abraxaslogs | [ CATCH-ALL ] and I broke my heart in two

[ Thancred's work for the day is done. With the help of two accomplished mages in the form of Urianger and Istredd, they had been able to put out great swaths of the fires in the fields. Now night has fallen, but thankfully the worst of the conflagration has been snuffed out. Plenty of crops have still been lost to the people of Nott, leaving them in a difficult position — to say the least.

Thancred hasn't yet returned to the castle, however, allowing his two companions to leave ahead of him. He instead finds himself in one of Nott's many inns — The Hare and Harrow, it's called. It may not be the most upscale spot, but it's homey enough and happens to be open in spite of all the discord.

For his meal, he has a plate of some sort of trout-like fish and a piece of bread with ale to wash it all down. The fields are a mess, to be sure, but at least the people of Nott still have their fishermen to fall back on.

The plan is to stay the night and then seek an audience with Lyle the following day. There's no telling yet how that will play out, but he can't pass up this chance. Thancred's lost in thought about what tomorrow will hold, yet not so distracted that he doesn't notice Rhy entering the establishment. There's only a brief pause before Thancred raises his hand to catch his attention. He's aware that Rhy had taken on the quest as well, so it isn't so surprising that they would run into each other here. ]

You're welcome to join me — unless you already had a dining companion in mind?

[ It seems he catches Rhy off guard. He starts slightly, looking over when he hears the familiar voice and catches Thancred waving to him. Rhy redirects from the bar to Thancred's table without hesitation.

He looks tired, face drawn and brows furrowed. The usual smile he'd offer doesn't appear. Instead, Rhy simply takes the offered seat, dropping into it heavily, as though his legs might have given way if he hadn't decided to sit exactly then. ]

Thanks.

Just a drink.

[ Or three. ]

[ It is not typical to see Rhy without a smile on his face, and yet Thancred can tell that the day's events (and what came before, no doubt) have worn him down, chipping away at his generally warm demeanor.

It's understandable, of course. The situation in Abraxas at the moment is tenuous, with war feeling almost like a forgone conclusion at this point.

Unfortunately, Thancred has seen war before, and can therefore weather these sights a bit better than most. ]

It would do you well to eat something as well. My treat.

[ He quickly waves someone over to put in an order. ]

You were out there as well today, I take it? How did you manage?

[ Poorly, is the honest answer. Though Rhy doesn't phrase it quite so frankly. ]

Fewer new victims being brought in. It's mostly those already pulled out from the fires earlier, still under treatment.

[ Thancred knows he volunteers at the castle infirmary, so Rhy assumes he'll understand he's been doing the same here. It is draining work-- and worse, gruesome in a way Rhy isn't used to at all. He's had little sleep and just as little appetite for days.

He sighs, squinting up at Thancred beneath creased brows. ]

Saints, you sound like Kell. If you insist, I'll try, but I'm still having that drink.

[ Thancred's gaze casts downward as Rhy explains that he's been tending to patients here as well. While the clear target of the Free Cities had been the crops themselves, it's no surprise that some of the farm workers had been caught up in the damage as well. It hardly compares to what they're hearing out of Libertas, but one attack led to another. How long will the two factions continue to escalate, and how many civilians will end up hurt or dead as a result?

His mouth twitches at Rhy's little curse. By this point he is quite practiced in ensuring that others take care of themselves. He hadn't always done his best with Ryne, but he can manage this much, surely. ]

I would never dare to keep a man from his drink, worry not. [ When the server swings by, he's quick to put the food order in first and then allow Rhy to request what he wants as far as liquor. They're left alone soon after, and then Thancred is faced with Rhy's tired bearing once more. ]

Is this the first time you've done this sort of thing? [ Wading into a disaster area to provide aid, that is. It's an exhausting enterprise. ]

[ If asked what he wants, Rhy simply tells Thancred to order for both of them. He doesn't have any appetite, and doesn't particularly care what ends up on the table besides a bottle of liquor -- and yes, he does order the whole bottle, with a mutter about sharing it if Thancred wants. The good thing about Nott is that the booze tends to be cheap and strong, and if it tastes like vinegar and piss, at least you're too drunk within a cup or two that the taste stops mattering quickly enough.

The question is expected. His answer is ineloquent. Rhy shrugs. ]

I've been lucky.

[ The casualties he'd seen (caused) during the Black Night plagued his nightmares for months, still do, but he's never seen the wounded and dying like this. Up close. Trying to help them. Falling short at times. Knowing it is too late. ]

I knew it would be bad. Logically. But--

[ He shudders, breath catching, voice cracking. ]

It's bad.

[ What else is there to say? ]

[ Rhy's response is no true shock to Thancred. This sort of haunted look is something that he's seen before, from other fresh-faced young people who were seeing true devastation for the first time. It should take a toll, and even for someone like Thancred who's been here before, it still does.

But at least he'd come in prepared, knowing what sort of awful things he might lay eyes on. If Rhy's helping with the wounded, then he's seeing the worst of it. ]

It is.

[ Hearing the shudder in Rhy's tone, Thancred tilts his head in an attempt to meet his eyes and be a grounding force. ]

Yet every bit helps. I know it's difficult to look at, to feel like you can never do enough. Even if you provide aid to a handful of people, those kindnesses will be remembered.

[ It's easy to forget that when buried under the weight of everything else, when aware that there are countless deaths that were suffered an entire faction away. They need to focus on what's in front of them, on what they can do. ]

[ Rhy sighs, looking around impatiently to watch the barmaids bustling about, fingers drumming anxiously on the tabletop. Saints. How long can it take to grab a bottle?

He looks back over at Thancred for a long moment, a bit blankly. ]

...speaking from experience?

[ He doesn't specify which side. Lets Thancred fill in if he wishes. ]

[ Thancred nods, almost not specifying what side he means. At least not at first. Someone does finally come over with the promised bottle, and he reaches out to pour both of them a glass. ]

I've seen people be almost consumed by their despair, and that's... not as metaphorical as you might think.

[ He debates how much he wants to explain of that. He could very well make Rhy feel worse, with some of the stories he could share. ]

We did our best to provide aid where we could, and we saw many people push past that overwhelming feeling. They were incredibly grateful, when all was said and done. [ A crown of flowers, even, was given to him and Y'shtola by some Auri children. No, he won't be forgetting that any time soon. ]

He feels a little guilty for reaching out. Rhy's knowledge of what's actually happening in Libertas is minimal, but it's enough to understand that even all the destruction he'd seen around Nott is nowhere near the casualties suffered there. He's spoken with Viktor, and he knows that he and Jayce are lending their efforts.

Perhaps it is selfish, bother Jayce at this time. But he'd been so kind before, and he's Kell's friend--

Eventually, he sends a message.

Hello, Jayce. I was hoping we could meet, at your convenience. If you haven't the time, I understand.

Be safe.

- Rhy Maresh

Edited 2022-09-30 21:56 (UTC)

Jayce and Viktor have been helping out at Libertas to the point of exhaustion for both of them, and that's saying a lot for Jayce who usually has an endless well of energy. After the first day or so goes by, there is a schedule of sorts put into place, keeping relief workers and specifically healers or medics from burning themselves out and taking shifts instead. Usually Jayce would push against it, but he's seen the wisdom in it.

He is on his way back from one such shift when he sees Rhy's message and truthfully, meeting up is likely a better idea than going back to the forge. It's as good a time as any.

Hey Rhy, I have the time. Could you meet at our Horizon tower in like an hour? Rio will let you know where I am.

-Jayce Talis

Their live-in adorable (and slimy) pet has a knack for knowing where her dads are and especially has a tendency to take people to Jayce. He needs an hour to get home, shower, eat something, and then settle in to focus and head into the Horizon. Jayce and Viktor's tower is a shared space and Jayce can be found in his meditation area. It's where Kell found him after it all went down and it's where he trains in his magic, so it's become a calming space for him. It is a beautiful endless field and Rio will bring Rhy there, chomping on some fake flowers afterward.

Jayce is there at an hour to the dot, he's always on time. In the Horizon he looks the same as in person, but there is a weariness in his eyes currently, one that is spiritual as well as physical in the real world.

Rhy hasn't been here himself, but he's heard a vague description, and it's enough to figure out. As promised, Rio -- who surprises him a bit -- leads him where he should go. She's not as chatty as Mog, but he's a bit used to strange creatures leading him around other people's domains, so he doesn't think much of it. He'll give her a grateful pat on the head when she shows him the door to the meditation area.

Which is actually very beautiful. Rhy pauses when he enters, looking around.

"...Jayce?"

Jayce was taking a few moments to sit in the field, it always calms him, even when he knows it's the Horizon and not technically real, it helps. He knows Rio is coming before she chases flowers next to him and he smiles, getting to his feet to greet Rhy.

"Hello Rhy, nice to see you." He's very tired but Jayce is always unfailingly polite and warm to everyone he meets. He can manage now too, despite everything going on.

This place is so completely different from the rest of the tower which has normal science labs, personal apartments, and other key places, but nothing so outdoorsy. "Sorry, do you want to go somewhere more formal? This is where I practice magic so I have been here a lot lately."

The meadow is beautiful. He knows it must not be as large as it seems, but in this place, the illusion is perfect. The field could go on forever.

He shakes his head.

"No. This is a gorgeous place. I can see why you'd want to visit often."

Turning his gaze from the endless carpet of flowers to Jayce, Rhy takes the opportunity when he mentions practicing magic. It is, after all, what he wanted to speak to Jayce about.

"About that... I know you practice healing magic. I imagine it's been... needed, lately."

"A mage saved my mother and me from freezing to death when I was a child. He teleported us to this field. It's symbolically a place where I got a second chance at life, thanks to magic."

It was a very traumatic event, except in Jayce's mind, so much of it turned into this beautiful experience, like the field around them. He used to be very uncomfortable with the cold but his obsession with magic took off from there. It led him to Hextech and to his current occupation as a fairly decent magical healer. So this place functions well as somewhere he feels safe to sit down and practice.

He returns his attention to Rhy and nods. "Yeah, I got a little boost from the Singularity after my first visit so I've been training about six months now on top of it." Jayce smiles. "Although I have to say, no one warned me that using too much magic can be more exhausting than physical activity." At least when you're new to it, apparently.

"Why do you bring it up?"

Rhy nods, listening to Jayce's story without asking questions. It doesn't sound so strange to him, as someone who's grown up in a world vibrant with magic, even if teleportation magic in his own world is rare.

"I was aware, logically speaking... but experiencing it is something else entirely. I haven't gotten much practical application practice, though I have been studying it for about the same amount of time as you, it seems. Now, in Nott, I'm finding myself unable to keep up without overextending myself. I thought you might experiencing something similar, and decided to ask how you deal with it."

Interesting dilemma and Jayce nods. "I think it's because I use it all of the time that I'm where I am now. Practical application makes it stronger each time I do it. Practice can only do so much."

Jayce doesn't mean only recently; he's been healing Viktor for months every few days, stronger by the week and month, and now he can handle higher-level injuries and situations. He's been draining his magic in Libertas but he doesn't mind, it helps. And he is used to straining himself.

"Overextending is natural, we only have so much energy to share. It's like any skill, you have to do it actively to get better. Start small in Nott, try it on burns and sprains, when you feel the pressure start to get to you, take a break."

He can only imagine how awful things are in Libertas. As it stands, Rhy's already overwhelmed with the destruction around Nott, the harvest wrecked, farms destroys, rural homes in ashes. And most of the city had been spared. The war's only just begun.

Even with most of the active fires now put out, there's still plenty to do. Makeshift infirmaries and shelters have been set up inside Nott to help those who suffered losses or injury during the attack, and Rhy has been a near-constant presence at some of these, wherever extra hands have been needed. It's really testing the limits of his studies at the infirmary in Thorne, where he's been training diligently in healing magic from simple first aid and now to more complex spells -- to ease pain, to help with smoke inhalation, to treat burns and breaks.

It had started almost on a whim, or perhaps more aptly, out of a vague but desperate desire to do something useful. Magic had so long been out of reach that now, with it finally answering his call here in Abraxas, Rhy had found himself overwhelmed. Alone and directionless all those months ago, he'd volunteered at the infirmary because it seemed like the sort of thing that would be fulfilling, when he'd been having so much trouble finding anything that filled that void inside his chest.

Suddenly, all those hours spent studying and working toward a nebulous goal have a solid, too-real purpose. It isn't theories and practice and practicing his bedside manner taking care of someone mildly ill laid up in the castle. It's blood and burnt flesh and screaming and his magic, his hands, literally putting people back together. And it is, perhaps, fulfilling but--

It's also exhausting, and horrible.

Some days, it is too much of both.

Kell will find him behind the inn-turned-hospital that they've both been helping at the last few days. Rhy sits on an empty crate in the alley, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. He doesn't look up when Kell approaches.

Edited 2022-09-30 21:48 (UTC)

When Kell picked up alchemy, it was for no particular reason. Just something he had never paid attention to as a field of study before. While he started learning, it was mainly for the new, experimental stuff. The things Mildred in her teahouse will come up with. But he learned to make healing potions of all kinds. They weren't easiest for him to pick up. He actually had to make effort to do it correctly every time. Screw up there and you can make someone worse, not better. The easiest ones were always the painkillers, you hardly can botch those. Even when you are tired, unfocused and sleep-deprived. Or dizzy from blood loss - he can heal people with his blood magic, it just costs him. Sometimes it costs a bit too much.

He's been a lot of those things lately, tired, sleep-deprived and dizzy, and he's been making a lot of painkillers. It seems as if his life has shrunk to a dark corner of a former inn with a burner, a few bottles and vials he needs for his work, jars of ingredients. Always too little of those.

Still, Kell hasn't come even close to the levels of exhaustion Rhy is going through. So when he doesn't show up to eat that day, Kell packs what counts as their meals those days, bread, cheese, some local fruit, tea, and goes looking for him.
He finds Rhy at the back, sitting on an overturned crate, looking as if he were to collapse any moment. Kell puts his package down - eating will need to wait - drags himself another crate to sit next to Rhy and put an arm around his shoulders. It's only after a while that he speaks.

"Rhy, you need to eat"

He doesn't lift his head even though he knows it's Kell, recognizes him on instinct by his movements and his gait alone, even before he draws up a makeshift seat of his own and sits in his periphery.

The arm that settles over his shoulders feels heavy. Rhy doesn't lean into the embrace, but he doesn't pull away from it; he sits stiffly, taking uneven breaths. Of course Kell can find him even when he doesn't really want to be found.

"I'd rather not."

"I noticed."

Kell is more than happy to give Rhy all the space he needs, whenever he needs it. But this is not it. This is Rhy isolating himself, and that's never good. It's just not like him. Honestly, Kell doesn't know what to do with it.

They've been both pretty worn out those last couple of days. Rhy even more than Kell. It feels wrong to push him, even if it's for his own good. So Kell just sits there trying, and failing, to figure out a way he can get to him. The way he could help.

He's silent for a longer while. Barely moving, only breathing, until his breaths match up with Kell's.

Rhy presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. His voice comes out choked and thick, quiet enough for only Kell to hear, even if they weren't alone.

"There was a girl. Too badly injured. They brought her to us too late. I tried, but-- it wasn't enough."

She isn't the first. Just the youngest he's seen, whom he'd tried to help directly, and he'd failed.

"I know you did everything that's humanly possible."

It's bad here, but Kell is sure it's a lot worse on the other side. The awareness of this fills him with ire that's nothing like his usual anger. Not hot rage that's good fuel for action, just the chill that festers, seeping away his strength, eating away at him.

Kell had seen the suffering, the dying and the desperate. He'd seen the hungry of White London, the grim slums of Grey London. But Rhy? Radiant prince Rhy, who'd throw the most exquisite parties to entertain his people? Who would go out of his way to make everyone happy? He'd never had to see such things first hand. He might have been aware of them happening, but the knowledge of a thing existing and experiencing it yourself are like night and day.
It's one thing to know people die in wars and skirmishes, and a completely another to have a child die in your arms from wounds she would not have sustained if not for some sick idiot's ambition.

Kell would rip his heart out if it only helped Rhy feel better. If it meant Rhy could be spared this anguish. But it won't. There's nothing Kell can do other than sit with him.

Edited 2022-10-02 11:12 (UTC)

"It doesn't matter."

His voice cracks, and now Rhy does lean into his brother, letting Kell take on more of his weight without pulling his hands from his face, as though just by holding the tears in with his hands they'll stay put.

"It wasn't enough. I know-- I know, Kell. I know you'll tell me I tried, that there are those who've been able to help, and those we cannot. You do not have to say it again. I do not want to hear it."

It does. It does, even if Rhy doesn't believe it. It does to those they are able to help. Even more so to those who brought the child to Rhy, who had to watch the desperate attempts to save her, who had to share the anguish of those attempts failing. Those that had to face the nagging questions that maybe if only they had found her sooner, if only they have travelled faster, if only... if only...

But Rhy doesn't need to hear this, so Kell is not going to say it. Maybe later. One day. When enough time had passed between then and this horror now. When it will be a distant memory. Maybe then.

"I wasn't going to say any of this," he says, moving ever so slightly closer so that Rhy can comfortably lean on him if that's what he needs.

There's little he could say, trying to combat on his own the rising fury at the cruelty and injustice of this whole situation. It's draining and depressing to throw all your strength at it, and see it's but a drop in the whole fucking ocean of suffering.

He really had tried. But trying's not enough, sometimes. It's a lesson he keeps having to learn.

When Kell shifts closer, Rhy gives in and presses his face to his shoulder. Beneath the surface dust and soot, the lingering smell of blood on both of them, is something familiar and soothing; Rhy breathes it in, shaky and slow. Without looking, he reaches a hand between them, groping for Kell's fingers, squeezing when he finds them.

"I keep thinking about the Black Night," he admits in a mumble against Kell's sleeve.

"How many people died..."

A pang of shame follows almost immediately. It feels selfish to bring it up, now of all times. As if any sense of atonement he can't help but desire has any relevance here, when all he should be focusing on is helping those he can because he can.

Every time he tries to tell himself he'd never do something so rash and irresponsible and cruel as Ellya, the doubt tugs at him, evidence in the murky memories of that night, the long lists of dead and missing compiled after. He wonders if anyone is keeping track of the poor souls in Nott, already largely left to languish by the crown.

Kell exhales a tiny sigh of relief, barely a breath at all, when Rhy crosses whatever distance was left between them, and lets himself be held. He responds to the gentle squeeze of Rhy's hand when he laces his fingers with Kell's, with moving even closer. So close, there's barely any space at all. As if he could become a shield, a barrier to keep all the suffering away from Rhy. But he really can't, can he? He's already drenched in it himself.

"I know," he says, his voice barely above whisper. "But this is different, Rhy."

They both made mistakes that led directly to disaster. Stupid mistakes, understandable, but stupid. They both have been manipulated by people far more skilled at deception, cruel and ambitious, that latched at their weakest points. Rhy's desire for magic, he's own desire for freedom. And used them to bring destruction to their home. Other people paid the price of two princes being foolish. One of them in particular being extremely foolish.

"You're not like this bitch queen. Not in the slightest. Don't you ever think about yourself like that."

He knows he shouldn't voice his opinion out loud. Not this particular one. It could bring all sorts of trouble if it ever circled back to this paranoid, mad woman. But this is Nott, not castle Thorne, and Kell assumes that here, nobody really cares about him badmouthing the woman who should have cared about her own people, but doesn't. Apparently, she never did. Kell hates her for it, even if this is not his home country, and those people here are not his people. He hates her with the same cold hatred he thought he had reserved only for the Danes twins. It turns out he has a lot more of it to share. To think that Rhy would even consider comparing himself to that wretched woman is unthinkable.

Kell is right that he's not like her, though Rhy still considers the carelessness of his own actions unforgivable, intentional or not. And that is where they differ most, of course: that he actually feels guilty, and he's rather sure she doesn't give a shit.

"How could she have such disregard for her own people?" he asks no one in particular, but the tone of his voice is low and angry.

"Attacking without thinking, without defending her own people first. And now this, the level of poverty and neglect here is... it's unthinkable. These are the people who provide for the kingdom. They should be treated with respect. No wonder the people here hate the crown."

Kell squeezes Rhy's hand, pulls him into even a tighter embrace. As if this could ease the suffering. It's so very Rhy to be moved by such blatant injustice. So very much him to so emphatically refuse the reality of it.

"Because she is a small, selfish, unimaginative little weasel not worthy of her title, her crown or her people." And Kell hopes she dies a gruesome death. Preferably, at the hands of those she had wronged so much. Those whose life she treated as disposable with her actions. "Unfortunately, such people exist."

"I know," Rhy sighs. He wishes it were otherwise, but though he might be upset, he's not that naïve. Of course he understands some people are only in it for the power, that there are corrupt and even evil rulers everywhere. It's just so unfathomable to him on a personal level, even if logically his mind can process it as something sadly not even that strange.

It's difficult to reconcile the sense of responsibility he still feels, with nowhere to direct it.

"I wish we could do more."

And then, even more quietly, buried against Kell's shoulder: "I miss home."

Kell lets out a long exhale. The air he didn't even know he was holding. It doesn't make him feel better to know that they, foreign royalty, are already doing more than people that should be here and helping. That's already a pretty low bar. It doesn't help that the thing he'd most like to do, go there and just yell at this stupid woman until she wakes up, would not help, but most likely make things worse. And he hates feeling so powerless.

"I know, I miss it too," he admits. "Horribly. Even the small, stupid things." He smiles, a bleak, weak smile. "Like hats. You had so many silly hats."

"I can buy silly hats here," Rhy mumbles. He knows that's not what Kell means, but he can't help but sound a little resentful. He's just so frustrated and angry and sad.

He misses his mother and father. Being able to ask them for advice, lean on them for support and guidance. He misses Tieren's calm and wisdom.

He feels so helpless.

"They won't be the same. They don't know how to make proper silly hats here."

Kell latched on this irrelevant detail because he aggressively tries not to think about people. Not to think about Tieren. Tieren who always knew what to say, always had a good word, or a stern one if Kell deserved it. Always knew how to right his course whenever Kell let his magic steer him the wrong way. Who would sigh and roll his eyes, but cover up their antics as long as they were just stupid and not actively destructive to others.
Who would tell Kell he's being dramatic, when he was, but would listen and understand anyway.

He even misses their parents.

Of course Kell doubles down on the point. For some reason, it's-- well, maybe funny isn't the word. But it breaks through, somehow, a moment of levity in the heavy creeping of despair.

Rhy lets out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

"...yeah, maybe you're right," he whispers, closing his eyes and leaving Kell's sleeve damp with the tears that fall.

Sometimes he'd say the stupidest things just to make Rhy laugh. Sometimes it works. Kell didn't expect it to work this time. His comment was an attempt to steer his own thoughts away from the misery of the situation they both found themselves in. But he's glad that it works. Something. Anything. For once.

"I think I am."

Any other time, he would have followed it with some witty remark, but now he's just too tired. Still, tired is good when it's just tired. Not drowning in the bottomless abyss of misery like he was just a moment ago. Feeling like all his efforts are futile and hopeless. He'll take tired over that any time.

[ The portals to Nott remain open for some time. It's long and difficult work -- the cleanup, rebuilding, and rescue efforts, both for any potential remaining food supplies, and any of the people who'd been responsible for them. Several makeshift infirmaries have been set up around the city, with folks from the farmlands being portalled in.

Now, a couple weeks later, there are fewer new patients. Some had tried to resist seeking help, too proud or too distrustful of the crown and any help it sent. Some simply hadn't realized until later how bad the damage was; smoke inhalation can be insidious that way, apparently. But though they are fewer, they continue to trickle in, and so the makeshift hospitals stay open to accommodate them, with healers moving in and out of the inn-turned-infirmary near the edge of the city.

In some ways, Rhy is used to it by now. He hates the thought. And yet, he's seen enough bloody bandages now, enough burnt flesh, it doesn't make him want to vomit anymore. It's either progress, or it's something far worse, depending on how one chooses to look at it.

In other ways, there are things he can never get used to. That he never should get used to, he thinks.

When another person dies despite their best efforts, having sought assistance far too late, Rhy has to excuse himself. He finds a different inn and tavern, somewhere cheap, rowdy even in these times. He means to get a drink, but when the very scent of food and booze on the air suddenly makes him want to lose the last meal he had (when was that, even?), Rhy changes course, and instead ducks into the side street behind the tavern. He wouldn't be the first to throw up back here, probably. Or maybe, if he can take enough deep breaths, he'll be able to make it to that drink, after all. ]

[Though he’s only a few days removed from his return to Thorne, the portals to Nott remain open, and there are people who need his help. This alone is reason enough for Stephen to plan for travel, especially after word of needing more healers, more hands to help in the infirmaries, makes the rounds.

Upon arrival, he cannot say that he feels particularly welcomed—distrust floats about like a fog, directed at anyone who even vaguely scents of Thorne Castle—but Stephen sets that aside, pulls himself into a mode of focus that comes easily, a task hammered into any doctor who’d spent time working at an NYC hospital. At the overstuffed infirmaries, he tends and moves from patient to patient. He wraps bandages, applies salves, casts spells of healing and regeneration, and offers advice on how to manage the pain of recent injuries and burns; in more severe cases, he can do nothing at all, watching far too many succumb to their complications early, having sought their help far too late.

The evening wears on. The hours grind at him. At some point, his energy wanes, and the efficacy of his work produces diminishing returns. Aware of it, Stephen excuses himself—decides to go for a walk to clear his mind, to find a place to sit and rest and maybe eat—and finds himself winding through the town. A tavern catches his eye, the raucous noise reverberating into the street, and he ambles closer. Stephen almost passes the street behind the establishment without noticing anything out of the ordinary, but troubled movements hook into his periphery, and he pauses just long enough to notice a familiar figure hunched over nearby.]

—Rhy?

[Stephen approaches, brow scrunching with vague concern.]

[ The sound of his name cuts through the thundering of his own heartbeat in his temples, sudden and startling. Rhy flinches, lifting mostly just his eyes warily, one forearm on the wall and head down against it. The voice settles into something familiar, along with the backlit silhouette of a tall, slim figure.

After a moment, he forces himself to push up from the wall, using it to leverage his body into more or less a standing position with feet planted firmly, trying not to let the annoying lingering lightheadedness have its way. ]

Master Strange.

Stephen.

Yes. Hello.

[Stephen's assessing gaze rakes over the young man, and his consensus is not a hard one to make: Rhy looks worn, overwrought. Like whatever he's put himself through has well taken its toll, even as he straightens to greet him.

The connections form immediately in his mind: it's not a leap of logic to assume that Rhy's here to help with the relief effort, that he'd apply his ever-growing skill in healing magicks to aid those who need it. But, Stephen thinks, this might be the first practical application of those skills in a very profound way.

He'd bet money the kid's stretching himself too thin. And there he is, looking at him, just saying hello.]

What are you doing back here? No offense, but you don't... look so great.

...hah.

[ It's something between a sigh and a dry, humorless laugh. Rhy shakes his head -- and immediately regrets it, feeling a rush of dizziness. He staggers slightly, reaching out to catch himself.

No way he could take offense when it's clear as day. ]

Let me guess— Spreading yourself too thin?

[The question tumbles out even though he thinks the answer is obvious. Stephen is more than aware of Rhy’s focus on healing magic—especially given that he’s spent plenty of time tutoring the young man in exactly that—and the connection isn’t hard to make.

But then Rhy stumbles forward, and even if he catches himself against the wall, Stephen can’t help himself: he reaches out to brace a hand against his shoulder, to keep him steady.]

[ It happens without warning, before Rhy can even respond.

Stephen's fingers touch his shoulder, and Rhy's magic reacts, striking like a viper as soon as the distance is closed. He doesn't know how he does it, or what it is.

Rhy only knows that one moment, he was drained and lightheaded and very likely about to faint-- and the next, the warmth of magic floods him, energy and vitality singing through his blood. The exhaustion seeps from his fogged mind, after a few moments restoring clarity. Not that it helps him understand. Not yet. ]

[Where Rhy feels revitalized, the opposite happens to Stephen. It's as though something's latched on; the comparison of a snake sinking its fangs into him is an apt one, biting, draining, a sensation that feels paradoxically languid, yet utterly sudden.

It's as if warmth and energy are draining from him, siphoned away. He feels weakened, foggy, his other hand outstretching to brace itself against the wall, else he go tumbling to the ground. Somehow, he manages to wheeze out-]

Rhy? What're...

[Is he doing this? How? Why? Stephen's brain strains to dredge up an answer to this unexpected problem, but coherent thought jumbles in his mind, doesn't even make it out of his mouth. He only manages to grip his shoulder harder.]

[ He sees Stephen sway, reaching for the wall. The way the color drains from his face, leaving him confused and a little too pale.

Rhy gasps, in part due to Stephen's harsh grip squeezing his shoulder and in part because of his own shock. Suddenly feeling much better himself, he jumps to help, moving forward to support the older man before he loses his balance against the wall. ]

Stephen! Are you all right? What happened?

[Woozy, woozy. Unsteady. He barely manages to keep on his swaying feet, and it's fortunate that Rhy moves forward to support him, or else the sorcerer might have actually toppled over face-first into the ground.

It's only when Rhy is directly in front of him that his eyes manage to focus on the young man, face pinched into a frown.]

It's like... [He struggles to find the words. To form them in a coherent way, leaving him only with simple descriptions falling off his tongue.] All of the energy's been drained from me. Like I haven't slept in a week.

[ Rhy stares at him, with slowly dawning horror. ]

Oh, no...

[ He feels better. Not because of the jolt of adrenaline or the worry for Stephen. He feels physically better, in a way that's undeniable. It doesn't make any sense, but it's also impossible not to make the connection. Too much to be a coincidence. ]

I-- Did I hurt you?

Lean on me, here.

[No, the connection's well made by now. It's the only thing that's made sense, and even less of a stretch is the assumption the Singularity may be to blame; doling out strange abilities to those otherwise unaware of them would be nothing new.

But this means, too, that Stephen doesn’t see it as anything more than an accident.]

...I’ll be fine.

[And he won’t be accepting more guilt to be piled onto anyone’s shoulders, not on a day like this one, where it’s the last thing Rhy would need.

And so: trust. He nods, shuffles forward a step, and reaches out to lean on Rhy, an arm across his shoulders.]

If it's just... a transfer of energy, that just means I'll need a long, long nap to recharge.

[ CATCH-ALL ] and I broke my heart in two

for thancred.

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for jayce.

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for kell.

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for stephen.

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