etrayalogs | [Closed] Speaking in quiet whispers, you hear it everywhere

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[Closed] Speaking in quiet whispers, you hear it everywhere

WHO: Sleipnir and Accelerator
WHEN: During Mission #011.
WHERE: A forested part of Etraya.
WHAT: ✨Revenge murder!✨
NOTES\WARNINGS: Psychological horror, paranoia, depression, discussion of torture and murder, murder of a child, Sleipnir has PTSD, gun and knife violence.

[He doesn't know how long he's been walking. This was supposed to be a quick circle from the apartments to the farm and then back again, checking on the place as the mission goes on and looking for any signs of the vent, but somewhere alone the way Accelerator lost the pathway. Now he's surrounded by fog and dense trees, occasionally tripping over a rock or a raised root. He isn't built for wandering out the wilderness, nor is his crutch, and he curses under his breath each time it happens. Eventually he can feel exhaustion worming its way into his head, and he has to take a break, leaning against a particularly large tree.

It isn't much of a break. For nearly this entire trip there's been a creeping sensation in the back of his mind, like something is off and it can't be explained by the fog or the nebula particles. With a frown Accelerator reaches up to touch the back of his neck, feeling the goosebumps that stubbornly formed and refuse to fade. Every so often he thinks he hears a footstep or the crack of a twig, and his gaze darts around. Is this supposed to be the result of some baser animal instinct coming out when he's feeling desperate, or is he just being paranoid? He can't tell, and it's one more nervous frustration on top of an already existing mountain of them.

This was a terrible idea. As much as he likes to be independent he should have reached out to someone and dragged them along. It would have been a hassle, and he would have been wasting someone else's time, but maybe he wouldn't have gotten lost.

Accelerator's head droops. How stupid is he? Why did he even bother leaving his apartment? There isn't anything useful he can do out here without his ability. He has his gun, but being a good shot isn't going to help in finding the vent. At this rate he's going to fail this mission, and then it will have been two failures in a row. He never bothered asking Aurora how many failures they get before Echo kicks them to the curb, he had always thought he had done fairly well on the majority of the missions assigned to them. It never seemed relevant. Now he's regretting not having that data. He draws in a shallow breath.

He is going to fail his students. Again, because this is far from the first time he's failed them. That Level 0 dying, the massacre caused by Operation Handcuffs, CRC's rampage destroying part of the city, the student protests and riots....

Why, why in the hell did Echo pick him? Why is he still here? Why couldn't they have brought in someone whose only skills involve being a violent monster?

That growing despair mixes with the anxiety that has him tense, and his ever-present self-loathing, and he debates giving up trying to find his way back to the apartments entirely.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He found him.

He hadn't meant to. It wasn't a choice he had actively made. But there Accelerator had been: wandering around and stumbling like a new born fawn. Sleipnir normally isn't one to rely on magic, but in the moment he laid eyes on the man he was loath to be without. His initial gut instinct was to teleport away. Being anywhere around the fiend was too dangerous to allow. The risk assessment he has been doing is far from complete, especially with the added complication of Jaycetalis' point of view.

But he found him.

And he doesn't have his ability to teleport away. The power of levitation is also gone from him. Sleipnir cannot even let loose any of his darkness spells nor make any duplicates of himself. No access to his liege's armory. There is, however, one thing which has been returned to him. The ability to feel pain roils through his nervous system. And this weakness is what really decides it. Sleipnir refuses to be the man's plaything once more. Never again will he wring screams from his throat. It is time to deal with the canker.

So, he stalks him.

Follows his prey silently among the trees. It's so easy to hide in this mist and Sleipnir has been gaining experience in adapting to it. Relying on his other senses rather than sight. It's a new challenge he has been trying to relish, but once the hellish fiend graced his vision everything went sour. Idly he wondered if the man could smell fear... he'll have to disable the man quickly if this is the case. He doesn't know of any humans who can taste fear, but Sleipnir isn't willing to chance it. He won't give the man the opportunity again.

He stalks him downwind.

Follows Accelerator until the man has come to a rest. Has he sensed him? Is he like Vander and can move as if there were no fog at all? Kill him. End him now before he fires something. Before he tackles and lays a hand on Sleipnir's throat. Before he is on his back and staring at trees. Trees instead of concrete. Would then trees become a trigger for whatever is wrong with Sleipnir's mind? Maybe the fog. He can't have fog spiral him off into an episode, he won't be able to rest or to find the vent— not to mention what it will be like in the marshlands of Waloed. No. Sleipnir cannot and will not let it happen.

This ends here.

Hunting like this isn't Sleipnir's usual go-to for killing someone. He prefers to duel them, although not necessarily anything structured. No, he wants a good fight, a challenge, even if it is so very rare. But this? No. He will not give his opponent the chance to do what he did last time. Never again.

Never again.

Sleipnir maneuvers himself quickly and quietly to the tree above Accelerator. He balances himself easy gripping the tree bark with his new lowly human strength and pulls the long dagger from his boot sheath. He holds the hilt with the blade pointed down— it's his intention to drop from the tree and use the fall to tear his blade through the man's arm. Then he need only bring the blade back up and strike either across the throat, into his lungs, or barring any further openings into the gut.

He drops from the tree.]

[Accelerator's guard is up, but there is little he can do in the face of a real attack, especially one that starts off with an ambush. There's movement above him and suddenly searing pain rips through his arm; he jerks away entirely based on instinct, his feet tangling underneath him. Whether this is yet another Etrayan or something from the fog isn't immediately clear to him and in the moment it doesn't matter. All he knows is that something has injured him, and in order to defend himself and prevent a worse outcome he needs to react, and fast.

His crutch isn't enough support to keep himself standing as he stumbles away, and his brain doesn't prioritize it as particularly important compared to fighting back. His free hand, stinging in pain from the newly-formed injury, whips down to his belt where he has his handgun, his only method of defence, and he doesn't hesitate to pull it out, flick the safety off, and aim. A flash of silver crosses his vision and a knot forms in his stomach. As he pulls the trigger realization as to who is attacking him settles in, but it's too late to do anything about it.

His aim is off and he hits the ground hard, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Shit shit shit, this is bad. This is really bad.]

[The device Accelerator has whips out registers to him now as it wouldn't have before the fog came creeping in. The bunker. The firearms. That thing. But he no longer has Clive or Bahamut to lean on. The ghost within screams move— and he has learned to rely on that little voice, the tug in his gut. Sleipnir dodges right as the crack rings out and pain explodes from his left shoulder; it is not a scream which claws out of his throat, no, it is a growl.

The selfsame Scandinavian-like accent comes out, but it has lost it's floaty quality, he isn't here for play or anything resembling light.]

Have you missed me? I confess, I have thought an awful lot about you.

[It doesn't matter if Accelerator is the one on the ground now it still feels as if the man has the upper hand. He regrets sealing his sword away now. Sleipnir must disable him, must kill him. Matter it not how flaming his shoulder feels— he will not stop, not until it is done.

He hunches low to the ground, rolls his wrist, then springs at Accelerator aiming his blade for the man's legs. If Sleipnir can damage his legs then he cannot pounce upon him, nor can he run and hide. Hide and play seek— find Sleipnir when he himself least expects it and enact his unholy rights upon him once more.

His aim is to cut open Accelerator's ankles, baring this he'll cut open the shins, rise and bring his boot down hard upon a leg —preferably the shin or kneecap— hopefully breaking bone.]

[One bullet to the shoulder isn't nearly good enough to shut down this ambush, the logical part of Accelerator's brain is telling him this. But as Grimnir (who isn't actually Grimnir, that's just a username chosen for texting, Accelerator doesn't even know his real name) utters those words he finds his hand starts trembling, and when he fires again he misses entirely, the bullet disappearing into the fog that surrounds them. Of course he's been thinking about him; the memories of torturing and killing and the guilt that followed back in Etraya found a nice, comfortable corner of his mind and settled in for the long haul, much like all his memories of the dead Sisters. Those memories are what have been making him argue against blaming the anomaly, and chances are right now those memories are what pushed his aim slightly too far to the right.

He hurt and killed this person, someone he doesn't even know, in such a horrible way he knows there is no way he can make up for it. Simply seeing him face-to-face causes enough guilt and disgust with himself that Accelerator isn't sure he can do it again, even in self-defense.

It's as if time has slowed to a crawl as a sticky, sludge-like feeling slows his movements down. Still on the ground, his expression is a mixture of instinctive panic and remorse, and he pushes himself back with his other hand but it's a useless gesture. The slashes to his legs make him curse and reflexively kick (guess who has absolutely no fighting skills without his esper ability?), but it's when the man brings his foot down on his knee that Accelerator actually cries out. A cracking noise indicates something in his knee is breaking and a monstrous pain shoots through his entire body, making him see stars.

And drop his gun.]

[Sleipnir is unfamiliar with this model of gun— or rather the new awareness he carried out of the bunker doesn't recognize it. Too new. He doesn't know how many bullets it carries and Accelerator has fired two now, the second landing far from the mark. It's with this in mind the next maneuver he makes is to punt the gun far away from his enemy. Sleipnir does not recognize the remorse on Accelerator's face, sees only the panic, but still his nerves do not calm. His own facial expression is a hardened one, far from the usual mirth he would find in other battles. No laugh, no giggle, just quiet determination turning to disdain.]

Not so cocksure now, are you? I am disappointed in your combat prowess, Accelerator. Has no one taken the time to teach you? Never you learned?

[While speaking Sleipnir studies Accelerator's condition, his mind is screaming his enemy is a hair's breadth away from gaining the upper hand and so in every move he makes he is cautious. Those hands of Accelerator's are dangerous, Sleipnir can't let them near his throat, and so, though he wishes not to get close to the man, he pounces on him.

It's fast what he does, getting on top of the young man, grabbing his wrists and yanking them down so his arms are at his side. Once there Sleipnir will put his full weigh on Accelerator's chest, kneeling on the man's arms so they are pinned to his side. This leaves Sleipnir's own hands free to do as he needs to: resting a blade against Accelerator's throat.]

You have a dangerous hobby for one so weak.

[The pain from his knee clouds Accelerator's mind to the point where it takes him an additional second to process the noise of the gun being knocked away from him, and by the time he looks up it's disappeared into the fog. His weapon, the only thing he had that allowed him the remote chance to defend himself and get away from this situation, is gone. His adrenaline spikes as he tries to come up with some other solution, some way out of this that doesn't involve him dying, but his leg is on fire and when he looks up and sees the hardened expression on Grimnir's face any hope he may have had fizzles away. His eyes widen and he freezes.

He's going to die here, isn't he?

Grimnir moves and there isn't much Accelerator can do outside of trying to (poorly) shove him off, or kick him. With his arms being so easily pinned his squirming is more of a nuisance than any real threat, his actions more desperate as that thought overtakes his mind. He's going to die here, even though he doesn't want to, even though he deserves it for what he did. He's going to die, and unlike his first death in Moorecroft he has full control of his brain, so he's going to be able to comprehend every single second of it. Fear claws at him and part of him has to wonder, is this what he felt? It must have been, or something similar, because even though this guy isn't fully human he's still clearly a person with a full range of emotions, and there isn't going to be a damn person in the world who isn't afraid when they're this helpless.

(What about the clones? They weren't programmed with their full emotions, but they must have felt something.)

Accelerator only stops squirming when the sharp metal of the knife touches his throat, and he croaks out a response in between ragged breaths.]

I know.

[If he still had his esper ability he wouldn't be in this position. They both know that. And there's a pressure in the air slowly building, mirroring the static that's encroaching in Accelerator's mind, but it's stopping short of becoming his black wings. The guilt that's been ever-present since his actions in that warehouse in San Francisco are draining too much of it away. Despite a viciously powerful urge to not die here and now, the belief that he deserves this for what he did prevents his wings from being able to manifest themselves.

He stares up at Grimnir, still afraid, but understanding there isn't a damn thing he can do.]

What the hell do you think this is gonna accomplish?

[Sleipnir is not a fan of the squirming, it only serves to emphasize how weak the man below him is. No challenge. No bite. Accelerator's ragged acknowledgment echoes in his ears. Something in his mind is trying to tell him something, but the fear clawing in his chest is louder. No, he will not give his enemy the chance to get the upper hand. He will not fall for a helpless act.]

Is it not obvious? With you dead and gone others will be safer for it. [it's not a complete lie, sleipnir is worried about accelerator getting his hands on barnabas, clive, even dion, but he is mostly afraid for himself; he never wants to feel that helpless again] May it also serve to teach you not to rip wings off of dragonettes— toying with your prey as only monsters should.

But, there, there. Worry you not, Accelerator. I am no monster and I shall see to it your pain is temporary.

[Something Accelerator denied him. With this Sleipnir slices quick and deep across the man's throat. He's done the maneuver before, well practiced is he. There should be no pain— he's cut the throats of sleeping soldier before and they hadn't awakened.]

[He'd love to argue that reasoning, that people will only be safer for all of 48 hours before Echo brings him back to life. That such an argument is ultimately pointless, so why bother putting effort into something that's so temporary?

But the words get caught in his throat. Even if he pushes past the searing pain in his leg he doesn't think he could bring himself to say anything, not even to argue with that second point. It isn't that he isn't a monster (he is), but monsters don't change.

No, Accelerator is only silent, his expression a mixture of a frightened child and a remorseful killer.]

.........

[There's a sting as the knife cuts into his throat, then more head. His shoulders twitch and he lets out a strangled noise, wriggling again as blood leaks down his neck and to the ground. That only lasts for a few moments before he goes still.]

[It’s the expression which cuts through the fog in his mind. The look of a defenseless child, scared, with blood streaming down his neck which gives Sleipnir pause as the body underneath him convulses. The frail… skinny… weak body…

Slowly, as if moving through molasses Sleipnir reaches out with his empty hand and presses it to Accelerator’s neck. It does nothing to stem the flow. He blinks, watching the fight and life drain from the man. Because the one below him is certainly a man— he is no child… unless, he looks old for his age? Accelerator seems to be of 15 summers, at least… Had he fought back? The well of pain in his shoulder tells him so. But his enemy looks so small, crushed beneath him.

As Sleipnir gently closes Accelerator’s eyes Jaycetalis’ short missive exchange comes to mind. That which was done unto him… rippling out to Sleipnir… becoming a tide back to Accelerator… now it is as he said it would be. He also stated it didn’t justify what Accelerator did to him… Now here Sleipnir kneels, trapping the small, barely twitching body beneath himself. He cannot move.

He cannot move.

Sleipnir jolts up and off of Accelerator, stumbling back and away as if the ~~man~~ body just caught fire. Pain… is supposed to be temporary. It is. It really is. But the child is dead.

No, not dead, everyone is now like him as this place cares not for the sanctity of death. Sleipnir’s gaze is cast around him, slow again, as if in the trance which held him earlier. Will Accelerator see mud and think of him now? Will he be able to withstand being held tight, or will he too now violently pull away? It should not matter. It shouldn’t, but his hands are shaking.

Death does not phase Sleipnir, nor does killing. He relishes in being killed, normally. If an opponent can overpower him. But this… this man, boy-? Man. This young man… he was trapped. Couldn’t move. Didn’t put up a fight. The shoulder wound barely counts, yes, there is pain, but he has felt worse and recently. Those wounds weren’t even done by this ~~boy~~ man.

Sleipnir’s breathing is becoming erratic again and he doesn’t understand. Revenge normally feels so sweet… but this wasn’t revenge, was it? No, this… this was an act of cowardice. Sleipnir had been afraid, knew with certainty Accelerator would hurt him again… But how? All magic is gone. It’s all gone.

He killed a defenseless man in cold blood for fear of something which isn’t here. Sleipnir can still see those frightened eyes on him. The eyes of a child who has been tortured so much so where their logical response to not getting the information they wanted is to torture them in return. Mankind’s madness consumes them all.

What a fool he is.

Sleipnir grabs his own finger.]

[ Accelerator awakens after his death to Harold and John's residence at the library, a place he's been several times but not commonly. Right now it's silent but for the intermittent noise of Harold typing, rapid-fire but steady and at a soft lull, a mechanical keyboard with dampened switches. Accelerator is laying in Harold's own bed in a narrow room kept fussily tidy with an en-suite closet, door closed, and this is a place he hasn't been. The sheets are high-grade cotton and there's a thick duvet covering him, the only light an ambient night table lamp with a stack of library books beneath it.

It's the safest possible place he knows, and John is lurking in their living area, probably armed with a multitude of weapons and the biometric doors shut tight and the surveillance cameras pulled up on screen on Harold's other computers.

Harold himself is to the side situated with a laptop at a secretary desk pulled open, and if he's not huddled over the computer it's only because his posture is impeccable by habit. He wears no suit jacket or tie, just a sweater over a button-up, and instead of his usual meticulous brogues he's in socked feet. He doesn't notice right away that Accelerator awakens; he's frowning, working away, typing, and then a faint tone dings from his speakers as he receives the alert that his brain waves are fully online again, and he promptly drops what he was doing to whirl around to face him in his chair, spine refusing to twist so his whole body has to move, heart in his throat.

Ten different words burst up from his lungs but none of them come out. He doesn't want to overwhelm him. Harold swallows harshly, throat dry and rough. ]

I'm right here, [ he says quietly, because he can't begin to think what else to say. He can't fathom what it's like to die and wake up again. He'll take this at whatever pace Accelerator needs, let him set the tone, let him dictate things. Harold thinks if he did die and wake up, any modicum of control he could find would be dear indeed.

It's the least he could do, the tiniest possible pittance he can offer. ]

[Waking up is never easy for Accelerator. While some people wind up becoming insomniacs due to trauma and mental illness, he swung hard in the opposite direction: sleeping as much as possible, as heavily as possible, and being incredibly slow to wake up. His brain injury leading to the loss of his constant reflection has left him a much lighter sleeper than before, though the rest of his habits remained the same.

Coming back to life in Etraya is a lot like waking up from a deep sleep. He's done it once before, in Eos' city Moorecroft, and it wasn't pleasant. During that death his battery in his choker had run out, so when he woke up again his brain was scattered and confused and terrified. This time, when that man had cut his throat, he had full cognitive function. This time, when he wakes up, it's like waking up from a long nap.

His brain, as usual, starts out sluggish and disoriented, wanting to resist being conscious and sink back into a deep slumber. Even if his dreams are bad (and they always are) being asleep is better than being awake, so that resistance is a constant. Accelerator's eyelids twitch and he rolls over, fully intending to pass out. That is when the tiny portion of his brain that wants to remain awake notices something off, a major inconsistency that doesn't line up. It's warm, and there's a blanket over him.

He doesn't get why that is wrong, not right away, but that incongruity causes him to realize something is off, which prevents him from falling asleep. It pushes his mind far enough into a state of wakefulness that memories start trickling back in.

It's wrong because the last thing he remembers is being outside, not curled up in bed. It had been chilly and dark from the fog, not warm. A shiver runs down his spine. He had been on the ground, hadn't he? He remembers the dirt — no, cold grass and mud at his back. It was uncomfortable. He couldn't get away from it, even though he had been desperate to move. Because... because he had been pinned down, trapped by....

Him.

Everything is flooding back to him now, frenzied and overwhelming. That's right, he hadn't fallen asleep in his bed. He had been pinned. Before that, he'd been wandering in the fog, alone and miserable, and something, someone had knocked down. There had been a white hot pain accompanied by fear. He remembers a flash of silver hair, belonging to that person, the one he had killed in the warehouse. It was an ambush, and there had been more pain. Fuck, there had been so, so much pain. An echo of it tears through his leg, the one Grimnir had broken, and a split second later it's in his throat too, the sharp sting of metal slicing into his skin. The warm flow of his own blood choking him, as that monster stares down, watching as he died.

Accelerator's eyes shoot open as he gasps, his pulse pounding in his ears. In another instant he's forcing himself to sit up, clawing at his neck, squeezing his own throat as if to staunch the flow of blood. There is a change in the air and an intense pressure forming at his back, a pitch black substance starting to flicker into existence, roughly in the form of two wings.

He doesn't even notice Harold's presence.]

[ This whole situation is horrendous, but it would become absolutely catastrophic if Accelerator lashed out unthinkingly and hurt him somehow at this moment. Harold needs to be very careful -- not because he's afraid of getting hurt himself, but because he isn't sure Accelerator would mentally come back from such an act.

His heartbeat picks up speed and his gut twists in pained empathy, and he hits a quick series of keys on the keyboard, a shortcut command, before he stands and approaches. ]

Accelerator, I'm right here, [ he says more loudly, stopping a few feet away. ] You're safe. You're in my room at the library.

[ It's the obvious first thing to try, and Harold desperately hopes it works. ]

[Accelerator keeps on grasping at his throat, letting out a choked noise like a panicked animal. He expects there to be a slash into his flesh, warm blood leaking out onto his hands and staining his choker. That's right, that monster had cut open his neck and he had bled out until everything had gone black. He had died. He had died.

He had died. He had died. He had died. That monster had killed him.

His breathing is coming in short and ragged bursts and he squeezes his eyes closed, but all he's seeing behind his eyelids is fog, silvery hair that isn't entirely dissimilar from his own, and that knife, so they fly open a second later. That's when he hears a voice next to him, a familiar one, but Accelerator has trouble processing anything more than that. His brain refuses to do or feel anything beyond an overwhelming sense of terror, like it's stuck in the wrong gear or like he's trying to push through... through....

A heavy fog.

His gaze settles downwards and he fixates it on the end of the bed, staring daggers into it as its antithetical nature to where he last remembers being (orderly, made by someone, indoors, clean) helps slowly bring him back around. He isn't outside, and a small glance down at his hands shows he isn't bleeding out. That voice in his ear isn't silky and Scandinavian, scolding him for toying with his prey. This voice is grounded. This voice belongs to Harold.

His pulse is still pounding, but the black substance at his back flickers and disappears. Slowly he speaks up, his voice quiet and hoarse.]

...... Harold?

[ He's all too aware that touching him right now would be a bad idea, so Harold stands silently, watching with immense and muted anxiety as Accelerator grasps at his throat and trembles on the bed. The black wings disappearing must be a good sign, but he isn't hasty enough to move based on that alone. ]

You're in the library, [ he says again, forcibly calm despite the tension around his eyes. ] You're in my room. John is right outside keeping watch. It's safe here.

Are you following what I'm saying?

[With a slow, cautious movement, Accelerator moves his hands upwards to grasp his head and twitches. The library, the library. It takes him several tries to get that through his head. He isn't outside anymore, he is in the library.

It's hard to believe. It doesn't feel like he's in the library (Harold's room), it feels like he's still outside. The same fear is gripping him now as it did then, making him want to lash out or run or both. But he isn't bleeding, he isn't being pinned down in the mud.

Accelerator curls in on himself, drawing in another shaky breath.]

What... what about — .... [He trails off, unable to finish that question and just shaking again. That monster's face is crystal clear in his mind, but he doesn't even have his name. Then again, even if he had it he isn't sure he could say it right now.]

[ Harold cautiously draws a step closer, holding his secondary device that he'd made covertly in one hand, assessing his reaction. The fog got into all of them and death itself must be traumatic on its own. His mental state could be anything right now -- Harold himself had a hard time adjusting as the fog faded, and he hadn't had anything happen to him physically at all.

Firmly, solidly: ] That's not an issue right now. We'll get to that in a moment. I'd like to make sure you're with me first.

[ Properly speaking he should ask orientation questions, but of course Accelerator won't know what day it is, or who the United States President might be, or anything like that. He's given a couple signals that he's oriented to the present moment already, but Harold needs to be sure. ]

Can you tell me what the first book I gave you was?

[ That seems as good an orientation question as anything else. ]

[Accelerator opens his mouth, then closes it in silence. As terrified as he is of being ambushed and attacked by that monster again, he doesn't argue. He can't bring himself to do so. If it's going to happen again, there isn't anything he can do. He's weak without his ability, and he only had his gun — where is his gun? Wait, shit, where the hell did his gun fall?

He blinks, eyes darting around, only freezing when Harold's question filters its way into his head. Book? What the fuck is he talking about?]

I — fuck. [The words don't want to sink in, and he has to focus on each one at a time in order to understand. The first book he gave him. Does he know? His brows furrow and this time when he shuts his eye tightly he keeps them closed.]

Dune. It was the first Dune, by Frank Herbert.

[ Relief washes through him like the tide coming up the shore, and Harold thumbs a button on his device and tucks it away before taking a seat directly on the bed. He extends his hands out, palm up, on the duvet. ]

Would you take my hands? [ As a grounding exercise, which he seems like he needs after it was that much of a struggle to place Harold's question. ] The fog has receded; we're in our right minds again.

Just take a moment to breathe.

[Answering that question has helped focus Accelerator's attention in on Harold. He stares at him, eyes turning downwards to his hands. Unsurprisingly, thanks to both his current agitation and his general reluctance towards physical contact, all he does for several long minutes is stare quietly.]

........................

[It's Harold asking, and that makes a difference. Slowly, he reaches out and takes hold of his hands. Gripping them, more like, and shaking a little.

Just take a moment to breathe, he says, so Accelerator tries to do that.]

[ A few minutes is a long time to wait. Their breathing seems loud in the narrow room, and Harold waits, trying not to stare at him, looking instead at the sedate navy bedspread and trying to find patience and believe that he's done everything he can. Finally, Accelerator lays his hands on top of his, and his fingers tighten around his like it had been his idea all along. Harold's hands have subtle, soft callouses from typing, indicating just how much time he's spent at a keyboard and for how many years. He sits with him in still longer silence. With the warm of his skin against his, affirmatively alive, the echoes of respiration don't seem so oppressively loud.

Eventually he starts speaking, thinking this might help orient him, too. ]

It's been two days. Mr. Reese found your... [ He fumbles, can't make himself say it. Not yet. ] Found you, and brought you here, [ he finishes lamely. Harold wants to ask if he's forgotten anything, if his death pass he'd purchased had worked, but that's a stupid question. Not quite as stupid as how do you feel, but almost.

He has a hundred things to tell him but all of it seems too much too fast, so he sticks to the simplest of facts, makes sure they've sunk in first. ]

The mission is over. The fog is gone and your abilities have been restored.

[Accelerator continues focusing on his breathing as he tries to listen, staring down at their hands. His own are smaller, pale and slender as a result of his ability being too strong. It's embarrassing seeing them shake but he isn't sure he can force himself to stop it, at least not until his heartbeat slows down and he feels calmer. Holding onto Harold helps, at least. There aren't many people who would work as a grounding point for him; in fact, he isn't sure what he would do if someone else had found him first. He'll have to say something to John later.]

So everything is back to normal?

[Two days, that is in line with his previous death in Moorecroft. And no more fog, relief floods him when he hears that. He nearly pulls a hand away to test his choker and confirm he has his ability back, but he's still shaky and doesn't want to lose what little composure he's managed so far.

Of course, if his ability is back, then that monster must be back to normal too. That isn't something he can just ignore, but at least with his esper power he stands a chance at defending himself if he's ambushed again. Then again... thinking about stepping outside the library has him clutching Harold's hands tighter.]

Does that bastard know I'm here?

Everything is back to normal, [ he confirms with a trace of grimness, Harold himself strained from the mission. The depths of paranoia he'd sunk to won't easily relinquish their hold on his mind... speaking of which -- ]

No one knows you're here at all. I've determined the identity of your assailant, as well as the prior assailant on the mission to Earth, and taken steps to ensure no further reprisal is forthcoming. We should be safe.

[ They can go over all the details once Accelerator is less anxious for their mutual safety. That's easy enough to read on him with how he won't let go of his hands, and it's expected and sensible. Harold had specifically pursued sorting this out before he woke up not just to solve the issue but to ensure he wouldn't lurch right back into a frantic state. He deserves some time to recover if they can afford it, so Harold had made sure they could afford it. ]

[Normal... normal. That's so surreal to hear. The last thing he remembers is that fog, how it messed up so many people like Jayce and Scott and Shaw. How it had made him completely powerless, no ability to protect himself —

His hands have started shaking again, and he tries to focus on the rest of what Harold has said, even though it terrifies him. He starts to pull away, but realizes what he's doing and stops himself.]

Both of them?

[That asshole with the horns that broke his arm, and... Grimnir. His pulse is spiking, and he stares at Harold fearfully.]

How the hell did you do that? What did you do?

[Did John kill them? Are the three of them safe here??]

[ Harold's lips thin as he presses them together, containing his own frustration with himself for a moment before he can reply. His feelings are not appropriate for this conversation -- it's unfair to put them on Accelerator right now of all times, and he isn't prone to verbalizing his feelings to process them in any case. He tries to focus instead on what the appropriate pace for revealing information is so as not to overwhelm him, but also not leave him in trepidation. Harold of all people understands feeling more in control and secure with more, rather than less, information.

His hands grasp Accelerator's to keep them still but not with any force. He permits himself only a brief aggrieved comment about his own failures before answering the questions as posed. ] What I should have done much sooner. I apologize that I didn't.

I read through the entire backlog of Grimnir's posts on the network and his close associates, and reviewed what surveillance footage I could find based on facial recognition from a video post he once made.

Then I contacted the man he sees as his liege and requested a formal cessation in hostilities on your behalf. He agreed.

[Accelerator has to turn his gaze back down to their hands in order to focus, to make sure that he hears Harold's answer instead of letting it get drowned out by his own fears and anxieties. This is Harold, he needs to trust him and hear him out before he gets worked up over a potential attack on the library (on Harold and John). As easy as it would be, he shouldn't let himself go off the rails. If that were to happen he may end up hurting them.

That answer is, of course, incredibly Harold. Accelerator isn't sure there is anyone else in Etraya who could or would have done all of that for him. So much effort going into him, when he's the reason for all of this happening in the first place. Is he ungrateful for not thanking him? Instead he just keeps on staring downwards, his voice coming out in a soft mutter.]

Why? You put yourself in danger.

[For him, and he can't wrap his head around that right now.]

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