...To them? [To THE PEOPLE WHO PUT THEM IN HERE BECAUSE YOU'RE AN ACCOMPLICE??? Okay maybe his paranoia doesn't spike quite that bad, but. Dahut is not instilling him with confidence.
He moves closer, intending to... well, to press this interrogation, honestly. The warm fondness he feels for Dahut is fighting terribly hard against his implanted life right now. But Dahut's possessed hand breaks through his muddled memories--only briefly, but enough to shock Luke, and to have him lunging towards Dahut with the intent of getting the dagger away from him.
It means he doesn't notice the poison, which shatters beneath his foot, spilling out over the floor.]
[NOT LIKE THIS... but also yeah maybe Luke MAYBE!! WHAT THEN!! WHAT THEN HUH!!!!
Anyway he also doesn't notice the crunch and shatter of glass or the fact that he's just lost the one thing that would have given him even the slightest bit of an edge here. Even though he's a genius, he doesn't trust in his own strength enough to think he can win in a fight against a trained combatant with only a dagger, but you only have to get one hit in when the dagger's covered in poison!
But he's not thinking of that either, because Luke is a friend but he's also an enemy, and Luke is trying to save him from himself, but is he really? He has to be, because this is Luke, who he's so very fond of, but is fondness trust, for him? Has it ever been? He wants to trust. He wants a hand to reach out for, but it's not here - and maybe the best thing he can do is just try to end things quickly, or maybe it's better to see if they can't get their memories sorted together. Aren't they better than this?
All of this indecisive insanity is happening while he's valiantly trying to keep his right hand from taking the rest of his body out, so he doesn't really have a spare hand to fend Luke off as he lunges over and tries to get the dagger away. His reply is whiplike and immediate, full of the hurt fury of a cornered animal and the panic of someone who's just been through too many damn lifetimes and traumas.]
Don't touch me—!!
[(typhoon voice) UNHAND ME I AM NOT A CRIMINAL
He tries to squirm away but his right hand is still trying to kill him and he's also literally backed himself into a corner.]
Didn't Luke fail to wake up from the last dream? Hadn't he needed Dahut's concern and care to drag him out of the metaphorical fire? I don't know if I would've woken up on my own, he'd said, and he's proving that now as he grabs Dahut's wrist and holds tightly. Too tightly. Dahut screams, and the sheer terror claws at his heart, only for his altered thoughts to pour in, rerouting the emotions he's developed over their weeks together. Dahut screams, and Luke thinks--
he's scared he doesn't trust me what's he afraid of what did he do what did I do]
Enough!
[The shout rips out of him, utterly beyond his control. He's yelling at himself more than Dahut, but he knows Dahut has no way of knowing that--and maybe it's that hero's heart or maybe it's his manipulative side, trying to gain the advantage, but either way, he tries to soften his tone.]
[Luke's out here trying to speak more softly but IT'S TOO LATE FOR THAT!! The combination of having his wrist gripped so tightly and hearing a yell that - to him, in this moment - feels directed at him is not doing him any good. He's better than this. He should be. He's faced arguably worse with a cooler head, but this is even more disorienting than the last pocket he'd been plucked away to, forced to experience a life on repeat and the suffering of two others.
The desire to survive is both his own and not. He wants to see his family again, he wants to see his mother again, he wants to be done with all of this and be back in a place that doesn't pick his old wounds apart and salt them. He's 65 and 15 and 5, old and tired but young and terrified, and for a moment, the hand at his wrist isn't Luke's at all, but some distant someone who's already taken too much from him.
His unruly arm strains and his body pulls back, and he lets out a wordless shout of panic-bitten frustration and anger and pent-up despair from failure on failure and death on death, before a curt:]
I can't!!
[Which is partially an "I won't" and partially true because his hand is still locked tightly on this blade pointed at his throat, as if some deep and buried part of him understands better than any what truly needs to be done.
He can't shrink any further into himself or into this wall, though, so the second his right arm starts to finally relent, he's setting everything aside. His forced hesitation, the familiar fondness he feels toward Luke, the real-tasting false life crammed into his head, even his desire to get out and back to kinder arms. He just wants to push Luke away, to get more space again, maybe with more space he can think easier, breathe easier, calm his awful heart, put his stupid brain to use--
He tries to shove himself forward with both arms and all his lil weenie strength, still not letting go of the dagger. There is the distinct impression that the only reason he's not swinging it at Luke is because Luke's holding his wrist.]
[There are two problems for Luke, here, and the first is assumption. Dahut is so much smaller than he is, so easy to scoop up and carry off, his playful punches barely noticeable to a trained soldier. Even knowing what desperation and adrenaline can do to a person, he believes, without question, that he can overpower Dahut. Whether he does it to protect Dahut from himself, or to gain the upper hand... Luke can't answer that as clearly, but winning the fight through strength was never part of the question.
The second is ignorance. From day one, Luke has had a good relationship with Dahut. He was the only one beside him during Scien's trial, after all. No one else witnessed the exhaustion that bled through his facade, or the decades shining through the frozen youth of his face. Dahut has only ever jumped at him in playfulness and jest.
He isn't prepared for Dahut to move towards him. It's enough to catch him off-guard, and though the memories implanted within him are strong, in this moment, they can't overpower Luke's instinct to protect. So he jerks backwards, his grip loosening, as he falls back on his other hand, cutting his palm on broken glass and narrowly missing the spilled poison.]
[Luke has two problems but Dahut only has one, which is the fact that Luke is still holding onto his wrist when he goes stumbling back and crashing down. THANKS LUKE!!!
Dahut does try to pull back, his mind already leaps and bounds ahead of his body - get away, get back to the other side of the room, grab the other weapon on the way there just in case, try the door because there has to be a better way out of this - but he fuckin fumbles the bag on Step One: Get Away. Instead of his clean break, he's pulled along after Luke just far enough that he loses his balance. Even when the grip on his wrist loosens, yanking his hand free doesn't help him right it and he goes down, bracing himself with his hands (sorry if any accidental stabbies happen, he's still holding his bff dagger).
He lands in a jumble half against Luke and half on the floor, his forearm having slid through the glass and poison alike.]
[Looks at my 4. Well. There will definitely be accidental stabbies!!! Yay!!!! "There would've been anyway" listen yeah but it's more fun this way
Dahut falls half on him, and, unfortunately, so does the dagger!! Right in his side, which I so conveniently have an icon for. Wow. Crazy how that worked out. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the pain, which never really gets any easier to handle, despite how many he's fought. How many he's killed. For her.
For her--
The implanted memories surge, and his heart does, too. He forgets about the poison on the floor, or even the dagger, as he shoves Dahut off of him, rolling into his side in agony and clutching at his chest. SOMETIMES YOU'RE A BEING MADE OF LOVE AND THAT CAUSES A LOT OF PROBLEMS IN YOUR NEW BODY THAT CANNOT HANDLE LOVE,,,]
[WHY DID YOU DO THIS I HATE IT HERE IM LOSING MY MIND well. Dahut has now done more damage than he ever thought he could and it's entirely accidental this is so funny. He's officially harmed Luke more in this stupid 2 second scrap than he did in the entire yakety sax chase with Scien weeks ago.
He's shoved off and now there is more of him in this poison and glass puddle, and alarm bells ring because he'd forgotten about it while he was trying to break free but he's being forced to remember it very quickly. A burning sensation starts almost immediately at the points of contact the liquid's made with his open wounds, and he yelps and scrambles upright, more glass embedding in his palms, leaving drips and streaks of blood across the floor.
A glance over to the side when he reflexively reaches to snatch his dagger back reveals Luke looking like he's seen better days, and for a brief second, Dahut goes cold wondering if he'd hit somewhere lethal. That's the last thing he wants, but is it?
Or is this what he's looking for? His chance. It'd be an easy matter to run over while Luke's distracted and drive the blade through his throat, sever an artery, end it. He could. He should. Logically, this is the fastest way out. He's fond of Luke, but what does fondness mean? Normally, he's prone to quick action to the point of recklessness, but now, it takes him seconds just to position the dagger offensively. This is it. This is it--
This really is it because a bitch touched a fast-acting poison and seconds later, he's coughing up several mouthfuls of blood.]
Imagine if I said this set off a TB attack, how funny would that be. Just two fools coughing on the floor like losers.
But no, that would be too easy. Instead, Luke fights through the pain, letting his paranoia drag his thoughts away from Rosa and back to the now. He can hear Dahut moving, and his mind tells him that Dahut can't be trusted--that Dahut's fear will win out, and he will strike with purpose, and Luke will meet his end.
By the time he faces Dion, that thought won't seem so bad. But right now, he still has hope. He puts pressure on his wound as he rolls over, his gaze darting to Dahut--only to see him coughing up blood?! BINCH STOP COPYING HIM THOSE ARE HIS TB SYMPTOMS WHAT THE FCK.]
[STOP PLEASE THE BLOOD ALL OVER THE FLOOR AS THE PERSON WATCHING IS LIKE 🧍♂️
Dahut will not stop copying Luke's TB symptoms though BINCH. IT'S HIS TB SHOW NOW. Which is to say he's really coughing up a lot of blood! He can't stop! There's something pale and panicked in his expression but he's still gripping this dagger like his life depends on it even as he collapses onto the floor and convulses. Wow this happens to him a lot.]
[LMFSKDJHGKS WELL MAYBE OBSERVATION JIM SHOULD'VE THOUGHT OF THAT!!!!
But okay, well. DAHUT IS HAVING SUCH A BAD TIME RIGHT NOW. Seeing him in this sorry state breaks the hold his anxiety has on Luke--all at once, memories of the Eudora slam back into his head, forced through by guilt and terror. He scrambles over, grabbing Dahut by the shoulders and dragging him halfway into his lap, away from the spill. His hands are bloody, but Luke pays no mind to his own wounds.]
Hang on, just hang on--
[Hang on for what? There's nothing Luke can do for him here. But he looks around futilely anyway, frantic eyes darting towards the window, the door, trying desperately to catch sight of those heartless figures that shoved them in here.]
He doesn't have the same strike of clarity as Luke. His head is still a fuzzy jumble of memories and bloodshed and betrayal, getting fuzzier still as he shudders and jerks, froth and blood oozing from his mouth.
But he does, at least, recognize this: that despite his fear, and in spite of his own intention to leave here at the cost of a life, Luke has chosen to treat his with care. To attempt and save it, even. His body cramps and spasms in a way he can't control, but at the very least, he works hard to force his stiff and twitching fingers to relinquish their hold on the blade. A thanks, since he can't get his words out, can't even smile.
Here - half in the lap of one of the friends he can call his own, only half-remembered - he takes his last few choking gasps, chasing visions of warm smiles and hands and kinder times.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
...To them? [To THE PEOPLE WHO PUT THEM IN HERE BECAUSE YOU'RE AN ACCOMPLICE??? Okay maybe his paranoia doesn't spike quite that bad, but. Dahut is not instilling him with confidence.
He moves closer, intending to... well, to press this interrogation, honestly. The warm fondness he feels for Dahut is fighting terribly hard against his implanted life right now. But Dahut's possessed hand breaks through his muddled memories--only briefly, but enough to shock Luke, and to have him lunging towards Dahut with the intent of getting the dagger away from him.
It means he doesn't notice the poison, which shatters beneath his foot, spilling out over the floor.]
no subject
Anyway he also doesn't notice the crunch and shatter of glass or the fact that he's just lost the one thing that would have given him even the slightest bit of an edge here. Even though he's a genius, he doesn't trust in his own strength enough to think he can win in a fight against a trained combatant with only a dagger, but you only have to get one hit in when the dagger's covered in poison!
But he's not thinking of that either, because Luke is a friend but he's also an enemy, and Luke is trying to save him from himself, but is he really? He has to be, because this is Luke, who he's so very fond of, but is fondness trust, for him? Has it ever been? He wants to trust. He wants a hand to reach out for, but it's not here - and maybe the best thing he can do is just try to end things quickly, or maybe it's better to see if they can't get their memories sorted together. Aren't they better than this?
All of this indecisive insanity is happening while he's valiantly trying to keep his right hand from taking the rest of his body out, so he doesn't really have a spare hand to fend Luke off as he lunges over and tries to get the dagger away. His reply is whiplike and immediate, full of the hurt fury of a cornered animal and the panic of someone who's just been through too many damn lifetimes and traumas.]
Don't touch me—!!
[(typhoon voice) UNHAND ME I AM NOT A CRIMINAL
He tries to squirm away but his right hand is still trying to kill him and he's also literally backed himself into a corner.]
no subject
--Or are they?
Didn't Luke fail to wake up from the last dream? Hadn't he needed Dahut's concern and care to drag him out of the metaphorical fire? I don't know if I would've woken up on my own, he'd said, and he's proving that now as he grabs Dahut's wrist and holds tightly. Too tightly. Dahut screams, and the sheer terror claws at his heart, only for his altered thoughts to pour in, rerouting the emotions he's developed over their weeks together. Dahut screams, and Luke thinks--
he's scared
he doesn't trust me
what's he afraid of
what did he do
what did I do]
Enough!
[The shout rips out of him, utterly beyond his control. He's yelling at himself more than Dahut, but he knows Dahut has no way of knowing that--and maybe it's that hero's heart or maybe it's his manipulative side, trying to gain the advantage, but either way, he tries to soften his tone.]
Let it go--drop it, and I'll let go--
no subject
The desire to survive is both his own and not. He wants to see his family again, he wants to see his mother again, he wants to be done with all of this and be back in a place that doesn't pick his old wounds apart and salt them. He's 65 and 15 and 5, old and tired but young and terrified, and for a moment, the hand at his wrist isn't Luke's at all, but some distant someone who's already taken too much from him.
His unruly arm strains and his body pulls back, and he lets out a wordless shout of panic-bitten frustration and anger and pent-up despair from failure on failure and death on death, before a curt:]
I can't!!
[Which is partially an "I won't" and partially true because his hand is still locked tightly on this blade pointed at his throat, as if some deep and buried part of him understands better than any what truly needs to be done.
He can't shrink any further into himself or into this wall, though, so the second his right arm starts to finally relent, he's setting everything aside. His forced hesitation, the familiar fondness he feels toward Luke, the real-tasting false life crammed into his head, even his desire to get out and back to kinder arms. He just wants to push Luke away, to get more space again, maybe with more space he can think easier, breathe easier, calm his awful heart, put his stupid brain to use--
He tries to shove himself forward with both arms and all his lil weenie strength, still not letting go of the dagger. There is the distinct impression that the only reason he's not swinging it at Luke is because Luke's holding his wrist.]
no subject
The second is ignorance. From day one, Luke has had a good relationship with Dahut. He was the only one beside him during Scien's trial, after all. No one else witnessed the exhaustion that bled through his facade, or the decades shining through the frozen youth of his face. Dahut has only ever jumped at him in playfulness and jest.
He isn't prepared for Dahut to move towards him. It's enough to catch him off-guard, and though the memories implanted within him are strong, in this moment, they can't overpower Luke's instinct to protect. So he jerks backwards, his grip loosening, as he falls back on his other hand, cutting his palm on broken glass and narrowly missing the spilled poison.]
no subject
[Luke has two problems but Dahut only has one, which is the fact that Luke is still holding onto his wrist when he goes stumbling back and crashing down. THANKS LUKE!!!
Dahut does try to pull back, his mind already leaps and bounds ahead of his body - get away, get back to the other side of the room, grab the other weapon on the way there just in case, try the door because there has to be a better way out of this - but he fuckin fumbles the bag on Step One: Get Away. Instead of his clean break, he's pulled along after Luke just far enough that he loses his balance. Even when the grip on his wrist loosens, yanking his hand free doesn't help him right it and he goes down, bracing himself with his hands (sorry if any accidental stabbies happen, he's still holding his bff dagger).
He lands in a jumble half against Luke and half on the floor, his forearm having slid through the glass and poison alike.]
no subject
Dahut falls half on him, and, unfortunately, so does the dagger!! Right in his side, which I so conveniently have an icon for. Wow. Crazy how that worked out. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the pain, which never really gets any easier to handle, despite how many he's fought. How many he's killed. For her.
For her--
The implanted memories surge, and his heart does, too. He forgets about the poison on the floor, or even the dagger, as he shoves Dahut off of him, rolling into his side in agony and clutching at his chest. SOMETIMES YOU'RE A BEING MADE OF LOVE AND THAT CAUSES A LOT OF PROBLEMS IN YOUR NEW BODY THAT CANNOT HANDLE LOVE,,,]
no subject
He's shoved off and now there is more of him in this poison and glass puddle, and alarm bells ring because he'd forgotten about it while he was trying to break free but he's being forced to remember it very quickly. A burning sensation starts almost immediately at the points of contact the liquid's made with his open wounds, and he yelps and scrambles upright, more glass embedding in his palms, leaving drips and streaks of blood across the floor.
A glance over to the side when he reflexively reaches to snatch his dagger back reveals Luke looking like he's seen better days, and for a brief second, Dahut goes cold wondering if he'd hit somewhere lethal. That's the last thing he wants, but is it?
Or is this what he's looking for? His chance. It'd be an easy matter to run over while Luke's distracted and drive the blade through his throat, sever an artery, end it. He could. He should. Logically, this is the fastest way out. He's fond of Luke, but what does fondness mean? Normally, he's prone to quick action to the point of recklessness, but now, it takes him seconds just to position the dagger offensively. This is it. This is it--
This really is it because a bitch touched a fast-acting poison and seconds later, he's coughing up several mouthfuls of blood.]
no subject
Imagine if I said this set off a TB attack, how funny would that be. Just two fools coughing on the floor like losers.
But no, that would be too easy. Instead, Luke fights through the pain, letting his paranoia drag his thoughts away from Rosa and back to the now. He can hear Dahut moving, and his mind tells him that Dahut can't be trusted--that Dahut's fear will win out, and he will strike with purpose, and Luke will meet his end.
By the time he faces Dion, that thought won't seem so bad. But right now, he still has hope. He puts pressure on his wound as he rolls over, his gaze darting to Dahut--only to see him coughing up blood?! BINCH STOP COPYING HIM THOSE ARE HIS TB SYMPTOMS WHAT THE FCK.]
Dahut--?!
no subject
Dahut will not stop copying Luke's TB symptoms though BINCH. IT'S HIS TB SHOW NOW. Which is to say he's really coughing up a lot of blood! He can't stop! There's something pale and panicked in his expression but he's still gripping this dagger like his life depends on it even as he collapses onto the floor and convulses. Wow this happens to him a lot.]
no subject
But okay, well. DAHUT IS HAVING SUCH A BAD TIME RIGHT NOW. Seeing him in this sorry state breaks the hold his anxiety has on Luke--all at once, memories of the Eudora slam back into his head, forced through by guilt and terror. He scrambles over, grabbing Dahut by the shoulders and dragging him halfway into his lap, away from the spill. His hands are bloody, but Luke pays no mind to his own wounds.]
Hang on, just hang on--
[Hang on for what? There's nothing Luke can do for him here. But he looks around futilely anyway, frantic eyes darting towards the window, the door, trying desperately to catch sight of those heartless figures that shoved them in here.]
Enough! End it!
no subject
He doesn't have the same strike of clarity as Luke. His head is still a fuzzy jumble of memories and bloodshed and betrayal, getting fuzzier still as he shudders and jerks, froth and blood oozing from his mouth.
But he does, at least, recognize this: that despite his fear, and in spite of his own intention to leave here at the cost of a life, Luke has chosen to treat his with care. To attempt and save it, even. His body cramps and spasms in a way he can't control, but at the very least, he works hard to force his stiff and twitching fingers to relinquish their hold on the blade. A thanks, since he can't get his words out, can't even smile.
Here - half in the lap of one of the friends he can call his own, only half-remembered - he takes his last few choking gasps, chasing visions of warm smiles and hands and kinder times.
Dahut is dead. Fourth time's the charm!]