RP:Duality Hurts

From HollowWiki

Synopsis: Josleen runs into her friend and spiritual leader, Bation, at Kelay Tavern - the only trouble is that Bastion isn't himself. His pink eyes have been replaced with blue eyes, and his zen is completely gone. This blue-eyed Bastion is crass and common in demeanor. Blue-eyed Bastion explains the dual characters that inhabit the body, and that while the blue-eyed Bastion is aware of the pink-eyed, the pink is not aware of the blue. TJosleen is instructed to never tell the pink-eyed monk his true nature, in order to avoid severe consequences. Josleen agrees. The time has come for the crass Bastion to rest and release the peaceful monk; he does so through sleep. As Bastion sleeps, he fidgets and convulses. Josleen, concerned that her friend may be seizing, tries to restrain the monk and in the process makes contact with his arm. An explosion of pure Love and Fear afflict Josleen, simultaneously wounding and healing her physically, mentally, and spritually, and nearly killing her in the process. The blue-eyed monk awaks to find the bard broken, and carries her quickly to Yerrel to be healed, but this is no quick fix.

Note: This rp took place in February, 2014.

Kelay Tavern

Bastion woke up in bed at an inn. His head was killing him, and as quickly as he'd awoken, he regretted it. He put a hand to his throbbing forehead, and laid back down. "Uggh... that'll learn me to drink." What had happened last night? It was all a strange blur... blue eyes scanned the room for any clues. His mail and leathers were on the ground, and his sword and shield, his bags. Still missed his damn spear.


Josleen has arrived at Kelay Tavern this morning to substitute for a regular minstrel who is suffering from food poisoning. Some people in Hollow battle zombies or lycans or arcane curses, and others suffer infectious disease. On her way to Kelay this morning, Josleen came across a man selling meat on a skewer by the side of the road. I’d like to have seen any of you mortals resist those savory, salty, warm morsels on this wintery morning. It is highly unlikely anyone could have resisted those alluring kebabs, and therefore no one should laugh at Josleen for contracting the exact same food poisoning as the first minstrel. Greetings a forgone custom at this point, she zipped past the barkeep, mouth in hand, to the outhouse the begin stage one of disgorging the bad meat (violently). Back in the tavern, she procures a room to lay down and rest. In the haze of nausea, she mistakes the number 7 for the 1 and lo, she stumbles feebly into Bastion’s room and trips over his leathers. “Whoa!” She catches herself on a chest of drawers and snaps her attention to Bastion. Her expression quickly gives from outrage to affection. “Who the hell- Oh! Bastion! I thought you were long gone.” Her sickness dampens the spirits Bastion lifts. “Sorry for intruding on you like this. The gods must have destined it to be so, for you have been in my thoughts these past few month.” His groggy condition finally registers and she adds, “Did you have some of that street peddler’s meat? You look as bad as I feel.”


Valen would have more than likely had one of those tainted kebobs as well, but the disturbance he had felt the previous night had caused him to seek out the source of it. At about the time the female entered the male's room, a mist would be filing in through any cracks or openings, and would hover about the room like a thick pea soup. Glowing blue eyes would be seen in the dense fog, eyes that gazed now at the child. As the fog lifted, the Vampire would solidify as he looked around now and leaned back up against the wall, one leg crossed over the other. "No...He has not had any of the tainted food." He would say to the woman, not looking to her in the slightest though still odlly enough saw fit to converse with her. He was normally not a rude person, but his curiosity now had the better of him. "I know exactly what has happened to him...It is written all over his face and his features."


Bastion was watching the vampire, and Josleen as she entered. He did not recognize Josleen, and it showed in his blue, blue eyes. But he knew why she recognized him. "One thing at a time... ok." He seemed to be composing himself. "You know me. But a different me, my lady. There are two. The eyes tell the difference." When she'd met him, he'd had pink eyes. He looked to the vampire. "And I certainly don't know of what you speak. Moreover. Neither of you is ever to tell my other self of me. When I wear the pink eyes, you speak nothing of the eyes of blue. Understood?" Too many learning his secrets. He held his head in his hands. Gods... he felt like he'd lost blood, as well as gotten s*** faced. What had happened last night? There would be no bite marks on his neck, and no memories to hint at the vampire that had used him. Then again... "She brought me to this room... I think. She even paid for it. But why?" So far as he knew, they hadn't f***ed.


Creeping fog like thick pea soup? Josleen lets out a pathetic, petrified yelp at the sight of those glowing eyes. She swipes an unsharpened pencil from a desk and points it at Valen as he speaks to her, slowly lowering her ‘weapon’ as she realizes he doesn’t mean her or Bastion harm. Yes, Valen can materialize in such a way, but should he? Josleen really wishes that polite, socialized supernatural creatures would ponder this question from time to time to spare her her dignity. And now here she is with a bad case of the fantods, food poisoning, and an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. Unthinkingly, she inches closer to blue-eyed Bastion despite how thoroughly disappointing her is. This new Bastion is a bit more crass and a lot less inspiring than pink-eyed Bastion, but on the other hand he also doesn’t materialize from fog. Beggars can’t be choosers. Blue-eyed Bastion it is. Always quick to assume, Josleen wraps up the mystery of the woman with a succinct “Whores will do that to you.” She gives Valen the side eye and whispers to Bastion, “Did you pay? This could be her pimp.”


Valen would look at the child with a smirk on his face, eyes filled with malice, and yet at the same time a gentility that one would not expect from one of his kind. "Oh child...Trust me on this. Secrets, are my specialty. Now the question I have for you, is do you undestand just what has happened to you...? You are in quiote the predicament and I can sense things that mortals perhaps can not..." At Josleen's pencil pointing, he would simply let out a laughter that filled the room with his mirth. "Oh come now my dear...Surely I am not so fearsome, as to be threatened with the pencil of death?" He raised his hands in a show of peace. "I come not to harm anyone...On this...I promise." Her next words though had a cocked eyebrow forming, his elven ears normally with great hearing...and his vampirism compounding upon that. "....Pimp? Madame...I have a husband..." There was a pout from his lips, but there was also a playful glint in his eyes. Perhaps one day in the past he may have desired to have that profession...But now, he was simply content.


Bastion only then seemed to recognize what he was seeing in Valen. He'd seen dark magic before, he'd even been through Vailkrin. He narrowed his eyes. The woman at least seemed to recognize him, but the man... he shook his head, holding it. It hurt so much! "His pimp?" He chuckled at that. The woman had a sense of humor at least. "I'm sorry if I disappoint you, I know the other me tends to be quite the charmer. " Unlike him, this Bastion was far and more a pragmatist. "She paid for my drinks actually, and I assume the room as well." Well, he was pretty, in a rather feminine way. In fact, he was gorgeous, but he had the air of one who didn't think much of it. "It's a good thing my counterpart didn't awaken. He doesn't do well in the face of dark magic." A soft, gentle sort, that Bastion. He looked over to Valen, waving him off. "I'm not interested in your f***mothering hocus pocus, and you stay the hell away from other me especially, you... un-mortal thing. Whatever you are." Not too knowledgeable about vampires. "What happened was, I drank too much, and it was irresponsible of me. I'm sharing a body with someone of much gentler disposition." He grumbled more to himself, "He deserves better..." showing what guilt he felt. He'd look back to Josleen. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, then. And please, tell me, how do you know Bastion? I'd like to know what he's been up to."


Josleen purses her lips at Valen’s condescension and returns it in kind. “Spooky fog and glowing eyes would normally inspire fear, yes.” A moment ago she was terrified, and now she is daring to spread a little sass. Valen isn’t the first polite spook she’s ever met. At the mention of a husband, Josleen’s eyes widen with the visible effort of letting Valen know she is alright with that - whatever that means. “Oh a husband! That’s so great. I think it’s so great that that happens. I’m really happy for you.” She smiles far too wide in ostentatious show of her ally status to the gays. She truly means well, at least. Then Bastion commands her attention again. He is beautiful, but also very young. His youth keeps her attraction in check. “...I don’t quite understand how you two have come to inhabit the same body, but I have had some experience with this before.” Hisss, Tyler, Josleen’s arch rival of sorts. “I… I don’t mean to be rude, but my loyalty is to the -other- Bastion. I’ll not speak of him without his consent. Surely you can understand my hesitation?” She would not fail her teenage guru! In Josleen’s esteem, pink-eyed Bastion can do no wrong. He is without sin, never falters, and is always in complete control of himself. The least she can do is treat him with the respect that commands. “Though I may be more inclined to speak if I understood the nature of this split occupation of his body. Why is this happening and will pink-eyed Bastion ever return?”


Bastion whispered to you, "He and I are one in the same. But he cannot know of me. It will end him."


Valen listened to the boy with a stone-faced expression. Well...that was that it seemed. Granted yes he had intruded purposfully upon this room, so a little unkindness was due but that? No. There was no excuse to the vampire. "Seeing as this is your room, I will of course leave and stay away from you. But not before telling you what happened to yourself. Being what I am...I have seen a few things. You are exhibiting the normal symptoms of blood loss...Most likely, from a Vampire other than myself. That is all I can offer, and all that will be said." As he turned he heard Josleen express her happiness, and offers her a genuine smile and even a soft bow "I appreciate the sentiments my lady. Mythayus and I, for the most part are happy as well....But, it seems you and the..." He glares at the boy now "pre-pubescent brat..." He returns his gaze back to Josleen "have things to talk about in private. I apologize for alarming you Miss, and would like to offer you a drink later when you are not busy. Now, if you will excuse me..." Rather than change into the mist again, he simply walks out the room door...and closes the door with a wave of his hand, not touching the moveable barrier as it closed behind him.


Valen exits south.


Bastion watched the Vampire depart without any love in his eyes. "What a dick." He turned his attention back to Josleen. "Such as it is, I will deal with it. But the other me -is- me, only in a different persona. It's a result of great trauma from youth, and only one of us ever realized that the other existed. I've spoken long with the monks of it. Bastion has certain things he cannot cope with. I have my own, I'm sure, but I do not know them anymore than Bastion knows his demons." They were both Bastion, one and the same. "And the time isn't right for him to know of me, to know of himself. He's not ready to face it. It could hurt him, and I don't want to see him hurt." Sharing a body meant that he needed to be especially careful of such.


Josleen shrugs at Bastion’s assessment of Valen as a dick. “He’s not so bad for a vampire. They’re all pompous - no getting past that. But beyond that native imperiousness, he’s not too bad. Also, you should probably be more concerned about a vampire attack. Though I suppose there is no use crying over spilled blood when it seems you got off luck - you aren’t dead, maimed, or turned.” She pulls up a chair as Bastion explains this cleaved personality. “The other Bastion seems so carefree. I cannot imagine what his demons could be. Indeed, I am fond of him because he helped me through some troubled times of my own. If it isn’t too rude of me to ask, what was the great trauma?”


Bastion looked at her a moment, then shook his head. "It's not something I want to revisit, actually. And it's almost his time to come. If you don't mind, could you get my bags over there?" He'd motion to them, asking her to bring them. "I need to change. If you plan to stick around, tell him he hit his head. Again."


Josleen casts a glance quizzically off to the side. “Uh...His time to come? How does that work?” She does as bid and reaches for the bag. She appraises his outfit and compares it to pink-Bastion’s usual attire. “How long has this split personality been going on?”


Bastion wore black boiled leathers and black mithril chain, and had a short sword and a small shield... the other bastion wore only his brown peasant robes, and the kama he used to harvest crops with. "Yeah... and put my stuff in there. It'll fit, it's a bag of holding. And I'm not entirely sure. I just sort of feel it when he's waking up. We take turns, usually for a few days at a time. It varies." He'd pull on the robes once they were in reach, unlacing and tugging off his leather pants without a hint of modesty. "It can even just suddenly... happen. That's only happened once, though. Years ago. Made for quite a confusing day." He would go quiet after that, leaning his head back on the pillow.


Josleen gets up and starts hiding all of blue-Bastion’s stuff in the magical bag. “Should I pull out and place any of the other Bastion’s stuff? Set the right tableau?” Why is she doing this -for pink-Bastion? Probably. On the other side of the wall, another woman, who is also the third victim of the kebabs, can be heard retching. “Should I-” She glances up just as the teen is undressing, burns bright red, and gags into her palm. Is it food poisoning, a reaction to the sounds of another retching, a visceral reaction to his immodesty, or an aversion to the peen? We’ll never know. “BASTION!” she chastises, indignant and horrified. She’s not one of -those- women! “A little warning, please!” She glances towards the open door, reassured by the fact it is open to spectators. Having it closed would simply not do for a lady like Josleen.


Bastion didn't give a lick who watched and who didn't, but he'd quirk a brow at her reaction. "What, never seen one before? You look old enough." Then he was laying down again. "Don't worry about it. He won't see it. He doesn't want to." And it was true. He'd touched it, seen it a thousand times if once, and still could not say it was there if asked. And then, he was quiet again... and a few moments later, he was grumbling as he sat up, rubbing his head. "Good... how did I get this headache? And here... and... he looked over at Josleen. "Ah. It is good to see you again, Josleen. I'd thought I might never see you again after I returned to accept my vows." His eyes were pink, and a gentle smile belied a gentle nature that used only gentle words. "It is wonderful to see you. Would you happen to know how I got here?"


Josleen huffs “The only one I am interested in seeing is my husband’s, thank you very much.” Her left ring finger lacks a wedding band. Then Bastion falls silent and Josleen does as well until eyelids flutter open to reveal a pink iris. Despite knowing the color change was coming, to have it actually happen sends Josleen’s spine shuddering. Suddenly Bastion’s gentle nature which brought Josleen so much peace in the past is underpinned by a creepiness. This isn’t right. It isn’t normal. Her smile is conflicted. “As it is wonderful to see you! As for how you got here, I have no idea. I was feeling a little sick, confused this room for my own, and found you. I thought you were running a fever, but my vision may have just been bleary from my own nausea. Do not eat the kebabs being sold by the bearded man on the street.” A fourth victim runs down the hall to the lone unoccupied room flanking Bastion’s room, and soon vomiting can be heard.


Bastion watched as that other person ran by. "I see... That is quite disturbing. Someone should warn him his wares are bad. Better yet, someone should warn his customers..." He looked back to Josleen after a moment. "Ah, something troubles you. Tell me Josleen, what is on your mind?" His smile is clear and bright, as though he didn't have a care in the world. His bags are open, and the black mail can be seen within, yet he does not seem to notice it.


Josleen‘s stomach grumbles in agreement that warnings should be cried by the most powerful set of lungs in Kelay. “Oh there are a great many things on my mind, though I am in general happier than I was when we last met. I have you to thank for that.” Her gaze drops slowly from his to the black mail, coaxing his gaze to follow hers. “Do you know to whom that belongs?” Her chin jerks indicatively to the mail.


Bastion would follow her gaze, to look at his bags, and the mail within. "Ah, those are my bags. Small things, but I don't carry much with me." More than he might think. "I'm quite glad to hear that you are better, though. I must admit to some pride at hearing I have been a part of that. Truly, it makes me glad." He was looking around, now. "I have quite a headache... I feel as though perhaps I should rest a while longer, while I'm here. Hmm." He breathed slowly, practicing his meditations as he sat there.


Josleen plays with the idea to remove the items from the bag, but in the end thinks better of it. “Should I send for some restorative herbal tea for the headache? It’s the least I can do to repay you for all you’ve done for me.” Pause. “I could use some as well for my stomach, actually.” If allowed, she’ll turn this into a gentle tea-time with some gentle interrogation. This dual (is it just dual?) personality isn’t really any of her business, but the bard has a way in inserting herself in other’s affairs.


Bastion closes his eyes, as his face lights up in that gentle smile that defines the youth. "Ah, tea sounds excellent. I'd be very much appreciative of a cup. I am also very glad to hear that I've been able to give you aid. It is always encouraging to know I've been able to make a difference in somebodies life."


Josleen smiles simply to hide just how creeped out she is by this whole affair. “I’ll be right back.” She leaves Bastion briefly to place an order at the bar for two types of teas - one for his head, one for her nausea - and asks that ancy bring them to room 7. Upon her return she lingers just outside Bastion’s door frame for a stretched, tense moment. The wall obscures her body from sight, but her shadow cast upon the hallway floor betrays her position to Bastion, unbeknownst to Josleen. The shadow’s arm braces the shadow’s downcast head, and seconds later it morphs abruptly from forlorn to jovial and turns into the room, followed by a chipper, always pleasant, always smiling Josleen. “Nancy will be up soon with our tea!” She practically sings. “So! You mentioned returning somewhere to accept your vows? What vows, exactly?” She drops back into the chair, her posture perfect and unbroken by whatever broke her shadow moments ago.


Bastion watched the transformation, but he hadn't needed to see it. He knew she was acting... well and so, she was a good actress. He smiled on anyway, as she asked her questions. "I went home, to the monastery of the Sun Rose. I took my vows of celibacy, poverty, and dedication to the common folk of the world. That is the gist of it, at least. I am officially a monk of the Sun Rose, now." The sunflower, it was called by most. A common, but still beautiful flower. And what of you, Josleen? My tale is a trifle boring, I'm afraid. I walked there, and back again, with little to tell of in between. I'd much rather hear of your exploits."


Josleen takes far too long to figure out that a sun rose is a sunflower, but she does eventually get it. “I’ve not taken any vows, and I suppose I’ve had my ups and downs. Thanks to your wisdom, I am now reunited with my greatest love.” She goes on to tell him, without naming names, of a fractured friendship with a woman she regards to be her sister, and of a hero whom she is fond of who has fallen on hard times and paralysis. She tells him of what she saw in Frostmaw as a volunteer nurse during the war, and explains with pride that she was in Frostmaw to begin with because her boyfriend is an engineer who designed a clever rapid-fire catapult for the city. Also, she explains her boyfriend lost his arm before Bastion and Josleen ever met, and the couple has recently completed constructing a functioning prosthetic arm. Each story is told with flair and intrigue, and her word choices hint at her biases in each story. She feels blameless in the dissolution of her friendship, and has trouble using the word ‘boyfriend’ because she would much rather say ‘husband.’ In fact, to blue-eyed Bastion, she did use the word husband, but to the pink-eyed twin, the bard can’t bring herself to lie about this fact. Although she doesn’t say so blatantly, Bastion may get the sense that Josleen has not worked in a long time. “And now I just want to live a bit more simply.” Nancy arrives with the tea and serves them each their brew, leaving behind a hot kettle for refills. Josleen pays for both of them. Once Nancy has left, Josleen turns the focus on the conversation back on Bastion. “How did you come to be a monk?”


Bastion would find himself fascinated by her tales. Of friendship and love, of heroism and intrigue, of great challenges and equally great triumphs. He's smiling more and more by the time she finishes the telling. He's almost disappointed when the conversation swings back around to him. "I was raised in the monastery, and found that the teachings of the monks sang true to me. I learned their ways, and decided long ago that that was the way I wished to live. As for the actual ceremony, well. I was allowed my vows because I'd seen somewhat of the world. It means that I am a monk... so my training can begin." All of this, and he'd never even begun their training. "The grandmaster gave me a pair of handwraps, and a scroll to study, and sent me back out. I refine my martial arts, and he tells me that when I've defeated a foe far fiercer than myself, I may return. I honestly don't understand the test. The sun rose teaches peace, not the pursuit of power. Perhaps he wants me to conquer my fear, but if so, I fear this is a terrible way to pursue such a goal."


Josleen grins at Bastion’s ponderance of the significance of this challenge. “Now I am no expert on monk-business, but I’ve read enough tales with monks in them to know that in monk-driven, conquering fears and inner demons is a common trope.” Storybooks inform far too much of Josleen’s life. “So, what do you fear?” She sips her tea and is reminded of the food poisoning. A deep-bowel cramp brings a soft grimace to her face. Damn kebab vendors.


Bastion pondered that a moment. "Much. There is much to fear. Lycans, dragons. Many and common are those fell foes that can end my life on a whim. I'm afraid of dying, and find it very likely to happen in these lands. From what I hear, more of these lands are ruled by vastly powerful undead than aught else. And... there is nothing I fear more than the undead." That last sentence was almost a whisper, something he admitted to very few, so pronounced was that fear. Vampires, zombies, liches, ghosts.... they terrified him so much, he had unending nightmares of them. And he couldn't say why, why it was the undead in particular that so filled him with palpable dread.


Josleen nods along with his list of life-ending beasts and supernatural beings. A fragile creature herself, Josleen knows this awareness far too acutely. She lives with the constant understanding that she is prey, not predator. When it comes to the victims of crimes and mythical atrocities, she ticks a lot of the boxes on the demographic checklist for victims. “I know what you mean.” Understatement. She lives what he means. ‘Though in my experience, the undead, particularly vampires, have varied personalities and moral compasses. I am not sure why this is. Perhaps of all the undead species, the vampire retains the most humanity. This doesn’t make me fond of them, but… Hm. I wonder if your test is to forge an everlasting friendship with a vampire?” She wags her brows and pokes out her tongue briefly; clearly she is teasing.


Bastion chuckles at that. "Hardly likely. I'm afraid I'd be much too prejudiced to give even a good hearted vampire a meaningful relationship. Moreover, I was taught that the undead are soulless, and that their souls suffer while they exist. To let them be then becomes an atrocity. It means you're letting a soul suffer." He didn't meet her eyes when he spoke of that. It disturbed him deeply, more so than his fear of his own mortality... that he was allowing, perhaps even enabling the untold suffering of others through his own inaction.


Josleen shrugs slowly. “I don’t know enough about souls and what causes them to suffer or not to dispute that. I would come at that conundrum from another angle. Do the undead have agency? Take for example a good-hearted vampire that does not kill or turn others. Now now, bare with me for the sake of this thought experiment. So, we have as a given a non-harming, good vampire. Does this vampire have agency over its own existence? If so, if they choose to live that way, and even enjoy it, and they do not bring suffering to others, what right does anyone have to end them for the sake of a soul they do not wish to rescue?”


Bastion shook his head. "You are right. I cannot conclude of a surety that anything suffers for their existence, anyway. It is not my place to judge, especially of things I do not understand. I thank you for helping me see this wisdom." He bowed his head to her, as a gesture of respect, student to teacher. "The ways of the Sun Rose demand temperance. I fill my head with 'what if's', and forget what it is I am striving to learn. Perhaps my challenge isn't even so much about facing my fears as it is about finding resolution, and coming to terms with what I am, and what I wish to be. A monk of the Sun Rose must be prepared to rise up and defend the defenseless. I must become strong, if I wish to carry on such an ideal."


Josleen blinks as Bastion accepts her counter-argument. It flatters her, but the temporary role-reversal catches her by surprise. It shouldn’t though; her mage father enjoyed such critical thought, philosophical discussions, and the like and taught his daughter how to do the same. “Coming to terms with what you are?” She reflects on the phrase. Has she come to terms with who she is? “… And what are you and why is it unresolved?”


Bastion smiled. "I am mortal. I am weak, and possessed of a mysticism I do not understand, for a purpose I do not know. My fear restrains me from my goal, of becoming strong, that I may defend the weak, wise, that I may give learning and wisdom to those who need guidance. Wisdom is born from folly, and I've had my great follies to learn from. I wish to be a monk of the Sun Rose. I cannot let my heart be clouded with doubt, and uncertainty." He smiled, then. "I do so enjoy speaking with you, Josleen. Ah, this is a good tea. Thank you." He'd drained his cup, and felt much better for it.


Josleen pulls her lips to one side in thought as she refills Bastion’s cup. “I think most people fear failure. That’s what your trepidation sounds like to me. You know, I think you and my Ezekiel would benefit from meeting. He’s come a long way in terms of growth. He is a stronger man now than when I first met him. And he could learn much from you - primarily patience, I suppose.” She pauses thoughtfully, making of show of being thoughtful despite knowing full well what topic she will dare tread on next. “What’s been your biggest trial to date? The biggest accident, trauma, folly, or whatever it is?”


Bastion smiled, and remained silent. The boy seemingly couldn't lie. He looked into his teacup, for a few long moments, before looking back up at Josleen. When he looked back at her, his eyes were closed. Tears streamed down his face, yet he remained utterly silent, and didn't stop smiling that gentle smile.


Creepy crying smile is creepy. This entire morning is creepy. Creepy blue-eyed, Bastion, and creepy mist vampire. And yet, Josleen doesn’t flee from the room. Something in her gut tells her she is safe, and instead of leaning away from Bastion, she leans in towards him. “Oh Bastion, I’m sorry if I hit a sore spot. Though…” Her voice issues forth softly and slowly, like a soothing balm. “This is likely it. This is the thing you need to overcome. You can talk about the undead, and the fear of failure, and mortality with relative calm, but when you so much as think of this, whatever this is, you can’t speak or hold back tears. This is the challenge.”


Bastion didn't hear her. He might have been asleep, but for that he still held that cup in a perfectly steady hand. There was a dripping sound. Blood stained the sheet, where it dripped from his ear. His brain was hemorrhaging. Moreover, one of the tears that slid down his cheek was a bloody red as well. Other than that, he simply sat there, as though a statue.


Josleen doesn’t immediately notice the bloodstain, but when she does… [insert most interesting man meme] … she screams so shrilly she threatens to add ear damage to Bastion’s list of ailments. “HELP! HE’S HAVING A STROKE!” assumes the definitely-not-a-doctor hypochondriac. What is she supposed to do? This is beyond her basic training in Frostmaw as a volunteer nurse. Her shouting attracts a neighboring guest who comes to the room, quickly assesses the situation, then announces he will go find a doctor as he speeds down the hall. How long will that take? Josleen needs guidance, and normally Bastion would be in a position to give her that guidance, but today has so far not been a day where the monk leads the bard. Slowly an idea dawns on Josleen. Flesh-to-flesh contact with Bastion proved holistic to her when she needed aid. Perhaps it has a reverse, beneficial effect on Bastion as well. With few other options, she braves the unknown and takes Bastion’s bare hand with the hope that something good will come of this.


Bastion was insensate, and as always when insensate, his two personalities came as close as they could to merging. His mind wracked itself violently, in denial of some monstrous pain, and magic sparked within him. Black wings burst from his back like a harbinger of some ill tidings, fanning out to blot out half the room with their size. Black feather's fell from them, as Bastion's eyes opened, crying blood. One pink, and one blue, and his hands would shoot out to grasp hers as she reached for him, singing a song to her very soul as they did so. The left hand a song of peace, of rejuvenation and vigor and tranquility... positive energy. His right, Calamity, a song of courage, of rage and insanity and death... negative energy. Through here these energies would course, the negative energy tearing her flesh asunder even as the positive healed her, step for step, as blissful as it was painful. She would know calmness, boldness.... if he held on longer, she'd draw ever closer to Rapture, to that state of serenity and knowledge in ones own invincibility. This process was the death of a phoenix, a hundred times in an instant... death, and rebirth, again, and again. It was wondrous, it was terrifying, it was an enigma.


Josleen lets out a deep, haunting howl that’s two parts pain and one part awe. The sensory overload throttles her petite body violently, and she tries to wrest her hands free from both pain and blinding beauty. She doesn’t want the first, and isn’t ready for the second. As she struggles, she understands; as she resists, she suffers. She bleeds onto him in sporadic bursts as wounds erupt like volcanoes across her body, then reknit quickly with threads of of fresh, pink flesh. In her mind, repressed horrors, insecurities, doubts, and anxiety battle with wisdom, confidence, and contentment. Their mixed blood lubricates her freedom, and when she is free she careens towards the corner, where she tucks into the fetal position and wails. Terrorized by both the grisly torture and overpoweringly enlightened, she’s quickly reduced to being a shell of what she was moments ago. There was no rapture here. Her body is a patchwork of lesions and picture-perfect health. It’s difficult to assess what damage is yet sustained internally - both physically and mentally, to speak nothing of the soul.


Bastion finally awoke, but as the blue eyed boy, not the pink eyed one that hid away. He looked to Josleen, baffled at what he saw. His wings were gone, and both eyes were blue. He touched the wetness on his cheek, and it came away with blood. His ear as well. "What the... hell..." He'd scramble backward, falling off the bed, and look over to Josleen. He'd rush over to her, stopping only to cover his right hand with a glove from his bags first. "Hey, hey... speak to me... come on, come on, gods damnit... what the hell happened?" His tone was desperate, as he could only assume that whatever had stricken this poor girl was his fault.


Josleen is a grisly sight. Part of her scalp remains disintegrated, one brow is sparse, half her lips are burned, her right jaw is caved in, her left elbow bends the wrong way, her entire right leg is striped in a spiral of cuts like a macabre candy cane. All of this adorned in the charred and tattered remains of her quaint, floral dress, black tights, and ultra-girly boots. She’s the horror movie’s prop doll that lets you know everything will not be alright. She needs a healer of powerful means, a prayer, and possibly a therapist. What did you do to her, Bastion(s)? Whimpering, cowering, she doesn’t even acknowledge his touch.


Bastion knew she needed a healer, one well and beyond anything he could achieve. He wasn't going to leave her there. He'd change quickly, taking off the robes and throwing on his boiled leathers and mithril and belting his weapons in under a minute with practiced ease. Then, he placed one arm under her legs, and one under her back, scooping her up like a babe. He knew where the Kelay healer was, who would be powerful to handle her physical wounds, and right now that would serve. Without a horse, he'd carry her the whole way there if need be. He swiftly carried her out the door, and ran with her clutched tightly in his arms towards the healer.


Josleen is to out of sorts to be much help or hindrance to his mission. She truly is just a prop in this moment. The experience was dehumanizing. Outside there is no available horse, only tainted-kebab selling drunken fools. Time to hoof it, and not with actual hooves. Bastion gets to enjoy the pleasure of carrying a badly beaten and unresponsive young woman through the populated streets of Kelay while others look on, make note of his face, and jump to conclusions, accusing and judging within the span of a second. Thankfully there are no would be heroes in today’s crowd and Bastion makes it to the healer with his charge. Yerrel has seen it all, but sights like this still stop him in his tracks. He simply gasps at first, unsure of even where to start, but start he does. Her labored breath is a sign of lung damage, and one iris is unresponsive to light. The circulation is one foot is poor. Most of her digestive system feels surprisingly fine (aside from food poisoning problems). But Kelay is the site of many injuries, both natural and mystical, and Yerrel does not seem daunted by this task - just depressed, always depressed. He demands an explanation from Bastion of what happened, and there is an edge of accusation in his tone.