come_sailaway | FOUL TARNISHED

FOUL TARNISHED

Who: Eleanor, Ruby, Dimitri, Dedue, and YOU
What: Eleanor took a very shitty vacation and now she's back
When: Just Before The Mini-Event
Where: Muster Drill, Locker Room, Wherever Her Swains End Up Being
Warnings: Shock & trauma, possible violence

Thy Armor Reeks Of Death | Muster Drill

It takes a moment for Eleanor to realize she's back on the ship, in no small part because she is, you see, in Nepeta's fucking cabin. She rolls off of the bed immediately, a process which might make some noise, hastily looks around, and then teleports out.

This is the cabin hall. Right. She'll just -

- She'll just -

"God damn it," Eleanor whispers, in a voice that has not said anything aloud for some time. Fine. She'll get this over with. A series of chain teleports brings her to the muster drill. You might catch this seemingly new knight as she flashes through the ship in perhaps-familiar clouds of purple, but if you're the kinda person who checks the muster drill then it'll be easiest to catch her there.

It Hath Not Been Washed In Many Moons | Locker Room

Immediately following the muster drill comes a challenge greater than almost any Eleanor has ever known: getting out of the fucking armor. She hasn't had to do this in...

...She wasn't counting. But it's been awhile, and it is at this point that she's learning there may have been downsides in asking, as a random, nonspecific example, a puckish blind grandma to summon armor wrapped in thorns around Eleanor's body. The barbs bite into her flesh through gaps in her gloves the first time she tries to do anything, drawing out a hiss of pain.

If you're anywhere near the locker room, this process is extremely noisy, but Eleanor herself is quite quiet. She hasn't talked in awhile. Not in a long, long while.

Value Your Life | Somewhere | Closed to Dedue, Dimitri, and Ruby

Once she's nebulously free, has managed to shower vigorously, and secured new clothing from Tommy Bahama (her previous outfit she hurls into the sea; the armor has annihilated it), Eleanor holes herself up at the highest point she can find and sends a group text to Dedue, Dimitri, and Ruby. Thank God for that function of these devices...and that she remembers how to use them.

My Loves, I do not know how I came to leave, or why; I know less about how I got to where I went, which was further from my home than even this place, and of a more fantastic and cruel brand of misery, want, and isolation. But I have returned, to beg your forgiveness for my absence, and in the hopes that I might see your faces again. I am not as I once was...the battle has been long and full of horrors, and even now I am avoiding the society of others out of a nameless dread of the dance of polite manners and courtesies, and questions I would rather not answer to those who dwell not within the halls of my heart. There are those on this ship who would receive violence to the very reasonable question of 'what happened to you', and it is not my wish to be party to such an injustice simply because I am unwell. To this end I would like to see each of you again, preferably one at a time. I do not trust myself not to break down or flee if confronted with all of you, and for this I can only beg your further pity. The journey has been long. It has been so long. Love, Eleanor Lamb-Delta

No "Big Sister" this time. She always signs off with that...

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The emotion Ruby experiences upon seeing that name on her phone screen is so muddled by intensity that it can best be described as simply !?!?

The message itself raises far more questions and complicated emotions than it either answers or tames, but that doesn't stop her answering quickly.

Where are you?

Eleanor changes out to a text thread with just Ruby; first come, first served. She doesn't have the emotional energy to weigh social implications right now.

Dearest Ruby, I am afraid that I will need to reverse your inquiry; further, to ask you to find a location with some reasonable privacy before summoning me. I am not up to the mortifying ordeal of the society of others at this time, but nevertheless I will see you as soon as you have met these conditions. I cannot overstate my relief to have received an answer; that you are here, and that you are well. Love, Eleanor Lamb-Delta

This is a really bad time not to feel like her room is safe...

There's a pillow pit now? Off the spa. I can put a sign on the door.

The only response is an actual photo of just Eleanor's hand giving a thumbs-up.

She'll arrive in about ten minutes. She's already near the spa; Eleanor wants time for Ruby to set up. When she walks in Eleanor is wearing far less layers than she usually does, and sports new scars; burns and cuts on her bare arms, joining the surgical scars and needle tracks from EVE hypos. Her hair has gotten longer, and is unbrushed; despite her recent shower, Eleanor has been sweating, and she looks anxious as she searches for Ruby.

It's only upon seeing her that Ruby finds herself fully believing it—so many tricks, lately, so many mind games—but as soon as she does the girl in the pillow pit becomes a flurry of petals to reform in front of Eleanor, hands reaching up for her face.

"You're really you, you're— did you go home?" Get more memories may be more accurate for how it all works, she supposes, but she doesn't care for accuracy much right now.

A twitch; Ruby's sudden movement draws a wicked knife partway out of Eleanor's waistline, where it was concealed amongst various Pouches(tm), but reason takes hold before reflex can finish the movement; Ruby's girlfriend throws the blade away to bounce among the pillows.

She's shaking beneath Ruby's fingers, and she shakes her head in answer. Speaking takes a bit longer, her throat working as Eleanor tries to remember how to just Talk.

"Not home. Somewhere else. Somewhere very far away, where things...things..." A shaky breath.

A crushing hug. "I missed you so much," she whispers. "All of you. I. I have so much to. It's all insane but I should probably explain getting weird god-married on accident, if. If I even can. I didn't mean to is the important part."

Ruby doesn't so much as flinch—even if she thought Eleanor would follow through on the startled reflex, she has her Aura. The same can't be said for the involuntary wheeze when her lungs and ribs get flexed beyond their ideal limits, but she squeezes back all the same.

"...I missed you too."

Not home, but still new memories from somewhere. Being kidnapped to other universes isn't unheard of around here, but it's still not what she'd expect.

"I— god-married?"

"Married but to a god. I think. She said 'consort' pretty exclusively." Distantly Eleanor realizes she probably shouldn't suffocate Ruby to death and loosens her grip, but she rests her forehead against her girlfriend's. "...I was not trying to get married. When it actually happened I thought I was leaving a memento for her death and then she was. Not dead."

Writing challenge: explain an extremely emotional plot point badly.

"Oh." That actually raises far more questions than it answers, once again, but Ruby doesn't even begin to know how to ask them. "Well, uh— I-I mean it was an accident and it probably doesn't super matter now you're in a whole other universe again? So, it's okay."

"Knowing my luck, Ranni will attack the ship looking to rescue me and I'm going to have to explain to her that she is, in fact, the other woman." Eleanor tries a smile and mostly succeeds; she's joking. "...Ruby. I'm sorry. And...I can't...I can't promise that I won't break your heart again, not when I don't know why I left...but I will do everything I can to stay."

Ruby squeezes her as tight as she can muster. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. Whatever this was— it was out of your control, and you're here now. And you didn't even manage to turn back up when three-quarters of the ship wasn't even here, which is nice..."

She can't imagine how disorienting turning up in the three weeks most people weren't even here would have been.

"...you wanna sit down?"

Dimitri's usual training routine is reasserting itself, after three weeks of desperately chasing dissociative fugue. He's actually somewhat calm as he heads back to the locker room, not thinking of anything in particular.

The clatter of metal(?) launches him into a run. He bursts through the door --

-- and skids to a halt, wide-eyed and frozen.

Eleanor has succeeded in getting exactly one piece of the armor off, the jank-ass helmet, which is - not by coincidence - the only one where the copper brambles don't effectively seal it shut. Her head turns sharply when Dimitri bursts into the room, claws on the bench next to her, but when her brain processes what her eyes are seeing...

"Dimitri," Eleanor whispers, in the barest of voices. It's relief, and disbelief, and the voice of someone who hasn't spoken to anyone in an endless stretch of time. Her armor reeks of blood and oil and rot and filth, her hair is ragged, matted, unkempt, there's a wildness in her eyes that Dimitri has only seen before when Eleanor has been fighting...

...But it's her. And it's him. All that stands between them is metal.

"E-eleanor," Dimitri whispers. There's the twist of a question on the name. His eyes flicker over the state of her face, her hair, the strange armor and the helm set beside her, cataloguing details, reason at war with certainty. "You're -- are you -- ?"

"I'm back," she whispers. Her voice is strangely hoarse; she hesitates before each word, piecing her sentences together no matter how short. "Just did the...the...damnit...muster, that's it. I was hoping you wouldn't see me like this."

Her hand strays towards her belt, weighed down with pouches along with a strange palm-sized metal sigil and a wicked knife. The barbs on her palms snag the leather, and Eleanor's head snaps down while she hisses at it in clear frustration, her distant expression alighting with Wrath for a split second.

Her gaze wanders slowly back towards Dimitri. "...I can only hope you don't lose respect for my intelligence when I say that I got into this suit on purpose. I had good reasons at the time but now I can't get back out."

Dimitri is so far from being able to question anyone's intelligence right now.

"You're back," he says, very faintly, and then louder, "You're back -- "

He leaps forward (hands spread wide, dropping to his knees, making himself small and inoffensive though he's moving fast), hits the floor and scrambles to the locker-room bench across from Eleanor. His hand hovers, halfway to reaching out, waiting for permission to touch.

"...Be careful. They're sharp enough to bite through armor."

Shaking -- carefully, as careful as he's capable of being -- Dimitri reaches up, and brushes his fingertips against Eleanor's cheekbone.

"You're back," he croaks.

"I'm filthy," Eleanor chides in a bare whisper. "...But back. I'm here. I don't...I don't even know why I left, but I'm here. And I'm so. So sorry, Dimitri. To all of you. I didn't want to go."

"...Please believe that I didn't want to go."

"You know I've had my hands in worse." Dimitri cracks a smile, rare and bright, like broken glass. "I know you didn't. I know." His voice softens. He smoothes his thumb across Eleanor's cheek, glove leaving a cleaner streak through the grime. "I know."

The smile shatters. His chest seizes, and he goes to pull Eleanor into a hug.

An instant of blind panic; Dimitri is suddenly holding nothing at all, a cloud of purple mist where Eleanor was.

There's another, maybe three feet away. In about a second, both scatter, bringing Eleanor back at the second location. She holds her palm out, and her gauntlet is, too, wrapped in metal briars; her palm is bleeding, the blood washing grime away.

"Don't," she murmurs. "...Not until the armor is off, not until I'm. Clean again. I need help getting it off but don't make me explain to Dedue why you're hurt. I can't. I can't do that right now."

There's a moment of gut-wrenching terror in which Dimitri thinks he was wrong; that his mind's found a whole new way to be cruel to him, and let the visions promise him they're real. Everyone is shouting, loud enough to drown out most of what Eleanor says, but in his wounded-animal staring he finally registers the strange armor and the barbed brambles fusing it shut.

What happened and Who did this and Which of their organs should I remove first all collide in the back of Dimitri's throat. What comes out, compressed into ironclad calm, is, "How do I help?"

Relief. Eleanor relaxes, and even ventures a brittle smile. "The armor was placed on me by...magic is the easiest thing to say, but it's no curse. It's an object like any other. The problem is the knotted brambles. If they could be clipped, or cut..."

She flexes her palm slightly; the thorns would have to bite it any time she grips a weapon. Good thing the claws on the bench slide over her wrists?

"You can probably unwind the knots with your strength...just be careful."

Dimitri nods, mouth dry, and shifts closer to Eleanor again. He doesn't particularly trust his voice right now.

Fury steadies his nerves and his hands as he works. The wrench whenever a slip pulls the thorns into Eleanor's skin only twists into more hate. Someone did this, someone made this armor and someone put it on her and if Dimitri ever gets his hands on them he'll --

(The air stirs, heavy with static and the smell of rain.)

-- after a few false starts, he works out that he can snap the thorns off. It leaves some rough barbs on the cable, but it's better than the cruel, piercing edges. It's painstaking, but there's something gratifying in being thorough. Not just freeing Eleanor, but ruining the armor's ability to hurt anyone, ever again. Once the cables have been stripped, it's easier to unwind them from Eleanor's joints -- or rip them apart -- freeing the pieces of armor to disarticulate.

Dimitri hesitates, hand resting on the clasp of Eleanor's gauntlet. "I'm sure you could take it from here, but ... may I?"

Edited 2024-01-09 11:24 (UTC)

Eleanor is, for her part, seemingly getting...

...Relaxed. She has to hold herself tense for Dimitri at first, especially as he works on her gauntlets which need steady arms lest she impede the process. As he moves further, to unwind and to break the brambles around the chest, the waist, her legs...Eleanor's eyes close, and her breathing steadies.

She's bleeding anew, from wounds that only weren't bleeding because the thorns stopped them up, and it's so worth it. The sting is refreshing. Cleansing. Soon she'll heal, and then...well, then this armor might be something new. It's served her well, it shouldn't be left behind.

Wait. Dimitri was -

Eleanor's eyes open, and she gives him a brittle smile. "Far be it from me to stop you from playing the squire...no, I jest too far. It would be. It would be very pleasant, Dimitri."

Dimitri blinks. "Squire? No, it's not that -- just ... "

Sometime during the process of being raised as royalty, Dimitri internalized a lesson no one meant to teach him: that if people are going to be loyal to him, he'd damn well better be worth it; and if he can't protect them, it's his duty and obligation to look after them.

" ... no one has been taking care of you for too long. And someone should."

"...Not no one. But precious few." Somewhere through the grime a blush touches her cheeks. "Please. I...might ask you to stay while I shower too. Once I'm clean..."

...

"...Fuck. I can't go streaking through the halls to get new clothes."

"I'll be here as long as you need me."

If nothing else, Dimitri can promise that.

Shedding the rest of the armor goes more smoothly without the thorns interfering. His tremors don't get along well with buckles, and the angles are all different when he's doing it for someone else, but the frustration is something to focus on. Armor draws the line between battle and rest; each piece set aside promises that the fight is over. Whatever happened on the field, now is the time for triage, and comfort, and care.

"I have a change of clothes here. They won't exactly fit," being as Eleanor is at least six inches taller and much narrower than Dimitri, "but they'll serve long enough to get you back to your room. Or I could ask Dedue to bring something -- I'm sure he wouldn't mind."

Beneath the armor, and the padding, are the remnants of the clothes Eleanor left in; the layers from the Tommy Bahama that she favored once upon a time, now all but completely annihilated by filth, by tears and cuts, by burns and grime and more. Almost mechanically, she starts tearing them away, and the cloth is so far gone that there's no resistance.

Eleanor is so far from thinking about modesty right now. The layers of filth caked onto her make the idea of thinking about such things laughable at best. Instead she reaches out to take Dimitri's shoulder, and to favor him with the ghost of what might be a smile. "Walk me to the shower?"

Dimitri could care less about Eleanor's state of dress. All that matters is that, somehow, impossibly, she's here, and all the gold and silks and jewels in the world couldn't rival the beauty of a second chance.

He wraps his arm around Eleanor's back, taking as much weight as she wants to lean on him. The smile he returns is shining, sincere. "Would you like help, or should I stand guard?"

"Help," Eleanor murmurs. "...Help being back feel real, Dimitri."

Dedue freezes when he reads the message.

Then responds: I understand. Please come to my cabin when you can. I will be there.

Edited 2024-01-08 01:53 (UTC)

There is a flickering purple haze, like mist; the telltale sign of Eleanor's teleportation. And, indeed, about a second later it is scattered by the arrival of her body; she's showered, she's reunited with Ruby, Eleanor's gaze is less distant now, but she's still not doing okay. Dedue's lover is sweating profusely despite discarding her previous layered fashions for lighter clothes, and new scars coat her body. She's thinner, if such a thing were possible, all wiry muscle now, all that work to get her to eat healthier undone...

"Sir Molinaro," Eleanor murmurs, before she staggers and has to catch herself against the door. "...I should have eaten first..."

Dedue lets out a small gasp at the sight of her. As she staggers, he rushes to steady her. “I thought... you would not return,” he rasps quietly.

“Let us sit down.” He gestures to the couch. He has leftovers from the food court that he prepares for her. “Here. Eat.”

It's not pretty; with Dedue's help Eleanor sits, and she tears into the food like a starving thing. There will be no words while she eats.

A napkin is in order.

Dedue urges her to take it slow. He gives her a glass of water and rubs her shoulders while she eats. Then grabs her some paper towels.

It’s the least he can do. She helped to take care of him when he returned from Arcadia, he will do the same for her here.

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FOUL TARNISHED

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