not an ounce of his despair displays anywhere on his face. the void laps at his feet and he lets it.
in the end, it will lead to what he's used to. so he'll take his bow with grace, when he comes to find the other three plumbob gang, and informs them of the infection. ]
[ Well, it still wasn't the worst decision, was it? Some soldiers you save, some soldiers you don't. There's no answers to the strange, suffocating feeling, and General Feixiao is taken down, losing them a strategist. They make no headway against the Borisin.
He remembers this feeling. Of having a vision and a goal, and watching it disappear behind a new battle that would crop up everyday. Sometimes it's hard to remember what the point of it all is, but he makes sure take some time, brush past the dust of every recent battle, and look again at that hope with unclouded eyes. Every day is a step forward. He owes to himself to try and build a future better than all the turmoil of his past.
As long as they keep living, there's a chance for something better.
So, very funny to wake up to the little flower growing from the crook of is ankle. Just going to pull a sock over that bit of bad news, and absolutely not say anything when Taair speaks up about his infection.
Good on you, buddy. Couldn't be him.
He just puts on a grim face, and carefully gauges the reactions of their companions. ]
The fresh losses cut and cut deep. Don't get him wrong. But they strike over older scars, used to the sear, ready for the weary work of stitching back together. He mourns them with the rest, lends an ear, plays support. Then he gets back to work.
What surprises him is the news Taair shares one misty evening. The four of them are sequestered in a rare slice of privacy. Good thing too. It's nothing you want dropped on uninvited ears.]
...My god, Taair. [He presses a hand to his mouth, stunned, taut and pensive. Calculating the odds and fighting a new wash of dread.] I'm so sorry. I'm so...
That shouldn't be possible — it's mutated? Developed a foxian strain?
[well. mizu's hatred for the borisin grows exponentially with each passing day.
the loss of their comrades is felt keenly. there is something especially painful about getting used to someone's presence, only for them to be gone without any preamble. mizu can't even remember the last thing said to childe. but, hey, that's war for you! it's not mizu's first time going through the grief rodeo.
and it certainly won't be the last, now that taair has disclosed his... condition.]
... Perhaps it's uncommon, but not impossible.
[since. the proof is right in front of their collective eyes. god. mizu is silent for a moment, thinking.]
The infection is in its initial stages. That's good. We'll provide treatment just like we do for any other of our patients. [though it's less about curing him, and more about managing symptoms.] Everyone dies someday. You won't be dying today. Do you understand, Taair?
[this is not any more of a death sentence than being in the middle of a war, if you ask mizu.]
[ well shit, indeed. he listens to the others - smiles gently at richie, a little sheepish, almost, at the attention, but no less sincere for it. ]
It's alright, my friend. I'd rather it be me, than any of you.
[ not that he knows claude is a LIAR
but either way - it's better that it's him. it's not impossible. it's unlikely, but it's not impossible. after all, someone as isolated as he has been - of course his immune system wouldn't be so up to snuff. you step outside, you breathe in the air, and then you take one step forward and fall into a pit. it almost makes more sense, that something like this would happen to taair.
he brings a hand up to set gently against his ribcage where the flower is, and meets mizu's serious, stern admonishment next, looking up at him - searching his face, briefly, and then ducking his head in a small nod, gaze remaining on the floor. thinking of huohuo. thinking of leaving her behind, too. it's hard to feel bad about dying, for him. it's much harder to think about the impacts he could leave behind. ]
... Very well. It isn't as if we aren't versed in its impact and symptoms. [ ... ] However... I must ask something terrible of you.
[ he lifts his head - clear eyed. despite that slightly off, occasionally shy behavior, taair has always been steady. this doesn't change, now. ]
If it gets to the point where it seems I have lost myself - even for a moment, if I am going to hurt someone else, I want you to kill me. Do not think to pause, for my sake. Until that moment, I will continue to go on as I am, to save as many lives as I can, and to spend as much time as I can among all of you.
[ There's something deeply uncomfortable about all of this. Watching the concern the two of them meet Taair with, or the easy way Mizu confirms this will lead to his death.
He doesn't want concern, or for any of them to talk about it.
Once it's a little worse, he'll tell them and just take care of it himself. ]
[He stands tensely for a moment. Then puts a hand to Taair's shoulder, giving him a squeeze.]
But until then we're still a team, all right? Be upfront, tell us how you're feeling, what you're up to. The second the symptoms get worse, you let us know first and foremost. All right?
If you can't trust your friends, then fuck, who can you trust?
it's good that mizu doesn't know, or else he'd be getting rattled around like a fucking maraca. as things as now, there is only a second's pause to process taair's request, and then...]
Yes. Of course. [it is what it is.] If that's your wish, we'll do it.
[well. they, or at least claude and mizu, would probably do it even if taair hadn't requested it. but it's still good to have consent for murdering your soon to be flower zombified co-worker.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
holyspirits) wrote2025-02-16 05:05 pm
no subject
the day after devastation is never an easy one, and though this was sort of a victory, it was pyrrhic. the world feels so much darker, waking up the next day. the letters on taair's desk, neatly addressed and co-written - the words of one, the writing of another - to marcoh's sister, stay tied with a ribbon, waiting to be delivered, instead of a nightly session of carefully coaxed words and laughter. photos printed and hung up on the walls feel like they ought to be black and white. an invitation for a dinner will now be a funeral.
there's nothing to be done, for the cold stroke of death.
outwardly, taair is busy with huohuo. he's quiet today, sure, but he's not always that loud. he doesn't sleep until he manages to finally rock her to bed out of her sheer exhaustion that night, and when he curls up around her it's then and only then he finally lets himself cry.
so, in the morning, he's almost unsurprised to see the little yellow flower, tucked against his ribcage, and his reaction is...decidedly calm. it's a death sentence, if not a fast one, but...
well. it's not the end of the world, if he dies. not really. what worth does his life have? what's worse is if he hurts someone else. it's something to monitor, to keep in mind, and... it gives him a bit of time to make preparations, too. he spends a bit of time gathering his affairs.
and for the rest of the day, taair goes right on moving. it's all soft smiles and warm company to those in need, stories to those who are alone and want to hear them. interviews like he does every day, taking down life stories and drinking stories and all the same. recording letters at the bedside of the hurt and the dying, final wishes to loved ones. he pens obituaries for the fallen, and dedicates his day to everyone around him. especially careful to avoid any contagious actions - especially careful to keep himself clean as he treats injuries, to ensure that not an ounce of his despair displays anywhere on his face. the void laps at his feet and he lets it.
in the end, it will lead to what he's used to. so he'll take his bow with grace, when he comes to find the other three plumbob gang, and informs them of the infection. ]
no subject
He remembers this feeling. Of having a vision and a goal, and watching it disappear behind a new battle that would crop up everyday. Sometimes it's hard to remember what the point of it all is, but he makes sure take some time, brush past the dust of every recent battle, and look again at that hope with unclouded eyes. Every day is a step forward. He owes to himself to try and build a future better than all the turmoil of his past.
As long as they keep living, there's a chance for something better.
So, very funny to wake up to the little flower growing from the crook of is ankle. Just going to pull a sock over that bit of bad news, and absolutely not say anything when Taair speaks up about his infection.
Good on you, buddy. Couldn't be him.
He just puts on a grim face, and carefully gauges the reactions of their companions. ]
Well, shit.
no subject
The fresh losses cut and cut deep. Don't get him wrong. But they strike over older scars, used to the sear, ready for the weary work of stitching back together. He mourns them with the rest, lends an ear, plays support. Then he gets back to work.
What surprises him is the news Taair shares one misty evening. The four of them are sequestered in a rare slice of privacy. Good thing too. It's nothing you want dropped on uninvited ears.]
...My god, Taair. [He presses a hand to his mouth, stunned, taut and pensive. Calculating the odds and fighting a new wash of dread.] I'm so sorry. I'm so...
That shouldn't be possible — it's mutated? Developed a foxian strain?
no subject
the loss of their comrades is felt keenly. there is something especially painful about getting used to someone's presence, only for them to be gone without any preamble. mizu can't even remember the last thing said to childe. but, hey, that's war for you! it's not mizu's first time going through the grief rodeo.
and it certainly won't be the last, now that taair has disclosed his... condition.]
... Perhaps it's uncommon, but not impossible.
[since. the proof is right in front of their collective eyes. god. mizu is silent for a moment, thinking.]
The infection is in its initial stages. That's good. We'll provide treatment just like we do for any other of our patients. [though it's less about curing him, and more about managing symptoms.] Everyone dies someday. You won't be dying today. Do you understand, Taair?
[this is not any more of a death sentence than being in the middle of a war, if you ask mizu.]
no subject
It's alright, my friend. I'd rather it be me, than any of you.
[ not that he knows claude is a LIAR
but either way - it's better that it's him. it's not impossible. it's unlikely, but it's not impossible. after all, someone as isolated as he has been - of course his immune system wouldn't be so up to snuff. you step outside, you breathe in the air, and then you take one step forward and fall into a pit. it almost makes more sense, that something like this would happen to taair.
he brings a hand up to set gently against his ribcage where the flower is, and meets mizu's serious, stern admonishment next, looking up at him - searching his face, briefly, and then ducking his head in a small nod, gaze remaining on the floor. thinking of huohuo. thinking of leaving her behind, too. it's hard to feel bad about dying, for him. it's much harder to think about the impacts he could leave behind. ]
... Very well. It isn't as if we aren't versed in its impact and symptoms. [ ... ] However... I must ask something terrible of you.
[ he lifts his head - clear eyed. despite that slightly off, occasionally shy behavior, taair has always been steady. this doesn't change, now. ]
If it gets to the point where it seems I have lost myself - even for a moment, if I am going to hurt someone else, I want you to kill me. Do not think to pause, for my sake. Until that moment, I will continue to go on as I am, to save as many lives as I can, and to spend as much time as I can among all of you.
Is that fair?
no subject
[ There's something deeply uncomfortable about all of this. Watching the concern the two of them meet Taair with, or the easy way Mizu confirms this will lead to his death.
He doesn't want concern, or for any of them to talk about it.
Once it's a little worse, he'll tell them and just take care of it himself. ]
We'll make sure you don't hurt anyone.
no subject
[He stands tensely for a moment. Then puts a hand to Taair's shoulder, giving him a squeeze.]
But until then we're still a team, all right? Be upfront, tell us how you're feeling, what you're up to. The second the symptoms get worse, you let us know first and foremost. All right?
If you can't trust your friends, then fuck, who can you trust?
no subject
it's good that mizu doesn't know, or else he'd be getting rattled around like a fucking maraca. as things as now, there is only a second's pause to process taair's request, and then...]
Yes. Of course. [it is what it is.] If that's your wish, we'll do it.
[well. they, or at least claude and mizu, would probably do it even if taair hadn't requested it. but it's still good to have consent for murdering your soon to be flower zombified co-worker.]
no subject