[ CLOSED ] Grief will have to wait.

[blackscales]

WHO: Wrathion & fellow travellers
WHEN: Travel Arc!
WHERE: Mistress Isakanami's inn.
WHAT: A multi-prompt travel arc extravaganza! Check here for planning something custom, or he has an end of Serthica network post here or an open inbox!
WARNINGS: None at opening




Wrathion is exhausted.

So much as he is pleased to leave Serthica, so much as he is relieved to have had results there the whole experience has left him drained. The concept, then, of having some reprieve before they launch into more lengthy travel is... appealing, to a point.

It does, he assumes, mean staying somewhere else -- and based on their previous accommodation this may not necessarily be... pleasant.

Although it would be nice if it was.

The journey is long, but being flown there is at least pleasant initially. Far better than hiking, a wagon, or having to ride another creature. Then the weather begins to cool further, and Wrathion senses that they will not be relaxing in a tropical climate.

Snow. Of course.

The Merchant, at least, appear to have selected somewhere with pleasant-seeming facilities. They are, naturally, housed with the staff and expected to perform some minor tasks...

Still. If this place is devoid of any major problems, it does have potential. A hot springs in the mountains brings back fond memories, of a far flung place long ago. Of a time when he was young, before he felt the bitter sting of consequence.

It is also, so far, blessedly free of hozen.

Comments

Anduin → Outdoor Hot Springs

[blackscales]

The snow is cold.

Wrathion is sat in the steaming water staring up at the sky, contemplating if it will begin falling again any time soon. For the moment, they seem safe -- for a given value of safe.

Especially given they have ghostly company.

He sighs, lifts a hand to rub water over his face. His hair is tied back in a messy bun, trying to keep it from trailing in the water. If he wants to avoid it tangling, he'll need to do something about it later.

"I'm told the water here has restorative properties," Wrathion begins. "Perhaps no match for your own when it comes to injury, but you'll have to let me know if it does anything for your more well established aches and pains."

Worth a try, surely. Perhaps a cumulative effect, over several days, might prove worthwhile?

Assuming the ghost stays... passive. He turns to look at it again, red eyes narrowing in thought.

"... The head is not reassuring," he adds finally. Was it decapitated here, in the hot springs? That hardly bodes well for the two of them having a peaceful time here. The ghost vanishes again and Wrathion flits his eyes back to Anduin, lofts an eyebrow. His body language is relaxed, but then again it usually is. He's not pleased to be haunted while soaking naked, but if they're not being attacked he can tolerate it.

[chosenbylight]

Anduin sinks back into the water beside his companion, leaning against the natural rock bed of the hot springs and feeling the heat of the water slowly settling through his skin and into his bones. He has attempted to tie his own hair up as well, looping his ponytail around itself in an attempt to keep it out of the water, but honestly he doesn't really care.

It takes him a moment to will his eyes open again and follow the direction of Wrathion's narrowed eyes. Settling for a moment on the headless visitor before he vanishes completely, turning back to raise his eyebrows at Wrathion in return. There is a part of him that is somewhat alarmed by its presence. At the idea they might be joined -- watched? -- by such beings. For the most part they seem harmless though and really, Anduin is too tired at this point to care. The water is warm, and it does feel wonderful on his aching body. He would much rather enjoy this time with Wrathion then spend it worrying about their surroundings.

"Well, I think we are safe for now. I doubt that the water was the cause of his demise," Anduin offers, helpfully.

[blackscales]

"They may have passed before the decapitation."

... Not, strictly, a cheerful thought but Wrathion cannot help himself. His mind is always whirring away, considering possibilities. This is, in fact, a possibility. Someone could be drowned in a hot springs and their head removed after.

He sinks down into the water a little further, trying to persuade himself to relax. Thinking about their headless visitor is not conducive to relaxation, as it turns out.

[chosenbylight]

No, it isn't exactly the direction that Anduin had intended for Wrathion to go with that thought, and his smile softens at his companion. He knows better than anyone perhaps how difficult Wrathion finds it to simply turn it off, at times. When has he ever really had time for rest before? When was there not some new threat on the horizon to research and prepare himself for? Anduin understands this well. But as a healer he also understands the strain that such a lifestyle demands. It cannot be maintained indefinitely, something has to give.

Reaching out he moves to rest a hand on Wrathion's arm, warm underneath the water, squeezing gently.

"I have heard," he says, gently, "that the water from these springs is rumored to be able to relieve tension as well."

[blackscales]

Wrathion's eyes flit sideways at the touch, warily skipping over Anduin then out over the water again.

To relieve tension.

His facial expression twitches, a faint tick of one muscle, then he sinks down another inch until his shoulders are completely submerged.

"Presumably the effect is not instant."

It isn't as if he wants to be on edge. Still, he can take a hint. Perhaps better to try and pack everything away, so that Anduin can at least relax himself. No need for Wrathion to drag them both down.

Eleven → Bathhouse, indoor blizzard-avoidance

[blackscales]

Given that the outdoor springs seem to have attracted a headless ghost, Wrathion is not especially bothered to be cut off from them by a blizzard. Ghosts, he supposes, can potentially come indoors if they choose -- but he's hoping this one prefers the more natural outdoor environment. A few minutes of peace and privacy would be welcome.

The snow renders the outside pure white, and even standing right by the large glass window he cannot make out much. The view is likely more impressive when it isn't entirely white, when you can make out trees and mountains and the structure of their surroundings. Staring blankly at white snow, however, is proving to be good for letting his mind drain out the rush of thoughts all competing for attention.

The soft sound of movement tells Wrathion his privacy isn't going to last.

Wrathion turns from the glass, arms folded over his still fastened robe, and studies Eleven. He thought he'd seen him again. Strange, that he's familiar and yet subtly different too. Was he the same, after he left then returned? His absence hadn't been as long, here, yet time had passed.

An interesting thought.

He blinks, once, then moves away from the window back towards the water.

"Don't mind me," he offers, moving to quickly begin tying his hair up out of the way. "I won't be in your way."

[bearshermark]

Eleven catches his glance, and feels the pull of dim recognition reflected in the man's eyes: another person he'd known before, though not well enough to name on sight. Neither did any particular memories surface. There's no undercurrent of ease however, and that's enough to be getting on with.

He dips his head in a nod, eyes cast politely to the floor as he edges toward the bath a respectable distance away. Eleven's hands come up to unwind his robe, hesitate, and reminds himself once more that his secrets no longer matter here. Still, the scarred starburst in the center of his chest betrays more than it should as he sheds his outer layers and sinks into the water up to his collarbone.

Heat crawls through him at once, almost suffocating in its intensity. Eleven hisses, muscles locking before they slowly begin to lax and adjust. He cuts a glance across the water to the other man and works to settle his breathing.

"We.. we knew each other- before."

[blackscales]

A interesting scar. Wrathion watches Eleven with all the casual curiosity of someone who has no particular shame about nudity, no modesty or concept of this being rude.

A much easier behaviour when you quite literally choose how you look.

"Yes," he agrees. "Perhaps not well, but we did. Difficult to avoid anyone entirely in this group."

He unties his robe, slides it off his shoulders and absently folds it to set aside. A towel is moved close to the edge beside it, then Wrathion moves to slide down into the water. The heat doesn't bother him, he doesn't even flinch as the water makes contact with his skin. If he'd been trying to affect human mannerisms, he supposes he should have, but no matter.

"You don't recall?" he prompts. It seems like he doesn't. Wrathion would like to think he is not so forgettable as a person, but their interactions were limited. Perhaps, in the grand scheme of things, he didn't stand out as much as he'd like to think.

[bearshermark]

Eleven glances off until the man has sunk into the water.

Goddess, immersing himself all at once for the sake of modesty likely hadn't been his best choice. His entire head and neck feel like they're suffused in a layer of sweat. The cold outside the glass windows looks entirely refreshing, rather than chilling.

He exhales a heated breath across the water. "Not specifically. It's feels like there's too much to remember, so it isn't all coming to me at once. But.. the longer I spend with people, the more seems to return to me. Your name will probably come to me in a little while."

[blackscales]

That does make sense. Especially if, potentially, much had happened for Eleven after he left. That is not necessarily required, of course. Wrathion knew for himself that the time that went by at home and then back here did not have to match. The beacons clearly could lash out to whatever point in the timeways they chose to. Still, he had quite the headache once he returned himself and tried to consolidate both sets of memories. To have his mind come to terms with knowing Anduin here and then losing those memories, then gaining them all back.

"The timelines corrected themselves," he infers, "and you forgot ever being here. Now that you have returned, you have... additional memories that will not quite fit."

Kamala → Ghostly Mischief

[blackscales]

The ghosts indoor are a minor irritation, but they are (so far) mostly no more than that. They do, also, appear to at least not be walking around carrying their own heads.

Unlike the one in the hot spring.

Its for that reason that Wrathion has continued to work indoors, despite his scissors occasionally moving on their own, his fabric bolts unfurling themselves all over the floor and on one occasion a blanket being thrown over his head.

Irritating, but harmless at least. He can endure if this is all that happens.

The shout he hears, however, implies that he is not the only victim. Wrathion glances to check his scissors have not moved (not this time) and then carefully secures his needle and thread. He opens the screen to his room slowly, glancing out into the hallway. It is, by his estimation, somewhere in the middle of the day. Nobody should be have trouble due to curfew at this time, but the shouting as it draws closer does have a note of distress to it. Perhaps they've picked a victim who is fighting back? Or someone has taken offence? Or perhaps they've escalated from moving objects.

Something moves past that Wrathion cannot... quite make out, and then when he glances back into the hall the figure of a young girl is rapidly following. He pushes to his feet, smoothing out his loose shirt and stepping over his sewing project.

"Trouble?"

It certainly seems that way.

[cosplayqueen]

Kamala tries to be cool about the haunting. Sure, she's understandably really freaked out by being surrounded by the dead. She can have an open mind or at least try to. If she happens to be extra clingy with her stuffed sloth, well, that's just a weird coincidence. Of course one of them thinks to steal it.

Cue Kamala running like her life depends on it after a stuffed animal. To her, that's very much the case. She's had that sloth since the first day of second grade. It was with her when she met her best friend. It survived so many tough times with at the superhero's side. She can't bear to lose this piece of home. "YES!" She screams in response without bothering to stop. "THEY STOLE MY BABY!"

[blackscales]

Her baby? Surely she is too young for that... He hadn't heard a baby was travelling with them? Is she referring to something else? The way he's seen people refer to small animals?

Either way, not good. He follows her into the hallway, not quite as fast as her full speed barrel because he's seen these ghosts move smaller items before and they have a sense of humour about it. They tend to change direction last minute, dangle things, and dart around.

"Put it down," he tells the ghost, slowing as they reach the door to the kitchens. Ah. Difficult to hold a full speed chase in a kitchen. Ghostly laughter answers, and Wrathion frowns in thought, beginning to back up a little. His best guess is it will do a little circle and shoot back out, but he cannot be sure.

[cosplayqueen]

The ghost is absolutely messing with her. It changes directions on a dime and darts around. Kamala is way too upset to follow the pattern the way she might have normally. Either way, she wipes out once they get in the kitchen because she hasn't slowed down this whole time. It's a chair that gets her.

Kamala falls to the ground with a loud thud. "Ow! Come on!" She hisses as she sits up enough to grab her knee. Kamala is just barely holding back the mildest of swears if only because she still expects her mom to turn the corner and let her have it. "We get it. You're smart, I'm dumb. Just give me my pillow back!"

[blackscales]

Pillow is a significant departure from baby. Quite the relief that whatever is being zoomed about is not alive, then. He listens to the sound of ghostly laughter, one eyebrow raised, and takes another slow step back to block the doorway out.

"No, now," he offers softly, "no need to antagonise the girl. Surely you've had your fun?"

The ghost darts towards the exist and Wrathion moves to block it, to try and grab the pillow. It reverses quickly, zooming back towards Kamala with her precious plush dangling beneath.

Marcos → Sewing With Ghosts

[blackscales]

Wrathion's patience is being tried.

He was already tired, something the shadows under his eyes don't hide, so a break would have been pleasant. This whole exercise had been an attempt at relaxing. Anduin had insisted he relax in the hot springs, and then there had been a ghost in them carrying around its own head. Instead, he'd tried sewing, and now the ghosts in here are trying to be funny. Unsuccessfully, in his opinion.

Across his lap, an expanse of fabric is laid wrong-side out, two pieces seemingly being fastened together with methodical, neat stitching. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, carefully tucking his needle under a stitch so he doesn't lose it and glancing over at where his scissors are slowly floating away upwards.

"Please put those down," he says. "They're quite sharp."

Gentle, ghostly laughter answers and the scissors travel through the open door of his room and out into the hall -- where a familiar figure is travelling. Wrathion lets out a tired sigh, gestures to the scissors floating out.

"If you don't mind?" he prompts. He could get up, but by the time he's unburied himself to go chasing after it they'll be further down the hall. That, and he's warm and tired. He, quite simply, doesn't want to get up.

so sorry for being late!

[soloritur]

The inn has more than a few quirks that Marcos has become aware of as time goes by. Even if the very physical presence of ghosts seems to be relatively harmless, he's witnessed people becoming possessed in the past week. Mostly to take over chores until someone snaps them out of it.

So when he hears laughter followed by scissors literally floating by him in the hall, he draws on the obvious assumptions. He'd almost wonder if it was Lorna behind it if he didn't turn to find Wrathion... sewing... in the next room. It's with a fair amount of hesitance that he snatches the scissors from the air, where they're released with minimal resistance, and enters.

"...No problem." All things considered, the ghosts could be compelling him to do worse, but it's worrying if he can't stop. Marcos approaches slowly with the scissors gripped at his side as he gives him a concerning look over.

"What are you up to there?"

No problem!

[blackscales]

"Making something warmer to wear."

Given the blizzard outside.

"I brought some bolts of fabric with me from Serthica, along with those scissors."

He holds out a hand for them, lofting an eyebrow warily at Marcos. His approach is... strange, slow, guarded. Almost as if he's any minute going to wield the scissors as a weapon.

"If you're wondering if I could make something, you need only ask."

Is it curiosity? Surely he is familiar with the concept of sewing, after all. What else could it be that is making him wary? Some particular objection to the fabric?

[soloritur]

The strange look on his face doesn't settle when Wrathion starts to explain. If there's some way to tell if someone is possessed he doesn't know it. He looks behind him, unsure if he should get a second opinion or roll with it. The idea that it might just be something he decided to do on his own seems more farfetched. Somehow he missed this side of him when they were roommates.

"No, I'm alright." Slowly, he gets closer and watches, like he's fascinated by the concept. "Is that a hobby of yours?"

[blackscales]

Of all the things he expected someone to be weird about, he didn't anticipate tailoring to be on the list.

Marcos appears to not be handing over the scissors for the moment, though, so Wrathion drops his hand back down and shoots him a mildly irritated frown.

"I consider it a practical skill more than a hobby. Do you have some objection?"

Really, he struggles to imagine exactly what the objection could be.

Illumination → judging the wedding party

[blackscales]

The... young ladies (and here, Wrathion thinks, the title of 'lady' could be termed loosely used) have already tried to draw Wrathion into their little games several times over. Drinking games that put a local spin on the classic style of taking dares or confessing truths, or simply attempting to trick people into drinking more via elaborate games.

He is decidedly not interested.

Wrathion has some warm, sweet alcohol of his own that he's nursing slowly in between writing notes in his book. The notes are not going as well as planned, thanks to the chaos. He sighs, frustrated, then glances up as he spots a figure passing by and pausing to watch the other group. The wedding party burst into another loud fit of high pitched giggles and he lofts an eyebrow.

"I'd be careful," he advises softly, "make eye contact and you'll be their next victim."

[noonlight]

Illumination doesn't bother to hide her distaste at the idea of joining a stranger's hen party. She looks away from them and moves to stand a little closer to Wrathion. "I'd like to think they wouldn't be so foolish, but if they're already on their way to tipsy, they just might."

Appalling.

"Still, I wish them all joy and happiness so long as they are quiet about it, far from here, and not wearing anything overly garish."

[blackscales]

"They are achieving none of the above, I'm afraid."

He gestures at his table openly, carefully closing his notebook and glancing back over at the party. His eyes narrow in distaste.

"Well past 'tipsy' too."

At least, by his terms. He lets out a slow breath, eyes moving back to Illumination. The horns are... interesting. The colouration leading Draenei but the rest of the features not quite matching that. Mixed heritage? Or something else entirely.

"Are you here with the party who arrived from Serthica, courtesy of the Merchant?"

Making it sound as casual as he can. He normally would have stopped at 'the Merchant's party', but apparently there's another one of those here. Does complicate matters when the man doesn't offer a name.

[noonlight]

"I am. A kindly woman named Karsa helped me find my way there." As she settles in at the table, she smiles for Wrathion - a small thing, but more honest than any vulgar flash of teeth.

"Illumination, of the line of Yufin-Yufafin, one of Qin's Get, if that means a thing here. I can offer other various titles or recite my ancestry, but if that doesn't spark some memory, I fear the rest won't do much good."

[blackscales]

"Not at all," he admits, and slides a small cup towards her. He pours out a measure of the warm, sweet alcohol. "In my experience, it's rarer to find someone familiar with your home and its charms than otherwise. You are recently arrived?"

He hasn't seen her before, but that doesn't mean much. In truth, he'd spent a great deal of time in Serthica split away from much of the group. She could have been here months and he may well have never seen her.