RP:Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Lionel comes to the Tranquility with updates on the war with Kahran and eventually tells Khitti, Brand, and Dozla (Brand's new first mate) about the skull he received from Mulgrew. In return, the Hero of Hellfire is given the news that Khitti's magic has been taken from her, but she's working closely with Seika, the sprite inside Tenbatsu Kaji, to train, as well as Meri's arrival from the Shadow Plane. Lionel is slowly coming around to accepting help from the sword, but Brand not so much. This is when Dozla suggests a pilgrimage to Cyris' chapel in Larket.

The Tranquility, Cenril Wharf

The fury of it sends the songbirds far from home, but the vultures come with their scavenger’s beaks from every corner of the plains. Flesh is pecked into neat strips and then torn to ribbons, ounce by orderly ounce until the vultures have had their fill. It’s a slower process, and far more methodical, than the quick and dirty slashes that felled these men in the field.

Sheathing Hellfire, Lionel surveys the aftermath. “13 dead,” he announces grimly. Tilly, one of the survivors, sniffs the air dismally and grimaces -- but her words attempt to convey good cheer. “And all 40 of theirs, ser.” Lionel closes his eyes to shield the sting of Tilly’s naivety. “These orcs were mindless husks bent to their masters’ whims. Our allies were men and women whose minds still held, whose convictions still held, whose dreams still held. And now they’ve been silenced. Kara, you’re in charge of wounded. Sam, send a raven to the Queen and another to the guild. And Tilly, never let sacrifice twist into cold equations again.” No sooner has he said it than the thought pervades him all over again: the crystal skull must be retrieved. He cannot entrust its safety with anyone other than himself. As Tilly’s grimace returns, Lionel turns to conceal his face. He remembers Mulgrew’s self-satisfied smirk. He remembers what it means to feel helpless.

Lionel pets his Tikihflee reassuringly. She nuzzles his hand, a great furry face which all but consumes his arm in the fluff, and he smiles genuinely. “It’ll be alright. Lennier seems a nice enough sort. Just don’t let him put tinfoil on your head unless you’re warding off some flames, okay?” Even the shadowcat seems to stare at this tomfrakkery; common sense crosses dimensions for them that are fortunate enough to possess it. A seagull caws on a nearby railway, diverting the Tikihflee’s attention. The blood that splatters across the deck and the feast that follows reminds Lionel of the vultures and their quarry in his recent skirmish. To the Tranquility crewmates going about their errands, however, it’s merely cause for profane remarks and eyes rolled skyward. “Primal rage,” one of the crewmates mumbles to Lionel as she passes him by. “Haven’t seen a beast like that since the ex-husband.”

The longer he stands the further his mind drifts. In the drifting, he can almost feel Cenril’s magical barrier ending. Not for any supernatural sense nor godly gift nor ethereal element -- but for his own anxious heart. The skull reverberates through his skull. “Seven hells.” Lionel knows what needs to be done but the worry lines still streak across his forehead. For once in his life he’d almost kill to be free of it all. Here in the Tranquility’s meeting room, Lionel will await his family. What will he say? What can be said? There’s nothing for it but to drum ever-onward, reminding himself of the words he’s given Tilly. Cenril must not fall.

“Seven hells,” says Brand, and stuffs his thumb into his mouth. Dozla stares with arms akimbo. “Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but you’ve a meetin’ with Lionel in less’n five minutes. This really the best time for that?” Brand pulls his hand away from his face and gives it a good few shakes, but it does nothing to lessen the pain or the swelling. His thumb is quickly growing purple. “Gotta take every five minutes where I can find them, Dozla, or I’m never gettin’ this stuff done in time for the kid.” He holds up a wooden gate for her inspection. One nail hangs crooked where his hammer missed its mark, but otherwise the handiwork is… “Well, I’ve seen worse carpentry in my life. It should hold. Did you remember to sand it down so the little rugrat doesn’t get splinters?” Brand throws the thing back onto the table. “Frak me, I -knew- I was forgettin’ something. Whatever, I’ll deal with this later.” And so Brand stalks off for the situation room, injured hand stuffed in his pocket and a smirking Dozla in tow.

Khitti was in the armory, for today was a day where she didn’t feel like just sitting around, as most would recommend given her condition. The lack of magic had really put a damper on things and the only thing that seemed like a good idea was practicing with the sword. Seika, the spirit within the weapon, instructed her silently on the proper way to wield a katana. First, she must become one with the sword, and then the rest would follow. Seika never once elaborated on what ‘the rest’ was, but Khitti didn’t feel like arguing--she’d done enough of that lately with Brand. Soon, one of the crew members would alert Khitti to the fact that Lionel was aboard the ship and awaiting her and Brand in the situation room, and all she could think to say was, “Seven hells.” It felt like all of this was tearing the three of them apart, whether it was Kahran, or the sword, or that damned skull. Or, maybe it was just all in her head. Probably. It usually was. Regardless, she’d eventually make her way to where the two Catalians were, and depending on how her top-heaviness was today, they may have to wait a few extra minutes.

Lionel stares overlong into an empty crystal goblet. Someone has carved ‘QC’ into the side of the goblet and done a poor job scribbling out a ‘J’. Lionel latches on to this mystery in order to keep his mind wayward of more pressing matters, if only for a few seconds. “What the heck even starts with ‘Q’, anyway?” He verbalized his curious disdain right as Brand arrives. Lionel offers his friend a half-nod, shifting his eyes from the goblet but landing them on a lantern instead. They only focus onto his family with Khitti’s arrival, and he instinctively pulls a chair out for her. It’s not that she can’t do it herself. There’s just something gnawing at him, something he can’t presently identify, compelling him to intervene. Lionel’s soft shoes still find enough traction in them to beat into the floorboards a little courtesy of the swiftness of his pacing, but he regains enough self-awareness by the time he’s crossed ten paces to simmer down and take a seat himself. He cups his hands together and leans his elbows on the surface of the table whilst clearing his throat.

“Hey.” Lionel draws a breath. It’s not much to run on and Khitti might shoot daggers with her eyes -- or hands -- if he doesn’t expand. But he hesitates to bring his own matters to the meeting right off the bat. He hesitates because he needs, desperately, to make sure the both of them still understand. He needs his sister, first and foremost, to understand that her words to him outside the mage’s tower in Xalious shook him in the right ways. She needs to know that he’s listening, and they need to know that his family’s matters still come first and foremost no matter the state of the world. Even for Lionel, who tosses himself into the flames on the turn of a dime but for the lives of strangers, there are those few so precious to him that they supersede the sound and fury. “I’m sorry. I tried to get here sooner, but…” But what? What’s worth saying? They both know how reckless he is. They both know how daring he is. “But I didn’t.” Lionel unfolds his hands and taps his fingers into steeples. “I’m here now. How are you two holding up? How’s the baby? How’s the… sword?” It’s a start.

Brand starts to fix himself a drink, but Dozla slides in to assist before his awkward one-handed pour draws too much attention. Bless her, Brand thinks, then cringes at the implication. Oh well, ‘bless her’ in… an entirely secular fashion? He slumps into a chair. “Don’t get me started on the gorram sword. You’ll start another argument. Kid’s fine though, near as we can tell.” Dozla places his drink before him and fixes one of her own. Half of hers is already gone three seconds after she’s finished making it, and she tops it off before offering the bar’s goodies to Lionel with a cheesy Vanna White gesture. You want alcohol? We have alcohol, every kind. And mixers. And an enchanted icebox. Just don’t let the rest of the crew in on the secret, or they’d drink away all their profits in a hurry.

Khitti sank into a chair with a heavy sigh. Lionel asked his questions and she opened her mouth to answer, but Brand and his snark got there before she could--hers would’ve been without the attitude, thankyouverymuch. Khitti resists an eyeroll. Wait. Nope. There it is. One would probably think she’s possessed by the way her eyeballs practically rolled back into her head almost all the way, threatening to fall out entirely. She doesn’t respond to Lionel; he got his answer. Instead, she eyed everyone’s glasses briefly in silence, secretly dreaming about the contents within, wishing that they were her own, and half wished that this kid wasn’t happening, if only so she could get that night of blackout drunkenness that she’d earned after her time as an undead.

Lionel decides that the ‘QC’ goblet with the half-scuffed ‘J’ is going to find itself filled to the brim with wine. He will never solve its mystery minutiae, but he’ll feel childishly better for having used the thing for its practical purpose and left that mystery behind. Life -- and pinot grigio -- tastes better this way. “And what about Meri?” His lips have tasted dry and fruity notes; he is as ready as he’ll ever be for the bad news he expects to receive. But he won’t just leave it at that. In almost the same breath, he carries on the thought, anxious to have it said. “I know how long it’s been. I know the odds are… ‘stacked’ is a word for card games in Rynvale; the Shadow Plane thesaurus veers more into the nigh-impossible. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t out there. Facilier could have captured her, or… heck, we all know how elusive she can be. I know this war takes precedence, but damn it, I can’t do this anymore. I can’t leave her behind.” The ‘C’ on his goblet catches the lantern’s light, sparkling toyishly.

“What? She didn’t send word to you?” Brand looks to Khitti for an explanation, but… maybe there isn’t one? “She’s back. Khitti’s dad helped her. She was a bit ill, but otherwise in one piece.” As far as Brand could tell, anyway. “Maybe she figured we’d tell you. I guess we have now.”

“She left the day after. There really wasn't any stopping her after Lennier had tended to her,” Khitti finally said at length. Her tone was quiet. Disappointed. “You have your update from us. What about…” The redhead gestured vaguely towards the window as if to say ‘everything out there beyond the Tranquility’, trying to move the conversation elsewhere in hopes it would help her mood. It probably wouldn't though.

Lionel is perplexed. Not so much for not receiving word; he and Meri have never been especially close people and he's merely glad that someone closer to his family than he -- and someone he regards as ally to the cause, too -- still draws breath. Lionel's perplexity hails from the simplicity by which Khitti and Brand have regarded her return. By all accounts she was in a terrible predicament in those last desperate moments before the rest of them made it out but Meri was somehow left behind. "Wait," he says. "This could be invaluable to us going forward. Especially with another scouting mission on the horizon. Did she say -how- he helped her? This all feels a bit tidy to me. Don't get me wrong; I'm glad as hell for it. But it neither erases my confusion nor eliminates the need for us to know how in blazes she did it." He purses his lips together softly, eyeing them and then eyeing Dozla and then letting his gaze rest upon Khitti. "I mean, come on, Khitti, you're the one who's been telling me lately it's high time I showed some spirit again. Your friend is back and in one piece. Why do I get the feeling all the magic's been drained since last I was here?" The 'C' sparkles mercilessly, as if keen on the ironies of his speech. "We'll put a stop to that bastard's machinations." He says it more quietly, and they'll likely be aware the titular bastard here is Facilier. Flashes of Lionel's crystal skull once again sear their way through him, but it doesn't hurt. It emboldens him. "I'm sorry for what happened back there. But we'll make him pay."

Brand is doing his best to ignore the mood in the room. Lionel pointing it out only makes him more determined to do so. Dozla stands at the head of the table, keeping her lips pressed firmly to the rim of her glass in an effort to avoid speaking on the matter out of turn. “I was just glad to see her alive, frankly,” says Brand. “With her bein’ sick and Lennier fussin’ over her, it didn’t seem like the right time to press for details. Could always summon her back here for an interrogation, or maybe Khitti’s dad will show up here and explain for himself. But we haven’t seen any of those ghosts here for a while. Makes me wonder if they were ever really all that mad about Khitti and the curse, or if that was just something Facilier was drivin’ them to say to bait us into goin’ there.” Name any outlandish theory, and Brand has probably already considered it.

Lionel’s choice of ironic words were snorted at like he’d said something funny. “Of course she's not telling us everything. She was in that place for almost a month… you really think nothing happened besides the ghosts helping? Meri keeps more secrets than we do and I doubt she spill them any time soon.” Khitti pushed up out of her chair, suddenly needed to walk off the pain that almost-child of hers was giving her. “And if she's not gonna talk, it's not like I can just summon my dad or any of the others here to find out, if they're even still themselves, because guess what? You hit the frakking nail on the head, Lionel. All the magic has been sucked out of the room. -My- magic. It's gone and now I'm about as useless as a booplesnoot in a wolf den thanks to Facilier.”

Listening to them, Lionel relents. "Keeping secrets that could save the frakking world isn't my idea of holding tea from fellow housewives on a midsummer's afternoon," he mumbles dejectedly, "but I won't push her. She'll either divulge or she won't. I'd rather not imagine what it's like to be over there that long, which means it's undoubtedly worse than whatever it is we've already seen of the place." He taps his middle and index fingers against the table thoughtfully, bringing Dozla into his view through happenstance. With her lips pressed against her glass, some steam has formed across its surface, giving her what looks in Lionel's estimation to be some kind of whitish beak. It's the last and most outrageous thought he has before Khitti reveals her loss. "What?" Lionel is slow to turn from Dozla's beak to Khitti's chair; his life has made him a quick thinker, if impulsive, but there are some things that cause even him to stumble. "That son of an ollphéist. I should have aimed that knife straight for his skull." He'd spit if they were outside, and Lionel is not the spitting sort. Instead, he takes his wine, conscious of the 'Q' and the 'C' and the bits of 'J', and he chugs it like tap ale. When it's finished, two thoughts strike him again: the crystal skull, still irrelevant to present conversation, and Tenbatsu Kaji. "Sorry, Brand, but I've gotta ask her this. What about that -gorram- sword? I didn't have a magical inkling on my person before Halycanos and Hellfire. In many ways, for all my feats? I still don't. I don't know what much about Ishaara -- that sword's the last of it, through and through. I know even less about the gods, but if anything can give a girl some magic as if out of the void besides my sword? It's gotta be a thing like that katana."

Dozla finally has something to contribute, and parts her lips from her drink. “You should make a pilgrimage to the altar of your patron god, m’dear, while you can still travel.” Keen brown eyes assess Khitti’s condition. “You never know if the doc will order you to bedrest for your last few weeks, n’ frell knows a cot on wheels would be no way to trek across Lithrydel.” She’s half serious and half saying it to get a rise out of Brand, and it’s very much working -- if glares could pierce flesh, he’d have gouged out her eyes by now. But he doesn’t interject, and so Dozla pretends not to notice. “Cap’n should go, too. Might turn out to be a good venue for your wedding. Two seagulls, one stone.” Brand has slumped so low in his chair he might soon disappear under the table. He can glare all he wants, but he has no cogent argument against her suggestion that Khitti hasn’t already disagreed with a thousand times.

Khitti was pretty much frowning at everyone in general at this point. She found problems with everything, and well, just went down the line, addressing Lionel first. “It was initially a surprise, but considering the fact Facilier -gave- me that magic, it’s also not surprising at all. I was on borrowed time and I only just realized it when it was gone. Got too attached to it apparently.” Khitti actually liked being a necromancer after awhile--Brand helped her to see that with all of his old man wisdom and lengthy lectures. “The sword…” The redhead sighed, eyeing the door, the sword laying beyond it in another room of the ship, “The sword--or Seika, rather, as the spirit likes to be called--says I need practice. A different sort of practice to be able to wield such a weapon properly and eventually use whatever magic it deems me worthy of, if I ever get to that point. I imagine you sort of went through something similar when you got Hellfire? This is different than the random hacking and slashing I did with those shortswords as a vampire. I don’t have my speed anymore. Even less so now. So, I’d like to do things right and do what Seika instructs.”

Dozla got her attention now, a faint smile mustered for Brand’s first mate, “The thought is appreciated, and I definitely should go, but it won’t be a place for any wedding. The temple’s in Larket.” Khitti side-eyed Brand, the smile fading back into that frown from before, “And, I’ll go alone. I will take the Tikifhlee as I have done multiple times already and I will be fine. I’m done trying to get Brand to see things my way. He either does or he doesn’t. This time, he definitely doesn’t.” And he’s acting like a frakking child. She wanted to say that, but didn’t. She didn’t chide him at all for his behavior, oddly enough. “This is my path and I’ll do it alone, as I’ve done most other things.” Except, where there was usually a stubborn attitude with matters like this--as both Brand and Lionel would remember oh so clearly--there was disappointment, and a little sadness instead. Khitti didn’t -actually- want to do things on her own. Not anymore.

Lionel grimaces behind his goblet through Dozla's suggestion. Whether or not she knows it -- whether or not it'd matter -- she's telling Khitti to go to the one place Lionel simply cannot join her. He's made his stance against Larket publicly clear again as late, and even if Queen Josleen stepped into the room right now he'd not back down from it. Well, it's rather all for naught. If Khitti goes to Larket, she won't be harmed. As much as he dislikes the idea of any of them going to that gods-forsaken city, there's an irony even he can appreciate that it's precisely where Khitti can find a god. It's all well and fine until Dozla's suggestion turns into a wedding notion. "Oh, heck no," Lionel mumbles impulsively, which ultimately serves to mirror Khitt's timely rebuttal of it. "That's one wedding I couldn't attend if you did." He stiffens, but forces it into a casual shrug. "But that doesn't mean the two of you shouldn't be together for a non-knot-tying trip to ye olde altar." He gestures vaguely toward Khitti and Brand. "Frankly, I'd feel a lot better if you did. Macon won't try to burn you, but Kahran's all over the Northern Sage."

That's when he returns to Khitti directly. Lionel's tempted to snark about her Hellfire comparison, given what he went through, but has he ever truly informed her of the danger of those bygone plights? And is now, or any other time in light of their circumstances, an appropriate venue to retread the past? There's too much to cover in the present, and in hopes of a future they'll survive together. And if Cyris is closet-cruel and secretly means to put Khitti through similar trials, Hellfire will have a special scar in store for him, indeed. There's no point. Instead he smiles. "I went through something of an ordeal, myself, so I can't say I'm surprised. These talking swords sure have a way with words." What a world they live in, where Lionel can say that without batting a lash. "Well, whatever that journey entails, I'll support it."

Brand is easily pushed over the edge by talk of Kahran. “As if Khitti didn’t already have enough of a target painted on her back with Facilier. Fine, fine, I’ll go.” He won’t expect to like it, though. “Dozla, you know the deal. You cover my duties while I’m gone. And I expect to find all the gorram spoons where I left them, this time!” Dozla can’t hide her grin behind her glass, so she bares it for all to see. “Can’t promise ya that, Cap’n. You’ve got an unhealthy attachment. -Somebody’s- gotta stage an intervention.” Brand mumbles something about everything having its proper place, dammit, but he doesn’t put up much of a fight. She’s all he’s got until he can find the time to train another first or second mate to replace Onyx. And with the kid on the way much sooner than initially anticipated, he’s not likely to find that time for quite a while.

Khitti sighed, “Alright. If you’re all so damned insistent on this.” With one last big stretch--in an attempt to get this kid’s frakking feet out of her ribs-- she took the steps needed towards the door, “If we’re done here. I have training to do.” And dwelling. Lots of dwelling on things that she probably shouldn’t be dwelling on. Like, how this meeting in Frostmaw was going to go. And if her and Brand were going to have another fight on the way to, or at, Cyris’ temple. And whether or not she was ever going to be able to wield this sword properly. So many things to think about. Ugh.

Lionel frowns, lifting himself up from his chair and letting go of his oddly-alphabetized goblet. "Right. I'll see you two..." He can't bring himself to finish his sentence. He had something else to say and it's so easy to let it fade to memory that he knows in his heart of hearts it'd be a fool's choice and a coward's way out. This is his family. As his eyes shift between Khitti and Brand, Lionel sighs pensively. "There's one more thing. Something you need to know. Something that can't leave this room. The only other person who knows right now is Esche, and while he's always been a chatterbox on matters most mundanely arcane, he's never been a real talker when it comes to the big stuff. This is the big stuff, and if things get dicey my family needs to be prepared." Slowly, he returns to his chair. There's an unstated trust toward Dozla; Brand's First Mate wouldn't be First Mate if she weren't a confidant. That's his hope, anyway; Onyx sure did a number on the word trust recently. "You remember that crazy old woman, Mulgrew? Stupid question, she was hard to miss, blowing the Ouroboros to hell and spouting prophecies about dungeons and whatever the heck else." Lionel's cynicism seems forced; the words are harder to deliver. When next he speaks, he sounds more sincere.

"Yeah, well, she left behind that crazy crystal skull when she vanished into the whatever. And you'll no doubt recall I swooped up and fetched it immediately thereafter. Listen, Khitti can already tell, I'm sure, but I've been fixated on that thing more than maybe I ought to be. I know how it looks, and believe me, it scares me, too. But I met with Uma Abelin, and she told Hudson Landon and I there's a pretty damned good reason I feel the way I do. Mulgrew left us something that -- if we can find the rest of the special-edition set or something -- may hold the key to bringing back the witch, Valrae, who Macon burned in Larket. And we need her to strengthen Cenril's barrier again. It'll fall soon without her. Because of course it will. And I don't have to tell you what happens after that. So, listen, you two. Please." His eyes are pleading blue pools. "I don't know Mulgrew's game. I sure as heck won't trust her. And I'm scared she's got some kind of hold on me. But I trust Uma. And I trust Esche, too. And the both of them see Cenril's pending fall clear as day if we don't do this. So I need you, desperately, to stop me if I go off the deep end through all this. Because that skull has a way with me, and the woman who dropped it might, too. But we can't turn our backs on this. There's too much at stake."

Brand has pulled himself up proper in his chair at this talk of Mulgrew, skulls, and witches. He doesn’t -fully- understand, but then he’s been lucky enough so far not to encounter any objects more magically alluring than a good year’s brew. “I might know a thing or two about bein’ drawn to something that’s not any good for you. You go off the deep end, we’ll do our best to pull you back up.”

Khitti stopped in her path that led out the doorway and turned long enough to listen to both Lionel and Brand. She couldn’t help but smirk at Brand and snorted a bit, “You do. That’s how you got me. Also, there was that runestone too, but I guess that was more Dominic than you.” Technicalities. “The majority of that situation was not pleasant. Probably would’ve been better if it’d been you dealing with the stone instead of him.” She shrugged and then gave her attention to Lionel, “Look. You do what you need to do. Like Brand said, we’ll pull you back out. That’s why we’re here. And if we can’t do it? Well… I’ll just give you a few jabs with Tenbatsu Kaji in some non-lethal places. That’s sure to work.” Cue Khitti’s innocent grin. “Things will be fine. And if it’s not, then I’ll make it fine. I mean, really, who’s stupid enough to anger a pregnant redhead?” The two Catalians sitting in this room actually, but shh.