RP:An Uncomfortable Companionship

From HollowWiki

The start of one, that is.

Following on from In Pursuit of Knowledge.



Shattered City

Perhaps sometime long ago this place was great but now it sinks slowly but surely into the thick yellow sand, almost as if it is trying to burrow down away from the fiery heat of the angry sun. All that remains here are scattered remnants of civilization; monolithic piles of smashed wind worn stone help you to imagine what may have been, gigantic spires rising up from the desert reaching out to the deep blue sky in defiance. Those are now long gone. The harsh angry winds batter this area, billowing out across the dunes and crushed remnants of what may have been a road, creating a cloud of thick swept up sand that threatens to choke anyone who lingers here too long. There is nothing you can do here with the exception of mourning the long dead civilization that lived here and admiring how great they would have been if some unknown tragedy had not ripped this city asunder.



Ezekiel never left the shattered city as the drow had suggested; instead he resorted to stalking around at his own risk. After all, no one was going to rob the spoils of another artifact from him; at least not without a fight. Ezekiel and Fight. The two words went together about as well as a dwarf trying his hand at some table etiquette did. Regardless, night had fallen and precautions had been taken. The mage was buttoned up, all loose articles of clothing cinched tight, and lastly- his goggles pulled down. For someone so skittish, he had a pair of cajones the size of boulders. That, or was suicidal. Either way, Ezekiel was doing his best to scale from rooftop to rooftop, crouched low in hopes of picking up the trail. He clung to the shadows as best he could, and took advantage of his goggles. They aided him in seeing in low light situations.


Seriis squints through fading shades of heat rising from the sands, cooling now the sun no longer bathes them in light. The shattered city is an eerily shifting silhouette of cold stone and dunes through the drow's sensitive infravision, faded heat trails patterning the streets in vivid colours. Most of these are the tracks of small animals, but Seriis is looking for something much bigger. He's been dodging outlaws for the past few days, but the majority of his time has been spent within the dusty halls of a vast library, where the rogues rarely pass, seeking any books untouched by the hands of time. The building was subjected to a lengthy scouring by the meticulous scholar, anything of value snatched up or copied out, and now he's headed to his next destination - a home that might once have been a grand manor house for the wealthier members of society, but whose prior status has not spared it from the harsh desert winds. Crossing a square where massive paving stones are shattered and sunken, the drow moves over the uneven ground with the ease and deadly grace his kind are infamous for, the glint of his ruby eyes a red glimmer amidst the shadows cast by the ruined skeletons of a once-magnificent city. Intermittently, he pauses to raise his head, listening, watching, and coldly calculating the distance from himself to the pair of outlaws that have occupied the manor's courtyard - men he should have dealt with days ago. Just in case.


Ezekiel too, was eying the same group of outlaws, from atop the manor Seriis was interested in. Go figure. He may have been weak, useless in a fight, and anything but useful- but one thing Ezekiel was good at, was avoidance. If you can't beat them.. hide from them, was his motto. That he did, only from far above. The steadily growing pulse of the artifacts trace was loud, arcane energies resonating off the walls...like sonar. Perks of being super-charged by the battery under Frostmaw's Arena. Ezekiel watched, waited. Plotted. He wasn't aware of Seriis' presence, and for that things were bound to get interesting. An aether bomb on the men could do the trick...but how many more would show up? Decisions.


Seriis slips silently into an alley that winds along to the road bordering the front gates; the twisted, sun-warped metal barely recognisable, broken, and piled against the wall. Rushing in through that entrance would not be wise, he notes - Seriis is small, and simply not suited to wild rampages. He leans out of the alley some, watching wavering columns of heat coalesce in the vague form of men, then streaks across the street and into the next narrow passage. This one surrounds the manor on three sides, granting the scholar plenty of cover and easy access to the courtyard over the wall. With a bit of effort, Seriis clambers onto the roof of the next building over, perched precariously on broken tiles and rotted rafters, and flattens himself against the roof. His gaze sweeps the area, catching the warm flicker of another presence on the adjacent roof - his eyes narrow before the drow's foot slips, his concentration briefly lapsing. The scuff of his shoes as he regains his footing is drowned out by a heavy clattering, loose tiles sliding to tumble into the alleyway, and drawing the attention of the men in the courtyard. Seriis curses under his breath, frustrated at himself for losing focus. Quickly, he scrambles up and makes the leap from roof to wall, two daggers unsheathed and flung in the same moment. One hits as intended, burying hilt-deep in an outlaw's chest, but the other's aim was off and only catches the second man in the shoulder. Knowing he has to silence him before he calls for reinforcements, Seriis swings down from the wall only to be grabbed by the ankle before he hits the ground and unceremoniously flung across the courtyard by a very angry rogue. He lands winded against the opposite wall, curled in on himself like a dying spider.


Ezekiel panicked. What was that noise? Who were they yelling at- what was attacking.. something died! The poor mage was shaking so bad, the threat of slipping off the roof was an imminent threat. He was seconds from high tailing it out of there when the zoomed in optics of his left lens caught a familiar sight. Or rather, a familiar figure; the drow. It looked like- no it was! The same one that downed his foe, and spared his life. Now the thought of running away was tied up between moral choice, did he repay the favor or save his own hide. For a few split seconds...he was actually pacing on the roof, putting heavy thought into, as if the immediate threat down below was pause-able. What would his mentor say? That's right...his mentor had saved his own sorry ass on numerous occasions.. Eze thought to himself, 'that answers that'. With hesitation, the mage lurched forward towards the edge of the roof and balled his fist. Although he was far from being anywhere near the skill Satoshi had, he had practiced vigorously, and for it.. had a trick or two up his sleeve. The ruined, leather gloves melted to his hands lit up, giving off the subtle glow of a blue light, The magic came easier, but at a heavier, taxing cost; that didn't matter. Needle tipped points grew from the inside of his balled fist, both ends spiking out till a javelin roughly five feet in length was held. Pure, raw, arcane energy.. solidified and molded into a weapon of his mind's creation. This was his craft, and soon to be mastery. "H-here goes nothing..!" Like an Olympic Super-Star, Ezekiel hurled the bolt of energy down at the single rogue who was happily advancing on the drow in the fetal position. He lost his footing afterward and tripped off the edge of the manor. Smooth.


Seriis hurts, a -lot-. Perhaps he should have kept his distance...but with the element of surprise lost in his fall, he'd have been unlikely to hit his target from afar now he was aware of him. A pathetic, pained whimper escapes the drow as he struggles to stand, stumbling back against the wall for much-needed support. Fiery agony shoots through his back with his every movement - he'll have bruises and aches for a week, he's sure. And the man is advancing far too fast so Seriis hisses at him, hatefully, shaky hands scrabbling for his next dagger hilt, but then...then, he's not entirely certain of what happens at first. Abruptly his assailant freezes in place, his mouth dropping open in a silent cry, and Seriis watches wide-eyed as a gleaming blue shard of -something- pierces through from upper back to lower abdomen. Having suspected the man on the roof was as much a foe to him as these men, the young scholar can't help but blink, bewildered. Then, there's an explosion of blue-tinged energy as the magic disperses rapidly and when Seriis lowers his arms again, he realises they're sticky with blood, and that the wall around him is a canvas of viscera and flesh. What little remains where the outlaw was standing is barely recognisable as a man, or parts of one. Seriis blinks again, taken aback, before his head snaps up when he hears the sound of a body impacting against the ground nearby. Luckily, it seems Ezekiel landed on a small dune of sand built up in a corner. Stepping closer, almost appearing cautious, the drow tilts his head slightly and asks the familiar man while studying him intently, "Were you trying to hit him, or was that aimed at me?"


Ezekiel had the wind knocked out of him. So painfully he rolls around for a minute or two, tearing up behind fogged goggles while taking short hissing breaths. As much as his lungs would let him. "A-apologies.. You're.. f-fine." Not quite what he wanted to say.. obviously he needed a few more minutes to find his voice, and catch his breath.. (and probably check his britches). This was the second human he had ever killed, and it petrified him. On hands and knees, he gasps before looking up. "Did I g...get him..?" Ezekiel felt the color drain from his face while he eyed every bit of fleshy gore, painting the drow; this was how he died. 'I knew I should have just ran..' he thinks to himself, gradually coming back to a defeated slouch, sitting on his rear end. "At least we found it?" the artifact that was, though he hardly expected Seriis to know what he was talking about, or even care. With one last final sigh, Ezekiel flopped back against the sand and laid there, staring up. The sky was clear.. star-speckled, and interrupted by a drow. "Make it quick?" he nervously laughed.


Seriis raises an eyebrow and casts a glance back at the gory display on the other side of the courtyard. "Oh, you got him." He's quiet for a long moment, the look that passes across his features both pensive and appraising as he scrutinises this curious, anxious, bewildering human, and in doing so allows Ezekiel the time to regain his breath. Seriis knows what fear looks like, of course he does, but this man is just so...over the top, as if he expects every little thing in the world to try to kill him at any second. It's almost amusing, really, but the drow does not want to think about how panicked a life that must be. He can feel a tiny smirk lifting the corners of his lips all the same, though it's inevitably stolen away when Ezekiel speaks again. "Found what?" he presses with intrigue, wondering what 'it' Ezekiel thinks this supposed 'we' have stumbled across. Briefly he considers retrieving his daggers, before he thinks about how it might affect the man, though if asked, his reasoning for not going to pick them up now would simply be, 'I can get them on the way out.' After a second's thought, the scholar pivots smoothly on one leg so as to flop down onto the sand near Ezekiel, rubbing his shoulder. "Make what quick." Seriis squints at him, leans a little closer, then childishly jabs a finger against his forehead. "Relax. I'm not going to kill you."


Ezekiel flinched, involuntarily while he scurried away from the drow. Death, pain, torture, moths.. if there was anything that topped his list of greatest fears, it was touch. Good ol' fashioned, physical contact. Example; Seriis' finger against his forehead, -on top- of the shoulder brush. If he wasn't careful, he was going to have another panic attack right here on the spot. "P-please don't touch me." that was all he said about that, sitting with his hands behind his body, and boots buried in the sand. There was a good four.. maybe five feet of distance between them. "Found the artifact.. I know why you're out here. Same as me, these outlaw's, and even the woman." Apparently there had been a woman, judging from the build; hard to tell in all this sand. He non-creepily 'stalked' her like he did the others days prior, if only to gauge just who and what was out here. "Only reason anyone would be out- would you like a kerchief? You've got a little.." Easily.. Easily distracted, Ezekiel reached into his breast pocket and tugged on a purple bandana. He held it with the tips of his fingers, and offered it to the drow.


Seriis is not exactly fond of touching...most people, unless it involves violent eviscerations on his part, so he does not protest against Ezekiel's shaky request. Shrugging, happy for the space despite it having been his choice to sit so close to the man, the drow reaches up to rub at one eye, smearing residual blood-spatter on the skin. There are tiny droplets of red clinging to his eyelashes, and more staining his sleek white hair. When Seriis notices this, he gives a faint huff, a stifled cry of outrage. He takes a great amount of pride in his appearance. Grumpily the scholar waves a dismissive hand, saying, "I told you before, I'm here for knowledge. This artefact...I don't care? Unless it's valuable." In some way, to him. Seriis does not necessarily mean its monetary value. He straightens some, eyeing the offered bandana with suspicion, before finally he slides down the sand and shifts across the ground, until it's within reaching distance. It's used to wipe at his hair and face, first, though it doesn't go well. Luckily for Ezekiel, Seriis can't see just how much of his hair is stained crimson. "Would you like it back?" He mimics the man, holding the bandana out, quietly wondering if it's customary to give it back or not.


Ezekiel shook his head much akin to that of a two year old faced with a spoonful of peas. "Keep it." he didn't say much after that, figuring information on the artifact in range, was more than enough. The drow had saved his life, and he his own- a little information shared between the two at this point seemed passable.. if only so he could excuse his foolishness. Either way, the mage was back on his feet and trudging through the sand, mostly headed for the front gates of the manor. Note the word, 'mostly'; there was a lot more bodies slain then he had remembered.. in fact, these weren't so fresh. "How- How many did you.. I- We. Defeat?" Simply thinking about someone, or something else in proximity being the cause of this carnage made the hairs on his neck stand up. He was such a sissy. "You haven't seen any others- have you?"


Seriis looks down at the bloody bandana pinned between his forefinger and thumb, frowns a touch, then stuffs it into the folds of his belt for safe-keeping. Why it qualifies to be kept and not tossed aside, he's not entirely sure, but he decides not to think on it too much. He squints at Ezekiel instead. After a long silence the drow pushes himself back to his feet and meanders over to retrieve his knives, pulling the first from the chest of the dead man and then collecting the second one, that missed its mark, from where it was lying over by the wall. "Two," he states simply as he slides the dagger back into its gilded sheath with a metallic click. "I got one, you got one. The only others I saw are, ah...the four with a camp, under the fallen statue. You told me about them, before. My bodyguards are dealing with them, though." He nudges a corpse with a foot, wrinkling his nose, then jabs a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the manor house. "I'm going inside. There's something I want in there."


Ezekiel glanced up. The drow's statement easily distracted him from the looming fear of someone else having been here before them, whether that be the two they killed, or someone even further back. Either way, he knew the board post he read was skimmed by many, and the challenge taken by few. Few was still one too many for his liking, but what could he do about it? "Wait.. hey- You can't take what's in there!" he stammered, following after the drow in a hurry. "I mean- you don't know what's in there.." he wasn't going to let the drow make off with his loot; he worked too hard, and invested too much time, money, blood and sweat to have it swiped. "Together..?" There was something awkward about the way word rolled off his tongue.


Seriis, who couldn't care less about who might have been here before them, had been turning to head for the doors when Ezekiel cries out that he 'can't'. The young drow pauses in his steps to cast a sharp glance back over his shoulder, the expression on his face a dead giveaway he's about to say something along the lines of, 'What are you going to do, stop me?', but he holds his tongue when the man keeps talking. Eventually he just looks bemused, and possibly a touch intrigued. Seriis smothers a smirk at the other's awkwardness, especially when speaking the word 'together' - tilting his head, he pretends to consider the situation a moment before extending a hand, almost as though offering it for Ezekiel to take. He makes a come-hither motion instead. "Hurry up, then." That said, the scholar's making for the manor, whether Ezekiel decides to hurry along or not.


Ezekiel didn't exactly plan on partnering up for this little venture, but then again, he didn't plan on fighting for his life- or the life of another. Life had a funny way of throwing you a curve ball when you least expected it. He hurried along and eventually found himself at Seriis' side, closing the distance between the the two and the gate before. How exactly were they going to go about this? "Think it's wise to be going in through the front? Perhaps there's a quieter...back entrance. No?" It was a pretty large building, there was no telling who or what could be inside...obviously an artifact, and a coalition of men fighting for it.


Seriis never expected to acquire a companion, either, but he's smart enough to roll with it. Ezekiel's magical abilities might come in handy, and if worst comes to worst, at least he'll have a human shield to hide behind. The manor front is given a cursory glance, the drow's gaze flicking up to empty windows and shadowed alcoves, before he comes to a stop under the crumbling porch sheltering the doors. "If there -is- someone in there, they'd expect us to use the back, wouldn't they?" He turns his focus to Ezekiel then, lips pressing together in a fine line of thought. "Besides, how many people do you expect to be here?" His small shoulders twitch in a half-hearted shrug before the drow lifts a leg, presumably ready to just kick the doors in and get it over and done with.


Ezekiel held his hand out with hesitance. "I...don't know. Could be a dozen, could be a hundred. Those two could have very well been the last of them all." his hand dropped while his own shoulders shrugged. "Just saying, might not be wise to waltz in through the front...maybe." Where as Seriis was ready to go in guns blazing, taking names...Ezekiel was more for the calm, quiet and conservative approach. In short, he was overly cautious, and far too out of his league to be competing for an unknown artifact if he wasn't willing to kick a few doors in. "You do what you want. I'll follow. There." At least he could put all fault on the drow's shoulders when and if the proverbial crap hit the fan. Ezekiel stood a good two feet back, as if to say 'after you'.


Seriis has always wanted to have some excuse to kick down a door, and this is as good a chance as any. Of course, it would be better if there were some to witness such a moment, but Ezekiel will have to do; even if he is trying to convince the headstrong drow otherwise. "If we run into trouble, I can call Avarn and Reyik," he assures the other, before launching his leg forward in a sharp kick. Sole strikes old wood and the door buckles, then bursts open in a spray of splinters, rusted chain, and stray granules of sand, yawning inwards into a foyer cloaked in shadows and silence. Seriis, hands on his hips, slants a sidelong look at Ezekiel. "I smell dust and no people. Guess everyone else took the back entrance." He allows a triumphant smirk, striding into the old building to inspect the large room beyond. It really is empty, its marble floor cracked and sunken in places, cobwebs strung haphazardly overhead, the once-majestic staircase now crippled on one side where a falling chunk of ceiling took out half the steps. Seriis quickly kicks an investigative scorpion away from his shoe, muttering something about stingerbeasts.


Ezekiel dropped to his knees and buried his head in his arms. He didn't honestly expect the man to go ahead with kicking the door in as suggested. At the very least, he could have checked the lock, the door, or even the hinges to see if it would simply open before destroying right out. This was a prime example of what it looked like when polar opposites met. "Wake the city why don't you!" Ezekiel hissed his words through gritted teeth before following in the drow's wake. Slowly, but surely, he ducked in past the broken frame, and into the manor house. The mage took a second to slip his goggles back down before speaking once more. "It's here."


Seriis pulls a face that's frankly rather childish, while stamping ruthlessly on the scorpion when it returns for a second attempt. "It's a dead city, there's nothing to wake. Calm down-- you're like a little leaf fluttering in the wind!" He mimics the motion with his hand, dramatising and poking fun at Ezekiel's apprehension. Scraping his foot across the floor to clean his shoe of squished scorpion bits, the scholar eyes the staircase, sweeps his gaze over the rest of the foyer, and hops back over to his curious companion, who seems preoccupied with his goggles but more importantly, has ascertained the presence of...something. "What? How do you know? Where?" A sound catches his attentions just then, though - the scuff of a boot against the ground, hushed voices somewhere in the distance, and Seriis visibly tenses, a hand darting down to grasp the hilt of his knife. Was it just his imagination? Who knows.


A very faint flicker of green light appears in the dark shadows underneath a pile of rubble.


Ezekiel saw magic in an entirely different way. Not just metaphorically, but physically. Like a synasthesiac to color or sound, he saw magic in the same sense that it had an image. A trace, a signature, almost an unexplainable color of its own; almost to the same effect as the northern lights in the starry sky. That accident some months back, with the battery under Frostmaw's arena left him with this.. 'ability'. At times he saw it as a gift, others.. a curse. For right now, a map. The green of the glow was instantly noted, and more so approached. As he did, the gloves melted to his hands lit up, answering back with a subtle, blue glow. "There. You hear it too?" On the turn of a dime, his attitude had changed. Not quite the skittish mage he entered as, but more so a serious scholar on the brink of discovery.


Seriis' fingers are still wrapped tightly round his knife hilt, ready to draw the blade in an instant. The scholar is, unfortunately, not very magically-inclined at all - the extent of his abilities includes his racial traits and a natural capability to sense strong sources of magic, but his scope of perception does not even come close to Ezekiel's. Watching the man, he wonders absently what he might be picking up on, before a glimmering light at the corner of his vision prompts Seriis into spinning, near-silent, his dagger slipping free of its sheath with a soft hiss of metal skimming across metal. His voice is barely a whisper as he breathes out, "What was that." Ezekiel's own light show is noted, as is his abrupt shift into a calmer state, and Seriis wisely puts the mage between himself and the green glow, just in case, peeking round his side.


Ezekiel said, "Quite the dead city indeed." Voices, magic, crumbling sifts of sand alike, all of which didn't seem to bother him the slightest. At least for now. His focus was entirely on that glow, and the pile it rested under. Without hesitation and without second thought, he deepened the distance between mage and drow, unbalancing it with him crouched before the pile of rubble. Like magnets joining in reaction, both lights sparked to life, filling the dark hall with a brilliance of light. "You're a shoot now, questions later kind of guy...no?"


Seriis follows, if only because he'd like to be close enough behind Ezekiel that his body actually provides some kind of cover if something unexpectedly explodes. "Most drow are." It's a mistake, because there is an explosion, all of a sudden, but it's of light and even when hiding in the mage's shadow Seriis is blinded by it all. Stumbling back with a pained cry, the drow and his knife go down in shock as searing pain blasts his optic nerves in excruciating bursts, drawing shameful, wracked sobs from the poor scholar. Curling in on himself, crouched on the floor, Seriis screws his eyes shut and keeps them tightly closed until the agony dies down enough for him to open his eyes and see the vague outlines of things once more. Blinking through his tears, he leaps back to his feet, knife in hand; the razor edge of the blade levelled at Ezekiel's throat. "You tell me kicking doors in will attract attention, then light this place up like a beacon! Next time you blind me without warning I'll kill you!" He makes no attempt to muffle his voice as fury fuels and solidifies the threat.


Ezekiel hadn't been expecting the flash of lights either, the burst of both blue and green doing well in sending him to his backside as well. Even with goggles, he squeezed his eyes shut, and even went so far as to cover them with the backs of his crossed arms. He wasn't quite sure if he had been the only one listening in on the voices, but it didn't matter now. Seriis' yelling was drowning them out, and that moment of seriousness the mage had, was gone. He sat on his rear, with the pile of rubble to his left, and an angry drow to his front. "Not by choice...I can't control it, or whatever in the hell -that- is." That, was pointed to...being the source of the glow, which was now hovering three feet off the ground, half above the rubble. It was a stone, prism in shape, and roughly the size of a ladies balled up fist. It held the same ominous glow as before, only now there was no rubble obscuring its sight.


Seriis' free hand snaps out to grab Ezekiel roughly by his goggles and haul him forward a bit, though he at least has the decency to pull back the dagger enough that he won't accidentally impale him on it in the process. "I don't care! Warn me next time or die!" The absurdity of that demand, given the mage has no control of his abilities, is not recognised at all and the young drow releases the goggles with a harsh curse, reaching to rub fiercely at his eyes and the pained tears wetting his cheeks. Sniffing, he turns back to the source of the unsettling glow illuminating the foyer, narrowed eyes scrutinising the rock as it hovers in silence before them both. "...What is that," he asks again, apparently hesitant to approach the strange object.


Ezekiel was lifted and drug forward with ease, the man only weighing in at one hundred and thirty nine pounds. Malnutrition, and pitiful sleep habits did that for you. So when he was slouched forward and staring up forcibly, he couldn't help but yelp. Where normally, any other male would have swung back, pulled back, or fought the drow off defensively, Ezekiel made no attempt to touch the man any more then he already was. In fact, while he was held there by the center of his goggles, he went so far as to loosen the strap behind his tangled mess of hair, and fell away. "F-fine, take them then! It wasn't on purpose!" Ezekiel scurried back till he was sitting under the stone, hovering directly above him. Instinct told him not to touch, but frustration and curiosity made him reach. "I don't know what it is! Why don't -you- figure it out." he was clearly upset about the physical contact required to make contact with his goggles, and of course, his face. In short, he was pouting. "Here. Take it." Again, without hesitation he reached for the stone and plucked it from the air, tossing it at Seriis.


Seriis can't help but blink, a little startled by the fact that when he draws back he takes the man's goggles with him. That wasn't intended. For a moment he stares bewildered at the accessory, speechless, before looking back at the stone, then turning a glower upon Ezekiel. "I don't want these," the drow snaps, but he holds on to them anyway. Curiosity has him lifting them to eye level all the same, squinting through the lens - however, any remark he might have made on them is cut off when Ezekiel grabs the stone and unceremoniously lobs it his way, and Seriis catches it with a little squeak of surprise. It's surprisingly...heavy in his hands, and its weight actually seems to increase the longer he holds it. Ezekiel earns himself an incredulous stare from the scholar, partly for burdening him with the rock and partly for his pouting. "What do I know about rocks...?" Though he's loath to admit it. "-You're- the freak that lit it up, -you- figure it out!" He throws the stone right back at the mage, and quietly hopes it will hit him in the face. Those goggles, in the meantime, are strapped on to rest snugly across his forehead. Seriis poses, mostly for his own pleasure, adjusting the band until he's satisfied they'll stay on.


Ezekiel sat with his arms crossed, nose turned up. If you were going to pout, might as well act the part too. "If you don't want them, then give them- Watch'it!" the stone didn't quite hit him in the face, but instead the chest. It hit with a soft thump that left him rubbing painfully while picking it back up. "Do you have any idea what this is?!" because truthfully.. he didn't know himself. At least if he pretended, maybe it would make him look intelligent. "You. Take. It." This time the man stood up, taking his time to close the gap in between them just so he could shove it against Seriis' own chest. With his palm held flat, the rock in the middle, and the drow's chest at the other end, Eze trembled. This was the closest he could, and would ever put himself to someone; even if he still wasn't touching them!


Seriis is not really one to arm himself with a lot of useless accessories (the goggles don't do much for him, given his ability to see in the dark naturally), but it seems he's taken a liking to them despite this. The drow is shamelessly admiring himself in the reflection cast by his dagger when Ezekiel advances, barging into his personal space even, shoving the rock and his demands into Seriis' chest. He releases a little 'oomph' at the impact and frowns down at the strange object, then at Ezekiel's open palm. Lips press in a tight line as his brow furrows in a mixture of thought and irritation, before he simply takes a step back, allowing the stone to tumble toward the ground - predictably it halts in mid air and hovers around knee level, while Seriis smirks deviously at the mage. "Hmph. If you want me to take it then you'll have to hand it to me, properly. Same with these," he teases almost childishly and tugs at the accidentally-stolen goggles. "I don't really need them, so I'd let you have them back if you tried to take them. Simple, no?"


Ezekiel felt the color drain from his person. As if being this close to the drow wasn't bad enough, the challenge offered in exchange for his belongings topped it all. "Ke..keep them. They don't mean a thing to me anyways. Hmph." Arms crossed, back turned, if only so the man couldn't see him frown for the loss, caused by his stubborn pride. He really liked, and needed those goggles; place was still pitch black, despite the glowing stone. The stone! Ezekiel had been so caught up in quarreling with the drow, he hadn't even noticed the fact that it had levitated from the pile, and bounced between them. From the two throwing it back and forth, down to the knee-height it hovered at. Putting Seriis to the back of his mind, he'd crouch and spin around. "Actually.." he said with a sly grin, "You keep the goggles. I'll take this as compensation, deal?" Skittish or not, he could be just as deviant. Maybe.


Seriis bites back a laugh. Watching the mage's features turn ashen with dread and fear is honestly an amusing sight; one he unfortunately loses when Ezekiel turns his back on him, but the boy does not mourn the loss for long. He tugs the goggles down until they're in their proper place over his eyes, and he uses them to peer at Ezekiel for a bit, his fingers resting against the curved edges of the glass and feeling the scratches and markings, the subtle signs of wear and tear from daily use. Are they precious to him? He shakes the thought off quickly before it can take root. Turning the majority of his focus back to the floating rock, which he's still hesitant to touch or hold on to for long, Seriis then blinks at Ezekiel and responds immediately, "Deal." He wonders if he was expecting a different answer, if he wanted to outwit him. Once again, however, the drow nudges that thought away somewhere out of sight. "Maybe you can actually figure out what it does." Seems Ezekiel's acting didn't convince him.


Ezekiel crossed his legs and slouched, both hands twisting and turning the rock in his possession. It was true, he was expecting more of a fight from the door-kicking drow, but if he was going to turn over a rare artifact like this, all for the price of a pair of goggles.. who was he to stop him? "Your loss." The faint hiss of whispers they heard earlier when entering the manor house started back up, and the mages palms were back to glowing. Even though he was a student of the college, he was only an apprentice, and by no means, in control of -any- magic that battery may have instilled in him. "Uh-oh.. Cover your-" he flinched the second the two magics sparked to life, bursting with the same flash of bright light that nearly got Ezekiel killed. All he could do for now was cover his head with both arms, and turn away.


The room fills with a blinding light that seems to eat away at the walls and rubble until you seem to be surrounded by a blinding void. Slowly, you recover your vision, to find yourself in a strange new place, the former rubble and debris replaced with something new.



Stateroom

You have entered a large Stateroom, on either side are two well carved cabinets made of oak, possibly weapons were stored here in times of war. The lighting is again provided by inlaid stones giving off waves of various coloured lighting. At one end of the Stateroom is a large desk which is adorned left and right with the markings found elsewhere the tunnels of water. Jewels adorn the desk to highlight these symbols. Obviously the monarch that reigned here was a user of the magic. The centre of the table holds a wonderfully carved table of solid oak , the table surrounded with chairs carved of the same wood. Possibly a war council table? The wall is covered in small portraits similar to the ones in the staircase showing leaders and their men. In the corner almost hidden from sight is a simple door.



Seriis sniffs, arms folded across his chest. "I don't need weird rocks anyway." In truth, part of the drow -does- want to inspect the object and subject it to experimentation, or have Reyik scour it to see what he can glean from such a thing, but Seriis' fascination of queer artefacts extends only so far as those which might be useful (deadly) in combat. And there are rocks everywhere. He blinks, though, when Ezekiel's palms abruptly light up with magical energies again - a subtle warning that precedes his spoken words, perhaps, for Seriis has already covered his face with his hands when a brilliant glow overtakes the room and white light smothers the manor's derelict interior. Only when instinct tells him the danger has passed does the scholar move again, realising that he's suddenly sitting -- not standing, even -- somewhere soft, that the hard ground beneath him has vanished. He blinks - thankfully there's nothing to blind him when he drops his arms to inspect the new surroundings. He's sitting, it seems, on a plush rug spread across the floor before a wide desk dotted with carvings and inlaid gemstones, in an entirely unfamiliar, regal, room. A second more owlish blink follows the first, and Seriis' mouth opens to call for Ezekiel, wondering if he's been transported to this same strange place. Then he pauses, and realises he does not know the other's name. "...Uh. I think you did...something."


Ezekiel had been within reaching distance of the drow before the transporting flash of light. So when the world around them settled back into place, and the crumbling stone of the Shattered Cities manor home disappeared, the pair were left hundreds of miles away in a building of an entirely different origin. Ezekiel was curled up in the fetal position, a foot or so behind Seriis with his arms squeezing both sides of his head. It would take some few minutes for the mage to gather his wits, and sit up.. maybe edge a few inches further from the drow, then look around. The room, the lighting, even the climate and temperature were different, the sudden shift from one region to another...almost traumatizing for the flectomancer's body. Then again, swallowing a watermelon seed was just as traumatizing, he would tell you. "I di- didn't do anything, where did you take us? How?"


Seriis, rather than taking a moment to gaze at the décor, wastes no time in rounding on Ezekiel once he takes note of his position, soon closing that distance again. He reaches as if to grab the man by the shoulders and shake him in a fit of rage, but somehow manages to refrain from doing so - instead, his fingers curl against the rug, tightly grasping handfuls of the thick material. On the other hand, he makes no effort to lower his voice when he explodes at the mage, "-You- did it because -you're- the magic with one, imbecile!" The drow's awkward grasp of common slips when he's angry, hence the jumbled words, though Seriis is too busy shouting to notice his error. "Right now! Take us back!" His body trembles with the force of his anger, but there's also a hint of apprehension in his wide eyes, because he's not at all fond of being magically transported against his will, and dumped in an alien location he has no knowledge of; kind of like a kid on his first day at the new school he didn't want to go to in the first place.


Ezekiel probably wouldn't mind being shook in a violent fit of rage right about now. Maybe it would shake some sense into the situation...or at the very least, aid him in passing out. It didn't help that he was naturally afraid of Seriis, having watched him cut the life from a man right before his eyes (even if he saved his life in the process). But for him to scream at Eze like he was? The poor mage simply curled right back into the fetal position, and tipped over. "I...can't. Even if I knew how." He mumbled with great regret, knowing he was likely to earn a stab or two from the man's daggers. "Look." Between both of them, lay the stone. Only thing different about it now was a. it was no longer glowing, and b. it was cracked in two- directly down the middle.


Seriis is very, very tempted to just stab the man and be done with it, he really is. In fact his nimble fingers are already lifting to find a knife hilt, aching to spill the fool's blood all over this rug in fine revenge for the hell he's put him through. It's practically expected of him by this point -- what kind of drow puts up with a human this much? -- and he knows Ezekiel believes his life is soon to be ended by his hand...but something stops him from acting. His limbs lock up against his will, his eyes widen in shock, and Seriis is momentarily left completely vulnerable in front of the mage. The hand reaching for his dagger snaps out after a second to snatch up one half of the stone and fling it at the wall, the drow's incoherent shout of frustrated rage drowning out the pristine shattering of glass as the rock punches through the door of a cabinet, before he collapses to the floor in a conflicted heap. Hunched over, curled in a tight ball, Seriis ceases moving and remains immobile for a good couple of minutes, utterly and frighteningly silent, until he feels he's able to control and compose himself. It almost seems as though he's...sulking. "Who are you." The words come as a muffled murmur, and are not entirely a question. He hasn't sat up yet.


Ezekiel had been in that same, tight ball...arms around his knees, and his head tucked against them. Only his wasn't out of frustration...at least mostly...it was all done out of fear. The way he reacted to the flash of light was enough to leave him questioning the man's mental stability. And, stabability. If all it took was some light to make him snap, he could only imagine what being teleported across the map was doing. In short, he was simply waiting for the stab-fest that was Seriis' anger; it never came. Instead, an equally curled up drow on the opposite side of him did. Ezekiel eventually opened his eyes and stared back, both men curled up against the rug, staring. "I...I often ask myself that." He could feel his heart pounding rapidly, never before had he been in this position, in this close of proximity to anyone.


Seriis stares back, having raised his head, then after a second rubs fiercely at his eyes, as if he thinks doing so fast enough might change the fact that Ezekiel just saw him crying. Those tears are just a byproduct of overabundant amounts of frustration, really, but they still make him look weak. The sound of his heartbeat is filling his ears and thudding painfully against his chest, the sensation strangely foreign, and the young drow's stubborn attempts to ignore it are not all that successful - he rolls onto his side with a sigh, one cheek pressed against the soft fur of the rug, and he watches Ezekiel and quietly tries to work out what's different about him, what he possesses that everybody else lacks. Seriis blinks. Maybe it's the other way around. "I meant your -name-," he huffs after a pause, deciding to pretend he meant something that simple in the first place.


Ezekiel naturally found it difficult to look a person in the eye, doubly so when it was not only Seriis, but Seriis -this- close. It was half the reason he wore goggles, and half the reason he avoided one on one conversations. Or at least conversations he wasn't busy in...with work at hand, he always had an excuse to look away. Not tonight. Ezekiel swallowed back the lump in his throat and looked away, rolling onto his back, and eventually his 'other' side. He put his back to Seriis and sighed. "Ezekiel. Ezekiel Malovich. Feel free to stab me in the back however, and which ever way you want. I'm sorry." He said this while clutching his lump of the stone against his chest, and at the same time, keeping his knees pressed there too. The invitation was only offered if only because this was easily the most awkward situation the man had ever been put into. Literally, he'd rather die, then let this go on.


Seriis somehow manages to mask his slack-jawed, stunned expression, though there is little need as Ezekiel has already turned away from him. Such a move is practically suicidal, after all, and the drow questions if this man really has any regard for his life, or if he -wants- to be killed. He says nothing directly following the man's words, breathing quietly in the long silence that stretches after, and willing his heart to calm down. It's strange and not something he knows how to deal with. Finally Seriis shifts, soundlessly pushing himself up a bit and creeping closer to Ezekiel, until he's less than a foot away and well within reach. "Then...will this do?" he murmurs, before abruptly his arm swings out and he smacks the poor mage right upside the head; a sharp-contrast to the softness of his voice. With an exasperated snort he flops back down, his back lightly nudged against Ezekiel's, and considers it done. "You're...you're an interesting combination of contradictions, you know." Judging by the long pause between some of those words, he was trying to remember the correct ones to use. "I mean, you're a coward, but then you do things like that. So either you have -some- sort of courage-- or you're just an idiot. Probably the latter. Still..." He grabs fistfuls of rug and clutches at them, frowning. "...I can't just blindly stick a knife in the back of a man I owe a debt to!"


Ezekiel felt as if he were going to have another panic attack- Seriis was closing the gap between them, and he like a deer in the headlights, didn't know how to react. A flinch, and 'Ow!' worked just fine, the moment finished with a flat palm rubbing the back of his head while he glanced back. "I c-can't help it! Don't have to hit me." As far as he knew, that was the least of his worries, without even a chance to think of a logical response, he felt the back of the drow pressed against his own. Ezekiel went pale in the face, and trembled like a newborn kitten. Never had anyone touched, and kept touching him like this; even if it was just a nudge from back to back. What was more, he couldn't move, he didn't know how to move...there he laid, in the fetal position with eyes wide, body shaking. The man literally had a phobia for touch, and all things physical contact. Seriis was simply tormenting him, whether he knew it or not.


Seriis would wonder what he was doing, were he not so set on avoiding that subject entirely. Blinking through light lashes, the drow stares without truly seeing across the stateroom floor, either oblivious or simply ignoring Ezekiel's trembling behind him - honestly, he's too wrapped up in his own thoughts to really notice, even as the echo of those reverberations passes through his own skin. He sits back up slightly, braced on an elbow, and turns his head to peer over a shoulder. "I'm Seriis of House Al'Reim. Don't forget." It's the least he can do. Then Seriis blinks, twisting, pushing himself into a more upright position as he leans over the mage with a frown on his face. "Ezekiel...?"


Ezekiel had fainted some few short moments ago. He was done for the night.



Hall of Statues

At the top of the stairs is a long corridor. The carpet that adorns the floor shows the now familiar symbols of the water covered tunnels. The weaving so intricate that jewels seem to be lying on the carpet itself. At the end of the corridor is a door adorned with the symbols that are all about this palace. All along the corridor itself are massive statues. Testaments to the men and women that once called this place their home. None would you recognize after so many years, yet still the feeling that you may have seen them before. Your path again moves backwards to the stairs or forwards to the door adorned with symbols.



Ezekiel continued to casually pace back and forth between the various statues, one arm crossing his chest, the other resting on it. His fist was balled, and his chin atop, occasionally changing position so that he might chew at the tip of his index fingernail. It was a bad, nervous habit, mostly done when in deep thought. He had scrambled away from the back-to-back contact shared with the drow some half hour or so ago. As stated before, he was hardly fond of contact, and double so when it was during sleep. So you could only imagine just how awkward...and nervous...the man felt upon waking up. After two panic attacks and a loss of lunch, he regained some composure, and thus found himself pacing. Since the man hadn't killed him yet, he could safely assume they were still in 'this' together; once they found their respected ways home, he would part paths. Until then, something told him he'd need the drow's help. Ezekiel tapped the base of the statue's foot. "If only.."


Seriis stretches, back arched with muscles drawn taut beneath clothing, then relaxes with a soft sigh. He'd woken up some time ago, roused by Ezekiel's panicked scrambling, having not really been aware he'd fallen asleep beside him until that point - his head had been so full of buzzing thoughts that he's not sure how he accomplished it at all, though by now he has decided it would be foolish to stay angry at Ezekiel over everything and just deal with the problem of getting home. It's not until a long while after the mage left to mutter in the hall that the drow actually gets up, stretching a second time for good measure. Pacing the length of the room and thinking little of last night's palaver, he takes a couple of minutes to investigate the furniture, pausing briefly to inspect the desk for any sign of a valuable item, and prodding at one half of the broken stone before swiftly deeming it useless to him, now its magic is exhausted. Did Ezekiel hug that thing all night? He shakes that thought off and moves to the open door, a glance stolen round it bringing a glimpse of the hallway beyond into view, with its marvelous statues and jewel-encrusted floor. He finds himself watching Ezekiel stood deep in thought, just for a moment, but soon makes himself known through his intrigued question; "If only what, Ezekiel Malovich?"


Ezekiel clipped the tip of his fingernail with the edge of his teeth, carelessly spitting the nail away. Again, bad habit. "If only I could bring them to life." And he damn well could, had he the resources, time, and patience. In fact, it was somewhere on his to-do list of epic feats; construct the first mechanical man...or woman. That ran strictly off his own source of magic. A far off dream that had the potential to become a reality. "We're in a palace.. somewhere in the desert.. roughly a few clicks south of the abandoned, shattered city." In between his panic attacks, he took the time to scout around, gather some intel, forge a game plan. "Fortunately, we didn't end up 'too' far. Couple hours journey, if that." He was sounding a little more confident today, and not so much on the verge of bursting into tears. Drows, yelling, and daggers did that.


Seriis quirks a brow, not sure if he should look impressed or not. While wondering how serious he was about that remark, the scholar steps round the door and into the hall proper, approaching the nearest statue so as to squint up at its stoic marble features. "And what good would that do?" he offers in the end with a slight shrug of his shoulders, missing the point entirely. Ezekiel's intel on their new surroundings is much more appreciated, however - Seriis taps a foot in an absent-minded manner while he listens, and finally nods his head. "Have you seen anyone else? It feels empty enough..." He peers down at the dust coating the floor as if to make a point. "And that stone won't be of any use to us now. Even if we stuck it back together, it's dead." Besides, he threw part of it through a cabinet, and that probably broke it up even more. The drow sniffs. "I'm hungry." Hands on his hips, he stares at Ezekiel expectantly, looking rather like a spoiled child waiting for the butler to bring him breakfast.


Ezekiel grinned. It wasn't often he found reason to, but when he did...it was genuinely creepy. When a man, as nervous and panicky as he, finds the confidence to grin...you know something wasn't right. "You think I'm joking? Take a look for yourself." That was Scrap's queue to spring to life, literally. The grapefruit-sized ball of mechanical scrap came rolling out of the confines of his right sleeve, and bounced noisily off the marble floor. Seconds later, it unfurled like an armadillo...only it was anything but. In fact, it was of a different kind of artificial species all together; a ferret. 100% Metal, and 100% powered by magic, raw arcane brilliance at its finest. This was the creativity, and product of an overly bored watchmaker gone mad. "A mechanical soldier, what good would that do?" The ferret moved on its own free will, inching closer and closer to the drow while the mage tore away from one statue to the next. As he did so, his stomach made a noisy, low, rumble. Agreeing with Seriis. "No one that I saw.. hard to see without my goggles, and I doubt there's any food here. I have a pack stashed back in the abandon ruins, but that's hours away." If he were apart of Hollow's notorious animal-ear sporting crew, his would have folded down in dejection.


Seriis has learned, over the years, that when a person like Ezekiel starts to grin then it's cause to be wary. Truthfully he's never met someone -quite- as jittery and anxious as the mage - Ezekiel's a whole other level of panicky. He eyes the man with a small measure of caution at his words, and his mouth is opening to reply when the mechanical sphere rolls from one sleeve. It uncurls of its own free will and the drow's first reaction is to take a sharp step back away from them both, a knife in his hand in an instant. Instead of the deadly weapon he expected, however, Seriis' ruby eyes find a multitude of scrap gathered and moulded into the shape of a small animal that moves as easily as its living, breathing kin. He's struck speechless, something which seems to be happening far too often around Ezekiel, but Seriis is too busy watching the sinuous metal move to begrudge him for that. "Did you make this? -You- made something like this?" he asks with clear astonishment and more than a hint of childish excitement, dropping to a crouch so as to observe the creature more closely and trying to beckon it closer. "This is-- this is flectomancy, isn't it? I've read about that." It's not food, though, and as awesome as it is, the metal ferret isn't going to fill the scholar's stomach. His head lifts and he sniffs once or twice, before remarking, "I smell trees. Outside. Maybe we'll get lucky and find fruit."


Ezekiel shrugged, lost the grin and stuffed both hands into his pockets. "I thought I saw green...again, someone has my goggles." Another stabbing hint before he started off down the hall, and towards the throne room. The mechanical critter was left utterly ignored, as if it were nothing new. Those two would always be linked, and never too far apart. As it stood right now, the ferret showed immense interest in the drow, and even went so far as war dance with his left boot. "Kick it out of the way if it bothers you." His voice was echoing softly the further he walked away.


Seriis snorts, "What, are you that blind without them?" while shifting forward a bit, reaching to try and pluck the ferret up off the floor. His fingers are itching to investigate the workings of the little metal creature, to take a close look at flectomancy actually at work before his eyes. "You know, Ezekiel Malovich, they're yours to reclaim whenever you want." A teasing lilt to his dulcet voice is an effective stab right back at the mage, and Seriis laughs to himself when he finally catches the ferret, which he lifts into his arms as he straightens to follow after Ezekiel, eyes focused intently on the curious creation.


Ezekiel said in a moping tone, "I know.." before rounding onto the stairs going down. The ferret was everything you'd expect in a clockwork creation; clicking gears, ticking cogs, twisting joints and a beautiful spark keeping it all alive hidden deep in the center of its chest. The deepest of blues, cerulean- only glowing instead. The metal was copper, mostly- a few strips of silver (an excellent conductor for magic) and what strings of wire he used to try and make a tail. It was truly a marvelous feat of engineering, if he had to say so himself; tinkering at its finest. He made quick about descending the stairs, and waited at the bottom. "Flectomancy, artificer, tinker-mage.. it goes by a lot of names, personally I care not to label myself." Another rumble from his stomach left him blushing before he started again, "You'll have to lead me to these trees.. You know as much as I do, I won't be reaching for those goggles anytime soon."


Seriis is muttering to himself as he trails after Ezekiel, the man barely kept track of as all focus delves into the brilliant workings of the mechanical ferret. "Truly amazing... Body is mostly copper, but there's some silver-- a magical conductor, yes...with a wonderful mana-fuelled core. Oh, I can't hold you and a notepad at the same time, how annoying... I'll just memorise it all and do it later..." So caught up in his note-taking and mental dissecting, the drow ends up walking straight into a statue toward the far end of the room, his muffled 'mmph!' accompanied by a series of clockwork clicking noises from the ferret. Seriis lets it crawl up onto his shoulder before jogging down the stairs after Ezekiel, shielding his eyes against the unnatural light emitted by the crystals in the walls. "So you're not entirely useless," he comments when the other comes into sight, waiting for him at the bottom of the stairway - the words contain a subtle compliment, because Seriis is not about to admit outright that he finds his magical artistry and talent utterly fascinating. He hops off the final step, pausing near him to stare for a moment. Then, sweeping past and down the hall, he catches the sleeve of Ezekiel's coat and tugs him along, too. "Come on, then, fool." It's highly possible he keeps touching him because he -knows- it makes him jump, even if there's no skin-to-skin contact.


Ezekiel had he been a chibi-styled character, would have flailed his free arm till it were a blur, accompanied by an overly large bead of sweat, and watering eyes. Luckily for the both of them, he wasn't. He could still flail though, and he did so to the full extent. The sleeve Seriis had in his possession emptied while the man inside did his best to slip out. The arm, at least. The drow had him by his coat, dragging away while the mage helplessly followed. "S-stop.. t-t-touching me..!" Suddenly, the sound of fruit was less appetizing, and the thought of simply running away into the endless sea of sand appealing. This kid was going to be the nervous death of him.


Seriis adopts a very broad, very amused grin, the likes of which is probably not at all comforting to Ezekiel. The young drow is clearly enjoying his torment of the poor mage, a noticeable spring in his step as they pass into a most splendid and impossibly enormous throne room, where the ceiling towers to frightening heights above their heads and faded portraits pattern the walls. Seriis is quite at home in such a spacious, echoing environment, used to the massive caverns of his Underdark home, and he purposely slows his step so as to tilt back his head and admire the curving architecture above, marveling at its craftsmanship and the enduring legacy left behind. "You said to lead you," he points out with false innocence, ignoring Ezekiel's struggling and pulling him onward. At the far end of the great hall, before half-parted doors wreathed in embellishments and collecting sand around their bases, the drow suddenly comes to a pause and turns to face his most uncomfortable companion. He stares up at him then gestures with his free hand, and demands, without any explanation and without letting go of that sleeve, "Knees. Get on them."


Ezekiel's bottom lip quivered while he looked the drow dead in the eyes. "W-why?" from drow, he looked to ferret, then slowly back to drow; betrayal! How could his metallic-y friend turn sides so easily...and after all they'd been through. As comical as the situation might have been for Seriis, Eze was having a hard time keeping focused. "Tell me, and I will." Suddenly the man wasn't so hungry anymore. He was more in the mood to either a. make a mad dash for the shattered city, or b. spontaneously combust.


Seriis' sharp eyes narrow, almost in warning of bad things to come. Clearly he's used to being obeyed without question. The sleeve is tugged a little more forcefully as his shoulders shift in an idle shrug, an unreadable expression flickering across the drow's fine features as he considers answering. "Doesn't that, ah...spoil the surprise?" His leg lifts as if he's making to kick Ezekiel in the shin, but instead he rocks up onto the very tips of his toes - even then, the top of his head is nowhere close to the other's shoulder, and Seriis looks pointedly up at him as he falls back onto his heels. "You're too tall, is why. Down, down." There's a curious glint in his eye, but it's not necessarily a dangerous one. The ferret seems to agree. "If you feel you can't trust me--" Which is probably very much justified if he doesn't. "--then close your eyes, and you won't see." Except that in itself requires some semblance of trust, or maybe that same disregard for life that Seriis saw him displaying before. "Hurry up or I won't bother."


Ezekiel blinked, not really sure what to do. If given the choice...like he was...the sound of a dagger between the ribs was sounding more and more welcome, at least when compared to getting on his knees. There were numerous things wrong with this situation, and just think what someone would say if they came strolling along. In the end, it was the ferret nod that broke the resistance...traitorous little bastard. "Fine. No shenanigans, you hear me.." One knee...second knee, with his sleeve still in Seriis' grasp, Ezekiel went down and sat awkwardly at knee height, one arm held up. "Care to explain now?"


Seriis nods both in approval and to affirm the fact that there will be no shenanigans on his part. "Don't move." Though spoken lightly enough, the words contain a harder edge and, coupled with the brief warning look he gives Ezekiel, do more than hint toward the fact that the drow won't be happy if he tries to run. 'Not happy' could range from huffy tantrums to stabbing, however... "I got bored of them, is all," he tells the mage airily, as if he's doing him a favour, and drops the sleeve so as to tug the goggles he stole off over his head. "And your eyes might be of use." How much he leaves unsaid is questionable. Leaning, able to reach Ezekiel's head now he's kneeling, Seriis carefully slips the band back into place, tugging the goggles down over the man's eyes. He pauses a moment, then grabs his cheeks and squeezes, not unkindly, grinning. "Idiot."


Ezekiel puffed out his bottom lip, the color literally draining from his face. A part of him was actually glad the goggles were back on, despite just how they were put back on. Serris wouldn't see his eyes watering up, but he would see the quiver in his lip. Paralyzed, he sat on his knees, looking up like a petrified statue. No fair. "You weren't supposed to.." he trailed off, after some time rising to his feet. Uneasily he started backwards, turning to complete a half circle around the drow, before walking a straight line down the main hall. After ten steps, the mage flipped around to put his back to both Seriis and Ferret. Cool, calm, and collected. One step. Two step. Sprint-! Like an emotionally unstable teen attending a chemical romance, Ezekiel burst into wailing taunt while flailing uncontrollably; he ran past the throne, aiming for the main doors. He could feel his touch burning at each cheek.. touching was Not allowed!


Seriis watches that quiver with interest, and wonders when it might break. Not straight away, apparently, for he allows Ezekiel to eventually find his feet and stray back out of contact range, as white as a sheet but not yet shrieking. The drow blinks at him quizzically, pressing, "Not supposed to what, Ezekiel Malovich?" Oh-- and he's running. Initially Seriis starts to sprint after him, but his footsteps quickly slow to a more leisurely pace - he casts the ferret on his shoulder a sidelong glance. "He's so jumpy." And timid, and clumsy...and sure to trip over himself soon enough. So long as he doesn't try to race back across the desert without him, Seriis is happy to let the coward flee everything that unnerves him. Which is...everything, it seems. But mostly Seriis. "He doesn't have a problem with -you-," adds the scholar, trying to temper the faint irritation in his voice. He follows the not-calm, not-cool Ezekiel out through the main doors, brushing a hand idly over the embellished stone as he passes. Grumbling something about the sun and the heat, he's also quick to rearrange his scarf so that it obscures most of his face.


Ezekiel might have been overreacting- Ezekiel was overreacting, but he had all the reason to. A prod...a nudge, or even the whisper of a breath against his skin, just as unwanted, but somewhat manageable. Grabby fingers at his cheeks, that just crossed the line. Sure enough, as predicted...the man didn't even make it to the end of the grand hall before catching air. Tripped over his own boots, he came to a solid, skidding slide across the marble floor, ending up in the fetal position. If it wasn't for the wind he knocked out of him, he might have actually made it to the courtyard. Might have. Instead, he rolled into a ball and gasped desperately for air that couldn't be found. "I can't breathe...I can't breathe..!" he spoke with a cracked whisper, panic induced. He could hear Seriis' footsteps following; he was done for now.


Seriis is quite sure Ezekiel overreacts all the time but he doesn't bother chastising him for it. Predictably the man stumbles over his own two feet and goes skidding face-first across the floor - the drow scrunches his face up in a faintly pained expression as he watches the veritable car crash, then jogs over and drops to a crouch near him. "Maybe if you calmed down, you'd be able to... oh, for the love of Astrala, what's the point." He makes a half-hearted waving motion with his hands, trying to generate a bit of air flow, before the smell of citrus hits him on the breeze and Seriis swiftly abandons Ezekiel in favour of finding breakfast. The mechanical ferret is left to continue frantically squeaking and waving its front paws around in his place. Out in the courtyard, Seriis heads straight for the nearest tree without bothering to admire the landscaping, though he has to actually climb onto a low-hanging bough and force his upper half into the leaves before he can even reach the food. Grabbing handfuls of fresh fruit from amidst the greenery, kicking a leg to discourage a wasp hanging about near his ankle, he feels a trickle of juice running down his arm - oranges. They'll do.


Ezekiel managed a short breath. A hiss, really. Several, in rapid succession. Enough to let him crawl along the worn marble, also towards the scent of fruit. Eventually, he climbed back to his feet and stepped into the courtyard that Seriis had disappeared into, and looked around admirably. Food and distraction, no longer did he think about the man's touch, but instead the oranges he was about to feast on. "Maybe if you kept your fingers to yourself.." he mumbled, standing with arms crossed under the drow's tree. How was he going to get up there? With Seriis sitting on the one and only low hanging branch. "Hey.." he said, looking up from behind smudged goggles. He felt invisible behind them, almost empowering...enough to give him the courage to strike- and hold -conversation. Most times. At some point and time, they were going to have to separate, and make their way back through the rolling dunes to where ever they originally came from. When, and why weighed heavily on his mind. "Hey-" he said again.


Seriis has a mouth full of orange and eyes full of happiness - there is no simpler pleasure than sating a hungry appetite, he thinks to himself, tearing off another segment and squeezing it past his lips. It is only now that he realises how hungry he is...and it's only when he chokes that the drow decides he should probably chew and swallow before trying to fit anything else in. Hearing Ezekiel approach, muttering and calling below him, Seriis pauses mid-bite with a thoughtful look in his eyes, considering whether or not to indulge the other and respond. Oh, what the hell. "What?" he asks, hooking the branch by the backs of his knees and swinging down. Funnily enough, he's at eye level with Ezekiel here, but not quite the right side up. "Do you want an orange? And can he eat them?" He points. The ferret.


Ezekiel caught himself leaning back, arms flailing to keep his stability. Always with the flailing. "It eats metal only...I think. And...please?" the last word came out softer than the rest, back slightly arched while he forced a good, considerable amount of distance between them. Seriis was already a foot away as it was. Even behind the goggles, he couldn't help but look away, almost as if the lenses were entirely transparent. Eye contact was a challenge. "How are we...you, planning to leave here? What exactly were you doing in the ruins again, anyways?"


Seriis makes a vaguely agreeing noise in his throat. "Orange juice and metal...not a great combination, I guess. Hang on." That said, he pulls himself back into the tree, if only so as to pick some more oranges then drop down from the branch, landing lightly on his feet. He tosses a fruit to Ezekiel before seating himself in the cloud of shade cast by the leafy canopy, thankful for whatever protection from the sun he can find in this place. He eases off on Ezekiel this time, turning a vacant stare out over the gardens while picking idly at the skin of his orange. "We walk?" It's a 'we' thing to him now, if only because Seriis does not fancy the idea of wandering the desert on his own - sticking together might save them both. "I don't know, it can't be too far. I guess. And I was looking for books, mostly. Books, interesting things...knowledge of any kind." A small shrug and he presses his back against the bark of the tree, wincing at the slight ache of bruises and tired muscle. "Most drow couldn't care less about a book, but to my House, knowledge is very important. We have an impressive library." And he sounds more than a little bit proud of that.


Ezekiel happily accepted the fruit, and moved away. Ironically, he chose to take a seat opposite of where Seriis sat, that being on the opposite side of the tree. He too takes to leaning up against the bark, both legs crossed. The shade was nice. "I enjoy libraries.." probably for the first time since their encounter, Ezekiel managed to reply with a basic answer. No flails, no stutters, and most of all no fear. "All I ever wish to do, is learn. Exploring, reading, studying, dismantling...anything." he bites into the peel, making a 'bleck' face. Little by little, he tears the rinds away, partially gloved fingers making a grand mess. "That stone. You threw it.." He was talking about the very stone that dropped them here in the palace, the one broken in two; he made sure to keep his half. Awkwardly, he kept his back to Seriis, the trunk of the tree being the only thing between them right now. The ferret, whom he was still upset with, continued to make his perch with the drow's shoulder.


Seriis continues picking at his orange and does a good job of acting as if everything is completely normal. Which it is, he supposes with a frown - it was everything prior to now that was abnormal, really, though it's not like Ezekiel can help the way he is. If Seriis ever suspected his attitude of being false, he's definitely been proven wrong. Keeping up such an act would be utterly exhausting; it makes the drow feel tired just thinking about it, so he shrugs the thought off and says softly, "I love libraries. A little bit of piece and quiet in a chaotic world." Leaning his head back against the tree, he watches patterns of light shifting through the leaves, not bright enough to blind him, but beautiful. "You build, too," he adds after a moment, referring to the ferret sat on his shoulder. Odd, he thinks, that two people with such incredibly opposing personalities held a deep love for the same things; exploring, reading, and learning, overall. Seriis shifts a bit, chances a glance over a shoulder at Ezekiel's back. "It's probably still in that room, then. The stone, I mean. But what's it matter? I thought it was useless now."


Ezekiel said, "To you, perhaps." for someone with an extremely excess amount of magic pulsing within...priceless. The possibilities were endless. It's charge was gone, broken...in two halves. He wanted to recharge, and reuse it; worth a shot. "And I do. It helps me sleep." he was quite serious, too. "So many gears, so many switches. Bars, wires, metal, strings.. anything. Everything, with multiple working parts, some even a few. I.." he held both hands up, half peeled orange in his lap. "I can bring it to life. Make it new. Make it move. Fascinating." He let both hands fall back against the ground, finger-curled palms facing up. "Do you build?"


Seriis scowls, though faintly and without heart. Luckily, it wouldn't be seen anyway. "It's not my fault it broke in the first place," he shoots back testily. A flicker of bemusement finds its way into his eyes - building helps him sleep? Strange. But it's not like the scholar himself is much different, so he can't really criticise him for that. With a soft sigh he turns and flops down on his front, now facing the same direction as Ezekiel and stretched out beside him, but not close enough to make him nervous. At least, he hopes as much. Interrupting what is probably their first true conversation with a freak-out would just dampen Seriis' whole day. Now he's recognising the similarities he shares with a man likely still convinced he'll stab him in the back for no reason, he does find himself wanting to talk more. "I don't." Build, that is. "Mostly because I've never had the time. It's been my job since I learned to write to copy out texts for the family library and find more books to fill it. This...trip to the surface is my first time away from home. I have some freedom, in the sense that my family have no idea what I'm actually doing up here."


Ezekiel quietly retracted his right hand when the drow came to rest beside him. He picked up the orange once again, and went back to peeling the rest of the outer shell away, the fruit a pulpy mess by now. See, he once had a pair of leather gloves...a project of his...that allowed him to tap into a source of magic, that he otherwise couldn't access. An accident with Frostmaw's battery literally melted them to his hands, via the intensity of magic. Most of the leather had been peeled and worn away, however the metal rings in the palms of his hands were very much still present. Scarred, leather flecked fingers were not the most delicate, and graceful. It didn't matter, he had a slice of orange, and he was content. It was delicious. "Your first time.." he knew very little about the drow, nothing aside from the trivial knowledge one could learn from a few books. "I guess it would be my first time, out here in this desert. Any desert." he shrugged. "I like it. It's empty. Well...for the most part." He only glanced down once, otherwise keeping his eyes forward the entire time.


Seriis, swatting a wasp away from his face with one hand, takes a bite out of his half-pealed orange in the same manner one would bite into an apple. Most of the strain of holding his upper half up falls to his elbows, which he's propped himself up on as he eats, staring ahead at the fountain from time to time but ultimately focusing more on his food and the ground. Staring across the unshaded garden allows so much more light to enter his eyes; and even with the scarf, the intensity is beginning to scrape faint, aching trails across his optic nerves. "I don't like it so much. It's too bright, too hot, and the sand gets stuck in my shoes and it's hard to run on. Mostly, it's just too bright. I like these, though." He gestures to the dripping orange before taking another bite, fruit juice running down his chin and soaking into his scarf. "Never thought there would be a place like this out here, either." Chewing thoughtfully, Seriis casts a look back to the palace doors, parted and opening into a gloomier, more comfortable interior. "...Think you could fix that stone and get it to take us back?"


Ezekiel was damn glad no wasp came buzzing his way. Just imagine -that- reaction. "I might have a way. Dangerous. But a way." He tossed a second slice into his mouth, and glanced at the drow who was savagely chomping into it as a whole. His jaw clenched, the obsessive compulsive in him wanted to smack it away, and hand him each individual slice. The correct way to eat an orange, because there were suddenly rules to consumption. "Not sure where it could take us...possibly back. Possibly elsewhere. But. I might have a way." It was hard to tell what kept him so calm and at ease. This might have been the longest conversation held, aside from any with Satoshi. He simply feared her.. so there was no running from those. Regardless.. so long as the drow kept his distance, and his fingers to himself, Ezekiel was content.


"Dangerous? How?" He hopes it won't involve any hard manual labour, because Seriis' back still aches with the beatings taken from yesterday's unfortunate and forceful meeting with a wall, and from the general discomfort of sleeping on a drafty floor all night. Which reminds him...he should probably try to take a bath sometime soon. "So long as you don't kill us in the process." Speaking of which, the desert's harsh sunlight is already beginning to grate on him too much, so the drow shifts to sit up, leaving the shell of his orange on the grass. He is not a drow acclimatised through years to the brightness of the surface, so it's all the more excruciating for him. Pushing himself to his feet, he keeps his head ducked down and an arm raised, further shielding himself as he turns to regard Ezekiel again. "Let's...go inside? There's too much sun." he says, voice quiet. Weakness is a horrible, shameful thing to display.


Ezekiel watched from over his shoulder while the drow picked up and left. He looked down at the pile of orange peels and- Wasp. "Hey wait up!" Hopping to his feet like the grass were fire, Ezekiel ditched his half eaten orange and made a jog for the drow. So wasteful, he could hear his stomach growling. "Hey!" The man found himself disappearing inside the palace shortly after, following Seriis to wherever he decided to go.


A Short Time Later...


"Don't know why I bothered to take that bath," complains Seriis, loudly, his voice the obnoxious whine of a boy upset at not getting his own way. Unfortunately, the weather is fickle and does not particularly care what Seriis wants - he has yet to make it beyond the front gates of the courtyard and already there is as much sand in his hair and clothing as there was earlier, courtesy of a sudden dust storm that enveloped the ancient palace in its golden shroud of windblown sand. He almost wishes he'd stayed in the pool. The drow turns to glower at Ezekiel, his scarf wrapped firmly to obscure his mouth and the snarl curling his upper lip. "Do we -have- to try this outside?" he asks for what has to be the third time now, waving his half of the broken stone around exasperatedly.


Ezekiel was glad the drow had returned his goggles, 'else navigating the choppy winds and the sand-blasted air would have been hell. Probably was, for Seriis. "Too many anomalies inside. You can't see them, but I can.. No telling what those fields could do, in reaction." Eze could literally see magic, the way a synethsthesiac could see color; a trade off from the accident in Frostmaw. The flectomancer held his half of the stone in his left, and held his right open. He was shy in asking, but with enough gestures and built up courage, he'd speak. "Can.. I, I have that? Please?" The wind whipped his coat around, and that messy length of hair tossed with, even he was considering a bath after this storm.


Seriis is, indeed, having difficulty seeing much of anything. The cruel winds swirl and shift direction continuously - even with the flimsy protection granted by his scarf, the sand is blinding and searing hot. In the end the scholar simply gives up trying to see amidst the storm and closes his eyes, choosing instead to rely upon the skills taught to him of blind-fighting. The same ability to pick up and predict movements is just as useful out of battle, after all. Before, though, a final glance is cast back toward the palace, but he can only glimpse the sliver of shadowy space between the front doors; all else is lost to the vagueness of the storm. "What are...'anomalies'? What does that mean? And Fields? I didn't really feel anything." This doesn't account for much, as Seriis' magical senses are about as dull as a brick. He steps closer, the wind forcing the fabric of his robe to ripple like disturbed water when he stretches out a hand to carefully place the stone in Ezekiel's.


Ezekiel caught the stone and made quick about retracting his hand from Seriis'. If he wasn't so adamant on testing his experiment, he would have put a far greater distance in between the two. However, with what he had planned, he may have actually wanted the drow a little closer, almost within panicking reach. The operation was simple; insert broken stones into gloved palms, blast with ample amounts of magic, a flurry of question marks...you get the rest. Ezekiel made sure to nestle each broken piece into the rings burnt into his palms, only possible with the stone broke in two. Otherwise it wouldn't have fit. "Come...here. Give me.. I-" Like a virgin giving his first hug, he waddled awkwardly towards the drow, arms held wide. He was ready to back out of this any second. "H-hold.." he bit his bottom lip, almost whimpering. "Hold on." For the remaining duration of this experiment, he'd keep his eyes closed tight, despite having goggles on.


Seriis can't resist opening his eyes again, because he is simply far too curious and wants to watch Ezekiel work his magic. What he does perplexes the young drow but he notes it all down mentally anyway, hoping to dissect the steps bit by bit later on in an attempt to make sense of it all. "By the way, what happened to your hands?" he inquires as a sort of afterthought, his pointed glance directed toward the scraps of melted leather, and the metal rings embedded in his palms. All that is forgotten about instantly when Seriis registers that Ezekiel actually stepped -towards- him, catching his words before the wind rips them away. He blinks, stunned. Then a faintly reddish colouration begins to touch the tips of his ears and the bridge of his nose, and he splutters incoherently for a second. "Wh-what? Why do I need to--" He's perfectly fine teasing Ezekiel with proddings and pokings, but -this-...this is rather different.


Ezekiel was shaking. His palms sweaty, heartbeat rising. He tried to speak, but babbled. Incoherent speech making a fool of himself. He was stuck, arms wide open hovering just a few inches from Seriis. 'Oh no'.. he thought, 'Not now.. please'. The poor mage was on the verge of a panic attack, quickly sailing towards the edge of a great fall. "I.. I.. I.. give- just. Please..!" if the butterflies in his stomach didn't make him throw up, the nerve racking anticipation of that unwanted contact would. He had no control, he was swept up in a sea of flurried panic, his balloon ready to pop. A green, verdant glow erupted from each palm, the neon-cobalt of his rings burning into the edge of the stone. Without control, his magic would run wild, and with two pieces of a broken artifact in such close proximity...they were fu- "Wait!" Before he could even realize what was happening, that same brilliant flash of light that had enraged Seriis just last night was present again. Ezekiel screamed, the raw, tingly sensation of magic pulsed through his veins and exited out his palms. Without warning, he tangled both arms around the drow and held on for dear life. He could cry himself to sleep afterward. There in the courtyard, all that was last seen of the two was a magnificent green flash, then nothing.



Light Prairie

Slightly rolling ground is dominated by long, waving grasses, and there is an absence of any sort of tall tree. Shrubs of varied shapes and sizes dot the vicinity. Nearby, the ground has been pawed away by a large herd of some animal, leaving a large watering hole surrounded by pretty wildflowers of different colors. Bees buzz around the flowers, and the feeling of this prairie radiates security, peace, tranquility, something Milous has not seen in a long time.



Seriis had brought up his hands, as though he thought his open palms were a solid defence that might stop this situation from spiraling out of control. Ezekiel's panic attack, his babbling, nonsensical sentences, the furious crackle and fizzle of building magic, the threat of close physical contact neither of them are eager to engage in-- if he could hold off any of these things with just his hands, Seriis would. Unfortunately he's given no say in the matter, for he's blinded by another eruption of blue-green light, an experience which is becoming aggravatingly familiar, and a second later Ezekiel has him tight in his grip. He's screaming right in his ear and the drow vaguely notices some sort of burning sensation down his lower back, but he's far too busy clinging on desperately when the courtyard and the dust storm both vanish, and all turns to white nothingness. Seriis drifts for just a moment, the world tips on its axis, and suddenly there is noise again. "MOOO." Bewildered and disorientated, he cracks an eye open and cranes his neck back, away from where he had buried his face in Ezekiel's chest. The first stars glimmer faintly in a twilit sky and a soft wind threads over a whispering ocean of grasses that Seriis stands knee-deep within, alone with little more than Ezekiel and a herd of confused buffalo for company. They've been dropped in southern Milous, the bordering desert they came from just visible on the shadowed horizon. And Seriis' skin is burning. "You're hurting me. Let go." He struggles somewhat weakly and hopes those magically-charged fingers won't be leaving a mark.


Ezekiel had a deathwrap on Seriis. He may have been standing, but not for long. Their moment in 'landing' took more energy out of the mage then the drow could imagine, if only because he had just finished super charging a pair of broken artifacts back to life. His knees buckled and he collapsed, unfortunately taking the young drow with him. Still clinging for life, Ezekiel shook like a chihuahua, tears streaming down his face while he whimpered pitifully. The fact that he was still latched on to Seriis was ironically amusing. If only he could see himself right now.


Seriis' poor back has taken a bit of a beating over the past few days, what with him being flung into walls and such. Bruised and now burned, the muscles protest angrily when he moves and he does not truly have the strength to push Ezekiel away, especially when the man is holding on to him like he's some kind of lifeline. "E-Ezekiel." Down they go, Seriis' legs crumpling uselessly under his own weight and the weight of another, larger, person. He hangs on a second longer, steadying them both, before awkwardly trying to work his way out of the mage's grip again - fingers wrap round Ezekiel's forearms and attempt to push his arms back, and give them both some much-needed breathing room.


Ezekiel managed to peek with one eye from behind his goggles the moment he felt his forearm being pried away. All he saw was the top of Seriis' head, his arms around the back. It took a couple seconds to register, his arms around another, the heat of someone's body pressed against his. The feeling was so new, so foreign- it took seconds for him to realize. He yelped, shoving off Seriis while scrambling backwards on hands and feet. "No no no no no...no.." 'Moooooooo!' his back hit the solid legs of a buffalo, to which he'd look straight up at. The animal snorted once, and ruffled his hair with the air out its nose. Another yelp, and Ezekiel was scrambling back in the opposite direction towards Seriis, but ended up just flopping onto his side. "Where are we. Did it...it worked, I'm alive. Where are we?! Are you.. sorry!" he was still in tears, and still as shaky as ever. This man...needed some serious help.


Seriis looks up. He blinks. He's -close-. When was the last time he was this close to a person that was not either of his trusted bodyguards? "I said you're--" He hasn't even the time to repeat himself before realisation sets in for Ezekiel, and all of a sudden the suffocating circle of arms is broken. Despite the tired ache in his muscles and the fact that his head is still spinning slightly, the drow finds himself laughing; a sound that begins as little more than a few quiet chuckles, but soon rises to something clearer and more honest. What prompted this is unclear, beyond even his ken - perhaps it is at Ezekiel's panicked movements, or he simply finds the absurdity of all this laughable. "Sorry, sorry," Seriis manages at last, because he is aware that every uncomfortable second of Ezekiel's life is not funny for the man at all. "We seem to be alive, so...I suppose I'll let you off. As to where we are...I think this is Milous. We passed through here on the way to the Shattered City, there should be a watering hole nearby somewhe-- ah! There it is!" He points off to the left, having sat up so as to peer over the waving grasses. Seriis glances back at Ezekiel, thoughtful. "...Do you want a drink? I'll go get you one." It might help him calm down.


Ezekiel managed to sit with his legs crossed, head buried in his palms. He was defeated, he did not want to do this anymore. "I just want to go home.." he mumbled in a somewhat clear, and calm voice. "I just want to lock myself in my workshop. I want to drown my problems with a bottle of scotch. I want to take apart every piece of mechanical workings I find, and make friends with the gears I construct." he never answered the drow, but continued to mope in his own pity. "J-just go." Ezekiel was content with sitting here for the rest of the night, if need be. At least as long as the buffalo would let him; eventually they'd make him nervous enough to leave. What didn't.


Seriis sighs. Pushing to his feet, he tugs back the scarf and shakes some sand out of his hair before turning toward the watering hole. Its surface glimmers fiery red and bruised purple, reflecting the shifting colours of the changing sky overhead - leaving Ezekiel to his wallowing, the drow skirts the rim of the pool but, instead of gathering water as he said, crouches by a large bush and draws a knife. Shoving past thorns and leaves, he begins hacking at the plant until he's shorn the entire bush off and exposed its thick, woody trunk, a chunk of which he cuts free. He then spends a short time hurriedly smoothing it down and hollowing out the inside, until it resembles some sort of cup; a little bit of improvisation with some twigs and an acorn later, and Seriis has made himself a crude wooden flask, complete with flick-back cap. After filling it with water from the pool, he returns to Ezekiel and places his creation before him, before stating proudly, "I can build things, too." Even if they're not exactly waterproof. The flask has sprung a small leak near the rim.


In the time it took Seriis to hurry off and build his work of art, Ezekiel had pulled both knees against his chest, and hid as best he could in the waist-high grass. His effort was futile, for both drow and flask were presented like he'd never left. He stared at the container for the longest time, right hand uncrossing from around his knees to push goggles up. He didn't reply immediately, but instead reached out with his left- index finger pressed lightly against the leak. Carefully, he summoned some basic magic to essentially 'weld' the wood and twigs together, sealing it from any further leaks. He quietly withdrew both arms and hugged them back around his knees, chin between each. "What's wrong with me?" he said with plenty of pain in his voice.


Seriis, lifting his head, scans the darkening horizon for any sign of movement but can see nothing other than the buffalo. He wonders where Avarn and Reyik are, if they remained in the desert looking for him or headed north again, or returned to Cenril together. Ezekiel recaptures and holds his attentions with his words - though the drow does not know whether or not he expects an answer from him, he drops into a crouch opposite the man after a moment, instead of leaving as he was told to. "Wrong? What about you do you think is 'wrong'?" he asks in return, frowning slightly. Maybe he shouldn't have laughed before. "If I thought there was something truly wrong with you, Ezekiel Malovich, I would have killed you for it when we first met." Sure, he's anxious, panicky, and prone to bouts of flailing, and appears to have some difficulties controlling his magic-- but these are not things Seriis has ever considered 'wrong' about Ezekiel.


Ezekiel hugged closer into his knees. "Father always said I was embarrassing. Never understood why he couldn't come into contact with me. I never even understood why...still don't." All the while he kept his eyes locked on the flask, brown irises almost mesmerized by the uniqueness of craftsmanship. A part of him wanted to take it apart, and see just how he did it; that was the obsessive compulsive side. Luckily, he fought back the urge. "I can't remain calm. I stress too easy. I lose control in moments of chaos. That...that isn't normal." What defined normal, he'd asked on plenty occasions. Surely everyone but him, they acted the same, they reacted the same; he was different. His father made sure he understood he was different, but for all the wrong reasons.


Seriis grimaces just a touch. Comfort is not exactly something he's any good at, and calming down someone as jumpy as Ezekiel makes the job all the more difficult - it's like navigating a mine field, step by tiny step, doing his best not to say anything to make it worse. He tries, though, because for whatever reason Seriis stayed around him before, instead of walking away on his own. There were oranges, and he shared a little of himself, and came to the decision that this man is someone he can maybe understand, and be understood by. In time, of course. "Is your father a god, does he decide how the world is? The concept of normality is subjective," the drow ventures carefully, sinking to sit properly on the grass. "A lot of people lose control in chaos, really. It's hard to 'remain calm' in those situations like you were taught, and it's not like we can stay calm all the time. I think it's just the kind of person you are, really. But it doesn't make you 'wrong'." He pauses, then leans over and swats the top of Ezekiel's head; an almost playful gesture, though mostly he means to smack him out of his depressive slump. "Don't worry about it so much."


Ezekiel flinched away from the swat, his messy hair lifting at the air that was swept just inches above. "I wish it were that easy. It's like asking to you let an outlaw run you through with a sword. You won't do it. You -can't- do it." The flectomancer kept his arms wrapped around his knees, both of which hugged his chest like a morally defeated child. "Asking me to remain calm in these situations, only if it's a simple handshake.. I can't do it." Handshake.. the word had him looking down at his own, the melted gloves twisted and turned over for further inspection. The two halves of the stone were secured tight inside the rings, both of which remained melted deep in each palm. It didn't hurt, not anymore; a great deal of nerves were destroyed in the accident. Something he had mixed feelings about. He couldn't feel when someone touched parts of his hand, but he had a hard time feeling the life in the parts of his creation. Each ring glowed, shortly after the stone. He was getting stronger, the will to push the magic to and fro was easier, albeit the outcome uncertain. "One day. Maybe." it was the last thing he would say, never looking up while he forced the magic in his blood to the rings. The glow was bright, quick, and over before Seriis would have a chance to react. Only the drow remained when the light disappeared: the drow, his flask, and a pair of goggles. Ezekiel would be looking for these.