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What's temporary? That- that doesn't make any sense!
[ 'Panic' cannot accurately summarise what is happening here. It's grown well past 'panic', has settled into a specific terror that's become too familiar for their liking since Wonderland, or Lyrabar. (Or Vista Virs.) The raw, fizzing kind that comes when there's a thousand and one ways something might have happened, and no time left to figure out which one, exactly, is responsible. If magic isn't working then they can't fix it- though that's stupid, they can't fix it anyway if they don't know what it is-
Breathe, Lion. Think about it. He's not freaking out, so you can't.
It's a Piece thing. Has to be. What kind of Piece thing doesn't matter- there's no time to argue about the how or why right now, or to rifle through their box of memories to try and figure out what they missed. (shouldn't have kept putting it off, stupid, stupid-) ]
I- [ -don't understand. The word catches, pressed between one shaking breath and the next, as they try to push past that hopeless feeling. ] O-okay. I will. I promise.
[ Will doesn't lie. Will would never lie to them. Not even for their own sake (except he did by avoiding it entirely that one time- stop it). If he says it's temporary, it will be, whatever 'it' is. They have to believe that.
One hand fumbles for his, grips it as tight as they can. It's stupid, won't do anything, but it makes them feel better. ]
[ Even if they don't say the words, it's easy to pick up that they're confused. Yet, Lion's still trying to roll with it. It's impressive. The best he can do to get that across is grip their hand back. Ignore the numbers. It's a comfort worth the cost. There's so much more that needs to be answered, on what kind of Piece thing and why he knows its temporary - but corners have to be cut here. And that means taking it at face value.
They promised. That means it's fine. Concept is protected. Next problem.
It's not like last time: pages don't split open across flesh and there's no sense of pain. The voice even comes out clear, no strain, but slowly turns low quality with each syllable - like trying to hear something played from old gramophones, or from behind closed doors. If anything, there is only a vague exhaustion. ]
I'm easy to summon. My Concept, a sufficient magic supply, and someone who genuinely needs me. That's all. [ Later on, after waking up again, he's probably going to get mocked for that - humans make jokes about easy captures all the time - but not the time. Lion has the memories, even if they don't want to use them, and maybe knowing how it's temporary will keep them... well. Not happy. Focused. Go with focused. And hey, in the worst case, they can just grab Battler to do it. Even if he'd rather be summoned by anyone else in the world, he's at least good at it. Beggars can't be choosers.
Even when the beggars get migraines just from considering that hypothetical reality. ] ...And an espresso. Got it?
[ They don't say the first thing that creeps into mind. "If it's that easy, why can't I fix it now?" That- and the part that would follow, begging him to stay, not to leave, even for this promised temporary time - would only make it worse. They have first-hand experience, and second-hand memories of why, after all.
Even if they want to, so badly that it aches in their chest.
Instead they pull up a watery smile that they don't really feel, and all the years of practice at not letting themself crumble, and strain to hear everything they can. ]
You w-won't have to worry about that, then. [ 'Someone who genuinely needs him' - even if they couldn't, that would never be in doubt. ] But somehow, I'm not- I'm not surprised that coffee is part of it.
[ Bad jokes are better then thinking about why, though they hesitate after. They'll fix it. They have to. ]
... If... If it doesn't work, I'll-
[ 'I'll never forgive you' isn't right. They'd forgive him anything and they know it. ]
-I'll let Battler bring you back just to lecture you instead.
[ That is the single most cursed punishment he's ever heard and wasting the battery power for the disgusted expression is entirely justified. ]
...Can't have that. The coffee is no longer a request, but a demand. Need a weapon if Battler's face s'the first thing I see.
[ There will be no lectures because he'll be back before that. Something probably just happened with the relic - like how Yggdrasil had a moment of Death before fixing itself. It'll be the same here. Lion even has directions. A hope. Even if they're putting on a brave face, that's enough. It has to be. And the last dregs of the bracer are spent resting a hand on their face, squeezing their other hand with a smile hopefully as supportive as he's trying to come off. That might still be taken badly. Keep it light. Hmm.
Add a pinch. ]
See you soon.
[ And unlike what every fear of Lion's and every attempt the narrative takes to be heartless, it's not Vista Virs. Nor is it Ange's tantrum. It's just like whenever the other angels disappeared - a bright flash of white, searing like sunlight, dissolving out into firefly particles before going out. Like a particularly tall and annoying firework. This is Lion's punishment for dating a Piece.
All that's left is two sheets of paper in the snow, yellowed and frayed with age, stains and tears marring the words. Which isn't saying much, considering the handwriting is a shorthand they've seen before - and remember purely from how nigh-illegible it is. Even still, none of this is relevant. There is only one part of these papers that will inspire Lion to panic.
[ The smile lasts as long as he does. They can do that much, and it gives them time to anchor to the feeling of the hand on their face, silently repeating the promise over and over to make it stick. It's temporary. He'll be back. Even if not for that, they died and came back, so he could-can-will too. Hold onto that against all odds. It fades when he does- but what wells up in it's place is the memory of the funeral. How oddly pretty it was, if not for... what it was.
One moment. Surely they can have one moment, where no-one could possibly be watching, to break down and cry. Before someone comes looking for the two of them. Before they start looking for answers as to why this happened and how they fix it and
One moment. One.
But- no they can't, because it is cold and that is paper and they just promised to keep it - him, him - safe and they really don't want to consider what long-term damage could result from needing to air-dry what's left. Reality won't wait for them to grieve, however temporarily. That's not how it works. Sure, this is so much worse then the glass, but... it won't fix itself.
So it's fine. Scoop up the pages, carefully. Ignore the immediate impulse to fold them somewhere safe, who knows what that could do. Dry the tears with one sleeve, hold what's left to their chest with the other, breathe. Grab the bundle of sticks, it's not worth wasting all that effort and surely, someone will need it. Stand up.
Take a step. Take another. Keep going until the town comes into view.
Worry about 'what comes next' later.
(And later, alone in their joint room, curiosity finally wins out. They read the list. All twenty points of it, blood-stained and worse. It's a careful effort, to not add more tears to the mess, but the rest of him is carefully tucked in their spellbook for protection afterwards.) ]
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no subject
[ 'Panic' cannot accurately summarise what is happening here. It's grown well past 'panic', has settled into a specific terror that's become too familiar for their liking since Wonderland, or Lyrabar. (Or Vista Virs.) The raw, fizzing kind that comes when there's a thousand and one ways something might have happened, and no time left to figure out which one, exactly, is responsible. If magic isn't working then they can't fix it- though that's stupid, they can't fix it anyway if they don't know what it is-
Breathe, Lion. Think about it. He's not freaking out, so you can't.
It's a Piece thing. Has to be. What kind of Piece thing doesn't matter- there's no time to argue about the how or why right now, or to rifle through their box of memories to try and figure out what they missed. (shouldn't have kept putting it off, stupid, stupid-) ]
I- [ -don't understand. The word catches, pressed between one shaking breath and the next, as they try to push past that hopeless feeling. ] O-okay. I will. I promise.
[ Will doesn't lie. Will would never lie to them. Not even for their own sake (except he did by avoiding it entirely that one time- stop it). If he says it's temporary, it will be, whatever 'it' is. They have to believe that.
One hand fumbles for his, grips it as tight as they can. It's stupid, won't do anything, but it makes them feel better. ]
no subject
They promised. That means it's fine. Concept is protected. Next problem.
It's not like last time: pages don't split open across flesh and there's no sense of pain. The voice even comes out clear, no strain, but slowly turns low quality with each syllable - like trying to hear something played from old gramophones, or from behind closed doors. If anything, there is only a vague exhaustion. ]
I'm easy to summon. My Concept, a sufficient magic supply, and someone who genuinely needs me. That's all. [ Later on, after waking up again, he's probably going to get mocked for that - humans make jokes about easy captures all the time - but not the time. Lion has the memories, even if they don't want to use them, and maybe knowing how it's temporary will keep them... well. Not happy. Focused. Go with focused. And hey, in the worst case, they can just grab Battler to do it. Even if he'd rather be summoned by anyone else in the world, he's at least good at it. Beggars can't be choosers.
Even when the beggars get migraines just from considering that hypothetical reality. ] ...And an espresso. Got it?
no subject
Even if they want to, so badly that it aches in their chest.
Instead they pull up a watery smile that they don't really feel, and all the years of practice at not letting themself crumble, and strain to hear everything they can. ]
You w-won't have to worry about that, then. [ 'Someone who genuinely needs him' - even if they couldn't, that would never be in doubt. ] But somehow, I'm not- I'm not surprised that coffee is part of it.
[ Bad jokes are better then thinking about why, though they hesitate after. They'll fix it. They have to. ]
... If... If it doesn't work, I'll-
[ 'I'll never forgive you' isn't right. They'd forgive him anything and they know it. ]
-I'll let Battler bring you back just to lecture you instead.
[ Wow, harsh. ]
no subject
...Can't have that. The coffee is no longer a request, but a demand. Need a weapon if Battler's face s'the first thing I see.
[ There will be no lectures because he'll be back before that. Something probably just happened with the relic - like how Yggdrasil had a moment of Death before fixing itself. It'll be the same here. Lion even has directions. A hope. Even if they're putting on a brave face, that's enough. It has to be. And the last dregs of the bracer are spent resting a hand on their face, squeezing their other hand with a smile hopefully as supportive as he's trying to come off. That might still be taken badly. Keep it light. Hmm.
Add a pinch. ]
See you soon.
[ And unlike what every fear of Lion's and every attempt the narrative takes to be heartless, it's not Vista Virs. Nor is it Ange's tantrum. It's just like whenever the other angels disappeared - a bright flash of white, searing like sunlight, dissolving out into firefly particles before going out. Like a particularly tall and annoying firework. This is Lion's punishment for dating a Piece.
All that's left is two sheets of paper in the snow, yellowed and frayed with age, stains and tears marring the words. Which isn't saying much, considering the handwriting is a shorthand they've seen before - and remember purely from how nigh-illegible it is. Even still, none of this is relevant. There is only one part of these papers that will inspire Lion to panic.
It's a list. ]
no subject
One moment. Surely they can have one moment, where no-one could possibly be watching, to break down and cry. Before someone comes looking for the two of them. Before they start looking for answers as to why this happened and how they fix it and
One moment. One.
But- no they can't, because it is cold and that is paper and they just promised to keep it - him, him - safe and they really don't want to consider what long-term damage could result from needing to air-dry what's left. Reality won't wait for them to grieve, however temporarily. That's not how it works. Sure, this is so much worse then the glass, but... it won't fix itself.
So it's fine. Scoop up the pages, carefully. Ignore the immediate impulse to fold them somewhere safe, who knows what that could do. Dry the tears with one sleeve, hold what's left to their chest with the other, breathe. Grab the bundle of sticks, it's not worth wasting all that effort and surely, someone will need it. Stand up.
Take a step. Take another. Keep going until the town comes into view.
Worry about 'what comes next' later.
(And later, alone in their joint room, curiosity finally wins out. They read the list. All twenty points of it, blood-stained and worse. It's a careful effort, to not add more tears to the mess, but the rest of him is carefully tucked in their spellbook for protection afterwards.) ]