genessia | Give Away The Stone

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Give Away The Stone

Who:Szel and the worlds most patient man, Amberdrake
Where: Attleton in Drakes office
What: A fuck off angry parrot screams at a therapist he has willingly decided to see about how he doesn't need a therapist
Warnings: Will add as/if needed.

Maybe this was a little less elegant than it was last time.

If only because this obnoxious puff of opium smoke also came with the added fun of at least four feathers blasting out with it, decently sized and neatly hurling themselves across the room to land where they may.

Add into this a small cloud of downy feathers and it'd probably be kind of funny, though it might have been better not to laugh at the frazzled looking entity. Midge had tagged along for the ride this time, if only because he couldn't long tolerate not seeing anything, and at this point he didn't really care if Drake saw what the bug actually looked like.

Something told him it wouldn't gall the man that much.

The massive lightning roach sat on the demons shoulder, crooning gently in an language that sounded like a series of grinding rusty gears, insect clicking and the rattle of hollow carapaces, trying in vain to tie back the fallen seraphs mane of black hair, once again left undone.

What an entrance, Szel, ever the king of drama.

"I'm locking the door, start the clock for a hour."

Another grinding chirp from Midge.

".... Please."

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Amberdrake's eyebrows had gone up at the entrance, and he tipped his head slightly to one side while looking at the new addition -- Midge. As expected, he wasn't the least alarmed by the giant bug.

Five worlds, each more diverse than the last.

"Two hours," he replied calmly, "whatever has you this worked up, I'm fixing you up after."

"No you won't."

That was less of an order and more of a statement of the obvious, he was a bit too fucked up for fixing.

Pacing was, of course, happening again, the wings sweeping about awkwardly this way and that, as they had once when he'd first met with the other man. Less out of a silly, drugged stupor this time. More due to sheer emotion.

"This is beyond fixing. It's officially unfixable. I don't care if you are Felix or Bob or any other adorable marketable name that fits well in a jingle, you're not fixing it. I can't even fix it."

"I can at least fix up your hair and help you lose some tension," Amberdrake countered as smoothly as ever. "You're not paying my usual fees, Szelhamos. So," and he poured two mugs of tea, as he usually did at the start of these impromptu sessions. "What would you like to talk about this time?"

He knew the answer, of course.

It was a very polite way of nudging him over the bump of any hesitation that could be going on. It didn't take someone as experienced as Drake to recognize when someone wasn't used to having others to speak to.

Midge aside, perhaps, but the bug was already trying his best and it wasn't cutting it, was it?

"No." He didn't trust Drake enough to touch him, but apparently trusted him enough to yell at him. As far as he knew, therapists didn't touch people.

"But on that note." Yes he had a ton of things to talk about this time-

"I was not made to feel regret, I don't know how much you know about demons and angels but neither of these two things feels regret. At any point in time, about anything, at all ever. There is always one hundred percent vindication in every action. No matter who is harmed, there was a perfectly logical and appropriate reason that it had to happen."

Don't mind him casually yelling over his own past personal experiences with this mindset and the obvious ramifications of it-

"Introducing an emotion that is technically impossible should not happen, and I'm probably dying."

Spoken angrily, spitefully, and punctuated by a hand snapping past his loudly protesting minion to snag a feather and yank it from its place, letting it drop, slightly bloody, from his fingers.

Amberdrake sighed and got to his feet, approaching with one of the mugs of tea. "Here, to keep your hands busy if nothing else," and he offered the mug over. Something mildly fragrant, pleasant and inoffensive. "I am not familiar with angels or demons, no. We've no such creatures where I am from that I know of, and while I have dealt with Gods on these other worlds... no, you are my first case of this."

If Szel didn't immediately take the tea, the kestra'chern would actually be bold enough to try to press it into his hands himself.

"I am, however, more than familiar with a dozen different winged races, and I know stress-plucking when I see it."

No he did not take the tea. In fact he was still busy trying to yank at another feather, but Midge had drawn the line in the sand and had refused to shift his attention from the cup of tea, first of all, and second of all, kept feeling the need to rattle and stretch his wings and protective carapace every time Szel reached for the closer ones, effectively blocking him.

The demon couldn't bring himself to swat at or chastise the insect, but he certainly didn't stop trying, until Drake pushed the drink into his hands, and just by instinct, he took it.

Shit.

"It is not stress plucking, they are just very uncomfortable."

"I imagine so, would you like me to see if I can do anything about that?" No, there was nothing lewd there. He just knew wings; knew feathers, even if he'd already cottoned on to Szel's not being quite normal. "I won't touch you without your permission, Szelhamos, but I'm only trying to help."

A mighty flap of the top pair of wings sent a brief puff of black dust swirling about the room, and he opened his mouth to argue-

Only to shut it again with a sharp click as Midge moved in close to his ear, whispering something. As the seconds ticked on, his shoulders began to sag, and a look of angry resignation flitted across his face before it was covered by bland annoyance.

"Fine."

Amberdrake also recognized when he had a partner in crime, as it were. Even if the crime in this case was taking care of a fussy, dramatic patient who was clearly at his wit's end.

"I take it you're Midge?" he asked the bug, even as he stepped around behind the demon, clacking beads and shifting feathers and the softest ring of one bell swinging from the end of a braid in his hair. The massage oils that always permeated his scent; the sandalwood soap far beneath that. He knew he was easy to track, even without eyes.

Was that not one component of his working garb, after all? To be pleasant to all the senses, not just sight.

"...I'm going to set a few fingers on the base of your wings, and see if I can work with you with the Gift at all. It might tingle a little; it shouldn't hurt."

"Master mentioned you once. I suggested that we visit." Demonic language had been eschewed for the same usual soft, demure lisping tone, focusing on Drake directly and ignoring the sudden motion of a wing at his left, a clear attempt to get the bug to divert his gaze so feathers again.

He could smell Drake clearly enough and hear him, but Midge never did look away from the other man, dutifully watching as he moved behind the pair.

"What will the end result be? Magical healing doesn't work on the wings."

"That's good of you, Midge. I'll certainly do what I can."

As for Szel...

"Well, I've more mundane methods at my disposal as well," Amberdrake noted, "at worst, if I can't effect them with the Gift, perhaps it will let me see what's happening."

X-rays, MRIs, Cat-scans... they all wanted to be Amberdrake's Gift when they grew up. Yes, even the stuff in Nova City. Nano-machines were far more invasive than Drake was, and he interpreted the data in real-time with decades of actual, tangible experience.

But since the fallen Seraph hadn't told him not to do it, he went ahead and set his fingers against the base of the wings, eyes immediately going unfocused as layers upon layers upon layers of other data took over his vision.

Edited 2017-05-20 01:37 (UTC)

No, he didn't tell him not to.

He still stiffened like a plank of wood at the sensation of fingers on his wings, but the chittering and cooing from Midge seemed to ease him somewhat, uttering something foul in broken, minor hammer dulcimer chords.

As for Drake, those wings were not organic.

Indeed, the base of the entire demon himself seemed to be of some odd, alien machine. Material beyond anything of earthly creation. No, it was in fact, the organic matter that was the problem, tainting his body and wings like heavy tumors. None of it belonged in the slightest, and shimmers of the fallen seraphs true shape could be barely made out here and there, in that altered, deeper vision.

A resin like carapace as black as pitch, cracked, pulsing pockets of infected tissue painfully pushing through each open crevice. It looked like agony, though Szel's agitation spoke little of physical pain at all-

"Are you done?"

Organic tissue, infected or otherwise, had nerves. Amberdrake just barely resisted the urge to investigate more, focusing instead on the wings he'd set out to assist with. Swollen and irritated organic tissue around the bases of those inorganic feathers was slowly pushed back, inflammation shrinking under the Gift and some of the infection being burned out.

Not all; he could tell from that glimpse of the whole that the tissue itself was an infection.

But some, some of the localized pressure at least. Soothing organic nerves with a fingertip here and a brush of the Gift there...

"Nearly, I've some oils that may help as well, if you'll let me apply them." Didn't matter they'd mix with the soot, it should still help the extra stress-inflammation from flaring right back up again...

And as promised, nothing he was doing hurt. Not that he was certain it would register in that sea of constant pain even if it did.

Chronic pain just became the norm after a while. Probably explained why he didn't bat an eye to ripping out his feathers and spattering vile fluids across that nice floor.

That tissue shouldn't be there, none of it should be there, and it was a shame that it was indeed only that infected and unwelcome tissue that could be healed. Healed back to the point where it'd be less infuriating, at least.

Nothing was ever going to be done about the pain unless that tissue was excised, and at the time? ... That might be an operation a bit too mighty for even Szel to take.

"I don't have to take off any clothes do I?" Oh his tone was still irritated as fuck though. Sorry, Drake.

"Not if I'm just helping your wings," Amberdrake soothed the base of a particularly angry pinion with what felt like a pleasantly-cool touch; activating the nerves there just so.

The touch, honestly, was helping, as long as it remained on his wings. There was a grumble as the aggravated nerves began to cool, and his wings slackened a little, low enough for all six of their bases to be properly attended to.

"Fine."

Exactly like dealing with an irate gryphon, it really was. Amberdrake extracted his fingers and the Gift alike, for the sake of moving. "Follow me, please," and he went to lead the way into one of the twin work-rooms. This one was the one set up by default for massage; the table laid out and sheeted, and assorted small wooden boxes in the cabinetry against the walls.

He pulled out a stool from beneath one of the counters. "It's up to you, you can either lay on the table and I'll prop your wings up on the smaller padded tables I have for such a thing, or you can sit. Either way, what sort of scent do you prefer?"

Even the most subtle oil had some kind of scent. If it was going to be all up in Szel's feathers, it ought to be one that didn't offend him too much, at least.

"No I am not laying down." More gentle chitters from Midge, but Szel was digging his heels in on this one, taking a seat instead and half way flaring all three sets of wings out, just enough to allow the bases to be reached, but not enough to say, knock everything over like a dickball.

Look, he does want them to feel better.

That's not going to happen if he breaks everything.

What scent? Well, that was never too hard for him.

"Lavender."

Drake rummages around in a couple of the padded wooden cases until he finds the oil he wants, and goes about coating his fingertips in the lavender-scented stuff before he touches Szel's wings again. This time he goes right for one of the patches of organic skin to work the oil in around the bases of his feathers.

The Gift is back at work with that contact, too, threading in to resume manually reducing the swelling, and burning out what infection he can effect. Not literally burning; there's no heat to be felt, only the cool of activated nerves being given that sensation, backed up by the oil itself also being one that cools on contact. That's what this one is meant for.

"So, you were saying something about regret?"

Why yes, he is still going to talk about what Szel came here to talk about, even as he works on his wings for him.

Just some lavender to help sooth his frazzled mind. It didn't quite work the same way it would with humans, but it always did have some effect.

And he did so like how he smelled later.

It was still the nicest sensation his wings have had in a long, long time and as Drake continued to work, the wings began to shift down a little further, feathers spreading for appropriate reach.

"We're not supposed to feel it. Every action we have is preordained, feeling regret for something that is supposed to happen, that you were created to do, is impossible. It's like feeling regret for breathing air."

Never mind that he was still pretty sure he was never supposed to get this high in the demonic hierarchy and thus never have access to the offending literature to begin with but you know.

Details.

Drake kept right on working, as used to this as... well, a trondi'irn-trained kestra'chern, which was exactly what he was. As expert on the non-human as the human, and often sought out on his world for his expertise with feathers and wings in particular. Whether it was for Healing, imping and repair, dyeing...

"Does this have to do with the revenge we talked about last time?"

Of course, he was still every bit the mental therapist, too.

Pus had begun to build up en-mass around the base of one particularly large feather shaft, puffing the organic skin up around it like a painful, horrible pillow. Probably one of the next that would have been plucked, given the chance without Midge's interference. Drake focused on it in particular for a moment, draining the infection away, soothing the skin and the tissue around it.

The... blood, feeding into this tissue, if one could even call this substance blood, wasn't really helping matters any was it? Incompatible even on that level, like something Ma'ar might have rammed together with his magic in some new, awful attempt at a living weapon with no regard for the creature's safety or comfort. Or something the mage storms may have produced...

"It has everything to do with it. First of all, four billion years of planning and two thousand years of tending and it's all down the toilet now."

One hand inches for a wing by instinct, only to be blocked again by wing casings and chitin.

A curse, and he continues, even as Drake attends to a particularly painful infection.

"I didn't have a plan for this, I wasn't really expecting anyone to be clever enough to ruin the original plan, so there wasn't a plan B."

"Is that what you're regretting, not having a contingency?" Amberdrake doesn't buy that for a moment, not with everything he's read off the demon thus far, and lets some disappointment slip into his tone.

"... Yes."

Look, he will take this chance to lie through his teeth to save some demonic face here. Demons don't regret things like possessing humans and ruining relationships. That is basic demoning 101, baby demons do this shit for giggles.

Never mind the scale of it.

Technically it was the same thing!

"That's exactly it."

"I don't buy it," Amberdrake stated, simple as could be, moving on to another bad spot. This one had had a few feathers torn from it, and there was dried leaked fluids to avoid. He did so without a fuss.

Not exactly a squeamish guy, this chirurgeon, but he could see the chemical makeup of Szel's fluids with the Gift, and he knew he wanted none of it on his skin.

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