V

Vyn

Well-known member
Character Profile
Profile
Tracker
Tracker
The ritual was a smudge now. Even remembered things stop being sharp with enough time. And she no longer could honestly tell how much time they spent huddled together or how long it took for Dusty to come back. Suppose it didn't matter much in the end. Because stuff had healed enough. There were still tiny scars of discomfort, here and there.

Still remembered what little the card wanted to show her. Time only made that bit sharper. The blade and the blood. The wound in Dove's chest and how strange it felt under Vyn's finger. Some things details sanded off, others made clearer. Was it someone she knew? Was that why the not-quite-Dove had been so afraid of Vyn-that-wasn't?

There were days she wished she'd had the wisdom to keep the card instead of burning it. Others, she wished it had burned before she'd ever seen it at all. World wasn't a place for perfect answers – just different levels of discomfort.

But there was a questions hanging inside her since she'd seen the illustration. A selfish one.

If Dove could heal her own heart back to place – could she perhaps do the same for the ones Vyn dragged along with her? Most recent developments seemed to suggest that they too have been people once. So perhaps they too could be healed back to their proper selves?

But, try as she might, she couldn't quite bring herself to ask. Not until today, anyway.

Wasn't even sure what the pretense was to be. Maybe they were beyond such things. Just knew that she was scared as she knocked onto the stuck door. Because how do you even ask for someone to place their leg in a trap, when you know the thing might still snap shut?

„Ghost doctor, got time for me?“
 
Dove's been doing well. Perhaps more quiet- perhaps more contemplative. Letting wind chimes and the smell of jasmines speak for her rather than chirp with the morning chickadees and crows that would sit at her wagon at the break of sunlight. Her feathers had grown in, though you can still see bits of weakness in the white plumage.

But, there was always a little song waiting for Vyn, rest assured. Dove quickly moved to answer the door, almost knocking her small little meal to the wooden floor. The hat- at her feet, it's fold wrinkled as it contemplated savoring some human snacks it is not supposed to have.

When the door opens, she waves with a hand. "Of course, of course! Come in, come in! Did you have breakfast yet? I would be happy to share mine with y-"

Dove turned to see the hat, positioned suspiciously over the plate. "Get down, Dusty! You know better!" she scolded, waving the hat with the turn of her hand.

She asked for this. She fed the hat food once, and now it cannot have enough.
 
Suppose world had come full circle. Started with floor cake, and now back to floor... well, whatever that was.

Ever the opportunist, Dusty was already set to task of scrap disposal. Dove seemed to treat the little creature as a pet. Vyn never could quite ease into it. The spirit wanted something from the bird. And it could cat around all it liked, but that didn't mean it could ever be trusted.

„I ate.“ She hadn't. But the way her insides twisted – it was hard to trust anything to stay down.

„You been feeling alright?“ Not like you could ask whether the little bird had tried plucking herself clean once again. Or maybe she could've. Didn't trust herself to know what to do with the answer, though. If she'd even get one. For someone so chirpy and talkative, there were so many things Dove simply didn't talk about.

And every time Vyn wished to forget how fragile it all was, the other woman was, she'd see the weakness in the plume. And she'd remember what carelessness got you. Blood, feathers, and not near enough wind to take it all away.
 
There is a pause, a wind filling the silence, the brush of the trees. Tranquil- that strange kind of peace that comes watching ripples cascade to the edges of a lake after tossing a rock in. Vyn could probably see the subtle movements in the feathers- but much like the lake, who knew how deep the rock sank, and what ripples it caused on the way down. She snaps herself from the trance, turning to face Vyn, smile, holding the remains of the meal. "I am fine!" She puts it up, a bit higher from a certain hat to avoid.

"You however- well, something is off." She frowned.

"... You are not falling ill, are you Vyn? You know it gets much colder in these parts." She folds her arm, leaning back against a small table. "And, I bet you aren't using your blanket either!" She pointed a talon at the deva, in an accusatory fashion. "I may not be a doctor, but I am a healer, and I know these things!"

The haunts- for now- will stay just that. Haunts. What-ifs in the corner of the night. But it's not night, and a shadow's a bit hard to find right now.
 
And she could. Just like those on the Road learned to read the wind, Vyn'd become fluent in twitch and slip of feathers. Well, these feathers. But being fluent only made her more mute in face of change. Because if Dove knew how exposed her belly was, she would pull it all back. Perhaps enough to become that hollow thing again.

So she'd just never mention it. It was better to be clueless than cruel.

She appreciated Dove's effort. Cheer too was a skill – and the little one was getting better at it.

Ill, huh? No Vyn wasn't falling ill. Healthy as a horse. Except in the head – but there was no helping that.

„I..no no. I'm alright.“ How do you even ask? Just do it? „I have actually come looking for a doctor.“

Showed her too many teeth without edge.

„A Ghost doctor.“
 
As Dove fiddled with some herbs, the comment startles her, and she drops the glass she was holding, thudding against the counter she was leaning against. A ghost doctor?

Well, Dove had earned the name- but she never really.. done anything that warranted it. To be honest, she always thought it was odd that Vyn.. or the rest of the Elum called her that. Her incursions with the spiritual world were far new. She looked to the hat, with an eyebrow raised. She turned to face Vyn.

"..A ghost doctor? .. Well, that.. that does sound like me. What's wrong Vyn?" she asked, her voice as soft as fallen feathers and snow.
 
The flinch of calm that only ran skin deep. And here she was, rocks in the box. Puddle could only take so much before it was no longer there.

„Back on that night where I wasn't me. And you almost frogot you.“ Seemed so distant now, as all bad memories did. She'd made a conscious effort to keep track of the nights Loneliness took her turn. Made sure she was far away from Dove. Far from Jem. It wasn't a lesson she needed to learn twice.

„That's not the only spirit that follows me around.“ Swallowed. „Was hoping I could show you another, and have you tell me more about it.“

Arms crossed and fingers fidgeting.

„But, I am scared.“ Of blood and feathers. Of Dove-that-wasn't.
 
There is a sting- one that doesn't meet Dove's face at the mention of that night.

There is a soft cooing noise. It was supposed to be soothing. But to who- was debatable. It almost was lighthearted, like a chuckle. But it came out disjointed, as if trying to find the light on a rainy day. She twisted her fingers together, and turned to face Vyn. ".. Oh, Vyn- I.. didn't forget who I was that night. Rather- I was remembering who I was." She breathed. "That 'Dove'- well. She was not quite as lively as the one you see every day. Don't.. be scared of her. Just sometimes, she thinks she is trapped still. I don't think she will come out again." she assured Vyn.

Because really- she couldn't tell Vyn why that was the case that night anyways.

"So- who am I going to meet?" she asked.
 
But if that other thing had been Dove – then who was she talking to right now? Vyn wanted to ask so many things, but all of the words were sharp – and Dove'd been cut enough. It did spark a deeper question – if the other one truly wasn't trapped, why even try to keep her down. The friend in her wanted to tell the little bird that she was one of them no matter which part of her turned bad. The mother wanted to hug and shush it all away. But they were both wrong.

Because people were entitled to their hurts. Felt disrespectful to take them uninvited. Make them about you. That Vyn part of her knew that.

„I am not sure.“ Perked up a bit. „Was hoping you could tell me that.“

Because she was growing certain in the thought that they were people once. That they were Gallen once.

„I could call one here... but Dusty might get scared.“
 
".. I will keep Dusty safe."

There is an odd confidence that comes from her in that moment. A kind of confidence when you stared at the sky and knew it would rain. It was definitive, like the ground beneath their feet. But much like the ground, it didn't have much in the way of emotions of reading.

".. and- I guess- we will meet this person. To.. Together." Her eyes blinked slowly, hands folding and intertwining. "Just.. let me know how I can help."

There is a soft pleading in that brown gaze. A hand reaches for Vyn's, hoping to offer comfort, security. One that asked for trust.
 
Touch accepted, Vyn's hand closed around the bird's.

But who's gonna keep you safe?

Because it wasn't gonna be Vyn. She was the trouble here. Suppose the one in trouble, too. But it was a slow burn – one that had been unraveling for years. If she was correct – it would be difficult to look at the creepy things in the same light ever again.

„Alright, Dusty's alright then.“ Her claw dug into the arm she shared with Dove. Press to puncture to slash. „Here goes...“

Even before the orange could bead from the broken skin, a finger was already forming to press against the cut. Long and bony, leading to an equal hand holding up Vyn's forearm. Would've been gentle, had they not been eating her. It was hard to see them as anything other than monsters – so if they turned out to be cannibals, that would've been a more acceptable solution.

Arm continued long, too long, pale and hairless. Impression interrupted by a second elbow just shy of the shoulder. Clavicle to sternum to ribs – creature formed like a demented candle, wax worked into semblance of human shape. Like someone who had never seen a person had heard it described. Someone's best guess.

Arms were required for holding, legs needed for standing, eyes could see – but everything unnecessary simply forgot to materialize. Everything white an uniform. Except for the feet.

Feet were a mirror image of Vyn's.

Vyn was supposed to be the strong one, but she was the one grabbing Dove's hand harder as the face they could both almost recognize spoke:

„But who's gonna keep you safe?“ Dove's own voice, as it looked at the bird.
 
A sharp gasp, her hand meeting Vyn's in tightness. There is a silence. She ignored the question. Because she knew the answer- and it hurt.

But in this moment, safety wasn't what was needed of her. And after the initial shock, she reminded herself- what inner demons looked like. Isn't this, in a way, just a more direct manifestation?

Vyn needed a doctor. And Dove was a doctor. And she was prepared to be one. Instead she closed her eyes. One breath in. One breath out. Imagining a black hole inside herself and putting emotions into it, locking it away- A pause. Quiet. Forcing a silence. To the outside, it looked as if she had fallen into the Dove-that-was-not. But internally, she picked at things, tools within herself, like a doctor preparing to inspect a patient.

The hat made a strange rustling noise- and scuttled underneath a table, trembling like a leaf. Dove's eyes finally open. One hand rubs Vyn's, the other reaches to the demon, as if to proposition a handshake.

Dove's gaze is intentful, quiet, and focused, her voice small. But determined. "... Are you one of Vyn's.." She couldn't find the word for it. ".. What is your name?"
 
The bony fingers withdrew from Vyn, leaving behind only a thin line of healing. Wound had already closed up, mark matching many others on that forearm – only this one was yet to fade. Eyes lacked most of their color, but the black and grey messes still looked to Vyn for permission.

The small, reluctant nod was enough.

Would this break the little one?

Hands closed around Dove's, one for shake and another for support. Both soft. Because Vyn's blood had taught them where to be gentle.

„Had many names“ Continued in Dove's voice, getting better at it. „Most of them fell away. Is what happens... when you wear them wrong.“ Shrugged at the secondary elbows.

Not a Vynhand, but Vynborrowed. Hard to own since the breaking.

Dove was a warm memory of blood wasted and pillows torn apart.

She reminded of them – pale and unfinished. Wondered how much blood she took to hold her flesh in permanence.

Vyn was always scared for this one. Wasn't an affliction they shared. Because all Pale things came back eventually.

„What would you call us?“

It was rare for Vyn to allow someone else to bestow them a name – but she was yet to call for a stop
 
There is a very knowing 'nod'. Her eyes follow the lines within this creature's.. Skin? Was it skin? Viscious yet fluid. It was unfamiliar. A vague shape that stretched and moved- almost like.. the heart within a person. When she left herself, and reached out for what was inside someone. As if someone pulled that out, and let it manifest into open air, and now- it spread, like spilled ink. Marred with markings.

She paused, thoughtfully, thinking for a moment.

"I am.. not quite sure. See- usually at this point, the name comes from within- it isn't something I would be able to do."

She rocked the hands.

"What do you think would be a good name?"

Of course, she would help at this point, if it couldn't figure it out. Namely because much like trying on clothes, you had to experiment until it fit. Least, that was how Dove handled personality disorders. It seemed to apply here.
 
The Pale made a sound of laughing. Suppose it would've been a vynlaugh had the body moved properly to accommodate. But static as they were – it only sounded wrong.

„No.“ What little color the feet housed moved up their leg, torso and neck. Seeping into the face.
„To name is to remember.“ It looked at Dusty in that moment.

That one was also wrong.

„And you have already sinned against us.“

More blood would help memory – whispered to their minds, through the handbridge. – We could help each other.

And another thought, more edged.

Or you could.

One only Dove could hear.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom