WHEN: 1943 April 7 ; morning
WHERE: Eumenides Sanitorium, medical wing
WHO: Llywellynn, November, and a comatose Malcolm... and perhaps eventually a Roesler
--
[09:26] Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Lady Esher was in mood today though she strove to hide it under well practiced English manners.
Her sleep had been tormented yet again by fragments of memories contorted together with impossible conjectures, coiled in cold slithering shadows of the Curse consuming her one grain of her soul at a time.
Her waking had been worse. Beset on all sides by the most pernicious of wraiths that no chant had ever shaken off over the many years she had suffered them. She hadn’t left them behind in England like she had so badly hoped after all. Not just the one but now all seven, each hideous and torturous in different ways upon her no matter what she did. She couldn’t help but swipe at their bedeviling claws, ineffectual as it was.
She only ended up scratching her own skin bloody as she cried, until the spooks disappeared. Such attacks had always been random and this time was no exception. Having hope she had gotten free of them just gave further sharpness to the hissing insults and putridiferous attacks.
Not to mention the presence of her husband still so determined to bring her nothing but misery even from beyond the grave. On some wordless inner level where her own small dark power resided, she knew he wouldn’t stay banished into the bay for much longer.
Her coping skills were failing her one by one. Too much she had long ignored bringing an inner reckoning she could barely spare. She was finally gathering the resources and help she needed to gain a true chance to survive. Yet the upward climb towards salvation grew steeper and more painful every night and day.
She had no choice but to persevere. She would fight this Curse to her death and beyond.
She did what was necessary to put herself together as she always did, methodical and grim, until she had all the armor of her prim presentability firmly in place.
Regardless of how she felt or what might lay in her path or the weaknesses of her flesh, her tenacious drive stiffened her posture resolute to get her out the door to go down into the howling morass of town.
She had a priest to visit today.
She made her way alone, no Luca to be found fast enough to stop her. So the Lady tapped her slow cautious way across town, through all the moaning swarm of spirits and clouds of ash and across the strewn bones until she made it to the brooding hulk of a building sitting atop the ridge overlooking the town like some vulture awaiting them all.
[09:34] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently): Eumenides was never 'quiet' but there was an eerie lull over it that day. Good Friday tended to put a pall over certain communities that populated the island and some of them, supernatural or not, staffed the asylum - so a sense of reverence that covered the place. It was an odd juxtaposition to the more eccentric staff (and patients with more freedom) that decided to focus on other parts of the holiday. Brightly colored ovals were seen rolling around past the archway to the hedge maze and a single large golden egg sat in front of the door almost tantalizingly.
Through the front window staff could be seen ushering patients and family around front lobby. One stiff-looking brunette with a too-wide smile sat at the front desk, unmoving until she was addressed, now and again typing at the keyboard in front of her or scribbling someone's name on a sign-in sheet. She'd happily greet the Lady Esher in semi-robotic chipperness when she entered. "Good morning ma'am, are you here to ... visit? Or to check in?"
[09:38] November Morsus braced himself as if against a bitter wind as those long, long legs strode up to the asylum gates. He always felt distinctly uncomfortable, wrong even, on holy days such as this, but he grit his teeth, ready for another day of taking patients, changing bandages, boredly flipping his way through paperwork, and perhaps if he was lucky, a romp in the supply closet as was his nature. However, what he was *not* expecting or prepared for was the sight of Llywellynn Esher, entirely on her own despite her rather delicate condition, walking up to the asylum like a rabbit to the jaws of a beast. Jogging the last few steps to her side, he called out "Good afternoon, my dear!" in a voice he hoped didn't sound too strained or concerned, "I was just, heading into work, what brings you to Eumenides?"
Pulling open the door for her as she stepped inside, he immediately changed his plans for the day. Seeing Llywellynn with no sign of Luca trailing behind her, he quickly determined that *he* would be taking bodyguard duty that day, at least as best as he was able. A small, polite smile and nod to the woman at the front desk, by now a familiar face to him.
[09:51] Llywellynn Devoreaux (llywellynndevoreaux): This time Lady Esher was presented in the full flare of her determination. A subtle fierceness filled the sails of the slender frail widow, holding her posture a stern proper line, moving with almost regal purpose no matter the circumstance. If not for sheer stubbornness however she would surely be in a hospital bed from the profound lack of vitality that clung to her.
Seeing Dr. Morsus for the second time, her pulse only skipped one beat before she managed to compose herself, the veil of her wide brim hat hiding much of her reaction to mundane eyes. He at least had already seen the soft contours of her face before, though her eyes remained mysteries behind black glass. To any predator however her vital signs telegraphed her muted alarm and the fraility of her form. The unfurling lure of her scent was nearly impossible to ignore for long as well. Warm luscious honeysuckle and the smokey sugar of woodfire underlaid with the aroma of dark coffee and brandy strong and plummy all rolled into an unique sweetness that invited unfortunate appetites to rise in her vicinity.
She was momentarily taken aback by the appearance of the tall shadowy demon...a somehow familiar figure.
His sharp edged darkness ached into her vision and she suddenly recalled his introduction during that hazy time she had ended up on his office couch bleeding and drained of all energy. He had also named himself as the Professor of Physiology and Anatomy on the Aethernet some time before. Luca had called him a demon in so many words when she first hired the man.
Taking so long to recall these pertinent facts produced chagrin, but it was short-lived. She had gone through a great deal of shock between then and now, plenty of details slipping through the cracks of her presence of mind. Her unrelenting fatigue solved the matter of any protracted doubt.
The doctor had acted kind to her and said he would help her then and he presented himself the same this time despite his fearsome and frankly hungry demeanor. She had few options but to accept that sentiment at face value. She had to try her best to not shy from his unholy aura, especially when his sharp claws were already haunting her nightmares.
"Ah..Good afternoon...Ah yes, Dr. Morsus, if I recall correctly? This must be the place... you had referred to previous...as your other employment then." Llyw greeted the doctor with her soft tone just above a whisper, her hat tilted up just enough to show a small polite smile, her accent stiffly British today as if even her voice needed to hold her upright, holding her manners tight as a shield. "Oh my thanks, good sir..." She took his gallantry in stride, heading inside with slow but steady footsteps once he opened the door for her. She exerted all her self control to keep her breathing normal, her heartrate paced, but she was already slightly out of breath just getting up the hill. She was already marshalling her remaining energy so she didn't pursue more chatter, turning to the receptionist with her objective today. "I am here to see Father Malcolm, if I may."
Something a doctor of Morsus' skill might ascertain at this point observing the widow - She moved with a guarded stiffness as well, the type of body language that was trying to hide pain. This close the scent of fresh blood grew prominent to join the rest of her sweetly maddening fragrance.
[10:03] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently): Behind the desk, the receptionist peered up at November with a wide and placid smile. "Good morning..." her eyes focused on his face for a moment. "...Dr. Morsus. Have a good day today!" she greeted. Llywellynn's request to see the priest was met with a slight turning of the receptionist's head. She hummed before looking down and clicky-clacking at her keyboard. "Fr. Hector Malcolm Reed is located in the medical wing in Room ###. He currently has no restrictions on visitation," she said and slid a little visitor badge over to the lady through the window in the front desk area. "Please wear your visitor badge at all times."
Llywellynn could likely tell the badge itself was enchanted. Something protective, to ward off the worst of patient intentions as needed. It caused her no harm, simply put the more dangerous or curious of patients off of harassing her. There were some things that Eumenides took into account, and the well-being of 'innocuous' visitors was one of them. It simply would not do to attract attention from complaints and reports of devilish activity.
[10:13] November Morsus offered Llywellynn a gentle, sweet smile, at least until he sensed that slight quickening of her pulse, the acidic tang of fear adding delicate lemondrop notes to that maddeningly delicious fragrance that hung about her everywhere she went, then his shoulders drew in a bit, both his body and energy retreating faintly from that frightened response to a friendly greeting. His smile remained, though there was a sad cast to his eyes now, something of pained resignation. "The very same," he purred in his low, deep bass in response to her query, his cultured and academic accent a match to her own. "Should you ever need me, just ask for me by name, dear, they'll lead you right to my office... But ah, I see you're here as a visitor today. Do you mind terribly if I walk with you? He's on my list of patients to check in on as it is..."
A soft and gentle smile towards the glassy-eyed woman at the front desk. "You have a lovely day as well, my dear," he purred, warm and friendly towards even this dazed and barely-th
[10:13] November Morsus presence. "Now then, if you wouldn't mind following me, Ms. Esher dear, I can lead you to Malcom." Not exactly his *favourite* patient, considering exactly how hauntingly familiar that face was, striking fear to his heart even in peaceful unconsciousness, but as ever, needs must.
[10:29] Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llywellynn concentrated on the information the rather robotic receptionist gave out. She could barely focus on whatever was actually there in the lady's shape, the worlds were already wavering along the edges of her perception. She just had to ignore it like she ignored all the restless cacophany of the other side. It was especially noiser here, but that was unsurprising considering the nature of the place. She just hoped she didn't draw too much of the wrong kind of attention. The colorful little bundle of flowers tied in ribbon sticking out amongst the fabric roses on her hat band held a touch of magic to ward of the most malicious of the spirits here at least.
She accepted the visitor badge gingerly, the magic on it something she could feel the tingle of but not quite the trained understanding of all its function. Nonetheless, she affixed it to her dress lapel where it could be easily seen. "Thank you." She nodded once to the woman, sparing no further efforts except what was required of politeness. She was now as warded as she was likely to be on her own unless things went sideways.
She turned to Dr. Morsus however, lifting her hat high enough to look up and up at him with her archaic eyegear. His low soothing purr drew her gaze to look upon his terrible glory again, picking up on his tinge of sadness and the gentle cast to his smile that hid too many sharp points. She wasn't sure yet how to respond to his kind overtures so far other than to just try to smile back, a touch warmer this time and nod to his suggestions. "Ah of course, lead on, good sir..." She murmured softer in response, her accent mellowing just slightly, admitting,"...I appreciate the company."
Truly she wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to go alone to see the man, considering the circumstances involved. But the urge to visit the priest compelled her onward regardless. The presence of the towering sad eyed demon proved to be strangely comforting in this situation.
Llyw moved far slower than the doctor's long legs would normally take him however. Her sight cane tapping before each step she took, her habit appearing to all the mundane world as if she were in fact blind to some degree. In reality for her, she had to ensure she didn't run into anything that was present across the veil. So her progress was far slower than it ought to be to cross the hallways, unless Dr. Morsus had a better idea. The vague shadow wrapped around her seemed darker today than the last time he saw it.
[10:44] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently): That receptionist had a 'soul' - or some living energy pulsing through her body, wreathed in Aetheric energy keeping the organic and not-so-organic parts properly functional. There was flesh there... but it was minimal, the rest of it obviously the touch of a Technomancer - and a little bit of Necromancy too. As they turned away to explore the rest of the facility on the way to Malcolm's room Esher was likely treated to glimpses and passes of many spirits. Some of them peeked from rooms, others simply wandered the halls aimlessly. Patients and staff alike haunted the place, all of them connected in some fashion or another - though luckily most did not seem inherently hostile.
There was a halo of quiet near the priest's room, likely due to the presence of the habited nun standing outside his door. She had a silvery metallic rosary clutched around her hands and a large crucifix around her neck and was praying fervently under her breath - some Latin plea to St. Michael. When the two approached she opened her eyes a peep to look before making the sign of the cross and stepping forward.
"Excuse me... are you hear to see the Father?" she said gently, searching their faces. "He is... sleeping, fitfully. Are you friends of his?" A glance at November told him she knew... that he was at the very least supernatural even if she didn't know exactly what kind. The nun seemed wary. "Er... I think I recognize you, doctor. Is he yours today?"
[10:49] November Morsus seemed to warm a bit as Llywellynn did, her friendly response chasing away some of the sadness in that smile. "Always happy to grant company, my dear. The world is a cold place when one is alone, and far better shared." There seemed a sort of heaviness to his words, as if he were all too familiar with that coldness. As they reached the stairs, he reached out one arm, calling softly after her. "Stairs are a bit steep, damn near break my ankles on them once a week... Take my hand, won't you? Might be a bit easier on the both of us getting up them." His careful wording made the offer of assistance without handling her with kid gloves, seeing the admirable way in which she held herself, noble and upright despite nearly collapsing on her feet, and wishing to support her in this rather than call to mind her fragility.
As the nun approached, November bristled slightly, but tried not to let it outwardly show, instead offering her another kind, if strained, smile. "Good morning my dear! I am indeed here to check on him, though it appears he's got a visitor as well. Perhaps I'll just, check in briefly while he sleeps, let dear lady Esher here relax by his bedside until he awakes, alright?"
[11:04] Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: The widow still managed to move with a hint of lithe grace, though it was clear she was fighting a tide of weariness with each step. Whatever malady she suffered had thinned her down to her persistent willpower, the only thing keeping her aloft in the simple but well made long lines of her mourning dress.
For any who had the ability to sense more from her within range, beyond the well practiced veneer of her proper english ettiquette lay a tightly controlled well of misery and pain and frankly an unsteady grip on reality itself. The barrage of two worlds upon her was an overwhelming tide that wore her down slow but sure. The pall of darkness that clung to her slithered like a great serpent made of smoke, so dark against her pale sun starved skin that could be seen.
Llyw only hesitated for a second at Nov's offer of a hand, rather than an arm in the usual gentlemanly manner. But the stairs were uncommonly steep and she was already flagging with her limited reserves. He was perhaps another kind monster so far and she was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, somewhat touched by his consideration in fact. "Alright...Very kind of you...Dr. Morsus." she replied in her quiet way, tentatively laying her small thin hand in his larger grasp. She wore black lace gloves, the touch of her birdlike to highlight the fragility he was responding to.
Her scent of course was stronger so close and informed him perhaps quite clearly that much of her alluring scent arose directly from her blood. Somewhere on her person she was bleeding, just enough to sweeten the air around her so delectably. She seemed mostly unaware of this phenomena or else she was steadfastly ignoring it as she was all the other shuffling staring entities taking notice of them now.
She had to take a moment to catch her breath at the top of the stairs even with Morsus' support, her head and shoulders drooping slightly from their stiff posture. She missed the subtleties of the exchange between the nun and the demon while doing so. She lifted her hat to catch the last of it and merely nodded to the doctor's suggestion, training her glasses on the woman of faith apparantly guarding the door.
"I..would like to.. see Father Malcolm...if possible. Is he...able to talk?" Llyw asked softly, still trying to regain her breath. She probably needed to lie down herself.
[11:18] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently): The old nun squinted at the two of them, specifically at Llywellynn. Either she sensed the injury or smelled the blood, but with a wary glance at November she took a step towards the lady and pocketed her rosary. "Ma'am... do you need help? Your constitution seems to be strained a bit by... this visit, and this place..." She frowned at first but November's assertion that he had to go in and see Malcolm anyway, and that perhaps the lady could rest in one of the chairs that was definitely in the room seemed to sway her. She sighed, nodding.
"Alright... but he's not been responding, only stirring and fidgeting in his sleep. He mumbles sometimes, you see... mutters or cries out. But he doesn't answer when we speak to him." She put a hand to her chest, sighing. "...though you know what they say about people in such states. They can hear you. They'll remember." She stepped aside, granting the two of them access to the room. "Please, don't trouble him too much. He's been through an ordeal as is."
Inside, the room was spartan. A bed with clean sheets (which was sometimes rare in that place) bore the older vicar's prone form, a shorn head with some hair regrowth and longer stubble hiding swirls of ink in a pattern around his jawline and neck. He was slender, almost gaunt beneath the hospital gown and the sheets that covered him, a cross draped around his neck and settled on his chest. Scars from his injuries were evident on his face, the bulk of bandages at his torso visible. Malcolm twitched when they entered but remained asleep.
There was a chair in the room in one corner, next to a dresser presumably filled with supplies and other belongings. A nearby overbed table on wheels was set against one wall with a little cup of lukewarm water. The room was devoid of spirits... though a malaise and a shadow hung over the priest himself, afflicted from the massacre he narrowly escaped.
[11:42] November Morsus felt that deep well of pain and tragedy thrumming against his senses, especially as he took her hand, felt just the slightest hint of skin contact through the lace of her gloves. Though he hoped that despite the maelstrom of struggling that surrounded Llywellynn like a cloud threatening to suck him in right alongside her, he could himself offer something of stability, something of comfort. She was so very, *very* delicate... He could feel his heart flip, an *entirely* unfamiliar sensation with a lady such as herself, leading him once again to that particular rabbithole of confusing questions... Until he latched that inner door shut again with a firm click. He'd have all the time for introspection he needed later on, right now he needed to make sure she actually survived the trip, considering that maddening scent of blood on her person....
He kept up that softly strained smile at the nun's questioning and warnings, nodding politely when called upon. "I've heard it said that gentle words from friends and loved ones can be terribly helpful to the constitution of patients in this condition," he offered quietly in response, "only a theory, to be sure, but perhaps one that bears testing. After all, it can't do any harm," he said as he eased open the door as quietly as he was able, letting them into Father Malcom's room at last.... And shuddered. He'd never get over that face, even unconscious and harmless as it was, a thousand nightmares instantly bubbling to the surface, hastily swallowed back lest he disturb Lady Esher. "Right then, I'll just..." Had his grip tightened a bit, in her hand?
[12:08] Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Practically at a glance it was easy to see that only the iron of Esher's will kept her upright at all. But it did and she had the bulwark of her polite English manners to wield against any offers of help. It was perhaps a minor miracle she had unbent enough to allow the good doctor to aid her.
"Oh, thank you. I am fine." Llywellynn showed enough of her delicate face to meet the nun's concerns with a smile just reassuring enough to be believable hopefully. "I...won't be long. I just need to see him for myself...I had a request to bring him from Miss O'Keefe as well...But if he is unable to speak..I may need to let him know of it another time..."
Once the nun left them pass, Llywellynn fell silent, taking in the details with her particular senses, noting the absence of ghosts. Her attention roamed over the poor man and his extensive injuries and she cringed inwardly, both pity and fear mixing in her response. She somehow couldn't shake the proposterous notion that somehow she had marked the priest when she delivered her message to him. She knew it was an irrational thought but the unease of it would not relent. It was clear that Lily's message might have to wait for a proper answer, though she could speak it anyway in case the old priest could hear it.
But the dark shadow that hung of Father Malcolm captured all of her attention after that, something skin crawling about it even though she couldn't quite focus on what it was exactly as she took a step forward to bring her to the man's bedside. But she was stopped by a slight tug. On her hand. She looked down to that so long fingered and clawed clasp then up to the very tall dark devil in the room with her.
Only then did she realize just how far she had let her guard slip. The nightmare and the attack from this morning eroding her self control far more than she realized. Her hand all this time had remained engulfed in Morsus', unconsciously relying on the steady comfort he had offered without thought of propriety or anything. Such a simple gesture and yet for her it proved a lifeline somehow. She was actually surprised that all that radiating darkness from his deathless unearthly form hadn't done anything to her. But instead of the unnerving skin crawling sensation she got from the Windgraces no matter how kind they might be, she only felt an odd resonance of a different darkness than her own.
Then the doctor's hand tightened and Llyw's fair skin spread the flush of crimson before she turned her hat back to the priest, hiding her sudden confused expression. She didn't let go however, sensing somehow that she wasn't the only one in need of comfort, even from a stranger. Some wordless accord perhaps that she was too exhausted to question. Her reluctanct dance with death had at least brought clarity on many things that were usually so complicated for no reason. She would hold his hand until he let go she decided but had no idea what to do or say about it after that.
On impulse to find a distraction for her skipping beat she reached out her free hand to Malcolm her cane falling to the loop around her thin wrist. She sought to touch lightly on his hand, gentle and brief, just to let him know she was there if he could perceive anything.
"Father..." She whispered softly, "I..just wanted to see if you were alright. Miss Lily O'Keefe also wanted you to be ok and wanted to help the church until you can come back in good health.... I am sorry for the news I brought you...I feel like I brought you bad luck somehow..." She sighed out the last words, admitting the silly notion that had overtaken her, seeing the old priest like this just deepened her unease. The shadow hanging over him becoming far too oppressive suddenly and she was the one to tighten her grip now almost desperately.
[12:21] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently): The shadow was less an entity in and of itself and more of an afterthought, like lingering radiation in the blast radius of an atom bomb. When the two entered the priest's brow furrowed but his eyes remained closed, as if the man were struggling to reach them but unable, wrestling with things unseen. When the lady touched him a sudden influx of imagery spilled into her head, vivid and loud and graphic, real as if she'd seen it herself. It floode through her mind in a series of flashes, there in an instant and finished the next, giving her a front-row view of the incident from Malcolm's perspective. The priest himself let out a sharp gasp of shock and pain when it occurred, his breathing haggard when the vision was finished.
Beneath the sheets, it became evident that the older man had made something of a mess, the heady smell of cum seeping into the air as a deep shudder pervaded his form, a soft groan slipping from his throat. The end of that vision had been broken and disjointed... but the physical sensations associated had been clear as day. Llywellynn felt them herself, transposed on her own body.
To November, the room was not quiet. Whispers of sermons, the banging of a pulpit could be heard like echoes, soft as they slid over the walls and taunted his ears. Malcolm was not speaking audibly himself but his lips were moving, mutterings uttered in whatever sordid dream he was trapped within.
[12:27] November Morsus had shifted to the supply table to fetch fresh bandages with one hand, even as the other held tight to Llywellynn's, so tight she could feel a faint tremble, a faint pulse of shifting pressure just beneath his skin as his skull echoed with the voice of the man who lay unconscious before them, an unending litany of *wicked, wicked, damned, damned, damned*... But that delicate warm hand in his own was a lifeline, an anchor, a grounding wire, keeping him in his head and in the here and now-...
Until the sermons were no longer just in his memories anymore. His body stiffened as he heard it, eyes squeezing shut as if by blocking out his sight he could block out the sound. His fingers tightened around Llywellynn's hand as well, grip nearly white-knuckled, the motion below his skin now downright seething in turmoil. "Make it stop," came a soft, terrified whisper as for all his years he became that tiny, frightened boy once more, "please make it stop..."
[13:05] Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Llywellynn's hand was fine-boned, the marrow of her as hollowed out by the Curse sucking out her lifeforce as all the rest of her. November's frightened grip might in fact unknowingly break her. She was barely stronger than blown glass, only her motivation honed to a sword's edge filling her with anything solid enough to stand up with. She couldn't feel him anymore after a split second in the wave that came, losing the one bit of comfort she could cling to instinctively. Then it was far too late.
She was far too close to the threshold between this life and the next, trapped in fact right in that doorway all these years to be worn away under the torrent of both worlds pouring through her senses without cease. 10 years she had endured this onslaught. Years of screaming misery and bloody marks that she had to hide, had to keep all she Saw and suffered quietly inside. Far from any witnesses who might threat to commit her to just such a terrifying institution for the mad as this one here and now.
The one she was currently pinned down upon by the breaking dam of reality cascading *through* her so violently, ripping a scream out of her lips gasping wide, rising high and sharp enough with the force of an opera singer's lungs, perhaps loud enough to shatter glass.
Llywellynn didn't speak softly because she couldn't speak louder. She did so to evade notice from all the spirits that would come to the sound of her voice that could so easily be heard on the other side of the veil. Now it was a beacon rising like a spear of sound to draw far too many of the restless towards it possibly.
Her innate power on the other hand was something almost entirely out of her control, untamed raw potential so potent and untapped that such random unbidden visions as this one hit her like a freight train, conveying *everything* on all the levels a body and mind could receive. Even her grim acclimation to the ravages of the world of the dead wouldn't be enough to blunt the trauma of *reliving the entire church massacre as if she were Malcolm himself*.
Llyw was dragged as helpless witness into the terror and gore of it all. But worse seeing the killer...the killers....The hungry monster who attacked her, the pain hot and sharp tearing across her, hitting the doors with a thud even sharper, the taste of blood and worse, agony spreading....And the mindbending presence of the one who influenced all this slaughter...the blond haired man shaped of darkness and evil, the morningstar stabbing the other with the sword that had fallen from her slack grip, breaking the sanctity of the holy place, stealing something....But she couldn't focus anymore, couldn't breathe, Lucifer's grip too tight dragging her so heavy, helpless to the altar sliding in blood and death. Sato's cock loomed dark and massive. Too large, too monstrous, taking away all her air, all her voice, choking into shuddering darkness as fire burned into her lungs, through her body and quaking out and down her thighs.....
The moment had been just an eye blink of time... yet it felt like a torturous eternity. The widow screamed as if Hell itself had bit her ass and then she fell to her knees like her strings had been cut, falling back into her own awareness a smoking cinder left of thought, the darkness dragging at her now only a slight relief from the prior gruesome assault.
Esher Saw far more than she ever bargained for and now she paid the price...
[13:22] November Morsus was drifting further and further apart from Esher as well, eyes blown wide as his body slowly began to sink to its knees against the cacophony of that hideously holy sound, dragging him deep down into the pit of despair that he had spent his boyhood in, echoing castigations and hatred upon him again and again and again. Unholy. Unforgivable. Monster. Sinner. Wretched abomination. Impure and unclean. All of it pounding in time to the racing pulse of his heart, again and again and again and again, endlessly, as eternal as heaven.
So too the sheer strength of *feeling* from Esher as she screamed in high, shrill horror. That much power, that much intensity, had kicked the writhing beneath his skin into an absolute fever pitch, the hidden movement reacting to the powerful confluence of energy and emotion within the room, making it all echo louder and louder and LOUDER within November's skull until at last, he collapsed to the floor completely, eyes blank, body seizing.
[13:27] Niles Roesler (ohsoincoherently): That was far too much commotion within the room for the staff and the nun outside to ignore. A burst of activity and two orderlies came in to 'assist' the two from the room, which really meant carrying the frail Llywellyn and mostly-carrying November, only because no one was really tall enough to outright lift him without something dragging. At least, without transforming. The two of them were taken outside, commotion and noise dounding off around them in a flurry of hastily barked orders... in German.
Two large armchairs were carried over, each of them placed into one as Roesler kneeled beside Esher first, not yet touching her... merely sensing. November was carefully held by the shoulders, steadied to keep from falling over or hitting himself on things - but there were no other psychic intrusions, not yet. A cart was rolled by with a towels and a couple glasses of water, and the two were given a moment to recover and attempt to come back to their senses. But they were not treated like prisoners, nor were they forced to stay put.
"Doctor? Fraulein? Can you hear me?" asked the polite, Oxford English lilt. Those consonants gave the German away for what he was but Roesler's voice was always soft, and he seemed to be approaching the two as gently as he could considering what had transpired.
[13:57] Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: Lady Esher was barely conscious which was the only thing keeping her from screaming again and likely shattering the dishware.
Somewhere during this episode she lost her hat, though even while swooning her fingers tried to grab for it out of sheer muscle memory. She had fainted enough times she had reflexes for it.
But this time like no other, she was a torrent of internal terror, horror and reeling confusion, scraping raw her emotional signature to a vibration of her fear wordless and visceral. If the Empath chose to touch upon that live wire he might discover just how much power was still lashing unguided in any way within her. Only slowly by degrees would this frantic agonized state ease away, leaving the poor woman wrung out of all manner of endurance or strength, cast ashore like stormswept bleached driftwood.
Physically she was far too pale even for her cream complexion. She was entering into the phase of shaking in the aftermath of too much adrenaline and likely about to need medical intervention to stabilize her weak fluttering vital signs. She was gasping for air as if her lungs refused to work properly in fact. Her health was visibly one of a besieged constitution suffering from some entrenched malady. She was just a tad too thin and willowy for her height, too pale in lack of sunlight, even her hair so pale blond streaked full of silver and grey signs of premature aging, though her vulnerable slim neck and soft features suggested youth still remained.
For those with the Sight to see it, a cold smoky shadow clung to her form, coiling around her disturbingly like a very large snake. One of her delicate hands might be broken. She was bleeding there and elsewhere along her back and sides, soaking now slightly through her simple black coatdress.
Perhaps most importantly, her blood carried a scent far far too sweet, beguilingly so, almost Fae like and yet something entirely singular. Honeysuckle lush enough to melt on the tongue perhaps, coupled with the full sweetness of wood yielding to fire upon the snow, rich dark complexities of coffee brewed fresh mixed with aromatic sharp tinge of good strong brandy.....and of fear and feminine arousal all combined into the personal fragrance of this fainting Lady.
A scent the Sidhe might recall perhaps in a dream or nightmare of recent times...
[14:04] November Morsus slowly came back to his senses, finding himself arranged on an easy chair, the world returning to him in bits and pieces, fits and starts. Sense of pressure on his shoulders, of gripping and holding, an all-too-horridly-familiar voice in his ear, prompting memories of thorny vines holding him down this same way, looking on in helpless fury as-...
"Oh please not again," he murmured slow and hazy, only for those deep dark eyes to blink slowly open again, find himself not what he in his fury had decried a 'bougie fucking living room' at all, but the sterile white walls of Eumenides. "Oh... Oh goodness.... Oh goodness me, hello Dr. Roesler... Appears I've, had a seizure again..." His voice was heavy, groggy, thick with confusion and pain, aching from strained muscles, bruises from the fall, and a pounding head. But as soon as he was aware of the other man, he was instantly as alert as he could manage, instantly on his guard, reaching for Llywellynn with a still-shaking hand. "Are you alright?" Though he was hardly in a state to get up and move about on his own, let alone care for another, he still reached for her, desperate to protect.
[14:29] Lady Llywellynn Devoreaux Esher: For now Llywellynn remained too unresponsive to make any sort of coherent reply to either of the doctors' questions. She was still out of her wits from the psychic storm that had just sent so much gristly feedback through her. The orderlies no doubt attended to her medical needs quick and efficiently to get her weakened system calmed down. The hand November had held too tight appeared to be sprained rather than crushed at least, her fingers twitching towards his when he called out reaching, but the attendants took over to get it properly cleaned and bandaged up. There was debate amongst them all on what to do about her apparent other injuries as she attempted to regain some semblance of awareness. But for the moment she was just too weak to rally just yet, despite her outstanding willpower. If Dr. Morsus wanted to be the one to take over her care, he would need to gather himself quickly to get her out from under Dr. Niles' recommendations.
[14:44] November Morsus, try as he might, was still a bit too fragile in his own right to overtake Roesler, his movements slow and shaky, his voice groggy and faint. It was only by the grace of Hell that the alarm bells chose that moment to ring out, calling Dr. Roesler away to tend to a sudden emergency which had cropped up with one of the more violent asylum patients, leaving both November and Esher at the rather more merciful mercy of the nurses and orderlies.
It wasn't long before they found themselves arranged on beds in one of the lower-security rooms, sharing quarters after November's groggy assistance that he would not leave Llywellynn's side for even a moment. In the hour or two that had passed between then and now, he'd mostly come back to himself, but for a pounding headache and weakness on his right side. "Bloody hell," he murmured softly to himself, "what have you gotten yourself into, old man?"