Ryslig inbox

[familyproblem]

WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, GLADION.

FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 017.23.773.95

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<silverfeather> If you were looking for a private inbox, you probably have the right channel.
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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]

[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.]