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[familyproblem]

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username: ...He keeps changing it. Changes are noted on his thread tracker. Last time this post was updated it was <silverfeather>.

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[worldisyours]

[With the comforting weight of Silvally's head gone, it appears it is time to return to reality; Gladion's sigh is echoed as Rindo pulls away from Silvally's neck, blinking droplets of rain, and maybe some tears, from his eyelids. He doesn't particularly want to let go either. Not of Silvally, not of Gladion. But they're right—it's about time they headed back. So Rindo nods.]

…Yeah.

[His voice comes out a little strained, because he's thinking about how unfair it is that he feels so clear-headed, with his hunger gone. It's unfair that they get to just walk away.

In his guilty haze, Rindo spots some vines wrapped around Silvally—three of them. Gladion's? No, one actually belongs to him. …He hadn't realized it did that. In fact, another one's gone and loosely grabbed Gladion's forearm. He retracts the offending tendrils with an apologetic, embarrassed look, and brings his arms back to his side too, for good measure.

…Gladion is so… off-balance. The contrast between the air of confidence he'd been trying to project, and how he looks now… It isn't right. He was meant to be the anchor, but it's only a role he's stepped into for Rindo's sake. The truth is, they're in the trenches together and Gladion only has a little headstart.

And in light of this realization, he feels that he really should say something. It comes out haltingly, and he struggles to meet Gladion's eyes as he speaks.]

I—… Thanks. I mean it. I dunno how I'd have dealt with this if you weren't here…

[Or how Gladion could have done the same. Did he have to? Was anyone there for him, or did he figure it out on his own? He badly wishes it was the former. The mere thought of the alternative is… profoundly lonely.]

[familyproblem]

[Feeling all scraped-raw, Gladion only blinks at the vine leaving his forearm, not sure how to say concisely that he didn't mind it. There isn't a way to, so it doesn't get said.

And when Rindo starts to speak again—he looks up, tired enough to be able to stare evenly where Rindo can't—he doesn't have a good answer for that, either. Because his first thought is I'm sure you'd have made it through somehow, which is wildly fucking inappropriate and not even a good way of saying what he'd have meant by that.

There's no second option at hand.

So as Silvally crouches a little for them to get up on its back, Gladion goes for—not Rindo's shoulder this time, but his upper arm. Like when they left the patch, it's half gesture at help climbing on and half contact for its own sake, because he squeezes a bit, clearly as a reply to the thank-you.]

I'm glad. [Further thoughts are too...intangible right now. What exactly he's glad for, and the qualifications on that, all swirling around him, behind his eyes and in his frown, somewhere hollow where there's just not enough of him to put it all together and make sure Rindo is looked after in all the critical ways. Later, when he's built himself back up a bit, and if they can still stomach the topic, maybe.]

[worldisyours]

[Gladion's arm enters Rindo's vision as he's looking down, spurring him to glance back up. He should be used to the physical contact by now, but it's still somewhat of a surprise every time Gladion goes for it, and the effect of it is only magnified by the fact he's just spent… who knows how long hardly conscious of his own body, his awareness concentrated on his roots and their strange set of "senses" instead. Each touch drags him back out into the world beyond the patch, inch by inch, for better or for worse.

If he's glad… well, that's all Rindo could ask for. Words cannot possibly be enough, not for either of them. And what else is there to say, at this point? All that's left to do is to head back. Put this place behind them. (For now, says a nagging voice that refuses to leave him a single moment of peace. It's unearned anyway.)

With a heavy sigh, he nods, then gets on Silvally, vines wrapping themselves around its neck once more.

One last look at the patch. In it is a silent apology.]

[familyproblem]

[The trip back to the house is long in the way that trips can only be when you're too exhausted to make them, but have to anyways. Thankfully, Silvally does the walking. Riding still isn't an entirely passive process. Gladion is tired of sitting upright.

They return to the house they way they came. Halfway across the backyard, Gladion says to Silvally:]

Up onto the balcony.

[It asks fwee?]

Not jumping.

[Not expected, but sure, it can do that. It takes them around the house so that it can step up onto that first-floor balcony at one of the ends, then walks them around to the door into Gladion's room.

He slips off, drops his cooler and tools and whatnot against the wall, and slides the door open. The lights are off, inside, but against the wall there's a little jungle of potted plants.]

Wait here for a moment.

[And he sets to work, quickly; turning the lights on, taking a plastic sheet from a stack of gardening supplies in the corner, unfolding it to make a path from the balcony door to another door at the end of the room. There's a spacious bathroom behind it when he opens it.]

Go ahead and - the bathroom's yours for now. I'll get the towels, and the - whatever got left downstairs.

[Gladion seems a little apprehensive, wavering between staying and going as if he's trying to remember something he ought to do before leaving Rindo in his room. He glances at Silvally for a moment in there. But he does leave, and shuts the other door behind him when he goes.]

[worldisyours]

[The return trip is silent. Somehow, it feels dreamlike.

Seeing the house again marks an end. Here they are, then, scavengers back in the world of the living, to play at normality until the time comes again. Once Gladion's intent becomes evident, Rindo slides off Silvally's back and waits beside it, watching the other Nymph's preparations.

Gladion's unease is not lost on Rindo. He already felt like an intruder, and this is not helping. So, when he's given the go-ahead and Gladion disappears behind the door, he wastes no time in crossing the bedroom atop the sheet, only shooting a sparse few glances at the plants and the supplies and all the little signs of life scattered about. Though he lacks sensation in his roots, he's keenly aware of the tracks they're leaving in their wake.

…At least it's just mud.

Rindo leaves the bathroom door ajar behind him, heaving a sigh that sounds suspiciously close to a sob. He stands there for a moment, wondering where he should even start. Nobody taught him how to do this.

Eventually, he opts to sit on the edge of the bathtub so he can rinse the mud off his roots. The water that flows over their rough, saturated surface feels like nothing. He finds a small length of tendon caught in a groove, dislodges it with his claw, and watches it disappear down the drain along with the dirt and debris the rain couldn't get rid of. He continues to stare at that same spot for a while as the water runs.

None of this makes any sense.

After seconds, minutes, or hours, he turns off the faucet. The sound of falling droplets, dripping off the tips of his talons, is deafening in the empty house. The liquid is clear—his mind paints it red.

(You don't have to face what you've just done. The least you can do is remind yourself.)]

[familyproblem]

[Gladion feels jittery in a way that isn't familiar to—any of this. Coming back from feeding, for him, is slow and numb. He waits until he's a little less comfortable (a little less sated), and knows then that he's definitely himself again.

So now he's gone to the patch without feeding, and brought someone back from it, and instead of feeling alien comfort he just wants to crawl out of his own skin. He pulls his shoes off just outside his room, rolls up the cuffs of his pants, and either shuffles or hurries down the stairs. Tiptoes between the twins' rooms, as if that makes any difference. Gets the - the bag lying against the wall. Back upstairs to the second floor, dogged by the sense that he's missing something, there has to be one more thing, right, one more thing and if he attends to it then things will be a little less fucked.

He returns to find Silvally sitting primly on the floor tarp, having shut the door behind itself. The water is still running; when he glances up, it's a little shock to see the bathroom door not at all closed. He has to imagine that means Rindo is still clothed, but he keeps his eyes politely averted anyways as he moves along the wall towards the door, reaches in, and sets the bag down just inside.

From there...Gladion's still muddy himself. So he goes to Silvally and sits on the ground facing it, between it and the bathroom. Starts wiping bits of debris off its faceplate, out of its ears, picking them from between the feathers of its head.

Thanks, buddy, he whispers to it, bumping his forehead against its nose. I'm sorry you had to see this— (it nips at his hair) —but you helped, so much. You know I'm proud of you? (chirp.) Yeah. I'm glad you two get along.

When he hears the water stop, he falls quiet, still scratching Silvally behind the ear.]

[worldisyours]

[After the water stops, nothing happens for a moment. Then the bathroom door is quietly closed from the inside.



…

Rindo tries his best to wrap the towels around his talons to absorb the moisture, which is only mildly successful; the roots, for the most part, stay waterlogged. Looks like he won't be able to walk around without leaving wet imprints behind. That's not good. He lays the towels to dry on the side of the tub, save for one that he places on the floor to stand on.

Changing clothes is a slow process. There's resistance embedded in every action now. The sharp claws, the leaves, the roots and the tail vine have turned thoughtless, automatic motions into challenges.

It's like struggling up a hill as the ground crumbles apart under his feet. Everything is difficult and he is so tired, a bone-deep exhaustion that has nothing physical, as if he's run out of thoughts and there's nothing left in his head but a gaping void. Perhaps they've all gone down the drain along with the evidence of what he's just done.

Once he's done, he sits still for a few minutes, eyes fixed on some random spot on the wall. Eventually, it occurs to him that he probably should leave the room at some point, so he does.

The door opens and he steps out. He just stands there, his eyes sweeping across the room without really seeing it. He wonders what the next step should be. Should he be here? Should he be anywhere? Probably not.

…Are Gladion and Silvally still there? He wants to stay with them and he wants to never see any other living soul ever again. Or maybe he wants to lie down and sleep for the rest of eternity. He can't tell.]