"Arthur Inkwell here. I've no earthly idea how this thing is supposed to work, but leave me a message if you're so inclined. I'll retrieve it at some point or another!"
I would thank you not to think of me as some barbarian.
[ Still just as sassy as ever, it seems.
He hefts the vial, and neatly lobs it into the air. In the same moment, a set of circular glyphs unfold from the pages of his tome, casting the room in harsh orange light. The magic whirrs, hums, and motes of blue fire spring forth from each circle, four in all. They arc up to converge on the vial. In another burst of light and magic and arcane script, the little bottle and its contents are immolated in a ball of flame.
[ Ohhhh gods. With that vial now out of the way, he does feel a mote of relief. The poor state of his body is also catching up to him, and he wavers where he stands, sucking in a rattling breath. ]
Once again, I'm afraid I must decline.
[ He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, not wanting to waste the waning duration of Sacred Soil. Is it time to send a harried text to Dream now? It sure is. (If only he would have explained to Arthur that all he needs to do is say his name and he'd show up. It would have saved him so much trouble.)
[help pool hall urgent sure is a message to receive, and definitely not one that makes Dream feel very confident about whatever is going down in said pool hall. In fact, he wastes no time in arriving.
And by arriving, for this Endless, it means appearing in a whorl of black — though it is almost impossible to make out how. Like night coming together to form the shape of a person, or a hundred raven’s wings beating at once, or sand, sieving and coalescing into the feeling of an entity.
Either way, there he is, quite suddenly, standing right behind the oni.
And what a sight he sees, chaos in the first half-second alone. Alarm surges through him, but he has zero context for... anything.]
[ the feeling of an entity, you say? Arthur will be gifted with the most precious view of Svetka's eyes widening with fiendish delight as that raven's beat-sound, that sand-sieving sensation filters in behind her, and she realizes exactly what it is he's done.
he's— ]
Made it a party!
[ she pinwheels and hefts her kanabo for an uppercut on Dream. ]
[ Dream really is greeted with quite the sight. There are pool tables shoved into one another, broken bottles and puddles of alcohol all over the floor. The bar has been kicked into one wall and left everything behind it in ruins.
And then there is Arthur, barely keeping upright, bloodied and bruised and charred by lightning in places, with a rapidly fading dome of shimmering light between himself and Sprezzatura.
Hi.
So here in the split second before a weapon starts flying at Dream's face— ]
[It looks like the aftermath of a particularly lopsided fight, and he wouldn’t be wrong. But there’s no time to linger on the damage done, shocking as it is, because Sprezzatura—
(No, her oni. It is very obvious, all things considered, but Arthur just cements this notion tenfold.)
—whirls around and brings her weapon in an upward arc with the intent to cause harm.
Dream frowns, brings up a pale hand, and catches it in his palm, halts it with gripping fingers. This is surprising strength, maybe; or maybe not so surprising given that Dream is an aspect of the universe itself. Takes more than a kanabo to harm him.
His eyes are like a starlight void as he cuts a hard glance at the oni.]
Return control to Sprezzatura, or I will put an end to this immediately. Those are your choices.
[ never much cared for the stars. she giggles compulsively as he catches the kanabo—the same abrupt stop as swinging at a brick wall—because yeah, why not? of course he could.
there is no "winning" scenario for her here. not in the traditional sense. the blood's vaporized, and she's easily outmatched with two magicians in the place. more than that, Sprezzatura is a frenzy in the back of her mind, only spurring Svetka's fervor on, but it's like trying to hold a door closed and win a fight at the same time. because that's literally what it is.
she realizes she's actually kind of pissed. ]
Nah. I'm gonna make you do it.
[ scuffs her heel back, kicking up a bolt of lighting that lances straight for the bun of the hour himself. choose, Dream! do it quick! ]
[Dream is more than familiar with oni. Their tales are particularly violent, and they never play fair. And when the lightning arcs and lances straight toward Arthur, somehow he isn't surprised -- maybe that's why he reaches out with a hand towards the man, and an invisible force pulls him aside. It drags him away and then releases... not unkindly, at least, but with a suddenness that betrays the fact that his attentions are split. Hopefully the man can keep his balance.
Because regardless of whether or not this actually helped Arthur, it will not change his next gesture: holding out his other hand, palm-up, he unfurls his fingers to reveal a mound of sand. It's strangely silken, the way some of it already slips past his skin, ghost-like.]
Sleep.
[YALL KNOW WHAT COMES NEXT-- He blows it away, and it coils, curls, rises up like something alive, and flies right into Svetka's face.
But of course the first thing he does, as she collapses onto the ground, is quickly move over to where Arthur is, checking on him with his brow knitted tightly.]
Arthur. Are you all right?
[You date an Endless and then this is what fate has in store. Even this thought, amid all of his concern, still someone burrows in deep. Does he need help getting to his feet?]
[ As Dream had somehow moved him out of harm's way, Arthur had dimly thought to himself that this must be what it feels like to be on the other end of a Rescue. After that, he'd jerked to a stop, swayed in place a bit, and fallen abruptly to his hands and knees.
He only sort of vaguely registers Sprezzatura's body crumpling to the floor, and then Dream is at his side. He inhales a shaky breath, coughing up a bit more blood for his efforts. Ah, seems he hadn't healed himself as well as he'd hoped. ]
I have... been better...
[ Standing feels like so much effort. What if he took a nap on the floor instead... ]
[They will have to worry about Sprezzatura later. Right now, he isn't entirely certain if they woke her up, her oni still wouldn't be the one behind the figurative wheel. At least his sand guarantees that she will be sleeping for quite a while.
Dream crouches down, his dark coat pooling around him. He puts an arm around Arthur, as though to keep him steady. In reality, this will also aid with-]
I will take us to my room. You may recover there, or we might find a healer for you.
[Up close, he really looks worse for wear. He feels his chest constrict at the sight of it.]
[ His heart aches to have to leave Sprezzatura behind. He doesn't know how much of her awareness she retains when the oni is in control, but even just a little is surely too much. Gods, has she been silently screaming this whole time, a prisoner in the back of her own mind?
He looks past Dream for a moment, to her crumpled form on the floor. He can't be certain who will be in control when she wakes, either. He swallows thickly, and nods. ]
[Dream feels the guilt of leaving her there, too. Sprawled out like so much of the mess created in the pool hall. But there's little to do for it now. No doubt they will both follow up with her later, and hopefully there will be far less oni to worry about then.
So he nods, and in a similar fashion to how he arrived--whorling darkness, sand and raven's wings--they are both enveloped by the sensation of night.
But it's dark for only a few seconds. Soon, that darkness recedes, leaving them in the same position, only at the floor of Dream's room in Basilisk. Now, he eases Arthur up to his feet... Slowly, slowly, over to his bed.]
[ Arthur has used teleportation magicks before, but they have never felt like that. Soon enough the world reasserts itself, and every ache and pain in his body makes itself known.
Getting to the bed is a chore, to say the least. ]
Ah... seven hells. I feel like I've gone toe to toe with the Lord of Levin himself.
[Dream may be an Endless, affording him a very useful array of powers, but healing is not one of them — and it makes him feel useless, how very obviously Arthur needs it right now. For now, he stands, stiff with concern, mouth in a thin frown.]
I wish for you to tell me precisely what happened. But first, we must find a way to heal you properly.
[He doubts the man has the energy to heal himself, but perhaps another healer, or a coin spent on the card in the shop—
(For some reason, he feels awful for this having happened at all.)]
[He's silent, because this realization is hitting him all at once: he never told Arthur about how simple it is to summon him if needed. The thought had not crossed his mind, which was foolish of him. This prison, in which they are thrown into a danger without a moment's notice--]
Arthur... [His voice is low, heavy.] You need only call for me. Say my name, or scrawl it upon parchment. And I will be there, especially for you.
[It is too late now, isn't it? Dream shuffles to his own bedside and sits next to Arthur. Awful feelings intensified.]
[ He's quiet for a moment, phone held loosely in his hand. It's almost absurd to realize it could have been that easy. It would have saved him a lot of hurt. And Clover... oh, poor Clover.
His ears fold back, but in the end, he leans his weight against Dream's side. ]
What's done is done. Rest assured that your name shall be the first upon my lips should I find myself in danger again.
[Arthur's warm against him, and it does bring a mote of comfort -- a reminder that he's here now, and not in that blasted pool hall, fending for his own life without anyone to aid him. But the guilt claws deeply. That quiet "oh" of a realization stings, in knowing that he could have saved him so much pain.
Easy to fall into gloom thanks to this thought alone. But Dream reminds himself that Arthur is the one in need of aid right now, that his self-pitying can be saved for later, and he lifts a heavy arm to (gently) wrap around Arthur's middle.]
[ Please be mindful of the charred skin on one side. He took a glancing blow from a lightning bolt. (He's going to have to ask Da Vinci for help fixing his clothes, he thinks.)
If he knew what Dream was thinking, he would be quick to try and assuage that feeling of guilt. It wasn't his fault that this happened, and certainly not more than a simple mistake that Arthur didn't know he could call for him. But he doesn't know what Dream is thinking, so instead he just kind of sheepishly holds up his phone. ]
Help me work the blasted prison shop? I'm afraid I don't know how.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Arthur shakily gets to his feet. In one hand, his tome. In the other, the vial of Sprezzatura's blood. Does she have the goddamn time? ]
You and I both know that fairness was never a part of the equation.
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is she actually smiling bigger now...? ]
Gonna break it?
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[ Still just as sassy as ever, it seems.
He hefts the vial, and neatly lobs it into the air. In the same moment, a set of circular glyphs unfold from the pages of his tome, casting the room in harsh orange light. The magic whirrs, hums, and motes of blue fire spring forth from each circle, four in all. They arc up to converge on the vial. In another burst of light and magic and arcane script, the little bottle and its contents are immolated in a ball of flame.
Fuck you, Svetka. ]
/2
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...
well.
back to the drawing board. ]
Hahaha. I'm really gonna kill ya now.
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Once again, I'm afraid I must decline.
[ He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, not wanting to waste the waning duration of Sacred Soil. Is it time to send a harried text to Dream now? It sure is. (If only he would have explained to Arthur that all he needs to do is say his name and he'd show up. It would have saved him so much trouble.)
Anyway, no time for context so:
Help pool hall urgent
That's all you get buddy. ]
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And by arriving, for this Endless, it means appearing in a whorl of black — though it is almost impossible to make out how. Like night coming together to form the shape of a person, or a hundred raven’s wings beating at once, or sand, sieving and coalescing into the feeling of an entity.
Either way, there he is, quite suddenly, standing right behind the oni.
And what a sight he sees, chaos in the first half-second alone. Alarm surges through him, but he has zero context for... anything.]
What is going on here?
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he's— ]
Made it a party!
[ she pinwheels and hefts her kanabo for an uppercut on Dream. ]
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And then there is Arthur, barely keeping upright, bloodied and bruised and charred by lightning in places, with a rapidly fading dome of shimmering light between himself and Sprezzatura.
Hi.
So here in the split second before a weapon starts flying at Dream's face— ]
Dream! It's her oni!
[ YOU KNOW IN CASE IT WASN'T OBVIOUS. ]
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(No, her oni. It is very obvious, all things considered, but Arthur just cements this notion tenfold.)
—whirls around and brings her weapon in an upward arc with the intent to cause harm.
Dream frowns, brings up a pale hand, and catches it in his palm, halts it with gripping fingers. This is surprising strength, maybe; or maybe not so surprising given that Dream is an aspect of the universe itself. Takes more than a kanabo to harm him.
His eyes are like a starlight void as he cuts a hard glance at the oni.]
Return control to Sprezzatura, or I will put an end to this immediately. Those are your choices.
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there is no "winning" scenario for her here. not in the traditional sense. the blood's vaporized, and she's easily outmatched with two magicians in the place. more than that, Sprezzatura is a frenzy in the back of her mind, only spurring Svetka's fervor on, but it's like trying to hold a door closed and win a fight at the same time. because that's literally what it is.
she realizes she's actually kind of pissed. ]
Nah. I'm gonna make you do it.
[ scuffs her heel back, kicking up a bolt of lighting that lances straight for the bun of the hour himself. choose, Dream! do it quick! ]
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Because regardless of whether or not this actually helped Arthur, it will not change his next gesture: holding out his other hand, palm-up, he unfurls his fingers to reveal a mound of sand. It's strangely silken, the way some of it already slips past his skin, ghost-like.]
Sleep.
[YALL KNOW WHAT COMES NEXT-- He blows it away, and it coils, curls, rises up like something alive, and flies right into Svetka's face.
'Night!]
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she hits the ground like a pile of bricks for, like, the third time today. ]
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But of course the first thing he does, as she collapses onto the ground, is quickly move over to where Arthur is, checking on him with his brow knitted tightly.]
Arthur. Are you all right?
[You date an Endless and then this is what fate has in store. Even this thought, amid all of his concern, still someone burrows in deep. Does he need help getting to his feet?]
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He only sort of vaguely registers Sprezzatura's body crumpling to the floor, and then Dream is at his side. He inhales a shaky breath, coughing up a bit more blood for his efforts. Ah, seems he hadn't healed himself as well as he'd hoped. ]
I have... been better...
[ Standing feels like so much effort. What if he took a nap on the floor instead... ]
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Dream crouches down, his dark coat pooling around him. He puts an arm around Arthur, as though to keep him steady. In reality, this will also aid with-]
I will take us to my room. You may recover there, or we might find a healer for you.
[Up close, he really looks worse for wear. He feels his chest constrict at the sight of it.]
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He looks past Dream for a moment, to her crumpled form on the floor. He can't be certain who will be in control when she wakes, either. He swallows thickly, and nods. ]
Let's go.
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So he nods, and in a similar fashion to how he arrived--whorling darkness, sand and raven's wings--they are both enveloped by the sensation of night.
But it's dark for only a few seconds. Soon, that darkness recedes, leaving them in the same position, only at the floor of Dream's room in Basilisk. Now, he eases Arthur up to his feet... Slowly, slowly, over to his bed.]
Sit.
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Getting to the bed is a chore, to say the least. ]
Ah... seven hells. I feel like I've gone toe to toe with the Lord of Levin himself.
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I wish for you to tell me precisely what happened. But first, we must find a way to heal you properly.
[He doubts the man has the energy to heal himself, but perhaps another healer, or a coin spent on the card in the shop—
(For some reason, he feels awful for this having happened at all.)]
You should have called on me sooner.
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[ Right. Healing first. He starts digging through is pockets for his phone again. ]
I've the coins for a card. I tried to heal myself, and it wasn't enough.
[ Thanks power nerfs. ]
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Arthur... [His voice is low, heavy.] You need only call for me. Say my name, or scrawl it upon parchment. And I will be there, especially for you.
[It is too late now, isn't it? Dream shuffles to his own bedside and sits next to Arthur. Awful feelings intensified.]
I should have said as much earlier.
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[ He's quiet for a moment, phone held loosely in his hand. It's almost absurd to realize it could have been that easy. It would have saved him a lot of hurt. And Clover... oh, poor Clover.
His ears fold back, but in the end, he leans his weight against Dream's side. ]
What's done is done. Rest assured that your name shall be the first upon my lips should I find myself in danger again.
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Easy to fall into gloom thanks to this thought alone. But Dream reminds himself that Arthur is the one in need of aid right now, that his self-pitying can be saved for later, and he lifts a heavy arm to (gently) wrap around Arthur's middle.]
And I will be there. Swiftly. You have my word.
But for now... what can I do for you?
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If he knew what Dream was thinking, he would be quick to try and assuage that feeling of guilt. It wasn't his fault that this happened, and certainly not more than a simple mistake that Arthur didn't know he could call for him. But he doesn't know what Dream is thinking, so instead he just kind of sheepishly holds up his phone. ]
Help me work the blasted prison shop? I'm afraid I don't know how.
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