Post #2627392 in Birthstone Spirits: The Great Escape, a roleplay on RPG

The way that singular incidents can change the flow of life has always been fascinating. Grand events, big things like tsunamis washing away coastal towns or the beginning and ending of a war, sent shockwaves through thousands of people, turning them from one path to another, twisting and turning their lives into something else altogether. That is the power of a large event. Perhaps, however, the greater power lies in the small events, the little blips on the timeline that don't really stick out at a glance but that, instead, cause their own chain reaction without much noticing- the straw that broke the camel's back, after all, is far less interesting and noticeable than all of the prior burdens that had been weighing the poor camel down. Two such events had occurred a week ago and the shockwaves that followed began to shift lives onto different paths. Whether those paths lead to ruin or salvation was anyone's guess because fate is rarely so polite as to tell you which one is which.

~*~

As soon as he'd seen Tallyho safely off to bed, as soon as he'd managed to shake Kyle with a brief "we're all tired" excuse, Dorian had found his way to his room, changed, and gone to bed. Well, he'd attempted to go to bed, and that was as much as he could do. His hand throbbed weakly now sending sparks of pain through his body leaving a physical reminder that tonight was no ordinary night. Or, rather, maybe it was. Negative thoughts have a way of making themselves known when we're alone, and lying down in his dark room, staring listlessly out the window at the dull light of whatever moon Aires possessed, they swirled around Dorian unbidden.

Maybe, he thought, this was really all too normal. A month warrior making a scene, more month warriors being offended and distressingly self-absorbed. Had they really changed at all since that day in the cave so many years ago? They still fought like children. They still put themselves first. Hell, here he was again, bleeding freely after trying to help someone. They were older, stronger, but certainly not wiser, and no one could even think about saying something without another meltdown or someone storming off in a self-righteous huff. For the first time in a long time, he fancied himself homesick, allowed him to be swallowed by contempt- for the situation which never seemed to get better, for the others who didn't have anyone else's best interests at heart apart from their own. Would things have been easier if they'd gotten along? Could things have been prevented if they'd concentrated a little more? Possibly, and possibly was enough to worm its way into Dorian's mind.

It was a bitter thought that stayed with him through the night, growing steadily in the morning as they sat through an awkward breakfast. Conversation seemed disingenuous, painfully awkward in a way that only people steadfastly ignoring the elephant in the room could manage. He'd left halfway through, leaving a mild excuse of finding more bandages to dress his wound and an untouched meal in his wake. Not that it really mattered- everyone was more than likely too preoccupied or had forgone breakfast altogether in favor of licking their own wounds in private to really notice Dorian acting slightly off kilter.

The first day had been spent uncomfortably, avoiding people if he could and making brief chit-chat with those he couldn't before offering up another excessively poor excuse (he wondered for a moment if Aires even had begonias and why one should be watering them). This would have been easier on Earth, he knew and finally acknowledged after over three years spent avoiding comparisons for his sanity's sake. The acknowledgement didn't make anything better- if anything it made him even more upset, more uncomfortable, and, when he was uncomfortable, well, he tended to slip even more into himself, away from almost all of the troubling month warriors and a good majority of their equally distressing guardians.

The stage had been set the night before, the players poised to tip Dorian's path in a different direction that led him to an unexpected place. Or, rather, an unexpected person. It was on day two in the midst of another unfortunate breakfast that General Cress himself had swaggered into the room, asking (read: commanding) Dorian to join him for the day. It wasn't that Dorian particularly liked Trent- did anyone, really- but Trent himself represented something more that day; an opportunity, an escape. He was someone who wasn't embroiled in the soap opera that was the month warriors and, major dick or not, he was Dorian's metaphorical life vest. A rude, probably psychotic life-vest, and probably not as good as, say, Stephen the psychiatrist, but a life vest nevertheless. If anything, his general poor attitude reminded Dorian of the fact that, at the very least, he knew what to expect from Trent.

So, a week to the day since the Incident, it was no surprise that, given that Dorian was not with Tallyho or any member of Ryou's close-knit crew, he was with Trent. In the early afternoon hours, the sound of clashing swords filled one of the many quads scattered around the home of the Rose Kingdom's elite of the elite. Both men were set against each other, entwined in a deadly dance of flashing blades and hurried footwork as intricate as any choreographer could imagine. The sun hung high overhead, a heady sort of heat washing over the area that went as ignored by the two combatants as the servant lingering nearby, nervously making sure that the pitcher of water on hand was at least slightly cool and contemplating another hurried journey to find ice.

Trent moved with all the speed and grace of a practiced hand a military control. Dorian, on the other hand, move erratically, the blade too light in comparison to his heavy axe, but he'd improved these past few days ("What good are you going to be if you lose your axe?" Trent had snorted that second day and, really, who was Dorian to argue with actual logic?) The dance was slowing now, sweat collecting and streaming in turn down both of their bodies, movements more sluggish until the blades came to a halt, an unspoken agreement as the two stopped to breath, adrenaline filled smiles tugging on their lips, their eyes still on one another even as the servant hurriedly made to fill two goblets with water and presented them with practiced ease.

Dorian didn't speak, didn't have to as he took a welcome sip of water. There were indeed days where Dorian said very little at all unless provoked by Trent. Other days, usually in the privacy of the hunt or after dragging Trent away from another fight, he would speak, usually short little tales painted in such a way that didn't make Dorian appear as the alien he actually was. It was easier, then, with a confidant apart from the group. And maybe, just maybe, a friend. An asshole friend, of course, but still a friend.

~*~

The impact of a singular event is not limited to making new friends, of course. No, these events, no matter how minor or, in some cases, how painful, can spend one's life in another way, morphing and shifting your relationships with those you love or hate in tiny ways until, quite suddenly, they've change altogether.

It was the same way that Morgan's endearing childish glee and attempts to teach a bouncy and silly variation of ballroom dancing had managed to win over Mori's cautious affection or the way that Liam's entirely too fervid affection for Dae in the form of pet names and teaching said knight to speak the Airian equivalent of English had helped to turn casual acceptance into a genuine love.

It was the same way that Ryou's unquestioning devotion and loyalty to Haru had been ever so slightly nudged one time too many since the fall of the Academy until it became, well, not quite so unquestioning.

~*~

It had been a week. Seven days. Approximately 168 hours give or take a few. However many minutes that was because Ryou was a martial arts instructor and father, not a mathematician, dammit. An entire week waiting for Haru to tell him what was happening, to share the burden, to explain why in the seven Hells Amber had decided to pop in for a visit. An in that entire week, Ryou had heard nothing. Zilch. Nada. An inexplicable shrieking noise that Dae had once assured him was the Cyclopean word for nothing.

The first night he hadn't expected much in terms of Haru talking. Which was fair, of course, because Haru had promptly passed out on the balcony leaving Ryou and Nikita to drag him to his room. It wasn't like Ryou really wanted to talk to him right then anyways, he had supposed as he waited by Haru's bedside for a little over an hour to make sure that he didn't asphyxiate on his own vomit (it wouldn't kill him, nothing would, but from experience Ryou knew it to be rather unpleasant). Somehow getting into a drinking contest with the man responsible for killing his students didn't quite endear Haru to Ryou at the time. It was when Haru apparently avoided him for a week that Ryou stopped being quite so understanding.

He knew they weren't on the best terms at the moment on account of, well... Well, everything that had occurred between them over the past month, but he did his best to make himself available to talk. To listen. But each day he was met with a stony silence as if Ryou wasn't showing up early to meals to try to catch him alone, as if he hadn't readily made it known that he was always available to anyone who wanted to talk because Mori and Karma were off entertaining the princess and Dae and Liam were treating this as their honeymoon that never was. Seven days of waiting for answers and getting nothing but frustration.

Until today, of course. Seated in front of Haru with the rest of the Guardians, listening as he finally told them exactly what was happening, Ryou wanted to jump over the table and strangle the other man. Not only- oh, not only was Haru telling them what Amber- mass murderer Amber, arsonist Amber- had told him a week ago, but now, revelation of all revelations, it turned out that Haru was keeping another secret about from way back when's discussion with the Rose Kingdom. Fan-fucking-tastic.

He was doing it again- taking it all onto his own shoulders, playing the role of martyr as skillfully as any man had done before. And no one was batting an eye. They were taking his hidden revelation in stride because they hadn't been waiting a week for it, hadn't waited for years for Haru to open up a little and let them help him instead of waiting until the last moment because he was their long-suffering leader. Because they didn't hate Amber with the same passion that he did, didn't feel the loss of his children as painfully and acutely as he did every time they were brought up in association.

"Fuck it," were his first eloquent words, knuckles white as he clenched his hands into fists. He was seething in his seat, golden eyes focused on everything except for those around him. One large inhale, another large exhale. Pause. Pause. Repeat. "We've always been running after myths and legends. I say we go."

"Let's not tell anyone about the book- make up some bullshit story about looking for clues to where Oblivion is or whatever. Waiting isn't doing us any good and it's-" He paused, fighting the words that threatened to come from his mouth. "As good a chance as any." He lost. It took all of his strength not to storm out of the room.

Snippet #2627392

located in Aires, a part of Birthstone Spirits: The Great Escape, one of the many universes on RPG.

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