when he comes to, temenos finds himself staring upwards into the face of the person he has simply called to others his dearest friend. "dearest friend" doesn't even begin to cover the bond between them, two foundlings brought under the the loving wing of the pontiff, raised tenderly in the cradle of the sacred flame. two clerics, two inquisitors, an inseparable pair. it's been five years since temenos last saw roi, since he turned his back with that accursed bow in his hands. five years since temenos promised himself he'd find a way to solve his mystery. five years, since he's heard his brother's big, warm laugh, the way it lights up an entire room. five years since he watched him fall victim to (yet another) one of temenos' light, playful pranks. so gullible. so purehearted. so utterly, amazingly, perfectly kind. the sort of person who just brought the light into a room. like crick, like roi, golden hearted, paragons of the sacred flame.
and the thing is, he never really let himself mourn. there was never time, in those long five years. the thing is, he never allows himself to feel long enough to start. it feels like an insult to his memory, to waste time hurting when he could be finding the truth roi tasked him to, whether on purpose or not. so maybe that just makes it easier - just for a few minutes, to believe that this might be real.
he blinks. once, twice, three times.
(when something comes to fill the crater left behind in your life, do you turn away from it?)
temenos is... wet, he thinks. wet and staring into a pair of eyes that match his. ]
...Roi. [ he says, slowly. ] Did I...?
[ he wants - he wants to sit up. temenos thinks like a child, for a moment, with a deliriously happy eleven, that he wants to reach out. one hand comes up, almost hesitant, curling in the air before he reaches up to very, very lightly touch roi's hand like it might burn him.
it can't be a dream. even when he dreams, he dreams realistically. temenos only ever dreams of loss.
[ but wouldn't it be nice if the script was flipped for a change? would it be wonderful if you didn't have to grieve, didn't have to mourn, didn't have to keep losing because loss is a wound and if you don't let it close, it's bound to fistulate.
temenos reaches upwards, tentative as a blooming flower broaching the post-winter thaw, and roi reaches back. roi reaches back gently, turning to catch temenos' fingers and to lift them high. he puts them gently on his own cheek, which is so warm and so real under your fingertips. he's as you remember him, as you want to remember him, gullible smile.
if he sits up, roi just joins him in the water, smiling even brighter, his presence a warm beacon you want to cling to tightly. ]
Temenos... [ the way he says your name is beautiful. ] Would I lie to you?
[ you know the answer to that.
and then, a laugh, that laugh you hold so fast to your heart, a memory etched in the stones of your own temple, the temple of your body, where you are beholden to yourself and to your faith, intertwined and self-same. he reaches with his arm now, to draw you towards him.
roi knew him when he was little and shy, when he cried easily. roi knew he was a bit of a loner, that he tended to be introverted and a little odd. roi could find the mask of composure he's taught himself to wear and get a smile out of him that lit up his eyes in a way that so very few things do, nowadays. roi was the sun to temenos' moon, and now here he is, shining once again, like nothing ever happened. for all he knows, the pontiff is awaiting them both, for dinner and evening services, like a normal day in flamechurch.
(something about this is wrong. he should know better. he needs to know better.)
[ you guys are just eating my soup right now and i'm like oh boy. i mean i knew this could happen but i didn't think it WOULD! anyways. ]
Hey now, ouch, that hurts.
[ just like the sun, roi illuminates... he illuminates everything so brightly. he's radiant, just like the sun - and like the sun, he draws you into his warmth so completely, so wholly, wraps you up in an embrace that feels like it is squeezing the first true breath of air, unbridled, full and deep, that you've been able to take. there's no weight of being an inquisitor, of one whose job it is to doubt, to know, to seek the truth.
where is the truth here? where? what truth is there to be found here when it surely is right here in roi's arms, with his chin perching on your shoulder as he gathers you up.
[ a life with no weight. with no being an inquisitor.
... it's that that finally awakens something.
because - isn't that the kind of trap that his idiot, beloved, dearest friend, his big brother would fall into?
roi was a good inquisitor, that's for sure. they both were. but their methodology was much different, and the places where roi lacked, temenos was able to fill in with aplomb. and one of those places was always, always that - it was doubt. roi barely knew what the word meant, and that was why temenos learned it. it was why he learned to be alert. careful. cautious.
his eyes open as he's being drawn in, over roi's shoulder.
he learned to doubt because roi mistral needed protecting. ]
... Roi.
[ temenos starts, slowly. a hand comes up, curls in the back of his cloak, tight, familiar. ] Roi, where are we?
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as temenos mistral loves to say, doubt is what i do. he is a cynical person by nature, someone who always sees reality, who cuts through naïveté and optimism where it's necessary. he is grounded and logical, and he sees the darkness in places where others see the light. but this skill never came naturally - no, it was a skill that he cultivated. a trait he learned, to protect others.
to protect roi.
when he comes to, temenos finds himself staring upwards into the face of the person he has simply called to others his dearest friend. "dearest friend" doesn't even begin to cover the bond between them, two foundlings brought under the the loving wing of the pontiff, raised tenderly in the cradle of the sacred flame. two clerics, two inquisitors, an inseparable pair. it's been five years since temenos last saw roi, since he turned his back with that accursed bow in his hands. five years since temenos promised himself he'd find a way to solve his mystery. five years, since he's heard his brother's big, warm laugh, the way it lights up an entire room. five years since he watched him fall victim to (yet another) one of temenos' light, playful pranks. so gullible. so purehearted. so utterly, amazingly, perfectly kind. the sort of person who just brought the light into a room. like crick, like roi, golden hearted, paragons of the sacred flame.
and the thing is, he never really let himself mourn. there was never time, in those long five years. the thing is, he never allows himself to feel long enough to start. it feels like an insult to his memory, to waste time hurting when he could be finding the truth roi tasked him to, whether on purpose or not. so maybe that just makes it easier - just for a few minutes, to believe that this might be real.
he blinks. once, twice, three times.
(when something comes to fill the crater left behind in your life, do you turn away from it?)
temenos is... wet, he thinks. wet and staring into a pair of eyes that match his. ]
...Roi. [ he says, slowly. ] Did I...?
[ he wants - he wants to sit up. temenos thinks like a child, for a moment, with a deliriously happy eleven, that he wants to reach out. one hand comes up, almost hesitant, curling in the air before he reaches up to very, very lightly touch roi's hand like it might burn him.
it can't be a dream. even when he dreams, he dreams realistically. temenos only ever dreams of loss.
(6.) ]
no subject
temenos reaches upwards, tentative as a blooming flower broaching the post-winter thaw, and roi reaches back. roi reaches back gently, turning to catch temenos' fingers and to lift them high. he puts them gently on his own cheek, which is so warm and so real under your fingertips. he's as you remember him, as you want to remember him, gullible smile.
if he sits up, roi just joins him in the water, smiling even brighter, his presence a warm beacon you want to cling to tightly. ]
Temenos... [ the way he says your name is beautiful. ] Would I lie to you?
[ you know the answer to that.
and then, a laugh, that laugh you hold so fast to your heart, a memory etched in the stones of your own temple, the temple of your body, where you are beholden to yourself and to your faith, intertwined and self-same. he reaches with his arm now, to draw you towards him.
roll me a d20. ]
no subject
[ temenos says, so naturally, so easily, a chuckle. it's a little mean in the way he's always just a little mean, but it's so fond, impossibly so.
his chest aches with the tenderness of it all, of a life that used to be. he'd even said to throné, just a few days ago, how much she would have liked him. who wouldn't? how nice it might have been, to introduce roi to the travelers, to share their joys with him, their sorrows, their family. because they are his family as much as roi was - the family he found on his own. he likes to think he'd be proud, that he'd love them, too.
there are so many things he wants to tell him, in this warm little moment. about the truth he found, but other things too. about the travelers. about the tenuous thread he thinks might exist between him and throné, that could maybe, maybe exist between him and roi, too. they could have been blood all along. not that it matters. roi is his dearest friend because roi is his brother.
roi knew him when he was little and shy, when he cried easily. roi knew he was a bit of a loner, that he tended to be introverted and a little odd. roi could find the mask of composure he's taught himself to wear and get a smile out of him that lit up his eyes in a way that so very few things do, nowadays. roi was the sun to temenos' moon, and now here he is, shining once again, like nothing ever happened. for all he knows, the pontiff is awaiting them both, for dinner and evening services, like a normal day in flamechurch.
(something about this is wrong. he should know better. he needs to know better.)
but he doesn't. he lets roi reach out to him.
(7. :grimacing:) ]
no subject
Hey now, ouch, that hurts.
[ just like the sun, roi illuminates... he illuminates everything so brightly. he's radiant, just like the sun - and like the sun, he draws you into his warmth so completely, so wholly, wraps you up in an embrace that feels like it is squeezing the first true breath of air, unbridled, full and deep, that you've been able to take. there's no weight of being an inquisitor, of one whose job it is to doubt, to know, to seek the truth.
where is the truth here? where? what truth is there to be found here when it surely is right here in roi's arms, with his chin perching on your shoulder as he gathers you up.
anotha one (d20). ]
Stay with me...
no subject
... it's that that finally awakens something.
because - isn't that the kind of trap that his idiot, beloved, dearest friend, his big brother would fall into?
roi was a good inquisitor, that's for sure. they both were. but their methodology was much different, and the places where roi lacked, temenos was able to fill in with aplomb. and one of those places was always, always that - it was doubt. roi barely knew what the word meant, and that was why temenos learned it. it was why he learned to be alert. careful. cautious.
his eyes open as he's being drawn in, over roi's shoulder.
he learned to doubt because roi mistral needed protecting. ]
... Roi.
[ temenos starts, slowly. a hand comes up, curls in the back of his cloak, tight, familiar. ] Roi, where are we?
[ 14. ]