Lightning, Erza. A word, please. ...You too, Hope. Indulge your uncle.
Katie, stay close to home. No more wandering for a few days, alright? Play with Dog and Licorice here, please.
Watch, does something seem... amiss to you?
[And muffled, like the journal just caught the sound as he was walking away or closing it-] -blic communication, not a dream journal.
Katie, stay close to home. No more wandering for a few days, alright? Play with Dog and Licorice here, please.
Watch, does something seem... amiss to you?
[And muffled, like the journal just caught the sound as he was walking away or closing it-] -blic communication, not a dream journal.
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chasethestars
chasethestars
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Sigmund...
Likely, nothing will happen. If something does, we are still better than just you.
Fine.
Tell me when you go. There's something I need to show you.
[ Her tone implies more along the lines of "should it wait?" If he's found something related to this weirdness in town, he can consider her already out the door. ]
Just give me enough time to put my boots back on.
[ And she'll be quick to do as she promises, though there's still a few things that delay her slightly- catching and locking the puppy up, for one, and since she didn't bother asking just what they were going to be doing, dressing with a bit more preparedness in mind for another. Depending on how close he is, he might make it all the way up to her door, but if not, she makes her way downstairs from CH4's #13 in just a few minutes. ]
What I want to show you is not outside.
[He's noticeably unarmored, for insisting on going on a patrol, though not unarmed. Sword on his belt, shield slung over his back for the moment, to protect his wings. They're not fancy like Lightning's gunblade, but they've served him well.]
Lightning's expression is dark as she quickly turns to go back up beside him. This is definitely putting her on edge by now-- more so than she already was, that is. The dark circles under her eyes that the journal was likely helping conceal are much more apparent in person, and there's a slight heaviness in her demeanor that's not entirely attributable to attitude as she stomps up the steps, peering at him all the way. ]
Sigmund, what's going on?
When he gets to her door, he stops-] We'll go out after- [-and turns to wait for her to open it.] -...You look awful.
[To be fair, he's looking like death warmed over himself, but instead of dark circles he has the pallor and red around the eyes that indicates a man who is fundamentally Not Well.]
As a result, what might have been a digging retort back quickly dies before it leaves her mouth at all, and it's by silence that she pulls free the key strapped around her wrist to unlock the door she'd left not a minute beforehand.
There's a beat or two that passes after she steps into the noticeably warmer interior of her apartment, closing the door behind him, and then- ] Okay... after what? [ ... She's nothing if not persistent. ]
The dreams being talked about. I woke up from one, and- [He brings a hand up to his chest, balled tightly into a fist.] You're alright?
Her lips press together in (worried) agitation as he continues... and then when he lifts his hand, she immediately mirrors the gesture, fingertips pressing lightly into her upper chest, eyes flicking to the side and down the hall towards where her sons would likely be if they were home at the moment. ]
I'm fine. [ Right now. ] Just tired.
[The undertone of bitterness and derision should make it perfectly clear how he feels about being 'the unwell one.'
Just an instant of resentment, and then he's undoing the first four buttons on his shirt to expose the top of the marking on his chest. Around the lines, the skin is pink and irritated.]
I thought you should know.
or so she thinks. Her shoulders drop slightly when he begins unbuttoning, now knowing for certain what's coming next. ]Oh, Sigmund...
[ She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth at the sight, her concern now making no attempt to hide itself. Why should it, when it looks a lot like her younger brother is staring down the same barrel of the gun that killed their father and nearly drove her to death as well?
She's an extremely practical woman, though, and the hand she reaches out to touch if he'll let her has nothing to do with useless sympathy. Even if all he intended to do was show her and run, she's taking this very seriously. ]
What were you dreaming about?
Light. Floating. Falling. Pain. Nothing coherent.
[ She pulls back by just an inch or two as she thinks, then puts her other hand to her chest, concentrating-- in an instant light spirals down her arm, and though some is accidentally diverted by the hand on her wrist, most of it does make it to her fingertips to jump the slight gap between them and his chest. She doubts it will help any, but if there's even the slightest chance of relief for him, it's worth a try. ]
That's not a good idea.
There's an odd tone in her voice when she finally speaks up, eyes down and mostly obscured by her hair and long lashes. ]
Mine was glowing earlier. Like it was... [ ...trying to reactivate. Even though it's been white and untroublesome ever since she suddenly went mad on the battlefield and spent over a week in the clinic so near death nobody thought she'd come back from it.
Even after her recovery her worry about it hasn't been allowed to wane at all though, with the fear here that something more might happen, that Sigmund - and Hope - might worsen.... ]
... Just what is going on...?