abraxaslogs | Reach for the stars with the heart that you've torn apart

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Reach for the stars with the heart that you've torn apart

WHO: Urianger Augurelt et. al.
WHAT: January catch-all
WHERE: City of Thorne + the Horizon
WARNINGS: TBA!

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visual.

The Heavens Turn, and another year begins.

Urianger sags back into his chair with a sigh as he tilts his face up towards a cloudless sky, all ink-blue velvet studden with the stars he's studied ever since he was a boy. At first he'd been a little hesitant to recreate such an evening — it smacks of a hollow emperor; of grief, of longing, and of a forgotten city buried beneath the waves — but at the very least Urianger knows that his own Star isn't shattered. At the very least, it isn't the souls of a planet that lurk in the corners of his vision.

It's Loporrits.

Lots and lots of Loporrits, scurrying to and fro as they enjoy themselves in Sharlayan's Last Stand, peeking around planters and generally getting themselves up to no good. Urianger has managed to use his manipulation of the place to decorate it with twinkling lights, bamboo decorations, and even a little sourceless music — and while he can't interact with his phantom guests he can at least make it so that they ooh and ahh over his efforts.

In the Far East it will be the Year of the Rabbit. Urianger smiles to himself, pink-cheeked and warm as he swallows another mouthful of mead, and only wobbles a little in moving to his feet to fetch another bottle. He had hoped that this Heavensturn would act as another learning opportunity for his friends: he'd had the idea to track down some ears and a tail of his own to help with the lecture, perhaps even to reach out and see if Mistress Mistwalker might be amenable to—

Hic—!

Urianger wobbles again as he hiccups, then giggles stupidly into back of his hand as he steadies himself. It's only then that he notices he has company:

"Ah— hail, friend!"

He spreads his arms wide in welcome.

"Thy timing is most fortuitous — indeed, I was preparing to refresh yonder cups."

Edited 2023-01-03 00:47 (UTC)

While Urianger had mentioned earlier in the week that he had plans to put together a small Heavensturn celebration in his Horizon, Thancred hadn't quite known what to expect. This isn't like one of the larger gatherings that some of the other Summoned have organized to celebrate holidays from their home worlds; Urianger is not the sort who'd want to host that many people. If anything, he invited a handful of friends and good acquaintances to come visit and left it at that.

Or so Thancred assumes, but when he settles in to join Urianger in his meditative state in their little flat, he doesn't realize he'll be arriving to an army of Loporrits.

Or to an Urianger already well into his cups. Or not, as the case may be, as even a single drink is enough to put him into a mood. It's something that he and Y'shtola teased him about more times that he could remember, and yet he wonders if this is due simply to the spirit of celebration or something else.

Perhaps he should tell Urianger to slow down, but there's no harm in getting drunk in the Horizon, really. Instead, Thancred's delighted to see his friend letting loose for once, and grins in greeting as he steps closer, taking in the familiar setting of the Last Stand.

"Well met, Urianger, and I wish you a good Heavensturn, for what it's worth." The calendar is a point of confusion to him in this world, but the start of a new year can hardly be mistaken. "Can I entrust you to grab me something to my taste, then?"

Urianger's whole expression lifts as his guest registers as more than friend — as Thancred — and he closes the distance between them with a few long strides so that he can set his hands on the man's shoulders. It's been some time since Urianger had the space to really celebrate Heavensturn, what with work this, research that, I prithee enjoy thy evening without me the other. To have the time on his hands to be able to spend a little of it with his friend ...

Well. He values it more than he'd perhaps realised when he was stone-cold sober.

"Thancred! My dear— dear friend, may the Twelve furnish thee with blessings this Heavensturn. Come, thou hast earned an eve of respite."

The flush of mead is bright across his nose and cheeks — Thancred might even see it in his ears now that they're standing a little closer. Urianger nods decisively before moving away again—

"Now sit, I prithee. I shall procure a tankard of ale — nay, a tankard of the finest ale for thee."

He shoos Thancred back towards his table before making a stop at the counter, where he loads up a tray with a pitcher of ale, a bottle of mead, and a tankard for Thancred. That he manages to make it back to him without incident is likely a surprise in and of itself — but then this is Urianger's domain, is it not? Perhaps that has something to do with it. He sets the tray down before reaching for his chair again:

"This will suffice?"

The readiness with which Urianger approaches him and the way that he settles his hands on Thancred's shoulders with such little hesitation — he wouldn't have even needed to see the red on his face and ears to know he was drunk. Even now, Urianger is hardly ever one to initiate physical contact like this, and would only do so if his inhibitions had been considerably lowered.

"And the same to you," Thancred says with a shrug as Urianger pulls away. The Twelve no doubt have little influence here, and Thancred hasn't quite forgotten Emet-Selch's words about them either. For as much as he'd rather not given the Ascian any space in his mind, the fact remains that Emet-Selch knows far more than he'd reveal to them, opting to be cryptic instead.

Yes, Thancred could try to ask him here, but when it comes right down to it? He's not that interested.

He does as Urianger says and takes a seat at one of the Last Stand's many tables, heaving out a small sigh as he looks up at the bright, starry sky. When Urianger returns with a full tankard for him, he instantly smiles.

"You know me too well," he says as he reaches out to take the tankard, pouring ale into it and then sampling a sizable sip. "Ah, it's almost as if we were there..." He knows his memories are just supplying the taste for him here, but that's fine. It's close enough.

Then his eyes scan over the scurrying rabbits. One even has a plate of pudding in front of it at another table. "... You miss them?" He needn't really ask, it's quite obvious that he does, but it's an opening for Urianger to speak of his homesickness, if he wishes.

Edited 2023-01-16 23:50 (UTC)

Pleased as he is by Thancred's acceptance of the ale, it seems to take Urianger a moment longer than usual to figure out what his friend is referencing. His gaze follows Thancred's until it lands on the nearby Loporrit as he marvels over his pudding — at which point his expression softens into something more tender than Thancred might have expected.

"That I do."

His eyes slip shut for a moment as he indulges in a long pull of his mead, before setting his cup back down on the table.

"Hydaelyn's Loporrits ... the Pixies of Il Mheg ... all hath been heartfelt companions of mine. I know not why I find myself drawn to such creatures, and yet—"

Urianger's brow furrows just a little, evidently trying to puzzle out his friendships through the fog of alcohol.

"And yet I confess, I found true comfort in their company. Mayhap 'tis their acceptance of me as I am, or mayhap their need of others to accept them as they are — but I would offer a safe haven for all in need of such guidance. It is a painful thing to be aware thy comprehension of others falleth short, and to feel unwelcome or foolish for it—"

He shakes his head, apparently deep enough into his cups (read: cup) that the words are coming thick and fast.

"But to those who require patience, kindness, or perhaps naught more than a word of encouragement — I would offer it."

A beat.

"They deserve to be understood as much as any other."

It is an odd thing, isn't it, how Urianger has found himself drawn to acting as a steward of sorts for these creatures. First the fae, now the odd little creations of Hydaelyn herself. It's not as if Urianger had to settle down in Il Mheg of all places. Thancred had never been particularly fond of the place, save for the temporary home that Urianger had made for himself there.

He can still picture it so clearly, as well as how Ryne had pored over the shelves, eager to gather up as much knowledge of the world as she could. And who could blame her, after she'd been caged for so long?

With the Loporrits, Thancred can understand it a bit more. They are trying to gather information regarding the peoples and cultures of Etheirys, and someone needs to act as their guide. Urianger had fallen into that role all too easily.

Thancred may not relate to the urge that much himself, his own parental instincts lying elsewhere, but he doesn't begrudge Urianger this mantle either. Instead he smiles as he takes another sip of his ale. If anything, he finds it all oddly endearing.

"They still need plenty of guidance. When it comes to educating them as to the nature and history of our star, I can think of no one better suited to the role."

He lifts his tankard then, hoping to indulge in a brief cheers.

Ah, but Thancred's praise is a rare thing. Urianger watches him smile as he sips his ale before offering those few words of encouragement, which in his tipsy state is more than enough to have his ears flushing pink with pleasure. He lifts his own cup to tap it against the other man's tankard with a smile:

"Thy flattery is unnecessary, but most appreciated. I shall drink to it readily," he chuckles, indulging in a deep sip before setting his cup back down on the table. It's nice, he realises, to spend time with his friend like this, without the weight of the Source's remaining worlds bearing down on all of them as they try to find a way to survive their fates. The way he remembers it, they hadn't had a great deal of time to spare before Himeka began the next leg of her adventures in Thavnair ...

But here they are, together for Heavensturn, worlds away from home.

"And full glad am I for thy company," he nods, resting his elbow on the table before dropping his chin onto his palm. It's a far cry from his usual smart posture: Urianger blinks slowly before reaching out to pat at his friend's forearm with his free hand.

"But enough of such platitudes. Tell me: thou art well?" And he waves his hand pre-emptively as though suspecting a certain response. "And not simply in thy person, as I can well see. Thou art a most amenable housemate, and thy disposition wavers not. However in matters of the mind and the heart—"

Urianger thinks of Ryne, thinks of their friends, thinks of love and loss and all that Thancred might have accomplished here.

"Art thou well, my friend?"

"I would hardly call it flattery," Thancred responses almost immediately. He is not being insincere; Urianger has taken to his position as the mentor of Hydaelyn's creations as if he had always been meant for it in some way. The overseer of their star is gone now (they had all personally played a part in that), and that means that the path ahead of them is more uncertain than ever. It's good to know that someone like Urianger is seeing to the education of the moon's denizens.

After a pause, Thancred clarifies. "'Tis simply the truth." Either way, he takes his drink as well, managing a full gulps before he sets down the tankard on the table.

However, Urianger shows just how tipsy he truly is by continuing with the casual touches, to say nothing of the probing question that he asks. This is not simply asking after him for the sake of being polite, or as a greeting. He's delving deeper than that, and Thancred can't help but feel a bit put on the spot. As the one who's far less drunk in this situation, he straightens in his seat and sends Urianger an owlish look.

"And what sort of question is that? Of course I'm well." For once, though, Thancred is being honest about this rather than simply acting evasive. It would be difficult to feel inadequate when he helped to prevent the destruction of their entire universe, for one thing. For another, he'd had that moment with Minfilia in the Aitiascope — just as Urianger had his, on top of the closure received from Moenbryda's parents.

"... Why do you ask? Is aught on your mind?" Perhaps it's something else, something that's slipped Thancred's notice as he's been fixated on the political situation in Thorne. It feels so far away now, with the two of them sitting at the Last Stand together, surrounded by reminders of home.

Thancred sends Urianger that solemn, questionining look, asks him what sort of question is that, and Urianger feels a flush of embarrassment settle into the tips of his ears as he pulls his hand away. Perhaps he has had too much mead — although the thought doesn't seem to deter him from sttraightening up himsel and wrapping his hands around his own cup instead.

"Nay, 'twas little more than an enquiry from one friend to another. Thou art dear to me, as thou knowest, and 'tis a rare thing indeed for us to find ourselves with an opportunity to ..."

He seems to struggle to find the right word — Urianger, struggling to find a word — and makes a vague gesture with one hand before returning it to the cup.

"To talk."

It's a poor finish, but it's all he can come up with for the time being. He supposes there isn't really a sensible way to explain that he's been trying to find ways to embrace what Moenbryda (and in a sense, Himeka) was always trying to teach him: to be present and in the moment with his friends, to find ways to show he cares, and to let himself accept friendship and warmth when he finds it offered to him. That he wants to learn how to offer the better parts of himself to more than pixies and loporrits.

He takes a sip of his mead.

"But if thou sayeth thou art well, then I believe thee."

Edited 2023-02-09 23:36 (UTC)

It's rare for Urianger to be so open, and for that reason alone, Thancred does not want him to feel as if he's overstepped. They are dear friends, as Urianger states, and the whole point of having a drink like this is to check in on each other. It probably says something about Thancred that his first instinct is to be defensive, even now, but at least he can course correct.

"It's a bit ridiculous, isn't it, seeing as we live together." Both of them are busybodies, however. Thancred will often be out doing odd jobs or gathering intel around the castle or in Nott; Urianger will be up to all hours doing research and then will sleep in well after Thancred has already set out for the day. It's strangely rare for them to have a friendly chat like this.

Thancred smiles and shakes his head to himself, taking another drink before he settles his gaze on Urianger's face, flushed from drink.

"I suppose it's all relative, isn't it? Of course I want to find a way for all of us to return home, and even beyond." Back to the First, to her. "We've done this before, however, and I have faith we'll do so again, regardless of how long it might take."

He is also more at ease with himself, more comfortable in his own skin, and no doubt Urianger has already made note of such things. Thancred lifts one eyebrow, then.

"Now, I could just as easily pose the same question to you."

It has been so long since Jaskier had last let himself explore the Horizon, to step away from Bleobheris far enough that it nearly vanishes out of his sight, that he almost feels a strange sense of trepidation in the attempt. The Singularity now feels as if it has rapt attention on those who tread through its space, especially as he sits on the back of Radu, his long-suffering steed that was a gift from Alucard.

Even the horse seems restless, but that's more to blame on Jaskier. He simply has not been taking his horses out from his own domain much. One, because they're a bit unsightly (as horses go), and two, because they'll only ever go anywhere where there's night.

And so there is a spot of night here. A beautiful, encompassing one. It is beyond time. Time for travel again, time for indulging in those old shards of himself he misses so terrible. Adventure, and excitement, inspiration for new songs, and --

And rabbits?

Rabbit people?

By the gods.

The very stars above are in Jaskier's eyes as he carefully slides off Radu's back and gives him a pat on the neck with instructions to go off and graze (the last thing he needs is the horse taking a bite out of a rabbit person.) They're. They're possibly the cutest things he's ever seen. With their large ears, and the wiggling noses, running by on legs so short they have to run twice as fast to keep up with even his normal steps.

He feels strangely upset at the sight of them. As if something that looks this precious is not meant to exist.

The bard immediately perks up at the voice, only to turn and look up -- and up, and up -- at a man who is both handsome and somehow almost... stretched out? But he has a solid look about him, and Jaskier knows well the tint of drink, the shine of it in an eye.

Without pause, he offers the giant man a hug, extending his own arms back, if he's not driven off first. "You must be an absolute mind-reader, my good man! I've been dying for a drink." Anyone who offers drink first, questions later, is truly a good man. "Are these all friends of yours?"

The man who has wandering into his realm (on the back of a very interesting-looking steed) seems good natured, to be sure, but Urianger is not expecting him to simply stride up towards him and clasp him into a warm hug. Tipsy as he is, he simply stands there for a moment as the man's warmth washes over him, before lowering his arms just enough that he can awkwardly pat him on his shoulders and head. Fortunately for the both of them his guest doesn't seem to notice his fluster — or perhaps, like Moenbryda, such things simply don't bother him — and indeed, the thought of his dear friend drops a pearl of warmth down into the pit of his stomach.

She would have wanted him to enjoy the company of others, wouldn't she? To partake of warmth freely offered, and to experience all manner of different people in this strange new realm?

"A-Ah ... well, mine abilities stretch not to the scrying of thought, however thou art most welcome here all the same," he manages, the flush in his cheeks just a little deeper as they move away from one another. It feels ... oddly pleasant, if he's honest with himself, to welcome such an interaction instead of shy away from it — but fortunately there's enough mead in his system that he can't really linger on it for too long.

It's for the best.

Strightening up again, Urianger pats the Hyur on the shoulder and lets his hand rest there as he gestures out towards the critters:

"As for my companions, may I present to thee: the Loporrits," he says grandly, before touching his free hand to his own chest. "And I am Urianger Augurelt — their ever-watchful custodian, guide, and friend."

He turns to look down towards the other man, his golden eyes bright in the evening light.

"And thyself? 'Twould be most remiss of me to fetch a drink for a man whose name I hath not yet learned."

Once it is accepted (he's learned his lesson with touchy men like Alucard), Jaskier gives him a tight squeeze and several claps on the back. Oh, he's quite warm! And has a scent of liquor about him -- not that it isn't so evident from the glow of his cheeks. He must say, though, he has never been embraced by someone so... so large. It feels oddly protective. Even if a touch awkward, with that headpat. However, he's hardly dissuaded.

Jaskier takes a step back from him -- mostly so he doesn't get a horrible crick in his neck -- and smiles wildly, his eyes shining. What a peculiar sample of speech, yet with the warm tenor of his voice and the poetic lilt in such phrasing, it comes out beautifully. Along with a handsome face, and large, pointed --

"Oh! You're an elf! My gods, you're the biggest fucking elf I've ever seen in my entire life. Look at you! Enormous and stunning to look at!" It sort of all spills out without much thought, even though Jaskier was taking in the whole scene: the loporrits (even the name is adorable, Melitele help him), their scurrying, the warm hand on his shoulder, the promise of drink --

Gods, he's overwhelmed. And an elf! He hasn't seen one in so very long. It is projection of the highest order, but for a moment he feels as if he has been welcomed into a place he once stayed in another life, that has quietly been waiting for him. (A touch of the life he has left behind on the Continent. To see an elf, surrounded by that which pleases him, unhurt, with uncut ears, acting as custodian over such clever creatures...)

Jaskier would give him a bow, but he is loathe to dislodge the touch, so he only takes Urianger's hand and lays his own upon it. "I am Jaskier, master bard, at your service. Let me say, with utmost sincerity, it is an absolute delight to meet you and your charges. I've never seen such... such precious creatures in my life."

Jaskier isn't the only one feeling a little overwhelmed — he isn't sure anyone has ever looked at him with such open delight before, nor has he received so many comments about his appearance in such quick succession. It's like hearing the thread of the man's thoughts aloud: Elf, big, enormous, stunning—

The latter of which is more than enough to cause his flush to reach new and somewhat critical levels. Yes, he'd tentatively asked Himeka what she thought of his new attire upon the First, but her response hadn't included anything about whether or not she found him pleasing to look at! That much is quie new to Uriager, and as much is evident in the surprise writ across his expression.

Fortunately he's spared from having to fumble through a response by the man's introduction, which is in itself a significant piece of the puzzle that is this interaction. He's a bard — an entertainer and wordsmith in his own right — which means that such observations must simply be a part of his nature. The confusion that have been gathering within him leaves his body on a sigh of understanding: it isn't personal, it's his job, which makes far more sense to the clueless scholar.

"'Tis a pleasure to make thy acquaintence, Master Jaskier," Urianger replies in tipsy earnestness, finding himself oddly charmed by the easy way Jaskier places his hand atop his own. He indicates a cosy spot for them to settle into before stepping away towards the Last Stand's counter:

"I prithee make thyself comfortable while I fetch mead and ale — if thou art amenable to the idea of sharing in the company of myself and the Loporrits a while longer?"

Urianger very much hopes he is amenable as he has some mead-soaked questions for him, the first and foremost being why he identified him as an Elf instead of an Elezen. Could this man be from the First? Only time will tell!

Edited 2023-01-18 12:33 (UTC)

How has it become such luck to find such a warm domain? Jaskier gives his new company a warm smile as he takes a seat, too busy watching the loporrits to take in much else besides the atmosphere. Clearly some sort of outdoor tavern, though it is far from Julie's crowded and fully manned affair. Or perhaps it seems only less crowded because the rabbits are so much shorter.

"Believe me," he insists, "the pleasure is mine. You would not believe how long it's been since I've ventured in another domain that hasn't attempted to kill me." He gestures where Urianger is already heading towards the counter. "Please! I would be absolutely delighted."

The attempts are not necessarily the fault of the domains. Not many people would force their way into volcanoes, or ice caves, or forests that are explicitly trying to keep him out. All in the name of adventure. Which is why he was riding Radu in the first place, but --

It has been some time since he found real adventure. And he misses, truly misses, the elves. He cannot say why, but something about coming back from that imagined death has left his mind wandering towards them even more. To all the souls he cannot help now that he's here. (Did he make the right choice? Deciding to stay?) So it is perhaps with too soft a gaze he watches Urianger move about, attention finally pulled from the loporrits. "You mentioned you're something of a custodian... are they like your, ah... children...?"

Not literally, perhaps, but. He can't help but wonder.

He returns to Jaskier shortly after with a selection of wines and meads — even a few ales for if he's that kind of man — and makes himself comfortable with none of the usual stiffness that might have otherwise occurred had he been sober.

"My children?"

Urianger's laugh takes even him by surprise: it's loud and warm and clearly delighted by the prospect, but he shakes his head all the same as he reaches to pour himself a cup of wine.

"Nay, I am afraid thou art mistaken. They are inhabitants of our moon, created and placed there by Hydaelyn herself to aid man in fleeing the destruction of our Star," he replies, with a kind of tipsy earnestness that suggests he isn't quite aware how strange that might sound to someone who isn't from Etheirys. "By the grace of the Twelve Himeka was able to prevent such an eventuality, however such heroism left the Loporrits in need of a new purpose."

Urianger touches a hand to his chest, his expression turning gentle and warm as he looks out across the frolicking critters. He misses them dearly — misses their frank questioning, their unembarrassed commentary, the way they simply accept him for who he is — and as much is evident in the glow of his eyes as he turns his attention back to Jaskier. They aren't his children, much as Ryne wasn't technically his child either, but Urianger has a deep capacity for patience, care, and guardianship that would certainly lend itself to such.

"'Tis a great honour to be able to assist them in finding their place upon our world."

... Hopefully they won't bother Radu too much!

Jaskier laughs along with him, half because that is quite the offering -- he steals the wine to start -- but also because he knows well what a silly prospect it may be. Still, if he had been granted guardianship over such creatures... perhaps he's like the opposite of a Witcher?

Though he dare not call the loporrits monsters. They are far too precious. Also, from their rushed speech, quite capable of sentience.

Jaskier raises the glass to sip, then pulls it back from his mouth before he's gotten even a savory sniff of its aroma. "I'm sorry, did you say they live on the moon?" He blinks. While clearly his company is inebriated in the most delightful of ways, Jaskier has overestimated the grip on his own words he has. (The fact he can keep up that form of speech, though, even under the grip of wine... mm. That is extremely attractive.) There's a lot of terminology that he has not heard, but he does know at least one --

"Himeka!" His glass hits the table a bit too hard. "You know her? From the same sphere, even? And she -- she saved a race of moon rabbits from the destruction of your world?"

He feels as if a great weight has been launched into his chest. And a sense of awe follows behind it.

"She has failed to mention any of this." And a man is supposed to know his wife. Himeka. How could you. "Which I find an utmost betrayal, considering this sounds as if it may be one of the most fascinating stories I've yet to hear in my life."

He plucks up his glass again and takes a quick swig, more for the sake of drinking it than for the taste, for now. "And surely you were there, then, if you know of all this? I would be honored if you should be willing to share a bit more of the story, my friend. I live for stories."

Edited 2023-01-31 09:19 (UTC)

"Aye, we hail from the same Star," Urianger nods, evidently pleased to have happened across yet another person who knows Himeka. It seems she's been quite popular among the Summoned — hardly a surprise, considering all he knows of her personable attitude — and he is very much of the opinion that if someone passes muster in her opinion? They're probably worth knowing — or at least worth keepin half an eye on.

"Himeka remains one of my dearest companions — even here, where Fate has seen fit to split our paths."

Split, but never separate. Even when Urianger was transported to the First by an over-enthusiastic but unpracticed mage, all he's ever done has been to support Himeka in protecting their Star. The fact that she's a couple of cities away at the moment? That doesn't change a thing.

Still. Jaskier has indicated himself primed and ready for a story, and in his tipsy state Urianger is more than happy to oblige. He chuckles warmly as he enjoys another swallow of his mead, before leaning closer while making a vague sweeping gesture with one arm.

"You misunderstand: 'twas not the Lopporits who were in need of rescue, but the very Star itself! With the Final Days all but upon us Hydaelyn — that is, the Mother and Creator of our world — begged us flee the Star, having created the Loporrits many millenia ago to aid us in our journey most perilous. Indeed, when the decision was made to instead fight for our home, 'twas Himeka who lead us in our final challenge against Her."

Urianger tilts his face up towards the star-studded night sky, his eyes reflecting a thousand pinpricks of light from skies he can only share in memory. When he looks back towards Jaskier there's something softer in his gaze, and he continues:

"Our victory lead to Her defeat, of course. 'Twas part of Her design all along: only besting Her in battle would prove to Her that we were ready for the fight to come — to travel to the ends of the Universe and lay to rest the source of the Final Days."

So Thancred and Urianger. Two of Himeka's companions, now pulled into their world -- it does bear imagining, as he has before, if desire alone for one's compatriots can influence the strings that pull them here. Does the Singularity hear the calls in one's hearts? Or is it as alone as the rest of them when they are pulled out of the wells?

And what of Estinien? He has not thought of him for so long, heart still heavy from the loss. Three, then. Does a loss change the very rhythm that leaks from that monolith?

Mmm. Maybe the drink is getting to him already. It need not have any effect in the Horizon, but Jaskier has always let himself indulge.

He thinks he may even invite Urianger to his wine cellar before this meeting is over.

But for now, he appears enraptured. He leans in nearly conspiratorially, hanging onto Urianger's deep, melodic voice and equally the skill with which he weaves words. It all feels important, Capitalized, dire stakes -- he thinks he could listen to Urianger read out a manual on replacing cart wheels with equal amounts of interest.

Jaskier holds up his head on a hand, feeling the way his heart flutters.

Oh, dear. It's happened very fast now, hasn't it?

"That is the most absolutely insane story I've ever heard. Possibly in my entire life." He cannot picture the same Himeka who unhinged her jaw to eat an entire wheel of cheese on the floor of Thorne's prison cell to be the leader of a troupe of heroes to -- apparently -- fight a goddess herself.

And somehow, it fits. "I think I should like to hear you tell it thrice times over, because you tell it so beautifully." He may be missing the point, a little. "And you aided Himeka in this? Felling a god?"

Emet-Selch has not, often, had cause to spend time in Sharlayan. He recognizes enough to have an approximate idea of where he is, yes, but he had ever been far too busy with his other endeavors to make a proper visit. (It helps, some, that while he has not visited Sharlayan proper the architecture is much the same as it had been in their Dravanian colony; while he has never set foot there either, there had been some scattered reports of it after the Empire's conquest of Ala Mhigo. Enough that he can recognize the shape of what had been described in these buildings, too.)

The Loporrits... on the other hand, are new. He can tell very loosely whose they are - or ought to have been, rather - but neither had he had cause or desire to actually visit the moon.

Still, it's simple enough to shrink himself down to a height where he won't look completely out of place (and be able to fit into the chairs besides), and though he's not expecting to run into anyone, he supposes it's not entirely surprising that someone else might be present given he appears to have walked into some sort of cafe. Nor is the presence of any of the Scions much of a surprise, for all that he cannot say that he has spoken much with any of them in person, since their respective arrival.

"Most fortuitous indeed. Though I must admit to some surprise at being considered friend."

He might not be quite a foe either, but friend he would not have expected. Admittedly, he does look considerably different here than he does in the waking world, but his voice is as it ever has been, if naught else.

It takes Urianger a moment.

In truth he had recognised something familiar in the man — something about his hair and attire that a part of his mind had been straining towards — but it isn't until he speaks that it finally clicks into place. At first there's a flash of shock, followed quickly by a slight brow-furrow of confusion, before his expression finally lands on something caught between genuine pensiveness and scholarly confusion. How could this be possible? He knows well the tale of how Himeka summoned both Emet-Selch and Hythlodaeus to her side at the edge of the universe ... but why would she do so again here? And why would he have chosen to stay here, if she had?

"Emet-Selch," he greets him, his tone somewhat cautious for all the mead-pink flush in his ears and cheeks. "Thy appearance ... indeed, I took thee for a stranger."

And in many ways he supposes this man is a stranger: Solus zos Galvus was a lie, Emet-Selch was the result of thousands of years of tempered trauma, but the form in which he's now greeting him? This is the person he once was. That thought alone alights the burn of curiosity deep within Urianger's breast, and with the veil of mead clouding his judgement he takes an impulsive step towards him.

Is this man still their enemy? Has he truly relinquished his goals? What does he recall of his relationship with Himeka? What could he tell him of the histories he's lived, the empires he built, the secrets yet locked within the Source and its Reflections? Urianger tilts his head as he curls a finger over his lips in thought, before finally lifting his eyes to meet Emet-Selch's gaze with his own.

"Come. A drink would benefit the both of us, wouldst thou not agree?"

It is, at least, not incorrect to say that Emet-Selch has been summoned to this place. But only in the way that any of them have been, rather than by anything more... direct as it were. Still, he is content to leave that matter unspoken of for the time being. If Urianger wishes to know the truth Emet-Selch is reasonably certain he'll ask, and if not he is hardly about to offer the information unprompted. (He rarely has, after all.)

On the other hand, neither does he seem to be particularly bothered about being mistaken for a stranger. Instead, there's simply a nod of greeting.

"Many would, here."

And not just those who had had cause to meet him in their own reality. It has, however, become something he has become accustomed to - and for all that he is fully capable of changing his appearance within the Horizon, neither does he much care to much of the time. Especially given that there's a sort of comfort in reclaiming his original form, for however long he might chose to remain within the Horizon.

But that is, perhaps, neither here nor there at the moment. Right now, there is the matter directly at hand, and though he is surprised to see Urianger step towards him (spurred on by the impulsiveness of drink, perhaps? He cannot say for sure and doesn't entire care to) neither does he make any real attempt to dissuade Urianger from his course.

"I would not say no to the offer."

And it is that, at least. What will come of it after, well, that surely depends on the both of them. But he is more than willing to share a drink with someone who is not - quite - an enemy any longer, even should they not be entirely friends either.

Urianer nods before gesturing for Emet-Selch to take a seat, before moving across to the bar area that he might procure mead, ale, and even a small pitcher of wine should his guest have a preference. When he returns it's without catastrophe — a relatively impressive feat, considering how badly his hand-eye coordination suffers after he's had a drink — and he sets the drinks down in front of Emet-Selch before indicating the selection with a wave of his hand.

"Thou art welcome to whatever thou wouldst prefer," he says, before settling himself into a seat with a slight tinkling of chains and jewellery. Now that Urianger finally has the chance to look at him properly he's very much taking the opportunity to do so: his hair, the garb of the Ancients, even the flecks of light in his shining eyes — Emet-Selch is truly as much a man as he is a relic of history.

Most fascinating.

Apparently unaware that he's staring (alcohol will do that to a person), Urianger pulls in a deep breath before reaching out to pour himself a cup of sweet mead.

"'Tis a most curious omen, to be met by one such as thee on the eve of Heavensturn."

Urianger touches his fingertips to his lips in thought, his brow knitting minutely as though trying to puzzle out what it could mean. Unfortunately, he's not anywhere near clear-headed enough for that, and after a moment of ineffective thought he lifts his gaze to Emet-Selch again.

"In what capacity art thou here? As Emperor, Ascian, Ancient — or something else besides?"

And sit he does. Though he certainly may not have expected to find himself here - or in such company - but now that he has he's hardly about to be rude. Not when it costs him little enough to be polite (it helps that he has certainly never much minded Urianger's presence).

That said, he does spend a long moment carefully watching Urianger's return. Loath though he might be to use his magic freely at the best of times, he knows well enough that Urianger is aware of his capabilities and it would be a shame to have the drinks spill simply because Urianger happened to lose his balance. Fortunately he is not required to, and the drinks arrive without incident. As such, he simply nods as Urianger takes a seat, before pouring himself a cup of wine.

"I was unaware I needed to be here in any specific capacity."

There's a shrug with the words, as if to suggest that he is no more than himself. A version of himself he has not been in long millennia, yes, and apparently completely unbothered by the fact that Urianger is staring besides, but himself all the same. And yet, for all that he has spoken the truth, he cannot help but offer further clarification a moment later.

"There is little cause to seek a Rejoining here, even had I not met my end. Nor is there significant reason for me to continue to pose as Emperor. That role is done, and it is hardly is if Garlemald means aught to many here."

True, he might yet appear in Solus' form, outside of the Horizon. But he had done so even during his stay on the First, as much out of habit as anything, and he has no significant problem with continuing to do so here as well.

There's a lot in even Emet-Selch's more offhand comments for Urianger to wrap his mind around: that he's met his end, his use of the term "role", the fact that he's still thinking (albeit not actively) of Rejoinings even after his demise ... there's a lot to puzzle out, and a lot that he might need to cross-reference with his more sober self after he's slept off the mead. Speaking of, he refills his own cup before lifting it to his lips for a slow sip

"Then thou art as the rest of the Summoned," he says thoughtfully — and he appears genuinely interested by the notion. After all, Emet-Selch has already demonstrated his ability to flit between reflections of the Source with ease; he was upfront about his machinations, too, and Urianger sees no reason why he'd begin lying about it now. For a man whose very existence was based on deception, he can be extraordinarily upfront when he wants to be.

"Very well. That said, I should think the reasoning behind my enquiry would be obvious," he sats just a little tartly — mead makes Urianger a lot of things and a little sassy is certainly one of them. "Last we spoke thou didst seem inclined to lend thine aid to Himeka, and yet ..."

Well. He certainly hadn't pulled his punches when he'd deemed them all unworthy of life but a scant while earlier. The tail-end of an eyebrow lifts a little way as he sets his cup down in front of him:

"Thou hast made no secret of thy capricious nature regarding we Sundered."

Given that Emet-Selch has spent much of the long millennia of his life seeking the Rejoinings, it's perhaps no great surprise that he should still be halfway thinking of them. Admittedly, Fandaniel's comparatively recent arrival (and equally recent departure) has the topic more in Emet-Selch's mind than it might have otherwise been but even so... that particular path is one that his thoughts have tread and retread often enough for it to be familiar. Even when there might truly be no need of such things, after his own demise.

Fortunately, it's not a topic Urianger seems particularly inclined to inquire after, and so Emet-Selch moves instead to that which is being spoken of.

"Yes," he answers with a nod, apparently unconcerned with the idea of being considered merely another of the Summoned. "Though I certainly cannot say I much approve of the method by which we find ourselves arriving here."

Admittedly, a good bit of this is due to the week he'd spent without any sort of access to his (many) abilities, but that tidbit is one he doesn't mean to share with Urianger. He might be more than willing to be upfront regarding his nature and his motivations, but there are some things even he isn't willing to share.

"I saw no reason to have kept it so. Nor did I mean aught less than I had said, any of the times I might have spoken of such matters."

And though he cannot, directly, recall the specific incident to which Urianger is alluding he knows himself well enough to know that is unlikely to have changed.

"Should it need to be said, however... I have neither need nor desire to seek to further either the cause we Ascians once championed, nor that of Garlemald."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Reach for the stars with the heart that you've torn apart

HORIZON.

HEAVENSTURN.

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I hope this is ok!! let me know if this was meant to be closed

This is PERFECT

:D

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So sorry this took a hot minute - last week was a Whole Thing!

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