five; video

[bloodspeaker]

[Lawd, this guy is spent. Though he usually likes to broadcast from somewhere in the clinic -- his office, a supply closet, the waiting room -- this time, he's in bed, propped up against pillows and looking weary.]

Folks, we're not exactly out of the woods yet -- as the piles of stinking rubble and even less breathable air than usual make obvious -- but I still wanted to thank everyone who stepped up in service of the clinic over the past month.

[He rubs the side of his pale mouth tiredly.]

We lost a lot of patients, there's no denying that. But we saved plenty of people, too. Saved each other. We did our goddamn best. That's worth something.

[He pauses, as though that's all he's got to say. The feed shakes a little as he shifts around on his bed, his hand finding a piece of paper with a ring on top of it. He closes his fist over the ring, curls his fingers against the paper.]

And -- for those of you who knew him ... Belthazar has gone home, to Azeroth.

[His expression tightens; he's saying this for his own benefit, as much as anyone else's.]

No one who's been there would call our world a safe place. But our cities aren't like this, and Belthazar was just a child. Better that he's gone.

[He thinks of Jericho, so recently killed in the bombing, and Syllona, constantly overwhelmed with fear.]

Better that all the children should go, if their circumstances at home are even slightly better than this.

Comments

[bloodspeaker]

[He feels some instinct to soothe Vanadi, which honestly irritates the shit out of him.]

I suppose we could bite if we wanted to. But it really goes more like this.

[Sitting up a little more fully in the bed, he reaches for the now-empty soup bowl and pours his flask of water into it. The water becomes a mirror, as clear and solid as glass. Sweeping his hand over it, Adrasteius shows Vanadi a memory. Adra's younger in this image, and his eyes are bright blue. He looks abjectly sick and frail, his skin pale and perspiring, his cornsilk hair nearly white. Others of his kind are around him, looking to be in similarly bad shape.

Adra reaches for something, an imp (ha ha). He touches its toad-like face, his fingers trembling, his expression uncertain. But then the hesitation passes, and a mad resolve comes to his eyes. He clamps his hand over the little demon's face, and its body begins to glow and shake violently. Adrasteius breathes in as he draws out the demon's magic, as he drinks it in for himself. Soon, the imp withers into a husk.

When Adra opens his eyes again, they're not blue anymore. They're a bright, virulent green.]

[implying]

[ Vanadi sits up for a better view of — whatever this is, and watches with clear interest. It's a neat trick. He picks up in a second or two on the fact that it's a memory, and his interest grows. By the time the imp (rude) meets its fate, he's shot a vaguely worried glance up at Adra. ]

Ah. That is a good deal less romantic than I might have hoped.

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra scowls, looking away.]

No. Not one goddamn romantic thing about it.

[implying]

[ Oops, there goes his heart. Again. He finds a knee under the blanket and rests his hand on it, looking sympathetic. ]

Is it necessary for you?

[bloodspeaker]

Unfortunately, yes. It's necessary for all of us. Our society was built on magic, and we had something that fed us continuously, a fount of energy we called the Sunwell.

We became so complacent, so used to the constant stream of magic, that we didn't realize how badly we were addicted until the Sunwell was destroyed. After that, we ... [he shrugs.]

Well, you saw. We did terrible things.

[He touches the skin under his left eye.]

We altered ourselves irrevocably.

[implying]

[ He wants to kiss him again. He'd love to tell him that it's alright, terrible things happen, are unavoidable, it doesn't make Adrasteius any less —

—But really, who is he to talk? And that kiss would be entirely unwelcome, he's sure. He smothers the urge, contents himself with the hand at Adra's knee. ]

I'm certain a replacement can be found for you.

[bloodspeaker]

[He shakes his head, leaning back against the headboard, slumping down. The action causes his knee to push up against Vanadi's hand, but he doesn't seem to care.]

No. This place has almost no natural magic. Azeroth was rife with it -- there were things I could do, inanimate things I could draw from now and then. There's none of that here.

[implying]

[ Hey, fine by him. He settles himself back down again, shifting to tip his head against that knee instead, and wrap an arm around the leg. He can show his sympathy in little ways, instances of contact and comfort, if not with his preferred intimacy. ]

All sorts of science things, though. With all that, you'd really figure the Initiative ought to be able to manufacture a substitute.

[bloodspeaker]

Well, in fact, they do give us little bits and pieces. It's not nearly enough, though.

[He bites his lower lip.]

Belthazar--the child who stayed with me--was nearly driven mad with his hunger. I let him take my magic, which is part of the reason I'm in trouble at present.

[Vanadi's real cuddled up now, but Adra's still okay with it. In fact, he reaches out and touches the back of Vanadi's head, gently patting down the silver hair with his fever-warm fingers.]

[implying]

[ Oh, that feels good. Of course, it would normally feel good, but with the influence of bloodthistle still in his mind? It's really good. He ducks his head a little to better enjoy it, and it takes him a second to answer. ]

Mm... One of the Transports, then. We've so many resources among us.

[bloodspeaker]

[He keeps patting Vanadi's hair, but his jaw tightens at that suggestion.]

No. I don't want to take from a living source. The process of magic draining is dangerous and unpleasant. [AS YOU SAW.]

[implying]

[ He's trying to take this serious and be grim too, he really is, but that hand at his hair just feels so pleasant. It reflects into his voice, warm and a little lower. ]

If you haven't another way?

[bloodspeaker]

I'll deal with the consequences.

[Patting ever so gently. That's right. Just forget about it, Vanadi.]

[implying]

[ He really wants to continue this line of thought. It seems important. It's probably really important, actually. But the buzz of the drug in his blood is getting warmer, along with that touch, and it's impossible to keep hold of the thread of thought.

So he only makes a low noise of contentment and buries his face against that leg, hoping Adra never stops. ]

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra just rolls his eyes. He can smell the remnants of bloodthistle on Vanadi -- not acutely, but well enough that it's making his stomach churn. What can he do, though? About as much as he can do about his other predicaments. Nothing.

So he just keeps running his hand through Vanadi's hair, keeps gently tangling locks of it around his fingers.

The inevitable will come. He has only to face it with dignity.]

[implying]

[ He doesn't move, and eventually his breathing evens out as he drops off into sleep. He's warm, he's high, and someone is running their fingers through his hair. Short of sex, what more could he want? He doesn't move for a while, at least a few hours, until the bloodthistle finally begins to fade.

Then comes the unpleasant part. It starts with uneven breath, followed shortly by a frown in his sleep, and then perspiration — on the parts of his body that still have skin, at least. ]

[bloodspeaker]

[Adrasteius doesn't sleep. He's never been keen on it; he would agree with the idea that it's a little death, a thief of time. When he observes Vanadi's symptoms, his hand slides down to the middle of the other man's back. Light flares to life around his palm, and he murmurs a prayer as the holy energy limns Vanadi's body, soothing him, easing the pain.]

[implying]

[ It's about halfway through that that Vanadi manages to wake up. He'd been conscious of the growing pain somewhere, and it had twisted and darkened his dreams, so it's a little surprising to suddenly wake up to the opposite of that.

But he recognizes the feeling, and selfishly doesn't move to stop it. It means all his pain will be gone for a while, and that's too precious a gift to turn away.

He waits until it's done, before speaking in a slightly-guilty mumble. ]

Should you really be doing that?

[bloodspeaker]

Are you saying that you don't want me to? [Adra raises an owlish eyebrow, but he doesn't stop.]

[implying]

[ Hng, more guilt. He doesn't lift his head to meet Adra's gaze, and it takes him a second to answer. ]

...No.

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra shuts his eyes. His shimmering hand moves up and down Vanadi's back, along the other man's spine. He keeps murmuring as he does this--prayers to the Light, inaudible and incomprehensible. Only when he's satisfied that he's done enough does he stop, slumping down again against the headboard.]

Good as new, eh?

[implying]

[ Vanadi doesn't move, still can't make himself, and lets out a slow, happy breath as it finally fades. He still has to deal with the disappointing realities of a mood no longer bolstered by bloodthistle, but at least all of his pain has been cleared away.

He finally pushes himself up, once again dropping a hand to Adra's leg, searching his face with concern. ]

Better, really. But what about you?

[bloodspeaker]

[Adra's eyes are still shut. He mutters.]

Don't worry your pretty head about it.

[implying]

[ He frowns. He may have lost all track of this conversation earlier, but that doesn't mean he'd forgotten any of it. "The consequences" doesn't sound at all to his liking. And another thing that sits very poorly with him — Adra looking so weak and tired. He's much better when he's shouting at someone, all fired up and angry about something.

He leans in, a hand rested on the bed to either side of him, and kisses him again. ]

[bloodspeaker]

Mmmnf. [Adrasteius sets his hand against Vanadi's neck, his fingers curling into a fist. His breath hitches in his throat for a few seconds ... but then he seems to regain his senses. Jerking back (and almost hitting the headboard), he hisses.]

Why do you keep doing that?!