lazybox | [voicetest] it's this guy

The sudden rush of aether permeating every ilm of air around her is nigh unbearable. It jolts her out of the lazy haze she allowed herself to fall into, and she cannot help the odd noise that escapes her — something between a squeak of surprise and a disgruntled huff.

Era isn't... Well. Now that she can't help but think on it, she is still hungry. Not ravenous as she was before, but... hungry.

Unsure of what else to do, as she isn't so bestial as to take someone's aether without permission, Era shoves the meat of her palm to her mouth and bites, hard enough that the blood gushes out faster than she anticipated. She splutters, breathing it all in, keeping her mouth clamped down on her flesh. Given the severity of her wound and how much blood she has lost over the past bell alone, Era knows it likely isn't the best of choices, but the taste of her own aether is... satisfactory. Not as heady and rich as Hades', nor as filling, but it is living aether all the same, and something deep within her reluctantly accepts the paltry meal.

And if she thought that would go unnoticed, she's even more the fool.

"Really," is all he says at first, a disdainful huff. With all that blood loss already... "You choose the most damnable of times to abandon your practicality."

And with that he curls closer around her still, weaving his aether into another fruit for her. As he does, his face darkens completely, leaving only four eyes of glowing white and the outline of the rest of his features beneath a sharp crown. "If you still hunger, say something. Eating your own will do your recovery no favors."

Edited 2019-07-30 01:25 (UTC)

Had she the blood to spare, her face would have flushed a deep pink with embarrassment. But as she does not, it instead is tinged by only the faintest bit of colour; just enough to chase away the unhealthy pallor of her skin.

"Blood loss," she quips half-heartedly, far too preoccupied with staring anywhere other than his face to notice how it changes. Far too preoccupied with how he curls around her more securely. "Less oxygen being fed to the brain."

There is something to be said for modern medical texts, at least.

Era makes a token effort to resist the fruit, but caves almost immediately. She hums her thanks as she takes it, promptly biting into it with more savagery than she did her own flesh. A sinful groan rises from her throat as she swallows down the aether given form, tail curling and uncurling against Hades' hip. Era scarcely pays attention to what her body is doing without her input, too engrossed in the delight that is rich, dark aether filling up all the empty, aching spaces inside of her.

As she digs in, he sighs fondly before wrapping his wing securely around her shoulders. One clawed hand lifts to help keep her hair clear while she gorges.

"Perhaps you should try thinking a bit less for a while," he says. "Rest and let someone else do the heavy thinking for tonight."<>

She hums an absentminded agreement, leaning into the casual, affectionate touch he gives. His form is of no consequence to her — he is still Hades. Emet-Selch. The Architect. Her... friend? Perhaps not quite a friend, but no longer an enemy. They had been friends once though, she knows. In a time before time that she cannot and will never recall, because she is not her — not wholly — and Era never will be.

Even if the Ascians' plan was to succeed, if the remaining shards of her sundered soul were rejoined she would no longer be herself.

But those are thoughts to consider another time (or perhaps never). Instead she continues humming absently as she savours the juices that spill from the aetherial fruit. By the time she's halfway finished she has slowed down considerably, no longer feeling that desperate need to consume after the first few bites. Now it is a lazy, languid enjoyment.

If her dear friends were to see her now, what would they think? Would they be disgusted with her, for having ravenous desire for living aether to rival a Sin Eater or Voidsent?

But Hades had suggested she try thinking less, so Era tries not to think on it further.

Thoughts to consider, perhaps always, every time he looks at her. The way that he has accepted Era, who both is and is not a piece of what he has lost in a way so much more literal than most anyone else...

In another world, perhaps it would be the beginning of accepting his grief and letting go. But he can't, no longer possesses the ability, one of the first sacrifices on the altar of his god. They chose to revive the lost, the old world and the old order of things.

If he were capable, he would muse on the contradiction, that so many creators wanted nothing more than to go back to the way of life they had.

What form would she have taken, pulled into the rift like them? Another dark thing, or is that the result of their god's touch, and she would have become likewise a vessel for Her light? That is a far more interesting thought to occupy his mind, especially as she consumes his aether like the monster she so nearly became.

(If she had - the voidsent are powerful, and even the strongest is but a fourteenth. The same was true of the Sin-Eaters, and he could have defeated Vauthry or even the origin point if he had had need. A soul at more than half restoration, under that kind of power? That, he is privately, secretly, less sure about.)

Her contented humming is not quite matched, the sensation more aetherial than aural, but the emotions that tinge his aether are similar enough. Satisfaction, security. The crisis is past, for the time being, and they can deal with the rest on the morrow. "If you're feeling a bit better, you should rest."

In some ways she is feeling a bit better, which is a great relief. The movement of her tail slows against his hip — or what she believes passes for one. The anatomy of this form of his is questionable, and though there is idle curiosity about it now that he isn't using it to attack her it isn't something she would ever inquire about.

Era hums in response; tired, content. There is still a great deal of pain, yet pain is such a fixture in her life she hardly spares it any thought beyond assuring it won't kill her. Breathing in the last of the fruit gifted to her, she licks her lips and fingers and permits herself to settle wholly against her companion. Her shoulders droop along with the lids of her eyes, body preparing to convalesce now that she has sufficient enough aether reserves to keep her alive while she sleeps.

"Apologies for..." For what? She cannot find the words with her tired mind, like trying to cup water with spread fingers.

{Inconviencenuisanceburden} her aether pulses weakly, having no such lingual limitations. It is still distinctly hers in feel, though it is tinged with darkness as Hades' is slowly absorbed and aetherially realigned.

It is the edge of the tongue she has forgotten how to speak, and the feeling of his aether in response is {confusionexcitementsatisfaction}, even before he speaks, voice low and murmuring even beyond the norm for the language he currently has no option but to speak.

"Think no such thing. You are a challenge in many ways, yes, but not in this." He will not spare her when he thinks she hasn't lived up to the admittedly high standards that he carries like an albatross, but he will not permit her to think anything less of herself for his decisions, either. "My willingness to expend a great amount of aether for those I value, few as those things now are, is in some ways near the root of the whole of our predicament."

Which is the closest his tempering will allow him to come to regretting it, to asking if things could have been different. He offered of himself freely once, to a god of salvation, to a hungry primal, and a hungry hero consumes and places demands on him far less.

For all that Era is aware now that she is a person, for better or worse, and thus allowed to share her burdens, to stumble, to fall, and seek help to lift her back up to her feet, it is still difficult to forgive herself her perceived failings. To have allowed herself to be so injured in the first place, and then to allow herself to give in to a gnawing hunger so primal and deep and horrific...

Most of all she feels shame, and it is etched in every line of her now, though the tired curve of her body pressed against him camouflages most of it. She lets out a small, hummed note as he speaks again, tilting her head to the focal point of his 'voice' so that it might better reverberate through her horns.

"I'd've done similar," Era murmurs. From what she knows of the circumstances... She would never have agreed to sacrificing so many others, but...

If what she has been led to believe is correct, technically she did do something similar, in that time before time.

She shoves those thoughts aside, instead using a fragment of aether to express the {lovelovelovelovelove} and {protect} that she feels for her people. Even when they disappoint her so, she cannot help but to love them to an extent that is almost painful. And while Emet-Selch, the Architect, may not be of her people, he is still one of hers now. Someone to protect and love however she can, especially when he is the only one she can rely on where it counts the most.

Hopefully it suffices where words would not, because what words can one express the true lengths they would go to in order to save one's people?

It doesn't occur to her that straining her soul to the point of it fragmenting into corrupted slivers, losing all sense of form and self, and fighting so fiercely against it — refusing and defying reality with all of her being — was likely explanation enough for Hades.

Era shifts and sighs, long and exhausted, now teetering on the edges of consciousness. She shivers briefly, tucking her chin deeper into the warm fabrics he created for her. Inhales a scent that eases the homesickness that grips her heart. She exhales slowly; another sigh. Goes boneless without a care.

Her tongue is as lead in her mouth for how little energy remains in her, but she has a deep, desperate need for an answer to one final question:

"Will you stay?"

[voicetest] it's this guy

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