Licyn Mansbane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bravelyrunsaway) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
westwhere2023-02-18 11:38 pm
bravelyrunsaway) wrote in westwhere2023-02-18 11:38 pm
Entry tags:
(closed) there's a wolf inside these woods
WHO: Licyn Mansbane & Kamala Khan
WHEN: During part two of the Alem arc!
WHERE: In the fortress, one of the out of the way places people are shuffled to sleep in.
WHAT: Licyn, with his Paladin haunting, is on a mission to comb a daughter's hair. Lacking a daughter, and with the Paladin's daughter evacuated, he seeks Kamala for her help sending this tagalong to peace.
WARNINGS: Maybe some maudlin thinking because of the Paladin and the loss of a child but in a good way, since the child lives on.
Licyn raked his fingers through his hair, the queue for once undone without a purpose beyond the fact he wanted his hands occupied. The spirit, the haunt, clinging to him fusses and presses, a loud annoyance in his estimate with its—her—overwhelming emotions, and the lingering need that'd free him from her presence.
There's not a paternal bone in his body. He has a certain strong regard for children, and the young; he knows it's such a deep part of himself, even if he refuses to examine the guilt out of his own childhood that haunts him as surely as the Paladin, nameless to him, does. He knows of the younger members of their group, the cavalcade of better adults who handle them, with Five Hargreeves the impractical, poorly socialised, constantly suspicious young man he'd worked side by side with mostly to his own benefit.
Five was the only one to hire him on contract. Even to guard papers from children. Ludicrous contracts were still contracts, and it was one of the easiest ones he's ever verbally signed on for.
Five won't work for this need, and even if he'd had the locks to make for a proper braiding, Licyn isn't sure he has the patience. His own head an echochamber of emotions and regrets not his own, he pulls his own hair back into a queue again as he cuts through the crumbling halls, past the tired people who smell so wholly of this place, searching out members who smell like... them. The collection of scents and faces he associates with their group, even when he doesn't seek them all out. Perhaps especially because he doesn't, lingering on fringes or with the well established adults he can flirt with to the exact expectation of no results he prefers. Or a pleasant entanglement with no strings attaching after, demanding of him what he's never managed for even himself in his life.
Young people are a whole different concern. When he does come across perhaps their youngest member of the group, he pauses, first two fingers of his right hand rubbing a circle against his temple. Do shut up, he thinks at the spirit, who feels grossly regretful and maternal back at him, his stomach turning at the intensity of a love he doesn't want to understand, and the grief he already knows, and denies.
Hand dropping away from his temple, he cuts toward Kamala, smiling with simple ease and waving his fingers her way.
"Hello. Miss Kamala? Do I have that right?" He listens more than he wants anyone to realise, but he smiles and looks about the bumbling fool he feels like in the moment. "I'm Licyn," he says, opting to skip over his self-granted surname from when he couldn't have been much more than her age, "And I'm in a bit of a situation. Would you grant me some of your time to explain what it is, love, see if you're willing to help?"
The spectre of the Paladin within him flares bright and oppressive, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, against the strength of her determination. Comfort brush calm quite the braiding the braiding my daughter my daughter goodbye I love you no no no NO NO NO dark and curling and curling and dark and the braiding braids it braids and peace the peace one hundred strokes my daughter my daughter the peace—
WHEN: During part two of the Alem arc!
WHERE: In the fortress, one of the out of the way places people are shuffled to sleep in.
WHAT: Licyn, with his Paladin haunting, is on a mission to comb a daughter's hair. Lacking a daughter, and with the Paladin's daughter evacuated, he seeks Kamala for her help sending this tagalong to peace.
WARNINGS: Maybe some maudlin thinking because of the Paladin and the loss of a child but in a good way, since the child lives on.
Licyn raked his fingers through his hair, the queue for once undone without a purpose beyond the fact he wanted his hands occupied. The spirit, the haunt, clinging to him fusses and presses, a loud annoyance in his estimate with its—her—overwhelming emotions, and the lingering need that'd free him from her presence.
There's not a paternal bone in his body. He has a certain strong regard for children, and the young; he knows it's such a deep part of himself, even if he refuses to examine the guilt out of his own childhood that haunts him as surely as the Paladin, nameless to him, does. He knows of the younger members of their group, the cavalcade of better adults who handle them, with Five Hargreeves the impractical, poorly socialised, constantly suspicious young man he'd worked side by side with mostly to his own benefit.
Five was the only one to hire him on contract. Even to guard papers from children. Ludicrous contracts were still contracts, and it was one of the easiest ones he's ever verbally signed on for.
Five won't work for this need, and even if he'd had the locks to make for a proper braiding, Licyn isn't sure he has the patience. His own head an echochamber of emotions and regrets not his own, he pulls his own hair back into a queue again as he cuts through the crumbling halls, past the tired people who smell so wholly of this place, searching out members who smell like... them. The collection of scents and faces he associates with their group, even when he doesn't seek them all out. Perhaps especially because he doesn't, lingering on fringes or with the well established adults he can flirt with to the exact expectation of no results he prefers. Or a pleasant entanglement with no strings attaching after, demanding of him what he's never managed for even himself in his life.
Young people are a whole different concern. When he does come across perhaps their youngest member of the group, he pauses, first two fingers of his right hand rubbing a circle against his temple. Do shut up, he thinks at the spirit, who feels grossly regretful and maternal back at him, his stomach turning at the intensity of a love he doesn't want to understand, and the grief he already knows, and denies.
Hand dropping away from his temple, he cuts toward Kamala, smiling with simple ease and waving his fingers her way.
"Hello. Miss Kamala? Do I have that right?" He listens more than he wants anyone to realise, but he smiles and looks about the bumbling fool he feels like in the moment. "I'm Licyn," he says, opting to skip over his self-granted surname from when he couldn't have been much more than her age, "And I'm in a bit of a situation. Would you grant me some of your time to explain what it is, love, see if you're willing to help?"
The spectre of the Paladin within him flares bright and oppressive, and his eyes crinkle at the corners, against the strength of her determination. Comfort brush calm quite the braiding the braiding my daughter my daughter goodbye I love you no no no NO NO NO dark and curling and curling and dark and the braiding braids it braids and peace the peace one hundred strokes my daughter my daughter the peace—
no subject
Right now she turns to the man with a smile because he did get her name right. Kamala doesn't know him, but that isn't surprising. Her mind goes a mile a minute. She's more familiar with network names and posts than the people they're attached to.
"Hey, Licyn! It's cool to meet you." She's chipper despite being asked a favor because she loves to help. It's especially easy with this group since from day one everyone has been great to her. She moves to close the distance between them. "I've got your back! What do you need? My specialties are eating, drawing, and random Avengers facts."
no subject
"I'm currently a touch... more than a little... possessed." Pitching his voice low, too aware of how other ears from the locals won't take well to that, even when the one possessing was a local until recently. "By what I suspect is one of the paladin's who hasn't survived the events here."
He doesn't suspect, he's searing sure. Lifting his shoulders in a small, helpless shrug, he turns his hands palm up, apologetic.
"Unresolved something or another, but she, and I think it was a she, misses her daughter, or very long haired son, who I get the sense was sent ahead in an earlier evacuation caravan." Here he pauses again, shaking his head, looking as sheepish as he feels at what comes next. "She wants to brush someone's hair. I think braid it, too? She's not really sensible, it's strong feelings. I can say I've never had an intense desire to make sure someone's hair was properly brushed out before, but she has. Currently is."
no subject
The story he tells breaks her heart thoroughly. She can't put herself in their shoes. Kamala can imagine this is how her beloved mother would feel in this situation. She knows this is how Aisha felt dying in a train station. She only thought of her daughter too.
"Moms are like that." Kamala confirms with a sad smile. She rocks on the balls of her feet, determined not to let things get too sad. "You're welcome to brush and braid my hair. I'd be honored actually." She claps her hands together cheerfully. "It's been a while since my mom could do it so you're actually doing me a big favor." She hopes that's enough to sell it. The least she can do is make this easier for whoever this person is.
no subject
Ironic to him, who had only ever felt guilt for having survived a lifetime ago.
Interpreting the emotions of someone reduced to obsessive impulses instead of the depth and breadth of the living is a disconcerting prospect. There's no scent, no body language, only the intrusive thoughts and emotions shaped poorly for his brain. It made it easier to track, and he smiled, a touch wry, executing an elaborate but sincere in essence now to his young benefactor.
"The honour is ours, Miss Kamala." No comment about mothers. He distinctly feels unqualified to speak on it, and hijacked as he might be, willingly in it's contrived reality, it doesn't grant him parental insight. "I'm afraid all I have myself is a comb, love, do you have a better brush you'd prefer we use?"
no subject
Kamala digs through it for a minute before retrieving the appropriate comb and some hair ties. "And here we go! I guess we just need a comfy spot now?"
no subject
"I trouble you to find the most comfortable for your seating! As, alas, I'm not the one who needs worry over pins and needles sitting too long." He offers a wink for the silliness of it, keeping the Paladin's spirit from twitching his fingers for the comb or the ties quite yet.
Heading toward the likely seats, he adds, "If I give her free reign, I have the sense you'll end up with a braided crown. Will that be acceptable?"