• Mature • Bedside

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Midday, 53 Ashan, Arc 719

The trial was humid. Zarik, in his Kiara Totem, laid in a pillar of shadow along the front porch of the villa. He had hired a Miltean boy to fan him with a palm frond while he read from over a tome about the technical nature of Becoming that his mentor, Lucretia, had lent him. It was a sad thing, he thought as he flipped the pages of the dry scholarly text, that the woman would likely never be able to join him on the islands. Her aversion to the sun meant that she was almost bound to the dim crimson light of Quacia, protected by the stones and darkness of the dying city.

Zarik glanced briefly, when he felt the palm frond slow in its fanning. He looked at the ginger-haired boy: he was only a few years younger than Zarik, mixed blood by judge of the round ears and yet color-shifting eyes, but had darkly tanned skin and too many freckles to count. To the pure blood biqaj, he seemed a child despite how close they were in ages. It made only sense though. Zarik had a son, two if he counted the inevitable adoption of Bjorn, and then of Hazel would make three. Let alone the offspring yet to come... he felt the insatiable hunger return to full force in him.

He wouldn't be able to study like this. Zarik shut the book. He retrieved a couple nels from the coinpurse on his belt, then handed them to the ginger. "You may go for the rest of the trial. If it is as hot tomorrow as it is today, return when the sun nears its peak. Thank you."

Zarik didn't linger to watch the boy run off. He retreated into the villa's cooler interior. In his tunic of a pale blue, his crystalline legs shimmered in the streaks of sunlight that came through the various windowed openings that allowed for breezes. His gossamer wings fluttered, stretched, then folded neatly at his back. And he remained in the female body of his sister, as he walked along the corridor. He paused, however, when he caught a particular musky scent near the room where Kleine was being kept.

The Lotharro Becomer remained comatose ever since Zarik's initiation on the 45th, and Alistair was busy to Reveal for his sake. It was guilt, Zarik decided, that led Alistair to such specific intention. Guilt toward Kleine's tragic fate. If only the mage had died, it would have made so many things, so much more simpler... but of course, he hadn't. Though perhaps the loyal former slave would perish in the meantime. He wasn't taking food well, and every trial grew weaker, with the other men discussing possible rebirth for Kleine instead. It was preferable, Zarik believed, that he might adopt a child made from the image of Kleine rather than figure out how to handle the return of the man himself.

He peeked past the open door, to see the familiar Protean. An ally, in the technical sense, though ex-husband and one who was not technically a part of the household. The blond had regained his memories regarding the savage Lothar, but they'd become interwoven with other ones that'd been made in Lair and the Gleam and otherwise. No longer did he feel the same anxiety when the recollections had first revealed themselves, though he still felt there were portions missing. Zarik felt a primal urge to make himself known to the guest in his house, furthered by his deep hunger. He entered the room with little concern for whether he was interrupting.

"Fridgar," he greeted in the melodic voice of his sister. "I didn't know you were here... Why are you here?"

[Varthakh]

The Lothar sat in the corner on the floor. There were no chairs their size, nor any of a strong enough material to support their weight, so they were forced to sit across the room from their comatose friend. They were wearing their usual standard loincloth with their blindfold draped over their eyes and their domain bag tied to their hip. In their hand, they held onto one of their totems and seemed to be staring at it through the black animal hide that wrapped their eyes.

It was their Kaiserion totem, the name that the ex-slave carried when he'd gifted them that totem, a piece of himself. They remembered the trial fondly; it was a time where Fridgar was wanted by several different governments at once and they had nowhere to hide. To grant Fridgar freedom, Kleine cut off one of his fingers and offered it as a totem to the becomer. Alistair, after that, had molded it into the shape of a skull. They'd rarely manifested that form, though it had always held a warm place in their heart.

It was a kindness that Fridgar hadn't seen much of, Outside of Eric and Alistair, most others only wanted them to hurt, to perish and despair. Granted, it was for their crimes and destructive nature, But even though they believed they'd deserved all the scorn of the world, it still brought them down and bared heavy on their shoulders. It was acts of kindness like Kleine's that ultimately kept them going, stopped them from losing faith in the world and casting off into the wild to disappear. Kleine and Alistair.

They smiled faintly while they basked in their memories, sat at the foot of Kleine's bed, in which he was dying.

So much had changed since those trials, and thinking of them only made the emptiness in their stomach vaster.

They'd told themselves time and time again that they'd rather forget those trials, the seasons in the plains, beneath the sun. They'd been trying so hard to forget them, to pretend that they hadn't happened and move on. Regardless of how successful they'd been, it still brought them great misery to see this relic of those trials dying, to sit there helpless while his health declined.

They hadn't thought of it when they found out about his fate, but Kleine was a dear friend to them, perhaps their last. There were only three of them that remembered the old trials, and they were Alistair, Kleine, and Fridgar. Kleine was perhaps the only one of them that could look back with a clear vision, as both themselves and Alistair had perceptions warped with their emotions. Everyone else was gone, and Kleine was the last in that sense. Yet there he laid, withering away.

The Lothar lowered their head against their knees where they sat and pressed their Kaiserion totem to their forehead while their eyes ran damp.

Amidst their misery, they felt a heartbeat draw near, they smelled a female and felt the motions of the door open. They were not alone. immediately, they worked toward composing themselves, settling the burn in their throat and calming their breath. When she called for them by name, they snarled in an effort to mask their sadness with anger. "Leave us, woman," they said without looking in her direction, but she only spoke as though she knew them.

How did she know their name? The thought only occurred to them after they'd told her to leave. "We don't know you. If you know us then you know we won't warn you again. Leave."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Of all the people, Fridgar proved to be the first unable to recognize him. Zarik wondered if perhaps the Protean lied. Perhaps he wanted to be left alone in his misery over Kleine’s state and so pretended not to recognize the biqaj despite his obvious mutations, despite what felt like the powerful identity of Zarik that everyone else in the household recognized regardless of his form. Though he realized the blindfold, then knew the mutations could not be seen. He supposed his natural scent was masked as well, and even a mage as powerful as the Protean couldn’t detect past it… such information he would have to take note of and keep close.

Zarik smiled slightly. He glanced at the comatose Kleine, then at the brooding Fridgar, and his smile grew a little bit more. The blond shrugged. Perhaps he’d improved enough in the domain that he was simply able to effectively hide in the form of another. He supposed he had come a long way in his studies, even though it’d been a short period of time – as was common for him in most things when he put his mind to it.

He changed the position of the book in his arms, tapped his finger against the binding, then nodded.

Without another word, he left the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

Zarik walked along the corridor. He opened the book to where he’d left off and read over a detailed account of the process of a Seeker who combined two totems together to create a third unique totem. His mind wandered, however, as he thought of the conversation he had with Kaelrik a couple trials ago. He thought of Dosan, as well, momentarily. And he thought of Alistair somewhat, the Lucis busy trial in and night out with the Revelation to come.

Though Zarik knew if he spoke with the Protean about what he aimed to do with his totems, it would likely help – for there were few others who could help with Transmogrification than a mage Revealed in the domain – he stubbornly refused the logic of it. He would figure it out without Fridgar’s support. The last thing he wanted was for the confusing and terrifying Lothar to be any more interwoven with the story of his children-to-be than the Protean already was.

And then he stopped in his walk. He had reached the top of the stairs, almost to his office. He thought of Bjorn. Had Alistair informed Fridgar of that yet? Zarik hesitated. He lightly shut the book again and considered… well, it was no matter. It wasn’t his place to talk with the ex-husband. He had decided distance was best and he needed to keep to such a decision if he could.

The biqaj walked past his office and headed toward the central balcony that overlooked the courtyard. He stepped out into the humid air and took a deep breath. Zarik grabbed a thin gilded chair and dragged it into a shadow before sitting down to continue studying from his book. Soon, he would have to apply his study to the totems, but he wished to wait until the afternoon to do so. He suspected he would need all night for the task ahead of him.

[Varthakh]

Indeed, Fridgar hadn't been made aware that Zarik was initiated in Becoming, they didn't know that he could take the form of a female. They'd only smelled a female drawing near and knew it wasn't the scent of anyone they knew, they didn't bother to investigate it or dig deeper, as Fridgar knew no women. She was fodder, prey, food like the rest of the random humans and biqaj on the island. They cared nothing about her and spoke with aggression.

The fact that she smiled at their misery didn't go unnoticed, however. They felt the corners of her mouth curl in a smile as she watched them, and anger overcame them. Perhaps she would end up fulfilling her role as prey after all? Alistair wouldn't notice if some peasant bitch went missing randomly. Not here though, they let her go and simply took note of her scent for future hunts.

Once she was gone, they were left to their misery once more, and they reached beneath their blindfold to wipe away their tears. The experienced only further cemented their ideas, that they couldn't let others see them weak, they would only think they were prey. This world was a hostile one, and Fridgar had no choice but to assert themselves as the most heartless and vicious predator. With that, Fridgar stood and approached the bedside, bowing their head a little so that they didn't break the ceiling.

While they stood over their dying friend, they swallowed their misery and bottled it for another trial. They looked to the tiny skull totem in their hand, then back to kaiserion beneath their blindfold. They kissed the totem gently, then placed it on the bedside table. That was their goodbye. If Kleine woke, he would be greeted with a totem of himself and a member of Fridgar's family, a memory of brighter trials. "Good luck, old friend," they said softly, then looked away and exhaled shakily before they walked toward the door.

When they were far enough, Kleine's voice in their head vanished, his totem was gone. It struck them at their core, but they ignored the pain and soldiered on.

Once they were out of the room, they sought to distract themselves with rupturing practice. The discipline of rupturing required the use of a mage's eyes, but Fridgar's no longer worked. They had yet to discover what happened when they cast a portal without being able to see. In their mind, they had a decent view of the world with the vibrations and sounds that rebound from objects and walls. But was that enough? To cast portals with their mind's eye? They could only hope.

Curious, they ripped at the air before them with how they saw the world. There was little to grasp, almost nothing at all. Fridgar pressed onward and slashed violently at the air with their ether. It was like pushing an impossible weight, trying to move a boulder with naught but the strength of one arm... Then it budged. A spark of amber lit up and the air around them began to reverberate in a roar. All throughout the house, the violent ripping sound of a portal roared while Fridgar burned ether like a madman. The air around Zarik also roared, booming with destructive and painful sound.

Fridgar then roared in tandem with their force and exerted one last push of ether. Their nose ran red with blood, but the portal opened and flared brightly. Quickly, they tossed themselves through and appeared on the other side with a crashing boom. They appeared next to zarik, though not in one piece. Immediately, Fridgar fell to the floor with one of their legs missing from the knee down and deep cuts littered all over their pale skin. They fell upon Zarik's new, expensive, white-furred rug, bleeding profusely from gashes all over their body and their stump leg.

"FUCK!" Fridgar cursed as their head pounded with blatant overstepping. They had yet to notice the woman on the balcony, but surely would with any movement of her being.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik flipped to the next page of his book. He murmured along with the words to focus past his thoughts. The vision in his mind kept fixating on Fridgar being next to Kleine’s bedside. How miserable the strong, powerful Protean had looked… Zarik’s tongue tapped against his canine tooth. Such emotion, such vulnerability as to visit a dying man – perhaps even a friend – like Kleine, it was so… human of Fridgar to do.

“Gods,” muttered Zarik. He placed his hand over the page he was reading and looked up at the clear sky. “How perplexing can you get… What else is there?”

He shut his eyes, then. Zarik concentrated on the concept and images of Fridgar that he’d accumulated over their trials together. Every low-down negative, which was that the Lotharro made Alistair weak and unthinking, to every high-up positive, which was the patience shown to listen and consider another despite the vast ravine that was Fridgar’s inherently revealed power and everyone else.

Since he’d reclaimed the memories on the beach, in which Fridgar had threatened his life, he played over it again and again during quiet moments alone. Something still didn’t make sense to him. He’d tried to unlock it during his initiation to Becoming, and for a few trills he had thought he had… but then it was gone again. But Zarik could patchwork details around it: such as Fridgar’s choice of divorce had come soon after. Why was that? The Lair had come also, the Protean had extended himself so much to help Zarik – to rescue him and even go beyond that… and for what? For what? Alistair had told him that the Lotharro couldn’t bear to coexist with the love that Zarik and the nobleman had. Yet he remained to fight alongside the magister? He remained to help them.

For a biqaj such as Zarik, it struck him as oddly suspicious. He knew of Dosan, as well, and of Kaelrik. Yet for all his understanding about the nature of men, he couldn’t define Fridgar… and he supposed it was because the Protean wasn’t a man at all.

So, when Zarik had seen Fridgar, in a human-like misery over Kleine’s vulnerable state, he’d smiled at this. It meant that maybe the Revealed mage still felt emotional connections. It meant that perhaps Fridgar had helped him in Lair out of compassion like he’d originally thought, instead of some ulterior motive. It meant that maybe he could work things out with the Lotharro in time… and it meant that perhaps when Alistair revealed, he wouldn’t lose touch with his bonds of affection for the mortals who lagged behind him. Thus, Zarik smiled at the sight.

But he didn’t linger. He respected Fridgar’s desire to be alone. Zarik left and he went upstairs to the balcony to continue his study.

Though now he was staring at the sky, instead, musing about the mage who was Fridgar Calder.

A vaguely familiar boom roared through the house. Zarik stood. He tossed the book onto the chair and looked around. He knew that sound well enough. A rupture portal had been created. Alistair? No… Zarik knew the way that his husband tore reality apart and though it was minor, he could identify differences in this one. The corresponding roar that followed made him understand that it had to be Fridgar. Kaelrik wouldn’t have entered in such a way, and the only other option would have been some sort of attack – whether Quacian in nature or not.

The confirmation of his assumption came as soon as he stepped back into the villa to find his son. He knew the violent sound of the portal would have distressed Asher. Zarik paused when he saw Fridgar’s body toss through a portal, then tumble to the floor onto the new rug he’d purchased from the markets yestertrial.

Crimson blood gushed onto the white fur. He stared, shocked, at the sight of Fridgar missing a great portion of leg, his pale skin covered in raw gashes, and bleeding from the nose. Zarik’s heartbeat raced. Only a couple trills passed before the biqaj hurried forward.

“Fr-fridgar?!” He spoke the other’s name. He forgot he was in Kiara’s form still and that the Lothar didn’t recognize it. “What have you done to yourself? Oh fates, gods, look at this mess, my new rug!”

Zarik knelt beside the overstepped mage, though the growing pool of blood squished under his crystalline knees. The lifeforce saturated the rug. There was so much of it and it poured out of the immensely large Lothar so quickly. “Hold still. You’re bleeding profusely. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The string of repetitive swearwords left him unhindered. The irises of his eyes reflected the color of the blood.

“Don’t fucking move,” the young mage demanded. “I’m going to stop your bleeding.” Or so he hoped. It’d been less than a single bit since the Protean had even come through the portal, but every trill mattered. Zarik rubbed his palms together, to focus the reactive state of his mind. He pressed his hands into the space of rug between them. The white fur of the rug undulated and warped like ocean waves. Blood spattered from the movement, spraying red flecks over the surrounding floor and Zarik.

He gazed at Fridgar's body, then started to reconfigure the white fur. The fur wrapped around the Protean’s body in a suit of shapecrafted bandaging. Zarik tightened and elongated the material. Once finished, it would cover Fridgar like a second skin with enough pressure to stop the blood flow or so Zarik hoped. His gossamer wings fluttered behind him, as if gathering ambient ether to help with the task. The iridescent aura of his magic glowed around him and filled the whites of his eyes.

[Varthakh]

Bleeding wasn't something Fridgar normally had to worry about except for a few rare occasions. Their skin was incredibly thick and tough. Wounds often coagulated in just a bit or two if they weren't enormous, and the gashes across their skin soon did, though they were still painted in blood. The woman could easily have mistaken them for bleeding still with so much of their life force spilled.

Their stump leg, however, was one such wound that Fridgar had to worry about. It was just gone, torn to shreds with a broken, jagged wound at the end as though it had been clawed from their body by some sort of animal with breaks to work at it for. They had a fix for that too, albeit temporary while they recovered ether and their overstepping calmed. They didn't have much of a chance to get to that before the same woman from earlier started screaming though.

'What have you done to yourself? Oh fates, gods, look at this mess, my new rug!' She said. Yes yes, it was all very tragic. The portal had torn them to pieces, it was only then that Fridgar realized that they were missing a few fingers as well as an ear. It would be some time before they could Chrysalis safely unless they could find a safe spot to meditate away from the screaming woman. Why was she so concerned? Just minutes ago, she'd been so pleased with their misery.

"We're fine," they snapped with a growl, though their words went unheard in the woman's mad panic. The woman's reaction almost reminded them of Alistair's whenever Fridgar had been brought to near-death by the various monsters of the plains. To Fridgar, this was relatively normal, though mistakes of this magnitude hadn't surfaced in some time. In a way, it was nice to return to their roots. They hissed softly as they tensed whatever muscles were left in their mangled hands, then reached for their domain bag, which was thankfully intact.

The woman told them to hold still, but they didn't listen. Their hand reached into their bag when she demanded with a more firm voice 'don’t fucking move.' Fridgar lifted their torn, slashed face to her and rolled their jaw just to make sure that everything was working right. "Listen..." They said as the rug moved strangely, and flecks of blood sprayed from its fabric. Fridgar stared at it confused while they continued to feel around in their domain bag with their two fingers and thumb for the object of their desire.

All of a sudden, the rug began to weave around them and Fridgar's whole body went rigid with discomfort. Immediately, fridgar bared their teeth, which showed their split lip and tear in the corner of their mouth. Truly, the lothar was in a bad way but didn't seem to notice if not for the more obvious injuries. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Fridgar snarled as the rug bandaged their body. The Lothar grunted with strain as they tried their hardest to reach into their bag.

There, their finger brushed over it; their raw Harthyte well. with a pull of their remaining claws, they drew it closer and clenched it to the best of their ability with their three digits. Immediately, all their wounds sealed, stump leg and bare knuckles included. All their bleeding stopped, though the damage was still done from whatever blood they had lost. They felt lightheaded, weak, borderline dizzy... And cold. The warmth of the well in their hand was so soothing, so nice.

It was only once the initial panic was over that Fridgar realized the motion of the girl's wings. She was obviously a mage, but they hadn't expected her to be another becomer. With the subsiding panic, they realized that the rug bandages weren't all that bad, they could deal with them for now.

"...Thank you," they said as they withdrew the Harthyte well from their domain bag and clenched it tight. It appeared as a glowing, crystalline heart. Steadily, Fridgar pushed off their hands and rested upon the floor of Zarik's home.

Then they realized; this was Zarik's home. Why was she here? Why did she call the rug hers? Was this Zarik's mother? Hadn't she ran off with a noble while he was young? "What do you mean your rug? This house is Zarik's, not yours..." Perhaps it wasn't the best decision to begin questioning the woman that had tried to help him immediately after the act, but Fridgar took such occurrences in their stride.

"You have our gratitude for your help, though you speak as though you know us and talk of this place as though you own it," they explained their asking. "Also... That magic, what was it?"

[Llyr Llywelyn]

From the moment that Fridgar had fallen through the portal, Zarik had entered a mode that had little to do with rational thought. Only one thing circulated in his mind, and that was to stop the bleeding and to keep the other man from dying. He ignored the growl, he ignored the injured man’s movements other than to tell him to stop doing so.

The shrill and screaming snarl, however, broke their concentration. Zarik accidentally tightened the shapecrafted rug so that it squeezed around the broad man’s body. He noticed, then, that the Protean was trying to retrieve something and… his mind gradually started to recover from its instinct. What was he doing? Why was he helping Fridgar like this? And how? Zarik pulled his hands back and stared at the bloodied palms, coated in crimson lifeforce.

His hands trembled slightly. He glanced at the other man who seemed better, but… his limbs were still missing and portions of his body and…Zarik laughed when Fridgar still didn’t recognize him. The gentle laughs turned into a heavy sigh. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, then licked at them. His heart pounded and his empty stomach turned over.

“It was my magic,” he answered to the last question. Zarik stood, in front of the bandaged overstepped Protean. He said, “Take off your blindfold, Fridgar.”

He stepped away from the balcony, surveyed the private room once, then took off his clothes. His crystalline legs shimmered obviously in the sunlight that entered through the open frame that led to the outside space. Zarik inhaled, then he started to transform. His bones shrank then stretched, his flesh inverted then dripped a new yet fair skin over it, and his features changed. Though it hurt, he barely appeared to react to it. He breathed heavily as his organs and lungs reconfigured. Within four bits, it was done.

No longer Kiara, he now stood in his born form: Zarik as he was known. His wings outstretched behind him, refracting light around the room. He stretched upward with his long limbs, then checked his ribs to make sure they’d properly reformed in place.

The blond biqaj took another short breath. He placed his hands on his hips, though his recently transformed body was completely vulnerable and exposed. He glanced at Fridgar but his gaze centered on the body covered by the changed rug that he’d crafted. Zarik chided the Revealed mage in a low, masculine voice, “What were you doing? You could have killed yourself or worse, hurt someone else in the house. And my rug… my poor rug. One of a kind and now it’s ruined. You better have a godsdamn decent reason.”

[Varthakh]

She offered no explanation for the magic she'd used, only that it was hers. While they normally would have pushed the matter, they didn't consider doing so at that moment. They just wanted to meditate passively and ease their throbbing headache.

They slowed their breathing to a more relaxed pace and cleared their thoughts of stress and pressure. They were still quite low on blood after bleeding all over Zarik's rug, so their head was already light. Their meditation might have helped them gain some focus, some clarity through the haze of injury and overstepping.

The woman ordered they remove their blindfold, and Fridgar looked to her beneath that same fabric. What was the point? What did that have to do with who she was? Was it someone that Fridgar knew? Someone that had somehow changed their scent? Fridgar took a more detailed smell of the air around her as she moved away from the balcony. They felt her motions as she did so, felt her as she undressed. Fridgar shook their head promptly and snapped from their dazed, groggy, dull focus. When she began to change shape, it barely registered to them, but they still felt her form as her bones changed shape and her skeletal structure shifted. They knew she was a becomer by her wings, but why was she shifting in front of them?

With a deep sigh, Fridgar reached to their missing leg and felt over the wound. There, they felt the cracked, exposed bone jutting from their seamless skin stump. Just touching the shattered limb ran shivers down their spine. Touching it was a deep, nerve pain that they so rarely experienced. They blinked again and shook their head. What the fuck were they doing? Keeping their focus, it seemed, was impossible with how dry their veins must have been. They grew tired despite the fast-paced beating of their heart and the dizziness only grew worse.

The lothar rolled their head on their shoulders and groaned through the lethargic weight of the world. They wanted to sleep, nothing more. Fridgar reached for their own face with their right hand, which had four of their digits intact. Idly, they licked at the half-dried blood on their appendage, then laid their head back against the wall. If they didn't know any better, they'd have thought that they were dying. All their feelings were natural, however. The lack of blood in their body meant that oxygen couldn't circulate their body as well. The lack of oxygen to the brain made them tired, slow.

The lack of blood also left their body to grow cold, which explained their shivering and dull ache in their bones. It felt like death, but they were ultimately fine.

Finally, Zarik returned to them, and they could smell his scent. In their pacified, groggy state, they could barely muster the energy to hate him or scorn him. As they were, there was only the supreme weight of euphoria draping them. Zarik began to scald them for what they'd done, and Fridgar merely chuckled beneath their blindfold while they rested their bloodied head against the wall. He might notice that they were breathing quite quickly, as though they'd been running for a while just a bit or two ago.

"Where'd that woman..." Fridgar asked between their breaths and nodded their head a little, as though they almost dozed off. Talking only made it worse. Their body needed all the air it could get, and speaking was a waste of their precious breath. "...That woman..." Fridgar said again before they nodded their head and hung it over themselves. Snoring followed, heralding that the giant had fallen asleep.

In just a couple of trills, Fridgar began to shrink as their totems manifested with the desire to keep them safe. They steadily assumed the shape of the Stekir, which had a much smaller body and was capable of running more efficiently at lower blood levels. The feline opened their eyes in a flutter and looked upon Zarik. They blinked steadily and looked to their stump leg. "Fucking hell," they echoed as they licked at their blood-matted white fur.

"...Sorry, Zarik," they echoed finally from where they sat. Being able to communicate without breathing was their saving grace, as the echo only required their thought and no use fo their mouth or vocal cords. "Rupturing requires the use of your eyes... We got reckless and decided to try it without our eyes. The portal we made was... Faulty. It tore us to pieces." that was the best way they could describe it. "We can't use chrysalis yet, else we might kill ourselves in the process."

While it bothered them to be at Zarik's mercy, they didn't have much of a choice. The feline hung their head again, quite clearly exhausted. Shortly after that, they fell to their stomach and laid on the bloodied floor in a mess of carpet shreddings. "...We didn't expect it to go so bad... We're sorry." With that, they looked up at the biqaj and faltered some in their weakness. "Could you... Put us somewhere? Somewhere quiet to meditate, we might be able to Chrysalis then and speak properly."

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Zarik couldn’t tell if it was the blood loss or if Fridgar truly was that dense when the Protean still seemed confused about his transformation. He rolled his eyes, then watched as Fridgar drifted into a sleep. Zarik crossed his arms tightly over his chest. He went over and recovered a coat from a nearby hook. Now that he was a Becomer, Zarik had made a point to make sure there were many different sort of coats in every room of the villa specifically for this reason. He drew it around his form, finding decency once more even though his only company was now… a Stekir.

He gazed down at the similarly injured feline. His anger mounted, growing with each word that came after the apology. His jaw set, teeth gritted, and eyes narrowed in a glare. It didn’t matter that Fridgar was in the shape of a Stekir. Zarik could look beyond the totems, they were all the same to him more or less – they were all the Protean.

A low hiss of frustration escaped him. He paced, glanced outside past the balcony, then paced to the other side. He continued his path, back and forth, in front of the Stekir and treaded his steps into the floor. His eyes glowed a terrible vermilion color, vibrant and unrepentant in their intensity. He noticed the Stekir look up at him.

“I should put you in the fucking ground. Is that quiet enough for you?” he snapped in response to the request to go somewhere to meditate. In the aftermath, with the knowledge now of what had happened, Zarik’s fury escalated as his charity to stop the bleeding and heal faded to the back of his mind. “Reckless is putting it mildly. Gods, what if you had portaled into Asher’s room? Or Bjorn’s? You- you- idiot!”

“Do you think of no one but yourself?” he asked, a rhetorical and anger-laced question. “Or are you lying? I saw you with Kleine… did you… were you…”

He didn’t finish his questioning. Instead, he gave a frustrated shout and pushed over a nearby chair if only to express the flood of emotion that poured out from inside of him. Once the furniture toppled to the ground, he closed his eyes. He tightened the coat around him and breathed heavily until he felt a sense of composure again.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he apologized for his outburst. He ran a hand over his face, then slicked back his hair. It revealed the Grave Gold scarred Mark of Faith on his forehead. “But…”

Zarik shook his head a few times and stared at the ceiling. He rolled his tear-filled eyes, though no droplets fell, then exhaled lowly. His hand covered his mouth and he thought over his words. Finally, he said, “You’re so selfish. I don’t know why you helped me in Lair, I don’t know why… but this… is it because you are Protean? Do you think yourself above consequence? Well, answer me! Do you?!” He shouted the last sentence, uncaring if anyone heard. His wings expanded in a splay of light that bounced around the room, his eyes glowed their flooded vermilion hue.

[Varthakh]

Zarik was not going to be of any help to them. When was he ever? The feline simply laid there as the Biqaj lost his shit with them, and tried their best to ease their headache. Zarik threatened to kill them, and their spine tingled. Their ears lifted to a point and their eyes spied him carefully. Terrance pleaded to be let out and they weren't in a position to deny any of their totems from manifesting if they truly wanted to. They had no ether to lock their form with.

The true danger of the situation dawned on them, at any time, Reiner could break free and destroy the entire building, likely kill everyone within including Bjorn, who was apparently inside, also. Zarik continued to call them selfish, to say that they thought of no one but themselves. Fridgar shut their eyes and covered their ears. It wasn't true, it wasn't. They cared about Alistair, they cared about Bjorn, they cared about Dosan... They just didn't care about Zarik.

Their own anger began to build, their fast-paced heart strained to beat quicker as adrenaline entered their system. Zarik. This child that had taken everything from them, this evil little runt that waltzed into Fridgar's life, married their husband and acquired Dosan's respect by doing so. He was calling them selfish? When he'd taken everything from Fridgar all for his own gain? Zarik would see their form ripple, pulse with the threat of transformation.

Zarik stayed his aggression, but the damage was done. Fridgar hadn't the blood to think straight, nor get as angry as they were. "Stop," echoed the feline when Zarik called them so selfish. "Just stop," they said again, almost pleading. They needed to escape. They needed to get out of here before Reiner took the reins. Steadily and shakily, the feline pressed to their three feet and leaned on their broken bone stump leg for support while they shakily dragged themselves to the door.

Each step made their head lighter and drew their vision darker. They needed to pause to breathe every so often so that they didn't pass out from the lack of blood. 'Well, answer me! Do you?!' Zarik yelled again, though his voice sounded so distant now, almost completely muffled by their exhaustion.

"You're being a cunt," Fridgar echoed with a look over their shoulder. "You're making everything worse, just fuck off," their voice came with something of a whine, as though they were fed up. They continued to crawl and made it as far as the door before they shakily sat down. Their vision was dark around the edges, they couldn't seem to breathe enough air to recover, though they did slowly. In their exhaustion, their anger had faded, though Reiner and Boomer still lurked beneath the surface. They wouldn't hesitate to protect them if needs be.