[open] nobody knows it but me when i slip

[scowlish]

Who: Onni Hotakainen; Ben Hargreeves, open to anyone else who might be in the Library
What: Onni has a bit of a personal problem and turns to the Library for help.
When: mid-September
Where: Library
Format: Whatever you like. I started in brackets, but I do love prose.
Notes: He'll be running into Ben on the first day but the research will take longer than that and I'd love some additional threads. For the non-canon-familiar: 'luonto' is a word for the spirit/life force of a Finnish person, 'runo' is a Finnish magic spell.



[Probably, he should have told Reynir by now, but Onni isn't exactly the type of person to share his vulnerabilities, even with people he likes. So when he'd discovered that he can still see and hear spirits, that he's still aware of and capable of using the power of his luonto and still goes to his haven in the dream space, but isn't capable of using runo anymore, he hadn't mentioned it. Gone on as if things were normal, even though he feels almost completely vulnerable and exposed in this strange place without any familiar method of self-protection.

It takes quite some time to talk himself into trying things another way - the Finnish gods aren't within his reach, he is too far from home, but if there are spirits here, there must be something else here he can call upon. It galls him, enough that he's felt prickly for a week straight, the thought of reaching out to foreign gods for protection, the thought of what that might do to his relationship with his own when he goes home. But the truth is, he can't be without his mage powers, for his own safety, for Reynir's, or for any of the other people here.

So it's just a matter of finding out what there might be here to call upon. Starting from scratch on his training. A huge pain, but not impossible.]

❄ For Ben

[Eventually, he settles on the Library as the best place to look for that kind of information, if such information exists. He feels on edge as he walks inside - it's not much bigger than most libraries he's attended, besides the big one in Mora, which is a little disappointing. Of course, he doesn't register that the computer banks are part of the library or really what they are at all. Computers are something he knows about in a passing sort of way, but he doesn't recognize them in this form. What he sees are books, lined up on shelves, some in his own language, others in languages he doesn't know or recognize.

Running his fingers over the spines, he tilts his head, glances up as a man comes out from behind the other end of the shelf - his dark hair is cropped short, and his dark eyes look calm enough, even if there's a strange aura about him, as if his spirit is far too big for the size of his body. Onni tilts his head, looking at him from under his fur hood, mouth set in a straight line.]

Do you know much about the books here?

❄ Open

[Of course, it takes much more than one day to do the type of research he needs to do in a place like this, so he comes back for a while every day, in the afternoon while Reynir is working on the garden in the upper levels and doesn't need his help. Cross-legged on the floor of the Library, still wearing his fur hooded cloak, he leans over to peer at the papers and books on the floor in front of him.

When people enter, he generally doesn't pay them much mind, at least until they get close enough that Onni can ask for help with his research. Whether it's a blunt 'can you read this?' or asking if they'll hand him a text, he isn't above requesting someone's input.]

❄

OOC Note: If your character wouldn't approach him directly, feel free to just put them nearby and I'll have him ask them something. If you want to wildcard, go for it! If you want to plot first, hit me up on discord at coffee #6251, in game chat, on plurk at caffemisto, or by PM to this journal.

Comments

[benhargreeves]

[ It's not all that surprising for someone to wander into the library - even if Ben spends more time here than most, it's open to anybody, and he has been happy over the last few weeks seeing more and more people coming here to find books. What does surprise him is that the man who comes in isn't someone he's ever run into, before. There aren't that many people here in the Anchor, and Ben hasn't talked to all of them, but he's seen most of them, at least.

Not the case with this guy, who has super blue eyes and is rocking a very sort of fantasy-novel ensemble with the cloak and everything. It doesn't look like a costume, though - those clothes look sturdy and lived-in. Huh. ]

I know some.

[ No hello, no introductions, just straight to business. Ben can work with that. He plucks up a bookmark from the table and tucks it into the book he'd been holding in his hands - quite a lengthy volume - and sets it down so he can focus his attention on Onni fully. ]

It depends on what kind of information you're looking for. I've done a catalogue of what we've got here but it's not like I've read all of it. And if you're asking where the books came from or anything like that, then I got absolutely no idea.

[scowlish]

[The truth is that Onni has been hiding, a little. Once he and Reynir had set up a space to stay, well-protected with Icelandic runes and physical barriers, he'd needed a while to calm himself down before he felt up to exploring the area more. It hadn't been two weeks, but it was something of a quarantine for Onni, staying in one place until he's sure he's not infected, checking himself every day for any sign of the Rash.

So he hasn't really had a chance to meet many people yet.

Thankfully, this one doesn't seem particularly put off by the bluntness of how Onni speaks when he's out of his depth or put out, he just closes the book he'd been reading and sets it down before asking what kind of information he's looking for. Onni nods.]

I suspected as much. From what I've gathered, no one's been here long enough to have read them all?

[Onni's pale eyes study the other man's face for a long moment, to see if his guess is correct before he continues on.]

I'm looking for information on...

[He hesitates, not out of fear of being judged or embarrassment, but out of discomfort at what he's researching and the reasons for it.]

Well. Anything that might pass for gods or spiritual entities native to this place.

[benhargreeves]

I haven't met anybody who was here longer than me, and I've only been here 82 days.

[ Yeah, he is keeping track. What of it? It's useful for moments like this, when he can give a more accurate answer to how long the Anchor has been inhabited - this time around anyway. And Ben thinks this guy might appreciate a thorough answer. He kind of seems like he's on a fact-finding mission here. Ben can totally understand that as a response to being scooped up and teleported to another world. Or maybe he's on his second or third new world, now. Hard to say.

Just based on the clothes and the way he's talking, Ben's guessing he's originally from somewhere a bit different than where he comes from. Despite the translation whatevers, Onni is speaking with a hint of an accent, to his ears. It makes his 'w's sound a little like 'v's so if Ben had to guess... Eastern Europe? Or Scandinavia? But he doesn't ask, yet. Waits for Onni to find his way to his inquiry.

It's definitely not what he had expected. But he blinks, nods, and rolls with it. ]

Hmm. Interesting. That's... hmm. Let me think.

[ And by think he clearly means browse, because he taps his chin with his finger a few times and then is up on his feet, moving over to the shelves and looking through. As he does, he says: ]

I don't think I've got anything that's about religion specifically, but there are some old books I found, hidden away. They seem to mostly be about this world. I think those are probably your best bet. I can help you look through them, see if there are any chapters on spiritual beliefs.

[ He seems entirely unbothered with being co-opted into this research project, and starts to pluck various volumes from the shelves, setting them on the nearest table, making a neat stack of half a dozen books before he moves to a different section of the library and carefully pulls a few journals from a special case. These are not printed and bound, like the others, but hand-written and look considerably more fragile.

Glancing up at Onni again, Ben asks: ]

Anything in particular you're looking for? I mean, are we talking just anthropological curiosity or...?

[scowlish]

[This person, Onni decides, is worth talking to. He's calm and intelligent and seems very willing to share what information he knows, which is comforting, since Onni has a similar perspective about that kind of thing. While the strange mismatched energy of the other man's soul and his body is still a little off-putting, he seems nice enough, and Onni relaxes a little.

He relaxes more when the other man says that his subject of choice is interesting and puts his mind to it instead of brushing it off. Onni has noticed that there isn't a lot of reverence for the gods here, the attitude is like the Danes and Swedes, and he'd been a little worried that would mean there was no information to be found. The idea of being even temporarily defenseless is unnerving, the idea of having to reach out to foreign gods is unnerving and uncomfortable; the idea of having no way at all to regain his magic is daunting to the point of terror.

The other man gets to his feet and starts browsing around the library, commenting on some old books he'd found that are mostly about this place, and Onni visibly perks up.]

That would be helpful. The more I know about how this place works and the origins of it, the better. Thank you for your help.

[The expression of gratitude comes easily and without hesitation, and Onni follows the other man as he starts pulling books from the shelves, and then a few journals from what looks like a protective case. Onni has seen documents like these before - hand written in that messy lived-in way that makes it clear the person who created them had invested a lot of time and energy into this project. That makes him feel a bit more hopeful, and he moves to take a look at them, not touching yet.]

No, it's more a practical curiosity. I'm a mage, and I'm too far from home to be in contact with my own gods. But I can't be without protection here, it's too dangerous.

[The way he says it is brisk, practical, and he leans over to tilt his head, squinting at the handwritten text.]

In order to call whatever gods might be here, I need to know their origin, and what kind of runo they would use.

[It doesn't occur to him that anyone wouldn't understand what he's talking about - being a mage is such a common thing back home that he doesn't think to clarify what any of those terms mean.]

[benhargreeves]

[ Ben listens, expression changing as his idea of what this visit is about shifts dramatically. He'd assumed because Onni is looking into gods and spiritual beliefs, that this is some relatively abstract research. Just trying to fill in the details on this place they've ended up in.

But apparently, it's way more urgent and way more weird than that. For a few moments, Ben lets Onni look over the texts, rubbing his chin and considering. Normally, he tries to mind his own business. Really, he doe. But his curiosity reaches a critical point and he asks: ]

So your magic draws its power from your gods and your gods are... location-specific and you left 'em back home, so you're hoping to set up a temporary situation with the local, uh. Whatevers. So you... can protect yourself with magic?

[ He pauses, waiting to see if that summary rings true for Onni. ]

I'd like to help you, but you gotta bring me in on the ground floor here. I've never met a mage before, so uh. What's a runo? Is that, like... ruuunes?

[ Ben doesn't know! He's trying! ]

[scowlish]

[The surprise on the other man's face is obvious, after Onni explains what he's looking for, and the reason he wants the information. Onni's eyes flick from the other man's face back down to the text in his hands, reading through a few sentences while the other man gets his thoughts together. Brows furrowed, he lifts his head and looks at Ben with a contemplative expression on his face as the other man explains what he got from what Onni said.

So, his perception of Ben as intelligent was true then.]

Mhm.

[Lifting his brows, he locks his pale eyes on Ben's dark ones.]

I'm used to people knowing these terms, I'm sorry for the confusion. When you say runes, you're close, though that's Icelandic magic more than Finnish.

[He pauses, just for a second, then carries on, reminding himself that this man doesn't know much of anything about his magic.]

I'm from Finland, the type of magic we do is by entreating the gods with runo, a sort of spell set to the metre of the Kalevela. Which is a traditional work of Finnish poetry.

[Eyes still locked on the other man's face, Onni makes sure that he's following before he carries on.]

I've never tried to make that same connection with other gods, I'm not sure it will work. But I have to try.

[benhargreeves]

[ Ben listens quietly to Onni's explanation, expression calm and contemplative, showing no change apart from a small furrow that deepens between his brows. It's all pretty heady stuff, magic and gods and the rest of it. But Ben was already used to the impossible, even before he came here. Death and life blurred in ways that shocked others, forces that couldn't be explained, fate and perhaps divine will.

Ben doesn't know all that much about Finland. There hadn't been almost any books about it in his father's library - a few on its history, but Ben hadn't read them. He'd always been more interested in fiction, anyway; harder to distract himself from his own life with a dry chapter on the history of trade routes.

But what Onni's describing: magic that is voluntary and based on a request, rather than a demand...; magic that takes the form of spoken poetry...; magic that is useful for keeping people safe... well, it's hard not to feel a tiny bit jealous. Just for an instant. ]

I can see how you wouldn't want to call on them until you know, like, their names at least.

[ Maybe it's all imaginary, maybe Onni merely has powers, the same way Ben has powers, and this is just cultural tradition, the way he was taught to access them. Maybe he'd be able to do whatever 'magic' it is without any poetry at all.

But... it must be nicer with poetry. Must be better than Klaus with the ghosts that would never leave him alone, or Ben's whole relationship with the things on the other side of the portal, struggling to control them, to use them, hating and needing them... ]

Oh! And mine's Ben, by the way. Ben Hargreeves.

[ He picks up a book in one hand, waves with the other, then takes the book to a seat and opens it, laying it on his lap. ]

I'll look with you. It'll be twice as fast with two sets of eyes.

[writtendestiny]

What? Oh--

[She's slightly taken aback with the person on the floor abruptly asks her to hand him a book that's only just out of his reach. On some days she'd be indignant about it, as if the brief pause to answer the request might inconvenience her somehow, but her curiosity gets the better of her when she reads the title while she's handing it over.]

Here.

[Poison comes to the library because it's comfortable and familiar, and she gets the feeling that's why a lot of people come here. She peers curiously at the papers spread out on the floor.] What are you working on?

[scowlish]

[The floor is really the only space in the library that's big enough to do the type of research he needs - there are comparisons between texts, the process of picking out which are describing things native to this place, Anchor, and texts brought from other worlds; of trying to work out the rhythm of the songs and poetry he might use to call on whatever spirits he can find the origins of.

It's tedious work, and if his voice sounds slightly annoyed when he asks a girl to hand him a book he can't quite reach, it's mostly from exhaustion and the headache blooming behind his eyes from trying to decipher texts for half the day. When she responds in that slightly startled way but still hands him the book he'd asked for - the tone reminds him of his manners, though, at least, and he sighs, rubbing at his eye.]

Thank you. I'm sorry for being demanding, it's been a long day.

[Accepting the book, he turns it over in his hands for a moment. 'Anchor's Poetic Anthology' - he's looked through it before, but he keeps coming back to it after dismissing it, since it seems to be one of the few runo references that originated in the city, written by residents. It's no Kalevela, but if he's going to try to summon the spirits of this place, then he'll need to learn the rhythms of this place.]

I'm trying to learn about the religion and poetry of this place. Frustrating...there's plenty from other worlds, but not much that originated here.

[Though he glances up at her once or twice, his eyes are on the book she handed him, flipping through the pages. There's no real consistent metre between the poems, but there are some that are repeated more often than others.

Sighing, he rubs at his face, and looks up at her.]

I don't suppose you've run across anything like that?

[writtendestiny]

[Ah, well, at least he apologised. Her lips still press together slightly in annoyance at the sharpness with which she was asked for the book... but she's done a lot of growing up in the last few years, and she pushes back the urge to say something about it.

But he's talking about something that she's curious about, too, and she finds a clear spot to sit down on the floor and look over his notes and his chosen books without touching them, holding her hands together in her lap.]

No. But it was the same in the place I was before this one, and the one before that. As if whoever started it all doesn't want anyone to find out how it began.

[The Box had had little information to be found at all, until the Techs had started being booted out into the populace for not wanting to go along with the plans. Hadriel had come with its own challenges - all the books save for the most benign and useless were written in utter nonsense.]

The computers might have more, but half of them barely work.

[scowlish]

[When the girl sits down on the floor nearby and peers at the papers he's looking at, her hands folded in her lap and not touching, he gestures at them, glancing up at her and catching her eyes.]

Pick them up and look, if you like. If you have any thoughts about any of it, I'd like to hear them.

[That much is genuine, and when she explains that it was the same in the place she was before this place, and before that, he blinks.]

You were in other places like this?

[Leaning in, curious, he closes the poetry book with his finger inside it to mark his place, eyes on her face.]

So you think we were drawn here purposefully instead of by accident like they said?

[writtendestiny]

[She picks up one of the papers when he offers, looking over it and pressing her lips together while she concentrates on reading.

But then, the questions, and she looks up to Onni and meets his eyes steadily.]

I didn't say that. [Poison replies, putting down the paper and clasping her hands together instead.]

I've been in two other places before this. They've all been different, but I don't know why I keep getting taken to other worlds instead of going home. [She looks around, frowning slightly.]

But every place has had a... muddied past. Like the story's been erased. I don't know if it's deliberate or not.

[scowlish]

[When she protests that she didn't say that she thinks they were brought here on purpose, Onni raises a brow. Well, that's what it had sounded like, though her response makes more sense when she explains that she's been in two other places like this instead of going home, and that they'd all had a muddied past and a story that's been erased.

Nodding, he makes a soft 'mm' of acknowledgement, shifting some of the papers around on the floor, as if he's trying to put together a puzzle, and each paper is a puzzle piece that isn't quite in the right spot.]

I suppose if someone was dropped into my world, there wouldn't be much information about where it had come from either, or what had happened to it. Not without a lot of looking. It makes sense.

[Glancing back up at her, he tilts his head.]

Something like this seems too complex to be by accident. You said there are computers here? I didn't recognize them.

[writtendestiny]

Mm, they're everywhere, but some of them don't work very well.

[She isn't looking at him as he speaks, more focused on the books and papers on the floor. It's like trying to work out a puzzle when all the pieces are turned upside down and you're not allowed to look at them anyway.

Frustrating, but she's never been shy about throwing herself headlong into far more dangerous intrigue than this.]

A lot of the sensors are broken, and I'd expect the circuitry has degraded while Anchor has been empty.

[And now it's down to them to fix it all... but she notes something that she's mentioned to someone before.]

It all looks like it's set up so anyone can understand it, with a bit of work.

for reynir; at home

[scowlish]

[After leaving Lalli, Onni manages to make it all the way to the small apartment he shares with Reynir before he stops being able to outrun the crushing wave of grief that's threatening to wash him away. After a quick, perfunctory check of the apartment common areas to make sure Reynir isn't there, he fills a large bottle with water, and then closes himself into his room.

It isn't immediate. In fact, he sits quietly with his knees pulled up on his bed trying to talk himself out of it, trying to moderate his emotions, trying to push it all back down into the space he's hollowed out inside himself to hold it. But he keeps remembering the way Lalli's face had looked, the noise he'd made before he'd said her name, the way he'd repeated 'sorry' over and over again, as if her death had been his fault.

Tuuri.

It's like a catalyst that sets off the grief in him, too big to shelter from, overwhelming, washing away all conscious thought. All that's left is the empty space in his life that she left, the sense of helplessness; all his brain will supply him with are memories of her, of holding her when he'd been barely 6 and she was a tiny chubby baby, red-faced and already smiling; of her calling him 'piss head' whenever he crossed her as a child; of the games they used to play in the forest; of holding her on that tiny island swathed in a blanket while she trembled and cried whenever they heard gunshots or screaming.

He remembers when they'd gone to Keuruu and her cold little face pressing into his throat when she climbed into bed with him. Remembers singing her a lullaby accompanied by his kantele, remembers the day she'd told him she was too old for that kind of thing, rolling her eyes. He remembers the day she left with Lalli for the Silent World, taking his whole family away from him, remembers his anger and fear and how much he'd hated himself for not going with her. Remembers her easy way of saying she loved him, even though it was so hard for him to say it back.

And all of it is too much, he sits on his bed and pulls his knees up and buries his face into them, hugging them close against his chest, exactly as he had when he was a child, and he lets the grief wash through him. Just for a few moments, he tells himself, just enough to release some of the pressure. But it doesn't stop after a few moments, there's simply too much of it, and it isn't just a few tears before he gets control of himself, not some stoic calm-faced grief.

It's deep wracking sobs that make his throat hurt and his head ache and his eyes sting, it's choking on his grief until he can't breathe, it's messy and noisy and humiliating, his face wet and slick with tears, his nose running, his face contorting. He doesn't know how to make it stop, doesn't know how to end this because the grief never stops, his loss swallows him whole, his lack of purpose and lack of sense of self and the absolute terror that chokes his throat. The feeling is so big and so awful that he doesn't think he can bear it, he's so exhausted he doesn't want to keep living through it.

Pushing fingers into his hair, he tugs at it to distract himself, even as his body shakes with loud, messy sobs.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir has been trying to do better to respect Onni's boundaries and give him privacy and all the stuff he'd been bad at in the past, barging into his dream place and insisting on speaking to him even when he wants to be alone, and petting him when he was an owl that one time. So he hasn't really been into Onni's bedroom in their little closed-off dwelling place, apart from when he had gone in to paint the protection runes.

But that day, Reynir is having a quiet and unexceptional morning, when he hears Onni coming back in. Nothing out of the ordinary, there. Reynir doesn't even say hello - he's rather engrossed in a book Onni had left lying around the other day. That is, until he hears it. At first, Reynir thinks it is Kisa getting into trouble, in the way that cats do. He gets up to berate her to stop eating whatever she's trying to eat that she shouldn't, or knocking things over or who knows what.

Then, it becomes clear very quickly that Kisa isn't responsible. She is sleeping just in Reynir's eyesight, curled up in a neat little circle on the floor. And the noise keeps going, louder now, so that he can tell it is coming from a person. Coming from Onni.

Reynir's stomach lurches with fear and understanding after another second. Those aren't laughs or even the sound of Onni speaking into those strange devices to someone on the other end. They're sobs. Big horrible painful ones by the sound of it, and then all thoughts about respecting Onni's privacy fly out the window. Reynir opens the door in a moment, terrified that something has happened, that they're in danger or someone had died or some crisis has occurred and they need to act.

It's so strange, and horrible, seeing Onni tucked into a tight little ball like that, pulling at his own hair and crying his heart out. ]

Onni! Gods, what happened, are you hurt?

[ He stays in the doorway, frozen, as an awful thought trickles its way down his spine. The worst thing he could think of would be if Onni were exposed, had finally encountered a troll and been infected. But he doesn't see any injuries on Onni, and he's not willing to stay back just on a what-if. So he closes the distance, hands fluttering out as if to touch Onni, sadness and concern and fear written all over Reynir's pale face. ]

[scowlish]

[It is partly because he's noticed the effort Reynir has been putting into respecting his boundaries and privacy since they arrived here and started living in the same place that Onni feels okay doing this in his own room instead of going somewhere with less chance of his privacy being invaded. The urgency of the sobs has calmed just slightly by the time he hears movement outside in the common areas of the small apartment, though the intensity hasn't, he's settled from the desperate sobbing driven by fear of how intense his pain is into something more enduring and gut-wracking, occasionally so intense he can't breathe or make sounds at all. His face is wet, his fingers still in his hair, and he's got snot and tears soaked into the knees of his pants.

When he hears footsteps approaching his door, he pushes his free hand against his mouth, bites on the fingers of it to try to keep himself quiet, and squeezes his eyes shut. Of course, of course this would be the only time over the past couple of weeks that Reynir wouldn't just respect his closed door...no, instead the younger man is yanking it open and bustling inside with his hands fluttering around nervously, asking what happened and if Onni is hurt.

Holding his breath to try to calm his breathing, Onni reaches blindly to his right and closes his fingers into his pillow, jerks it up off the bed, and flings it at Reynir. A moment later, he finds his voice and chokes out between broken sobbing breaths-]

What do you think you're doing?! Get out!

[But his head is lifted from his knees, and he realizes a moment too late that it's exposed the raw grief on his face, his twisted-up expression, the wetness on his cheeks and the red around his stinging, burning eyes and his running nose. Bringing both hands up, he covers his face, shoulders hunching, and adds, more quietly.]

Leave me alone.

[braidmage]

[ It's a good throw, and Reynir wasn't expecting it, but he gets his arms up in time to block the pillow from hitting him in the face. It drops to the ground at Reynir's feet, and he doesn't spare a glance for it. He has seen Onni like this before. Well, not exactly like this. Not in person, with tears streaking his face and that crumpled, almost childlike expression of absolute misery.

But Reynir remembers how it had been right after Tuuri died, when Lalli was missing and he went into Onni's dream space. There had been that same wild explosion of anger, chaotic, directed at whatever was nearest to him. In both cases, Reynir was that something. This time, though, Onni cannot use a spell to throw up a barrier between them. They're both here.

And he isn't leaving. ]

No.

[ There's no anger in it at all, even though Reynir has no clue what has got Onni like this. Whatever it is, it's got to be bad, and Reynir isn't going to abandon his friend in a time of need. Even if his friend throws things and screams. He doesn't come any closer, yet, but he stays with his feet planted. ]

I'm not gonna leave you by yourself.

[ Onni alone, Reynir knows, can make some really shitty and self-destructive choices. Regardless of whether Onni tells him what's happened, Reynir is not on guard duty, here to protect him from whatever - including himself.

Hearing those awful, hiched, sobbing breaths, Reynir's heart seems to break in his chest. This is so much worst than just about anything he's ever seen or felt. ]

Onni, please. I'm really scared and I'm worried about you. Talk to me. Let me help.

[scowlish]

[Onni isn't sure what he'd expected, when he throws his pillow at Reynir and demands that he leave his room. He thinks, on some level, he'd expected the younger man to do as he's asked, to back out with his hands up in surrender and leave Onni to his misery. Why he'd expected that, he doesn't know, because this is Reynir, who is stubborn and demanding and seems completely unashamed by having too many emotions. Onni can't afford emotions, shouldn't be doing this even in the privacy of his own room, even where no one can see him or hear him. It's like inviting monsters into his mind.

But Reynir just says no, his voice calm and firm, and it makes Onni's anger surge up again. He's about to shout again when Reynir continues, says he's not going to leave him by himself. Every line of his body is written in determination, resolve, stubbornness, and Onni feels a wave of exhaustion that makes the tears fall more freely, the hitch in his breath is deeper, feels like sandpaper in his throat, choking him, his ribcage spasming.]

You can't help!

[It's not a shout, his voice is too tight, pulled too thin, too close to breaking, but it's close. Onni's eyes are bright and pale and reflective with tears. Everything hurts, he's bordering on incoherent, he's exhausted and humiliated and angry and helpless and he doesn't want to be this way in front of another person.]

Talking won't help. Nothing-

[At that, his voice cracks and he pushes his head down against his knees again while he's wracked with more sobs, his shoulders hunching, his feet turning inward, trying to make himself as small as possible, as if he could hide from Reynir's compassionate green eyes and his worry by doing it. But he's completely exposed here, completely vulnerable.

It takes a long time to work those sobs out of himself, before he can finish his sentence in a wrung-out, muffled voice.]

Nothing can help.

[braidmage]

[ People have been telling Renyir what he can't do his whole life. For a long time, he'd believed them without question. He'd let people convince him he was too weak, too much of a liability, too stupid, not enough to make a difference or do what he wanted to do. But he'd stopped letting people do that, this past year. And he isn't going to just accept Onni's words when it is so clear they're coming from a place of blind despair and agony.

Onni doesn't know what he needs, right now. He is like a wounded animal, lashing out and terrified. Reynir had dealt with wounded and frightened animals, before. He knows how to handle them. And that is how he handles Onni - with a gentle, unyielding refusal to be deterred.

When Onni curls up again, sobbing like that, Reynir knows he isn't going to attack him anymore, and he makes his move. He comes over to the bed, sitting close enough to Onni that the side of his thigh is pressed up to Onni's curled feet. Without a moment's hesitation, he throws his long arms around Onni's shuddering shoulders and hugs him, tightly. He can feel the way Onni is trembling, how warm he is and the tension in his whole body.

Reynir can't stop his brain from conjuring awful possibilities. Maybe Onni is infected. Maybe Lalli had died. Maybe he found out they will never go home again. His own heart is beating quick and fear is a razor-sharp hurt buried in his chest, but he keeps it contained. Onni needs him right now. He needs somebody to give him some help, for once. Reynir doesn't want to let him down. ]

Okay. Nothing can help.

[ There is acceptance in those words; Reynir knows this might be a problem it is far beyond him to solve. He doesn't want Onni to think he's disbelieving him over how serious it is, whatever it is. He wants Onni to understand that he understands that this sadness is too big to be chased away. The whole thing might be doomed from the start. But he is going to be here with Onni, as it digs its claws in. ]

But I'm still not gonna let you face it alone.

[ And Reynir buries his face into Onni's hair, sighing, arms so tight around Onni that he's practically crushing him. Reynir may be skinny, but he's strong, and he remembers how he'd felt when he heard Tuuri was gone. He had just wanted to be held securely like this. ]

I'm not going anywhere.

[scowlish]

[Onni feels like his body is being held hostage by his crying - he can't seem to control it, can't make it stop, can't choke it down. Every part of his usual restraint and self-control is washed away by his grief, and the memory of Lalli's face when he'd seen whatever he'd seen on Onni's neck during his hallucination (he suspects, but he doesn't think he can handle putting words to his suspicions, even in his own mind right now) and his soft apologies. It hurts, to love someone so much that losing them is unbearable, that their pain hurts as much as his own. It hurts to not be able to do anything to help Lalli because he isn't sure how - he can't hug him and he isn't good with words at the best of times, but it feels impossible when he isn't completely sure what's hurting his younger cousin, not with enough nuance to find the right thing to say to alleviate it.

It isn't just the loss of Tuuri that's making him cry, it's his own inability to protect her, and now to protect and comfort Lalli. Everything about him is falling short, and the humiliation of crying in front of Reynir feels like punishment for his failures and mistakes.

Instead of commenting on it, though, on how pathetic it is to see him like this, Reynir just crosses the room and sits down with him, wraps his arms around Onni's shoulders and holds him, acknowledges that he understands nothing can help. It has been over a decade and a half since anyone has held Onni this way, since he was a child. He's held and carried his sister and Lalli since then, but never been held like this, and he doesn't know what to do with it. His whole body goes tense, he lifts a hand to press against his face, the heel of it digging into his eye, the fingers twined in his hair a little more aggressively now. The slight pain at the roots is distracting, but the wracking hitch of his breath and the tension in his chest when he sobs drowns it out, his eyes hurt.

Reynir just keeps holding him, despite his tension, despite his messy sobbing, despite his attempts to chase him away. He rests his head against Onni's hair, and says he won't let him face it alone, he's not going anywhere, and that triggers a fresh set of gut-wrenching sobs because somewhere in this place, Lalli is alone. Lalli is alone and Onni should be with him, trying to comfort him even if he's shit at it, even if he can't do any good.]

Lalli...I should...

[His voice chokes off and he's interrupted by another string of sobs, both hands coming up to press against his eyes as if he could physically stop the tears with them.]

I need to find him. He's...I don't want...

[Again, the tears choke his throat up and he can't speak, and the tension in his body from being so unused to being hugged only makes the sobs more difficult to speak through.]

...him to think I don't...love him...

[Onni's lips move but no sound comes out, just for a moment, and then he coughs and chokes a bit, scrubs his hands hard against his eyes.]

~open

[treadswater]

[ The request startles Annie. She didn't think she was that close to him - him, name unknown, but solidly built enough like he could haul fishing equipment or weapons around no problem - but she's been looking at the books. She likes books. They contain information and you can take them away and read them in security somewhere else.

But her momma raised her to be built and there's no sense in being rude, so she nods. Then stops. ]

Um? Did, uh. Did you mean the grey book or the blue?

[scowlish]

[It's immediately obvious that he's startled her by asking so abruptly, and he's about to apologize when she asks, stuttering, if he meant the grey book or the blue one.]

Grey. Sorry for startling you, I didn't intend to.

[Glancing down at the papers and books he already has spread out on the floor around him, he sighs and rubs a hand over his face.]

I apologize for being brusque. It's been a difficult day.

[treadswater]

It's, it's okay. Here you go.

[ She offers the book with a hand which doesn't tremble, but she's still keeping an arm's length away from him.

Habit. Nothing personal.

Still, at the apology, she does offer a quick smile. ]

I can, uh, understand that. Can I ask what you're looking for?

[scowlish]

[It's impossible to miss the way she keeps her distance, like he's dangerous. It's not something he can blame her for, entirely, particularly with how he'd snapped at first, and the fact he's an unknown to her.]

Thanks.

[A pause, and he opens the book, flipping through it with one thumb, skimming the contents to see if anything stands out.]

Any text about gods or the elements here, any kind of spirit that might be native to this place and not brought along by someone who came unwillingly. That and any books of poetry by native residents.