[ And he absolutely drops what he's doing and speeds over. Eliot is clearly well enough to text and ask questions, but that doesn't mean G'raha doesn't think this isn't worth the urgency. He wouldn't want to hear of any of his comrades coming to injury, but this...
[ It's not as though Eliot's never been hurt before in his life. Hell, it's not even as though this is the worst he's ever been. But there is a heaviness to his body as he lifts himself up out of his chair at G'raha's text and heads out to meet him. Somehow he feels like he should have seen this coming; he's found that doctors all seem to act the same way the moment they hear someone is hurt.
It's just his face though. Black eye and a bloody nose thay only just stopped dripping. A cut right through his eyebrow and another through his bottom lip. Cheekbone just beginning to bruise. He looks awful but it's not that bad. Could, in fact, be a lot worse. But he has a feeling that G'raha won't see it that way. ]
[ G'raha is certain Eliot's been through far worse than this based on his line of work alone, nevermind all the strangeness that comes with living in Panorama. But this is still different. And disturbingly unexpected.
He's definitely taking any stairs two by two (yes his legs are long enough for that) and looks appropriately surprised by Eliot's appearance. It's not extreme in any fashion, but if this just...appeared... ]
Eliot...
[ His brows furrow in a mix of confusion and concern. ]
[ He makes sure to shut and lock the door behind them, and then points Graha towards the seat at table in the kitchenette. Busies himself grabbing some glasses and a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge as he says: ]
Interrupted a mugging. Not soon enough to stop the kid from getting hurt but...
[ He pours them both a glass, despite the fact that G'raha never asked for anything, and then sits down opposite him. ]
I dealt with the muggers— [ a shrug, as though to say not a problem ] —and figured I'd give the whole healing thing another go.
Finally worked this time.
[ It's said with a wry sort of smile as he gestures at his own face. To feel pain suddenly bloom, to feel his flesh slowly open up— he may have not wanted G'raha here worrying about him but now that he is he can't help but hope he's got some answers. ]
[ G'raha wants to fret, but he doesn't object to Eliot playing host. Clearly he's fine and it's the mystery of how this could happen in the first place that should be his primary focus, and yet it still feels awful seeing him like that.
G'raha takes the seat, resting his staff against the edge of the table just to have it nearby. So Eliot had tried to intervene on someone else's behalf? That suits him, G'raha thinks. Not only to try and stop someone from becoming a victim, but then going the extra mile afterwards. That he felt emboldened enough to try the magic on his own does make G'raha feel a bloom of pride in his chest, even if it turned out so...sour. ]
It did, indeed...
[ G'raha's fingers rest on the edge of his glass, but he doesn't pick it up. ]
...Do you recall how I said it was important to use the ambient aether around you? And that your own is just like a lure to pull it in?
[ He remembers. He's been trying so hard and for so long that it's like the words are burned into his mind. Eliot lays his hand out on the table between them, palm up. His brow furrows as he concentrates, fingers twitching, not so much pulling as... It feels like inhaling, like expanding his chest and letting the air rush in, and in a move reminiscent of what G'raha did all those months ago, calls a healing ball of aether to his hand.
Except, that definitely doesn't look nor feel anything like what G'raha did, the aether shot through with dark strands and almost sticky feeling. Did it look like that before? Eliot will admit that he wasn't particularly paying attention but it's not like he's doing anything different. Maybe he's the problem. ]
[ As Eliot works, G'raha feels out the aether around him. He cannot see into people like Y'shtola can, but he is aware of the ambient nature of it in the environment, as is needed for both White and Black Magicks.
It feels right. He can sense the air coalescing in Eliot's palm rather than feeling a rush of his own aether coming in to fill all the gaps. He's doing it right--until suddenly he isn't. The air dissipates and something dark and sickly takes its place.
G'raha's eyes widen, ears shooting up in alarm. ]
No...no it isn't.
[ G'raha holds his hand out, then hesitates as it hovers over the ball. ]
[ Eliot opens his mouth to say 'of course', wondering why G'raha feels the need to even ask, before his brain catches up with him and it takes everything he has to not jerk his hand back away from him. ]
I don't know what it'll do to you so be careful if you're gonna mess around with my aether, okay.
[ G'raha nods, appreciating the concern. But this is a mystery that needs solving regardless, even if it does have some negative effects during the investigation. ]
I shall.
[ He brings his hand closer, trying to get a better sense of its alignment without directly touching. Strange...it's almost necrotic. The look of concern on G'raha's face deepens, though he tries to keep it as neutral as possible for Eliot's sake. ]
I'm going to supply some of my own aether...
[ Just a small, measured amount. Much less than what a low-level Cure would provide, but enough to be noticeable. A bright red seeps out of G'raha's palms into the ball and he watches it for a reaction. ]
[ Eliot watches it with something approaching anxiety, tensed for the first signs of something going wrong. And he doesn't have to wait long. The moment G'raha's aether touches the ball in his palm, the darkness spreads, up along the length of G'raha's aether with alarming speed like fire and gasoline. Like an infection growing.
Eliot throws himself out of his chair and away from G'raha, aether dispelling as fast as he can make it. ]
Are you okay?
[ His voice is surprisingly measured for how much panic he's feeling right now, part of him wanting to check on G'raha while the other part isn't all too sure that it's safe for him to be that close. ]
[ He does feel something, sharp and unlike what he's come to expect from Eliot's aether. But it's more of a gleaning than actual pain, like the promise of something with bite before it can bare its teeth.
Eliot throws himself backwards and G'raha likewise jumps in his chair in surprise, eyes wide and ears flat against the top of his head. There's a short moment of surprise until it's clear--Eliot wasn't hurt, he was afraid for G'raha.
He exhales, his own aether having long since dissipated and shakes his head. ]
No, I'm quite alright.
[ Well, he thinks Eliot wasn't hurt, but given the reason for G'raha coming over-- ]
[ It takes a while before he can convince himself that the danger has passed. Eliot takes his seat back at the table, face throbbing from all his sudden movements now that the adrenaline has drained.
I'm fine, is what he wants to say. What comes out is: ] I don't know what I'm doing here, G'raha.
[ Magic and aether and healing? What was he thinking? Though, he thinks sardonically to himself, only being able to heal someone by taking on their injuries himself seem fitting. Can't argue with the method. ]
[ His shoulders feel the urge to droop at that, but G'raha holds himself still. While it's true that failure is expected in the learning process, what is happening here is very unexpected. Unprecedented, even. He wishes he had a quick answer. ]
...I know.
[ Instead, he tries to offer reassurances without discounting Eliot's fears, ]
But I led you into this world.
[ G'raha holds out his hand again. ]
So I won't abandon you to it. We can find out together.
Not your fault, okay. I didn't ask you here— [ well, okay, he didn't ask G'raha to come over in the first place but details ] —to put the blame on you. It is what it is.
[ And what it is is likely Eliot's fault anyhow.
Eliot holds his hand out too and places it on the table between them. Calls up some aether once more and watches as it forms into something dark and sickly. He wonders how G'raha can even stand to touch it. It's Eliot's and so it doesn't feel wrong to him but he can tell that it doesn't feel good. ]
[ No, G'raha absolutely made it his business to be here--because it is his business. Eliot could easily blame him, it is G'raha's instructions that brought them to this point, after all. He knows Eliot won't, but...
That doesn't change how he worries.
Still, Eliot is letting him try again so G'raha won't push the blame back onto himself. The way the aether shifts is just so against what ought to be happening. But everything he can sense around Eliot feels right. He's going through all the same motions, but producing a drastically different result. G'raha inhales lightly through his nose, holding his breath and reaches out to touch it--properly this time.
At first, there's a little sting that makes his ears twitch, but he holds fast. It feels warm, hot and almost uncomfortable. ]
[ It's not the word he would have used if he'd thought about it. Mostly because that's a weird and kinda creepy thing to say. But there's something... broken about it. Or maybe backwards, like it's spinning in the wrong direction, pulling instead of pushing, black instead of white. Something wrong, and in order to right itself it needs... it just needs. Never enough though. Like a black hole, ever expanding and always...
hungry. ]
Feels like an attack dog on a leash right now. Not out of control just... If I let go right now it feels like it'd just gobble you up.
[ He watches G'raha's hand carefully, watches the way tendrils of aether seems to stick to his hand. ]
I don't think this is meant for healing, and me trying to, I don't know, force it to heal is why this— [ He gestures at his face with his spare hand. ] —happened.
[ Hungry is a very particular way to describe it, but it does make sense. He scans Eliot's face, taking in the injuries and recalls what he'd said in the text. Hungry...hungry for pain? It does end up healing, in a way, but at a great cost.
Gods...if Eliot had tried healing someone with more dire injuries, what a state he could be in now.
G'raha doesn't force any of his aether into the ball, not wanting something worse to happen to Eliot with such experimentation. Instead, he carefully extracts his hand until it's forced to release him. No harm done. To himself, at least. ]
I will say, there's nothing inherently in your natural aether that makes me feel like it should be acting like this.
[ It can't be you, Eliot. He refuses to believe it. Mayhaps he's too biased. ]
I'll have to think on how we can tackle this.
[ If only he had Y'shtola and Urianger around. He can try consulting Aria and see what she thinks, being an expert healer in another vein. His own knowledge of how healing works in regards to fairies is very limited. ]
[ Eliot catches his hand before he can withdraw completely. ]
Listen. [ He tugs a little on G'raha's hand just to make sure G'raha's giving Eliot his full attention. This is important. ] I know you've got me, okay? But I'll be okay even if we never figure it out. So don't beat yourself up over this.
[ In the grand scheme of things he hasn't known G'raha all that long but... He knows the type. Of course he knows the type; like recognises like after all, and Eliot is surrounded by people who like to take on more than their fair share of the blame.
Was. Was surrounded.
At any rate, G'raha has only ever wanted to help, and Eliot won't let that be tarnished.
After a beat he lets go of his hand and then reaches for his iced tea, uses the couple of seconds as reprieve from such a heavy topic. And then, when he sets down his glass, says: ] Hey, you sticking around for a bit? Got some beef marinating that I was planning on cooking for dinner.
[ G'raha's eyes immediately jump back up to Eliot's face, ears bouncing in light surprise as well. Of course Eliot clocks him immediately——yes, they haven't known each other for that long, but it does strangely feel like it ought to be.
His ears relax a bit as his gaze falls to their hands. He's seen Eliot in a fight, knows that they are more than capable of causing injury when they want to. But he's also seen them be kind, to help build and repair. This...making Eliot feel as if his efforts to heal are tainted is cruel. G'raha will fix this, somehow. Even if Eliot will be okay.
Still, he lets a small, somewhat tired smile pull at his lips. ]
You know me too well.
[ Already. But he relents with a nod, finally bringing his gaze back up to Eliot's. ]
I will endeavour not to.
[ It's only when the other man finally pulls back that G'raha realizes what just transpired. A...moment, of sorts. Of understanding. (Just that.) He finds himself swallowing a little awkwardly and grabbing at his own glass just to give his hands something new to do. The tip of his tail twitches offbeat with excess energy.
And...dinner? ]
It would be rude to impose myself further considering I, well, you didn't exactly invite me...but if you wouldn't mind the company, I would be remiss to refuse.
Eliot gives a quiet laugh and eases himself up out of his seat to head into his kitchenette. ]
If you're not imposing on me then we ain't friends. Show up unannounced. Call me at 3am. Help yourself to shit in my fridge. That's how I know we're friends.
[ So saying, he opens the fridge himself, rummaging around until he emerges with his bowl of marinating beef and some sweet and some russet potatoes that he sets down on the counter next to a jar of pickled vegetables. ]
Anyway, you'd be doing me a favour anyway. I'm trying out a new marinade. Could do with a taste tester.
[ Also, G'raha is good company, and Eliot knows himself well enough to know that he should not be alone with his thoughts right now. ]
[ He doesn't want to—! Well, he's made his point, and so has Eliot. To be so welcomed by someone he's come to care about in no small measure is certainly pleasing. G'raha's unable to stop himself from smiling so he doesn't try. Some joy should be shared, even if he can be a little sheepish about it. ]
An increasingly dangerous offer, lest you find me "raiding" your kitchen, as I'm told the saying goes.
[ He's hip and with it for 300-something.
The mention of a new marinade does pique his interest. G'raha's ears do that thing where they perk up for a second as he moves to stand as well to investigate. He keeps a respectable distance so Eliot still has room to work, but he's definitely watching. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Where are you?
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Here. If you text me when you get here I'll come meet you.
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I'm en route.
[ And he absolutely drops what he's doing and speeds over. Eliot is clearly well enough to text and ask questions, but that doesn't mean G'raha doesn't think this isn't worth the urgency. He wouldn't want to hear of any of his comrades coming to injury, but this...
He feels particularly responsible. ]
I'm here.
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It's just his face though. Black eye and a bloody nose thay only just stopped dripping. A cut right through his eyebrow and another through his bottom lip. Cheekbone just beginning to bruise. He looks awful but it's not that bad. Could, in fact, be a lot worse. But he has a feeling that G'raha won't see it that way. ]
Hey. Come on up.
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He's definitely taking any stairs two by two (yes his legs are long enough for that) and looks appropriately surprised by Eliot's appearance. It's not extreme in any fashion, but if this just...appeared... ]
Eliot...
[ His brows furrow in a mix of confusion and concern. ]
Tell me everything.
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Interrupted a mugging. Not soon enough to stop the kid from getting hurt but...
[ He pours them both a glass, despite the fact that G'raha never asked for anything, and then sits down opposite him. ]
I dealt with the muggers— [ a shrug, as though to say not a problem ] —and figured I'd give the whole healing thing another go.
Finally worked this time.
[ It's said with a wry sort of smile as he gestures at his own face. To feel pain suddenly bloom, to feel his flesh slowly open up— he may have not wanted G'raha here worrying about him but now that he is he can't help but hope he's got some answers. ]
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G'raha takes the seat, resting his staff against the edge of the table just to have it nearby. So Eliot had tried to intervene on someone else's behalf? That suits him, G'raha thinks. Not only to try and stop someone from becoming a victim, but then going the extra mile afterwards. That he felt emboldened enough to try the magic on his own does make G'raha feel a bloom of pride in his chest, even if it turned out so...sour. ]
It did, indeed...
[ G'raha's fingers rest on the edge of his glass, but he doesn't pick it up. ]
...Do you recall how I said it was important to use the ambient aether around you? And that your own is just like a lure to pull it in?
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[ He remembers. He's been trying so hard and for so long that it's like the words are burned into his mind. Eliot lays his hand out on the table between them, palm up. His brow furrows as he concentrates, fingers twitching, not so much pulling as... It feels like inhaling, like expanding his chest and letting the air rush in, and in a move reminiscent of what G'raha did all those months ago, calls a healing ball of aether to his hand.
Except, that definitely doesn't look nor feel anything like what G'raha did, the aether shot through with dark strands and almost sticky feeling. Did it look like that before? Eliot will admit that he wasn't particularly paying attention but it's not like he's doing anything different. Maybe he's the problem. ]
I'm guessing that's not right.
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It feels right. He can sense the air coalescing in Eliot's palm rather than feeling a rush of his own aether coming in to fill all the gaps. He's doing it right--until suddenly he isn't. The air dissipates and something dark and sickly takes its place.
G'raha's eyes widen, ears shooting up in alarm. ]
No...no it isn't.
[ G'raha holds his hand out, then hesitates as it hovers over the ball. ]
May I?
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I don't know what it'll do to you so be careful if you're gonna mess around with my aether, okay.
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I shall.
[ He brings his hand closer, trying to get a better sense of its alignment without directly touching. Strange...it's almost necrotic. The look of concern on G'raha's face deepens, though he tries to keep it as neutral as possible for Eliot's sake. ]
I'm going to supply some of my own aether...
[ Just a small, measured amount. Much less than what a low-level Cure would provide, but enough to be noticeable. A bright red seeps out of G'raha's palms into the ball and he watches it for a reaction. ]
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Eliot throws himself out of his chair and away from G'raha, aether dispelling as fast as he can make it. ]
Are you okay?
[ His voice is surprisingly measured for how much panic he's feeling right now, part of him wanting to check on G'raha while the other part isn't all too sure that it's safe for him to be that close. ]
I didn't hurt you, did I?
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Eliot throws himself backwards and G'raha likewise jumps in his chair in surprise, eyes wide and ears flat against the top of his head. There's a short moment of surprise until it's clear--Eliot wasn't hurt, he was afraid for G'raha.
He exhales, his own aether having long since dissipated and shakes his head. ]
No, I'm quite alright.
[ Well, he thinks Eliot wasn't hurt, but given the reason for G'raha coming over-- ]
Are you alright?
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I'm fine, is what he wants to say. What comes out is: ] I don't know what I'm doing here, G'raha.
[ Magic and aether and healing? What was he thinking? Though, he thinks sardonically to himself, only being able to heal someone by taking on their injuries himself seem fitting. Can't argue with the method. ]
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...I know.
[ Instead, he tries to offer reassurances without discounting Eliot's fears, ]
But I led you into this world.
[ G'raha holds out his hand again. ]
So I won't abandon you to it. We can find out together.
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Not your fault, okay. I didn't ask you here— [ well, okay, he didn't ask G'raha to come over in the first place but details ] —to put the blame on you. It is what it is.
[ And what it is is likely Eliot's fault anyhow.
Eliot holds his hand out too and places it on the table between them. Calls up some aether once more and watches as it forms into something dark and sickly. He wonders how G'raha can even stand to touch it. It's Eliot's and so it doesn't feel wrong to him but he can tell that it doesn't feel good. ]
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That doesn't change how he worries.
Still, Eliot is letting him try again so G'raha won't push the blame back onto himself. The way the aether shifts is just so against what ought to be happening. But everything he can sense around Eliot feels right. He's going through all the same motions, but producing a drastically different result. G'raha inhales lightly through his nose, holding his breath and reaches out to touch it--properly this time.
At first, there's a little sting that makes his ears twitch, but he holds fast. It feels warm, hot and almost uncomfortable. ]
Do you feel anything?
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[ It's not the word he would have used if he'd thought about it. Mostly because that's a weird and kinda creepy thing to say. But there's something... broken about it. Or maybe backwards, like it's spinning in the wrong direction, pulling instead of pushing, black instead of white. Something wrong, and in order to right itself it needs... it just needs. Never enough though. Like a black hole, ever expanding and always...
hungry. ]
Feels like an attack dog on a leash right now. Not out of control just... If I let go right now it feels like it'd just gobble you up.
[ He watches G'raha's hand carefully, watches the way tendrils of aether seems to stick to his hand. ]
I don't think this is meant for healing, and me trying to, I don't know, force it to heal is why this— [ He gestures at his face with his spare hand. ] —happened.
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Gods...if Eliot had tried healing someone with more dire injuries, what a state he could be in now.
G'raha doesn't force any of his aether into the ball, not wanting something worse to happen to Eliot with such experimentation. Instead, he carefully extracts his hand until it's forced to release him. No harm done. To himself, at least. ]
I will say, there's nothing inherently in your natural aether that makes me feel like it should be acting like this.
[ It can't be you, Eliot. He refuses to believe it. Mayhaps he's too biased. ]
I'll have to think on how we can tackle this.
[ If only he had Y'shtola and Urianger around. He can try consulting Aria and see what she thinks, being an expert healer in another vein. His own knowledge of how healing works in regards to fairies is very limited. ]
But...we'll find something. I promise.
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Listen. [ He tugs a little on G'raha's hand just to make sure G'raha's giving Eliot his full attention. This is important. ] I know you've got me, okay? But I'll be okay even if we never figure it out. So don't beat yourself up over this.
[ In the grand scheme of things he hasn't known G'raha all that long but... He knows the type. Of course he knows the type; like recognises like after all, and Eliot is surrounded by people who like to take on more than their fair share of the blame.
Was. Was surrounded.
At any rate, G'raha has only ever wanted to help, and Eliot won't let that be tarnished.
After a beat he lets go of his hand and then reaches for his iced tea, uses the couple of seconds as reprieve from such a heavy topic. And then, when he sets down his glass, says: ] Hey, you sticking around for a bit? Got some beef marinating that I was planning on cooking for dinner.
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His ears relax a bit as his gaze falls to their hands. He's seen Eliot in a fight, knows that they are more than capable of causing injury when they want to. But he's also seen them be kind, to help build and repair. This...making Eliot feel as if his efforts to heal are tainted is cruel. G'raha will fix this, somehow. Even if Eliot will be okay.
Still, he lets a small, somewhat tired smile pull at his lips. ]
You know me too well.
[ Already. But he relents with a nod, finally bringing his gaze back up to Eliot's. ]
I will endeavour not to.
[ It's only when the other man finally pulls back that G'raha realizes what just transpired. A...moment, of sorts. Of understanding. (Just that.) He finds himself swallowing a little awkwardly and grabbing at his own glass just to give his hands something new to do. The tip of his tail twitches offbeat with excess energy.
And...dinner? ]
It would be rude to impose myself further considering I, well, you didn't exactly invite me...but if you wouldn't mind the company, I would be remiss to refuse.
[ Ahem. ]
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Eliot gives a quiet laugh and eases himself up out of his seat to head into his kitchenette. ]
If you're not imposing on me then we ain't friends. Show up unannounced. Call me at 3am. Help yourself to shit in my fridge. That's how I know we're friends.
[ So saying, he opens the fridge himself, rummaging around until he emerges with his bowl of marinating beef and some sweet and some russet potatoes that he sets down on the counter next to a jar of pickled vegetables. ]
Anyway, you'd be doing me a favour anyway. I'm trying out a new marinade. Could do with a taste tester.
[ Also, G'raha is good company, and Eliot knows himself well enough to know that he should not be alone with his thoughts right now. ]
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An increasingly dangerous offer, lest you find me "raiding" your kitchen, as I'm told the saying goes.
[ He's hip and with it for 300-something.
The mention of a new marinade does pique his interest. G'raha's ears do that thing where they perk up for a second as he moves to stand as well to investigate. He keeps a respectable distance so Eliot still has room to work, but he's definitely watching. ]
Is this a recipe you came up with yourself?
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just pretend the timing on cooking this meal isn't janky as fuck
it's perfect i see no jank
these potatoes will Not be cooked but it's fine. it's Fine
they cooked when they saw eliot he's so hot
o///o