“Wait, what? No, I can’t—you can’t just—OI!“
Pash looked down at the medical bag in his hands as Padraig finished his instructions and made his decisions. While he was sure he could figure things out in a pinch, this was
not a pinch. Anything but. This was a vise. Or the taloned grip of some huge monster, made up entirely of shadows and fear. The tall Biqaj groaned, and Delta would feel a surge of helpless frustration, anger, and doubt that most likely paled in comparison to her own but also probably was not welcome in a tangle that was already so damaged and over-burdened with negativity.
Maybe this was a bad dream. If it was, it would be damn nice to wake up right now.
He opened his mouth to say more, stormy gaze watching both other men in their broken group begin to leave the way they had come, Varn bristling, his whole self an extension of the taut bow in his hands. Pash didn’t even need Empathy to feel the tension, so oppressive and crushing as it had become. He felt his resolve crumble under the realization that he was about to be truly alone—the only barely sane living creature for breaks of travel. He already felt like he was drowning, the Biqaj slave woman’s emotions so much cold water in his lungs, but he didn’t even feel like he had enough sanity to make a complete sentence that made sense.
Lakia spoke up, snapping Pash’s attention briefly to her as Padraig and the archaeologist’s slave walked away, hands washed of everything else, their guard lingering to cover them. While her theories were wild, nothing wasn’t here. He, too, was suspicious of everyone, but if there was one person he hadn’t been, it was Varn. Not because they shared a heritage and certainly not because of his personality, but because in spite of his own loud chauvinism, he still valued life. Pash valued life, too. Intelligent, breathing, thinking life.
It was when she turned to him, specifically, that he blinked. Her question about brokenness was, in fact, not even the last straw he thought it was.
For a moment, his expression was blank, as if it took him too long to put her words together into a thought he could actually understand. He bit his lip as if to hold his tongue, and stood, wavering a little on unsteady feet. While Lakia could only hear his tone of voice and see the twist of anger that creased its way into his salty features—a rare expression for the musician, though no one here knew him well enough at all to know that—Delta would feel the swift undertow of hurt, of anger, of defiance. It rose above the surge of the Biqaj slave woman’s own thread shared despair, a fire that surged from within the hull of his chest and into his words,
“’S far ’s I know, everyone else’s broken mind isn’t because o’ what’s goin’ on here. It’s because they’re crazy. It's because y'all came here that way—crazy. I’m no’ strong enough a man, no’ strong enough a mage, to fix what’s happenin’ here, alone. I broke m’self, reached too far, did too much, an’—wait. Are y’ jokin’ right now? Here? In this mess? For Immortal’s sake—Me? Fix her? I didn’t break her. You did. She’s your property, an’ you’ve done this all yourself. ”
Pash all but growled his words, accusatory, biased, his Ne’Haer-born blood boiling at the thought. He didn't know their history, didn't know where they had come from or what they had done. He didn't know anything about Lakia or Delta save that one owned the other. But that was enough. Everything else, at this point, was madness. Calloused fingers moved to reach for the pouch that contained his coins, ready to offer to buy her freedom right now on the spot. He couldn’t fix her here. At all. Possibly ever. But he could take her somewhere else, find someone who could. He opened his mouth to snarl an offer, jangling coins for emphasis, to beg Lakia: how much could Delta be worth, broken? He’d take her. Right now. And go, too.
Then, as if there wasn’t enough to break his resolve completely, wasn’t enough blood, wasn’t enough chaos, Lakia’s tension, her accusations, whatever hurt inside of her bubbling forth in her actions in the time it took him to blink—
Varn shot first.
The tall Biqaj stood still. He couldn’t even breathe. His combat experience was limited to bar fights and self-preservation, it was true, but he’d never been in a situation where the sides were even more unclear than a tavern full of drunks, where those who were meant to be together had been so torn apart. His eyes were dark, rimmed with gold, and he finally gasped for air as if he truly had been held underwater for too long, exploding in feelings that weren’t his own.
That was it.
That was everything.
This was not at all where or how he wished to die.
Bravado bled out of him like the liquid stardust in his veins and he stared in helpless bewilderment at all that continued to unfold in front of him for what felt like an eternal expanse of time, even if it was only a handful of heartbeats.
No.
There was nothing to fix. Whatever was happening to his body was not worth staying for. Whatever was happening was not worth fighting for, if only because he was even more helpless than he’d ever imagined himself to be.
Nope. No. No way.
“Immortals, have mercy. This place is death.” The warm current of Rakahi was all he managed, tearing his gaze away from Lakia to speak directly to Delta one last time,
“I cannot fix you, I have nothing, nothing to offer anyone right now, if ever again … but staying here is wrong. Staying here is going to kill all of us. There is more I’d like out of my life, damn it all, and more you deserve. I’ve only stolen feelings, glances, drinks, and kisses. Useless baubles. A few hearts. I’ve never stolen a person, but we should leave. Now.”
He gave them both a lingering glance, hugging someone else’s bag to his chest with hands that shook with mental agony, fear, and sadness for lack of anything that at all seemed comforting in all of Idalos in this moment.
Then, he tucked his jib and turned to walk away.
OOC
”Aw. Hell nah. There’s shots fired and my brain's goo. NOPE. 200% NO. The party is over and the lights are turned off. DUDES. HOLD THE BOAT. I CHANGED MY MIND. PLEASE. I promise not to touch anything else … for … a little while, anyway. Okay, I can’t promise that but … don’t leave me here.”
Sorry, kids, but this is officially over Pash’s head. I will say he considered kidnapping for a split second. I am happy to address the issues of slavery, thread sharing, Empathy magic, addiction, and even have well-meaning, Ne’Haer ignorant Pash offer to buy Delta’s freedom, but not now. Not for several trials. Not until he’s no longer a man-shaped terrarium. I’d definitely like to deal with it, but Pash is out. OUT. Broken. Spent. Terrified out of his music-loving wits. To stay with crazy people is death and he loves himself far too much to put up with any more madness and danger. I tried. I did. To convince him. OOC, I wanted to stay, but no. It’s just not him. I can’t force what isn’t there. He’s too full of feels, his own and now someone else’s, he cares too much. Nope.
