[ he inspects the room thoroughly — the beds are stripped bare, the wardrobe is emptied, the bathroom is ransacked. percival emerges from the aforementioned bathroom with a sigh. for a moment, he silently meets gran's gaze and nothing more — his eyes narrow.
and then his arms fold like he's deliberating. firmly and fiercely deliberating, all in traditional percival fashion. ]
We need to stick together. I won't have you running off, you hear me?
[ naturally, the first thing he gives is an order. ]
That woman — I don't trust her, but we're a long way from the sky. It'll be some time before we're reunited with the crew.
[ When everything changes, nothing changes. Percival's met this new challenge with the might of a man who's ready to take everything into an iron fist. That's how he looks to everyone else, probably. But to Gran, he's looking a little nervous, a little like he needs a lifeline first and foremost.
And that's where Gran comes in. ]
Okay, but did you find any clothes? Or anything?
[ The room's kind of a mess. He picks up one of the bedspreads, turns it over in his hands like he expects it to reveal the world's secrets.
Gran's taking all this in stride. It's hard not to, after everything. ]
[ the captain springs right into action, just as always. his question warrants a raise of the brow — for all of his priss and pomp, percival wasn't particularly concerned with...
well, that.
he doesn't respond. instead, he marches on over to the dresser — a palm smooths along its wooden surface before he swings one of the drawers open. ]
Why exactly do you need clothes again?
[ percival turns his head back, eyes narrowing as he gives gran something of a lookover. ]
[ Well, uh. That's a question. He swings himself around to help Percival with his expression, but his doctor's robes are pristine, not yet tinged with blood like they sometimes end up on in the battlefield.
But that's exactly the problem! ]
We're not all like you, milord. Some of us like to dress down when we...
[ He trails off. He looks up. And so he gets a look. ]
[ gran catches it. it'll do, he guesses. but it gets thrown right down onto the bed, like some makeshift shield percival's tossed his way to keep him at bay.
but that's the rub, lord percival of wales. you can't keep gran, master of being the percival baiter, at bay. ]
[ his features harden at the sight of the shirt being tossed back onto the bed.
...what a strange question, he thinks, eyes flitting away for a moment — but then they meet gran's gaze, and percival straightens his back with an effortless kind of confidence. ]
Hah. Of course I do. As far as I'm concerned, you're the only doctor for me.
[ you mean, besides the shock of losing a hundred crew members overnight? the question of why him, why percival, why any of this, in a world too fantastic and unknown? is there something on your mind, gran, thoughts that rest upon fairies' wings and weigh lighter than air? ]
Mm...
... my mind's all over the place, so I was thinking I should hit on you...
[ he's not usually this bold, but. you know. when in rome. ]
[ it's a small area, but it's one that's well-needed, given his recent run-in with pink goo. it's for safety, he says, that he brings percival along, but the truth is that he's half-naked and the ship is cold metal.
he's gripping percival's sleeve the whole way, so he ends up kind of goopy, too. ]
[ percival feels up the wall with his his free hand in pursuit of a light switch — the goo doesn't bother him, if only because it's attached to gran. ]
We'll have to make do. [ a bit more sullenly— ] I don't have my fire here.
[ whatever flickers on, it only illuminates a quarter of the room. ] ...Good enough. [ without further ado, he breaks away from gran, reaching for the hem of his shirt. it's promptly stripped off and folded into a tidy square. ]
[ he looks around, at the very least, for a shower head. but it's weird! the stuff here is all mechanical, more like what they'd see in some of the labs they've explored in skydoms unknown. he gives a little shiver, and that's when he looks back, and.
[ his coat's goopy, his shirt's goopy, his pants? goopy. zero had used them to the utmost. but gran's arrested by percival's motions, staring in silence and with his back rimrod straight. ]
[ but he has, plenty of times. the crew only has so many bathing rooms, after all, and no matter often some of the girls try to insist they stop at this isle hot spring or that, things happen. people change together. the one thing he can't deny, though, is that this is...
different. it threatens to get under his skin, inspiring static electricity and an itch, an urge. but instead he takes a step backward, the corners of his mouth turning down in defiance. ]
[ but they have, he threatens to say. it’s not unlike him to bare this much of his skin to the captain — but they’re alone. there is no lyria, no vyrn, no crew awaiting them. they’re alone, stranded, stripped down to their pants and surrounded by metal and a void entirely unknown to them.
percival doesn’t quite frown. he presses his lips into a thin line, brows knitting together with a hardened kind of concern. he folds his arms. ]
If you’d rather I wait outside, that can be arranged. Something’s clearly troubling you, Gran.
it tears through his peripheral version like a bullet; he feels it before he sees it, like this entire place is bursting at the seams, ready to devour them whole any second now. percival's arms are wound around him, entrapping him in an iron vise. he shifts his weight onto his toes and leaps, but the damage is already done. gran is walled in by a coat of armor and heat. percival's heart is beating a mile a minute as he brings him to his chest, cradling him in his arms.
it's a searing pain reminiscent of his own fire. for a man who uses it so often, you would think he would be more familiar with the feeling. he yelps before biting it back down and gritting his teeth.
he lets go eventually. and when he does, he wills the strength to grimace, features taut with pain. ]
It doesn't...compare to my fire...
[ he never said he was a smart man.
anyhow, he brings to remove his armor — the pauldrones come off first. ]
[ he can hardly breathe. it happens in a moment, and his instincts are honed enough that time slows down, that he can see every movement percival makes towards him. for some reason, he lets himself be captured. for some reason, he lets someone else weather a blow meant for him.
-- even though he'd sworn never to let that happen, even if it cost him his life again.
percival's pulling off armour to the tune of gran's fast-beating heart. it takes several seconds before he stops his wide-eyed staring, starts to help, dragging at chainmail and hard metal in a way that isn't very helpful at all.
[ his breathing is labored. he doesn't respond, fingers curling into the hem of his garment in an attempt to strip it off — they shake violently before he pauses midway. ]
I'm fine...— stay back.
[ he winches as the cloth of his tunic grazes against his wounds. the friction is enough to induce a gnashing of the teeth. so with the remainder of his strength, the layers peel off only for blackened, rotted blotches of flesh stretch across his back.
those eyes, big and brown and kind, occupy his mind. they make the pain worth his time. they numb him to the sensation of his own flesh decaying. ]
[ as if he could focus on anything but the mess in front of him. it's horrifying-- the necrotising of flesh is not unlike what they saw on that one island, the one with the zombies, the ghosts--
gran reaches forward and flinches. he looks down, sees something blooming on his own wrist. he looks back up and pushes into percival. ]
No, [ he says on reflex. it’s wildfire across his skin, gnawing at his flesh with each and every second that passes. for a moment, he feels the bile rise up his throat — he’s quick to clasp a hand over his mouth.
his eyes widen at the sight of gran’s wrist. it cuts right through the red haze of pain. ]
I'm fine! [ he snaps, refusing to let percival worry about him now, of all times. the leadership instincts are kicking in, and he's getting up, making sure the two of them are safe from any other wayfaring attacks. the creaking and the ominous noises still resound through the area, but -- he doesn't feel anything.
nothing except heat, nothing except a crimson fury. ]
[ it stuns him into silence. the pain begins to dissipate and morph into something weighty and numb, and his abdomen curves in and out with the rise and fall of his chest, but he grits his teeth regardless. ]
I told you...it was fine...
[ so long as he was safe, it was fine. so long as percival fulfilled his duty, it was fine. all wounds healed with time. ]
I don’t...feel it anymore. No need...to concern yourself...you are my vassal.
[ of all the times to have this argument -- but when else would they have it? there's a momentary safety, and that's what makes it so easy for the boiling in his blood to turn percival's direction.
he takes the man by the chin with his other hand, a delicate but firm touch. ]
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2/6, action
and then his arms fold like he's deliberating. firmly and fiercely deliberating, all in traditional percival fashion. ]
We need to stick together. I won't have you running off, you hear me?
[ naturally, the first thing he gives is an order. ]
That woman — I don't trust her, but we're a long way from the sky. It'll be some time before we're reunited with the crew.
...For the meanwhile, we'll have to adjust.
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And that's where Gran comes in. ]
Okay, but did you find any clothes? Or anything?
[ The room's kind of a mess. He picks up one of the bedspreads, turns it over in his hands like he expects it to reveal the world's secrets.
Gran's taking all this in stride. It's hard not to, after everything. ]
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well, that.
he doesn't respond. instead, he marches on over to the dresser — a palm smooths along its wooden surface before he swings one of the drawers open. ]
Why exactly do you need clothes again?
[ percival turns his head back, eyes narrowing as he gives gran something of a lookover. ]
Have you sullied your own?
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But that's exactly the problem! ]
We're not all like you, milord. Some of us like to dress down when we...
[ He trails off. He looks up. And so he gets a look. ]
Were you looking forward to me being your doctor?
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[ he raises a brow in turn, as though he dares him to finish that sentence. nonetheless, he resigns. ]
I suppose you're right. As my vassal, your comfort is a priority of mine—
[ but then there's that. ]
You're a skilled healer, if that's what you're asking me.
[ he isn't.
percival knows.
the shirt is tossed right in his direction. ]
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but that's the rub, lord percival of wales. you can't keep gran, master of being the percival baiter, at bay. ]
I'm asking you if you like me. As. Your doctor.
[ with each word, he's inching closer. ]
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...what a strange question, he thinks, eyes flitting away for a moment — but then they meet gran's gaze, and percival straightens his back with an effortless kind of confidence. ]
Hah. Of course I do. As far as I'm concerned, you're the only doctor for me.
[ be it for better or for worse. ]
Is there something on your mind?
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Mm...
... my mind's all over the place, so I was thinking I should hit on you...
[ he's not usually this bold, but. you know. when in rome. ]
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3/3, action
he's gripping percival's sleeve the whole way, so he ends up kind of goopy, too. ]
Kind of dark, isn't it?
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We'll have to make do. [ a bit more sullenly— ] I don't have my fire here.
[ whatever flickers on, it only illuminates a quarter of the room. ] ...Good enough. [ without further ado, he breaks away from gran, reaching for the hem of his shirt. it's promptly stripped off and folded into a tidy square. ]
Well?
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[ he looks around, at the very least, for a shower head. but it's weird! the stuff here is all mechanical, more like what they'd see in some of the labs they've explored in skydoms unknown. he gives a little shiver, and that's when he looks back, and.
you know. ]
... Well.
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[ there's a clack — it's undeniably the sound of his belt buckle becoming undone. ]
If it makes you uncomfortable, I can avert my eyes. But we shouldn't linger for too long. You'll catch a cold.
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We don't have any towels, and we, uh...
[ yeah. he's ogling, all right. ]
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[ he feels the weight of gran’s gaze; he’s been ogled before, but he can’t deny that it’s...
different. it threatens to inspire some humility in him. but instead he takes a step forward, the corners of his lips twitching up ever so slightly. ]
You’re acting strange. Like you hadn’t seen me like this until this very moment.
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[ but he has, plenty of times. the crew only has so many bathing rooms, after all, and no matter often some of the girls try to insist they stop at this isle hot spring or that, things happen. people change together. the one thing he can't deny, though, is that this is...
different. it threatens to get under his skin, inspiring static electricity and an itch, an urge. but instead he takes a step backward, the corners of his mouth turning down in defiance. ]
You and me, we've never... been alone like this.
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percival doesn’t quite frown. he presses his lips into a thin line, brows knitting together with a hardened kind of concern. he folds his arms. ]
If you’d rather I wait outside, that can be arranged. Something’s clearly troubling you, Gran.
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anyways, like 7 hours later.
;))) only seven
yeah they went straight to sleep
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3/14, action
it tears through his peripheral version like a bullet; he feels it before he sees it, like this entire place is bursting at the seams, ready to devour them whole any second now. percival's arms are wound around him, entrapping him in an iron vise. he shifts his weight onto his toes and leaps, but the damage is already done. gran is walled in by a coat of armor and heat. percival's heart is beating a mile a minute as he brings him to his chest, cradling him in his arms.
it's a searing pain reminiscent of his own fire. for a man who uses it so often, you would think he would be more familiar with the feeling. he yelps before biting it back down and gritting his teeth.
he lets go eventually. and when he does, he wills the strength to grimace, features taut with pain. ]
It doesn't...compare to my fire...
[ he never said he was a smart man.
anyhow, he brings to remove his armor — the pauldrones come off first. ]
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-- even though he'd sworn never to let that happen, even if it cost him his life again.
percival's pulling off armour to the tune of gran's fast-beating heart. it takes several seconds before he stops his wide-eyed staring, starts to help, dragging at chainmail and hard metal in a way that isn't very helpful at all.
it's hard to stop his fingers from clinging. ]
What did you do!
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I'm fine...— stay back.
[ he winches as the cloth of his tunic grazes against his wounds. the friction is enough to induce a gnashing of the teeth. so with the remainder of his strength, the layers peel off only for blackened, rotted blotches of flesh stretch across his back.
those eyes, big and brown and kind, occupy his mind. they make the pain worth his time. they numb him to the sensation of his own flesh decaying. ]
A—Agh, are...you alright?
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gran reaches forward and flinches. he looks down, sees something blooming on his own wrist. he looks back up and pushes into percival. ]
Percival, let me --
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his eyes widen at the sight of gran’s wrist. it cuts right through the red haze of pain. ]
You’re hurt.
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nothing except heat, nothing except a crimson fury. ]
Stop fighting me, let me check you --
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I told you...it was fine...
[ so long as he was safe, it was fine. so long as percival fulfilled his duty, it was fine. all wounds healed with time. ]
I don’t...feel it anymore. No need...to concern yourself...you are my vassal.
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[ of all the times to have this argument -- but when else would they have it? there's a momentary safety, and that's what makes it so easy for the boiling in his blood to turn percival's direction.
he takes the man by the chin with his other hand, a delicate but firm touch. ]
Where does it hurt most?
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bitch i rolled a 76
you should’ve rolled lower so gran would have slapped him on reflex
i'll let the rng gods know for next time
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