abraxaslogs | [ OPEN ] pre-event (until...)

Ronan has been at this for hours now, but the pile of dislodged swords is just a fraction of the number remaining to be pried from the rest of the room. It looks like he started with Kylo's bed, for whatever reason, though even with half the swords removed from it, it's unfit for occupancy now or ever again.

With his back to the door, he doesn't notice Kylo's arrival until he speaks. Then Ronan freezes, his shoulders tensing while he tries to work out Kylo's mood without having to face him. His hands remain wrapped around the hilt of the sword he'd been working to free from the wood, white-knuckled.

"I wasn't kidding," Ronan says, "about the nightmares."

Apparently not. Kylo's eyes sweep from the obvious tension of Ronan's frozen posture to the pile of recovered weapons... and back to the ruins of his bed. The significance of the gesture doesn't escape him— of everyone in the shared catastrophe of this room, it's Kylo's wrath Ronan wants most to appease.

"And they weren't exaggerating about our abilities," he offers, picking his way through the maze of blades, pausing to examine the sharpness of a sword-tip erupting from the floor with a curious finger. "Returning to us. Here. Allow me."

A centering breath, a slow, easing curl of his fingers, and the sword Ronan's been fighting with is far more compliant.

"Take it."

Ronan hadn't known whether or not Kylo would be furious upon his return. He'd braced himself for a harsh confrontation, at least. Bryde would have torn into him for a nightmare like this, so sloppy in its handling, so obviously rooted in emotional turmoil, so lacking in discipline and restraint. Ronan was supposed to be better than this, and even though Kylo didn't know him very well, it was a reasonable fucking expectation to believe his bed would be intact upon his return.

The sword pulls free like it's suddenly decided Ronan's worthy of it. Ronan tosses it aside with the rest.

"You don't have to help me," he says, his face still turned away as he moves on to the next hilt. "They have extra beds down the hall. This shit's going to take forever."

Kylo considers, watching Ronan pointedly avoid turning to face him and moving instead to tug on another of the swords speared through his bed.

"Were they coming for you?" he asks instead of acknowledging Ronan's suggestion. He grasps the hilt of a sword pierced through the bedpost by his pillow instead of aiding Ronan with his, this time. "In your dream. All these swords."

And out from the wood comes the blade in one smooth pull. Kylo throws it aside and moves to the next.

Ronan glances at Kylo, a frown tugging at his mouth. This is all embarrassing enough as it is. He doesn't need Kylo pitching in, looking close enough to notice that most of these swords look like the one he'd won in a fight last week. Not perfect replicas. Variations on a theme. Ronan had been watching, but his attention had been fixed on Kylo rather than the prize, so the dream version was approximated.

"If they had been coming for me, I would've woken up looking like swiss cheese."

No. He'd probably look worse. This many blades? There would probably be nothing left on his bones. He yanks and yanks to no avail, the sword in his hand hardly budging. Kylo makes it look easy. Of course he does. He's not a stupid fuckup, not like Ronan.

Edited 2021-06-26 01:24 (UTC)

If Kylo notices the similarities between the swords skewered through every available surface in the room and the one safely in its scabbard at his hip, he doesn't mention it.

"Swiss cheese," he prompts. The next sword he reaches for without grasping it in his hand, brow furrowing as he curls his fingers and pulls, directing the freed blade to the pile with a flick and a thought.

"Served on skewers?"

That catches Ronan so off-guard that he laughs. And then, because he laughed and that's taken most of the power out of his sulking, he turns to look at Kylo for real. "Full of holes," he says. "Swiss cheese is full of holes. From air bubbles or some shit. Did you just do that with your fucking brain?"

It was out of the corner of his eye, but Ronan's pretty damn sure Kylo just wiggled his finger and told that sword to remove itself.

"I changed my mind. You can take over from here."

Kylo's lips quirk, following Ronan's laughter with amusement of his own. With his fucking brain. Such poetry.

"I did promise you I would show you," he reminds Ronan smoothly. "And as you've shown me yours..."

The swords are a fairly effective demonstration of Ronan's ability, after all. Kylo reaches towards the one Ronan's just given up on working out of the bedpost, coils his will around it and draws it out for him.

Something happens as Ronan watches Kylo work his magic. He hardly looks at the sword, because he already knows what it will do. His eyes remain on Kylo, reading him, staring at the subtle curve of his mouth.

He makes the magic look effortless, but that's not all. It's the way he does it, so proud to show off, so pleased to finally show Ronan what he can do. Like he's never been ashamed of this. Ronan's heart beats faster with the promise of a future like this, with magic everywhere, wielded by men who never allowed themselves to fear it. He aches with envy and longing.

What he says is, "That's pretty cool. Why are your arms so big if you never need to use them?"

It's a good question. Kylo's mouth tugs tighter into the curve.

"I would have been a poor opponent when we met without them," he points out. The next sword he leverages free with a very physical tug, the strain far more obvious— but it can't quite interrupt his monologue. "As I told you before. The Force moves through all things. I can feel it either side of my skin. Use it. Manipulate it. I use my mind to stretch out my hand, I use it to reach through the wood. It's all the same."

This time, he examines the sword itself. How very real it feels, for an object fallen from a dream...

"It's a pity you can't give yourself a nightmare about warm, comfortable beds."

It definitely seems like replacing the ruined furniture would be much faster than repairing it. Will these beds even be structurally sound once all these swords are removed? He's beginning to doubt it.

What an asshole, making it look like nothing. It's not as if Ronan's a weakling. He's just been at this for hours, with blades practically fused to every surface. If it wasn't a difficult task at the beginning, it is now that Ronan's shoulders are locked up. Kylo just got here.

"Oh," Ronan says, his expression turning sour. "I can totally dream everything back to normal. But the guy who was supposed to help me do that decided to fuck off into the mountains."

So, after answering to a pair of distraught roommates and a small council of mages with extremely disappointed frowns, Ronan's been stuck on sword duty.

Kylo frowns. Not, as might be assumed, at the accusation. He simply hadn't realised Ronan could do that— or indeed anything requiring that level of control.

And while asleep, too?

He tosses the blade aside to focus on Ronan's face.

"You can undream these?"

"I can do anything," Ronan says, "if I've got enough juice."

And considering how many fucking swords he summoned last night, he's not sure he's left enough power to dream anything without stealing from every other mage here. Which he doubts will endear him further to his hosts.

"It's not just about control, it's about energy. If there's nothing for me to work with, I can't manifest anything. And I can't tell how much I've got to work with until I'm sleeping again."

"Juice," Kylo echoes dubiously.

It's certainly not the way he's used to operating. Still, there does seem to be one very simple way to find out, to his mind at least:

"Why not try it and find out?"

"Now?"

That seems pointless to Ronan. He's just going to find the battery drained the second he's in the dream, and he can already hear Bryde in his head, berating him for stealing from the others. There hasn't been enough time for the magic to recover. What if he steals from the healers and someone dies because of him? It's a miracle no one died in here.

"I can't."

"Not sleepy?"

Kylo certainly can't detect any significant drain on the amount of magical energy available to any of them after all, though he supposes it's possible. Surely in the worst case, all that happens is nothing.

"Yeah."

Ronan can make himself sleep anywhere, if he has to. That's not a problem. What he's really worried about is fucking up and getting thrown in the dungeon for stealing magic from every mage in this place. But Kylo doesn't have to know that.

Kylo watches Ronan's face thoughtfully for a moment, as if considering pressing the matter— but ultimately he appears to decide against it. His eyes sweep instead to the pile of reclaimed swords at Ronan's feet, then beyond. Ronan's bed. Nadine's, Lloyd's.

"Tell me about it. The dream."

If Ronan can't or won't dream the solution, then they'll have to deal with the problem one blade at a time. He turns back and grasps the hilt of another.

"I rarely remember mine."

"Lucky you."

Ronan turns away, wrapping his hands around another sword hilt, leaning against it rather than trying to pry it away. He might not be sleepy, but he's fucking exhausted. There's no rest for him in sleep. He's either hyperactive with the power of creation or terror-struck, battling the darkest parts of himself and praying he wakes up on the other side. He'd thought it might be easier here to focus on the best parts of dreaming, but it's just more of the same bullshit. He sucks and he'll keep sucking and then he'll die.

Even though he doesn't want anything less than to talk about this, he mutters, "I was looking for someone."

He doesn't say the name, because it'll be meaningless to Kylo. Bryde. It was stupid of him to even try. What the hell could Bryde do for him now? Tell him that he's a self-centered dick? Remind him that he's got no one? That he failed?

"Then I got lost. I thought I was in a forest I knew, but I wasn't. I kept getting turned around. The trees usually help me, but they didn't speak my language."

We don't know any Greywaren.

Ronan drops his gaze to the sword, digging at a scuff in the pommel with his thumbnail. This is where it gets a little embarrassing, but fuck it. "So I started looking for you instead," he mutters bitterly. "Because at least you're in this world, and you said you'd help me, so... Whatever. You weren't there, either. All I found was your sword. So I kept going. And I found your sword again. Again and again and again. I followed them like fucking breadcrumbs, until there weren't trees anymore. There was just this shit. Everywhere."

Is that what he'd felt? In the quiet of the night on the mountain, there had been something. A distant stirring, just enough to catch at his senses without leaving him anything more concrete than a lingering disquiet.

"Perhaps it was trying to warn you about me. Your dream."

He wrenches the sword free after a short struggle, just a little more violently than strictly necessary. It clatters onto the pile. Kylo doesn't say so, but something about the new set of his jaw suggests he's far more accustomed to being seen as a threat than protection from them. He's hardly surprised to be represented like this— a blind explosion of blades spearing through everything in reach— if anything, it feels very familiar.

Inevitable, even.

"I'm definitely more sword than shield."

Ronan's gaze slides back to Kylo, considering the tension in his stance. He doesn't know whether that frustration is directed at him or not. Either way, it's not surprising.

"I don't need a dream to tell me that."

He'd introduced himself to Kylo with a challenge because he'd known exactly what kind of man he was looking at, and that had been exciting. His mistake was believing he could hold that man's attention when there were greater adventures calling.

"I shouldn't have asked you to babysit me. You've obviously got better shit to do."

"You didn't," Kylo says— and then, a moment later when he remembers Ronan might need the rest of the thought— "Ask me. I told you I would take care of your nightmares, if they followed you out."

And that's what he's doing, isn't it? He's just a little... late. Another sword clatters to the pile. Kylo rolls his wrists. It's more work than he'd like to let on.

"And I would have insisted you join me, if I had realised your abilities would be returning so... suddenly."

Dramatically, he doesn't say.

Okay, no. He didn't ask. He just assumed, like the idiot he is, that Kylo would do what he'd said he'd do. When will he learn to stop relying on people? He knew from the start that he shouldn't stay in this room, that he shouldn't close his eyes when there was a risk anyone else might be around. It was sheer dumb luck that he didn't kill either of his roommates.

None of this is Kylo's fault. It's Ronan's. It always is.

"Sure you would have," he says, not particularly enthused about being the weight dragging Kylo down wherever he goes. "But I think I'd better go back to Plan A. There's got to be somewhere those wizards can put me that isn't a room full of innocent bystanders."

"I'm sure there is. If you want to inform them you're an ongoing threat."

Kylo turns to face Ronan, abandoning the task for now. He can feel the thick, sluggish blanket of shame Ronan wants to drape around his shoulders as clearly as if it were his own.

"No. We will handle it. Together. Here. It isn't the dungeon that keeps the prisoners separated from their power, Ronan."

Which is part of why Kylo had volunteered as a supervisor— to gain insight into the method Thorne was employing to keep its prisoners powerless. If Ronan makes too much of an issue of the difficulties he's facing...

Well. Kylo can't see many reasons for them to allow Ronan continued access to his magic, if it's so easy for them to cut any individual off no matter where they are. And that's unacceptable. Completely unacceptable.

We?

Ronan stares at Kylo, refusing to walk blindly into that offer. Not this time. He's not going to put himself in someone else's hands just so they can drop him again.

"So what?" he asks. "Why do you care if they put me in the dungeon? If they lock me in a tower? Whatever magic they do to make me useless. All it means is that you don't wake up to more of this shit."

It means certain death for Ronan, but he can't see what loss that would be for Kylo. He turned his back on Ronan so easily before.

[ OPEN ] pre-event (until...)

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