milliways_bar | (no subject)

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sinric the wanderer

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The door opens to a cool breeze and moonlight playing on water. The figure who enters is dressed in simple dun-coloured peasants clothes, dusty from the road. A deep hood covers their face but they turn away from the light anyway, startled by the brightness of it.

After a moment to adjust, the figure lowers the hood to reveal the pale feature of Sinric the Wanderer. Looking tired and drawn, he makes his way to the bar.

(ooc: hey cats and kittens, I know it's been a while. Please go easy on me, it's been a rough ride but I'm back.)

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"I am sorry to hear that," Hannibal says softly. "The other inhabitants survived?"

He shook his head, lowing his eyes to hide welling tears. "No-one. No-one but me."

Hannibal reaches out to take Sinric's hand.

Sinric squeezes it softly. His fingers are thin, the skin dry and callused from travel and hard work. Old blisters scar his palms. A long way from the delicate creature of the Byzantine Court.

"I don't know but I knew. I knew it couldn't hurt me. Something the bar did, something you did, something to do with time or magic. I knew I would survive unscathed. But-"

"You knew you'd still have things to do you already seen the results of," Hannibal says, stroking Sinric's scarred palm with his thumb. "But it must have been very painful. They were your friends."

"I sung a few to sleep." He admits in a voice barely softer than a breath. "The youngest. Those suffering most. I couldn't heal them, but I could ease their way."

He would never admit that to anyone else. Anyone but Hannibal.

"You did the right thing," Hannibal says, squeezing Sinric's fingers. "But it cost you, I know that. I'll do my best to help you regain your equilibrium und your energy while you are here."

"I wish I knew where to start. After so long, even the lights are too bright. I've forgotten who I was here."

"Ah, but I haven't."

"Remind me?" He begs softly. "Remind me who Sinric was through your eyes."

"A hub node of history and destiny," Hannibal says. "A unique combination of knowledge and skills from all the known world. A fearless and lovely friend, loyalty and foreshadowing. A unique beauty of body and soul, a taste unlike any other on my tongue. One that dared to go everywhere, and even to see me for all I am."

"I thought of you, on the last day. The priest was the last to die. We had worked side by side. He praised the peace my song brought, without ever understanding the fatal truth of it."

"The ground was too frozen to dig and I had no strength left for it. I laid them in the church. All those who won't aready in the earth. I built them a pyre out of god's house, surrounded them in flowers and all their favourite things."

"It was beautiful, the fire. The way it reflected off the snow. It felt like you were there, watching it with me."

"I wish I had been," Hannibal says, "and in a way, I was. I would have watched the roof cave in, in a shower of ascending sparks, tucking them in to rest forever."

Sinric reaches up to touch Hannibal's cheek. "I suppose you were."

There's a slight tremble to his hand as he reaches for the glass again. "They were good people. They deserved better than a god's indifference.

"But I am afraid that is all they and we will ever get," Hannibal says quietly, stroking Sinric's thumb. "Unless we have the privilege of meeting a deity here."

"Or wake them with stolen passion." There's a little glint of old mischief in Sinric's eyes. A glimmer of gold in the dulled brown.

Hannibal smiles into Sinric's eyes. "Even better, if we can."

He pauses, and sighs deeply. "You have given all, and are depleted. It's good the door found you, so I and all the gods and marvels of this place can help replenish you so you can once more sparkle."

"I thought I heard Emcee singing in the night as I wandered. I think he led me here."

A service of apple tea and a plate of vegetables and dip appears at his hand. "Thank you, Bar. That's thoughtful of you. I don't remember when last I ate." He pats the wood softly.

"But what of you, my friend?" He asks Hannibal as he starts the ritual of pouring tea. "I've drowned you in my woes but haven't asked how things have been with you. Have you slayed your dragon?"

(ooc: sorry, I swear I tagged this.)

"We did," Hannibal says. "We sacrificed him to that which we were becoming, after a long arduous fight, with both of us seriously wounded."

Pause.

"And then Will tipped us off the cliff, and instead of the roiling sea, we fell into the lake. Here."

"He sacrificed you both as well?" He asks curiously, picking at the vegetables and eating them in tiny bites. It's been a while since he's eaten well and he doesn't want to rush his stomach. "How is he taking the Milliways?"

"He sacrificed us both," Hannibal agrees. "He didn't know what else to do with what we had become. An act of love and despair at once. Milliways came and saved us from the worst injuries, but we would have lived anyway."

He sighs.

"He is quiet. Very Will; still fighting himself and reality."

"The pains of becoming are great." He sympathises. "Even if he didn't know where that path would lead."

He cocks his head at Hannibal. "How are you?"

"And his pains aren't over yet," Hannibal says. "We will never be happy lovers at peace with themselves, as, say, Bodhi Rook an Galen Erso seem to have become."

Pause.

"I am my usual self, with the added little thorn of always knowing Will is about somewhere, and he is not yet complete with himself. Like an invisible string wound tight where nobody else can see it, both painful and cherished."

"You have had some years to refine your becoming. I know you wish to guide his, but it sounds as if his next steps must be his own." He reaches out to touch Hannibal's check. "That string binds him to you as surely as it bind you to him. In time, you will find your way back to each other."

"We will," Hannibal says. "But in the meanwhile, I have to be infinitely patient, as with a skittish cat, and roll with the pain of watching him struggle."