ashenputtel | IC Inbox

[He's slowly but surely adapting to the weird little nuances of his first transformation, as time goes on. At first, the physical changes had thrown him somewhat, making him feel overbalanced and clunky, his movements unsteady as he'd had to learn how to compensate for the new distribution of his weight and the changes to his center of gravity that had come with it. But Balthus has always been a quick learner when it comes to physical pursuits, and so by now he's moving with ease, even around his little apartment.

It's the psychological changes that he's still getting used to. Even without the devil's influence, he's always had a gregarious, bold personality; with the benefits of it, he's less swaggering bravado and more simply confident, assertive in the way he embraces his emotions and acts on them.

He's fond of Ashe, of course. And when his newly-minted unicorn buddy had shown up at his place looking for a distraction and some companionship, of course he'd been on board in an instant. And finally, after some food and conversation, Ashe had drifted off to sleep, probably by mistake — but it'd been easy enough to shift him around just enough to get him comfortable, and cover him up with a blanket, and settle into one of the chairs to go to sleep himself.

A real man wouldn't accept a night's rest in a bed while his buddy was bumming it on the couch, after all.

It's about an hour after he falls asleep that his gem starts to glow faintly, the light dim red and therefore not enough to cause either of them to wake up in the darkness of the living room. Not that Balthus is perceiving his living room in the first place, mind.

Come to think of it —

He looks around, a little confused. Where the hell is he, anyway?]

[Fog is everywhere, almost enough to be choking in a dark forest. A silhouette of a man on his mount, javelin in hand, holding it back as he prepares to throw it. Enough. If that is how you feel, prepare yourself! I'm putting an end to this! An arrow flits out, striking the man in the throat. The man topples, and blood runs across the ground, trailing down and leading to Ashe.

The man reforms in front of Ashe, hanging in a spider's web.

I've never once regretted being someone's friend. And I won't regret being yours, even if you're scared and won't say that I am yours. That's on you. And I'll be here, if you decide you need me, Ashe remembers saying.

But the response he receives is, I don't! I need you to let me go!

Flesh is tearing apart on the web as the figure struggles to escape.]

[RUN DIRECTLY INTO THE FOG AND AGGRO ANY ENEMIES YOU FIND TH— oh wait

Actually, no, he approaches more carefully than that, feeling eerily at home in the environment despite finding it largely unfamiliar. Ashe is there in the middle of the dream, visible only after the man on his horse says his piece; once Balthus spots him, he begins to head over silently, skulking through the misty field until the spiderweb appears.

It's a little horrifying, watching someone pull themselves apart on razor wire. But what startles him even moreso than that is Ashe's reaction — or lack thereof. Ashe is way too kind-hearted to just stand around like that while someone's in trouble, isn't he?

There must be more to this little scene than it appears at first glance, he decides, and creeps closer still, with his wings tucked in close against his back and his eyes a rich red-brown against the pale of the fog.]

[The form changes, just a little; it's vague and hard to perceive, but the voice shifts as well. You left him defenseless and tied up all alone. You did this, you did this. You don't understand, you don't know anything.

The webbing is torn, and flesh sundered. The figure looms, elongated unnaturally, skin hanging off like some mutilated cape. I don't need you. Nobody needs you.

Ashe flinches, and looks away, eyes squeezed closed.]

I didn't know. How-- how was I supposed to know?

[Well, this is...hmm. Probably something he's not supposed to be seeing, but in his defense, he doesn't precisely know how he's seeing it in the first place. That's a worry for later, though; right now there's a far more pressing issue, and it's the look that Ashe is wearing, his suppressed mood from earlier now seeming to bubble up to the surface in the face of...

Uh...that.]

Hey. You're lookin' awfully dead there, pal.

[He says, approaching the two of them at an angle, from the side, like he's hoping to draw off the flesh monster's attention away from Ashe and onto himself. And he is, arguably, more terrifying than anything else present in this environment, courtesy of his height, build, and unmistakably demonic appendages.]

How the hell are you still standing, anyway?

[He's talking to the figure, presumably.]

[Both Ashe and the towering figure are quiet for a moment. Slowly, Ashe looks over his shoulder, squinting for a moment, trying to figure out what's going on.]

Balthus?

[There's a subconscious part of him that wonders why am I dreaming about Balthus which melts into I was hoping for a more sexy dream about Balthus. But anyway.

The figure tilts its head, but it seems to diminish in size, as if Ashe's diverting attention is taking away from its form.]

C'mon over here, Ashe.

[He says it steadily, keeping his approach moderated — but now clearly choosing a path that will wind up putting him between Ashe and the figure, if he's permitted to let it run its course. His hands are loose and open, his stance casual. He doesn't look like he's bracing for a fight, at the very least.

Of course, Balthus is good enough at fighting that he probably doesn't have to brace himself in anticipation of anything, really.]

You're okay. Just walk right on over here to me.

[Hesitantly, Ashe takes a few steps toward Balthus, but he pauses. His hands wring together, and he looks away. Everything in him wants to just go to his friend, truly, but the figure crawls across the ground, tangling up around Ashe's legs, making it harder to move.]

I've... messed up so much. I--

I can't blame them for being gone. I wasn't good enough. Not ever. I'll never be good enough for anyone...

Hey, now. Remember, you're talking to the King of Making Mistakes — and of Never Amounting to Anything.

[It's not his proudest title, and doesn't have the same ring to it as King of Grappling, but you know, that doesn't make it any less true.

He advances a little further, this time heading for Ashe, with his tail swiping through the fog and his claws like gauntlets on the hands that hang at his sides.]

Is that what you tell yourself? That if you don't have something, it must be because you never deserved it to begin with?

That's not all true! You've amounted to a lot. I could name a lot of things I admire about you...

[But it's a good question to poise. Ashe flinches, then ducks his head, letting out a trembling sigh.]

Sometimes I wonder if there's something just wrong with me. Everyone is... strong, or smart. And I'm just... me. And I can't compare.

I bet you could name a lot of things you admire about just about everyone you know. Bet they'd all be true, too.

[He's still watching the way the fleshnasty is wrapped around Ashe's ankles. Still carefully approaching.]

Though, you know...come to think of it, I'm not as strong as Holst. Never have been. Probably I never will be — he's amazing like that, y'know?

[He shrugs a little.]

And I'll never compare to him, yeah? So I guess that means I ought to just stop grappling. After all, what's the point?

No, of course not!

[He stumbles forward, finding it hard to move, but he's-- he's trying. Trying to reach for Balthus.]

There's so much about you that-- that makes you you. You shouldn't hold yourself back.

[C'mon, pal, he thinks to himself, proud and pleased in a rush at the way Ashe, too, is fighting — maybe feebly, maybe unsuccessfully, but fighting. He wonders who it is comprising the dark shape that's keeping Ashe anchored to the ground. Whoever it is, the fog and the web seems to be their natural domain.

...Which makes him wonder...

He slows to a halt, regarding the surrounding fog for a second. It's thick to the point of being nearly opaque, just walls of mist with no ability to judge what's behind it.

But what if —

What if there were something behind it?

He narrows his eyes, thinking hard; unbeknownst to him, the red tint to them deepens, and they flash with rubylike power as gradually, the fog starts to change colors, and at a glance, starts to feel like a place familiar to both of them — the Garreg Mach dining hall, less so in vivid concrete detail and more just the nebulous recognition that that's where they're supposed to be.]

So what's holding you back?

[He nods slightly, finally acknowledging the thing twisted around Ashe's feet for a few moments.]

You're all right with letting that thing keep you down?

[The change of scenery is briefly surprising, but dream logic dictates this is totally fine and normal and they're home. The dining hall has so many good memories for him, and it makes him feel warmer than the chill of the fog and forest alike.

The tangled web on his legs becomes a bit more brittle, but Ashe still struggles.]

N-No, but-- it--

[Suddenly, it clings harder. Why didn't you know, why didn't you understand? You don't do enough, you never do. I won't apologize!]

Is it me? I just don't understand him...

[Maybe it's the change in scenery, or the related fact that all of a sudden he's implicitly started to assert even some small level of control over this...whatever it is that's happening, but all of a sudden, the expression on Balthus's face turns bitter and hard, his eyes flashing as his shoulders surreptitiously set into place.

It's not possible, he knows. That's Ashe's thing clinging to his feet, Ashe's business to resolve.

But damn if for a second there, it didn't sound just like his stepmother when its creaking words reached his ears.]

Yeah, that's right, "why didn't you". It's always someone else's fault, isn't it, you damn old shrew?

[When he thinks about this later, he'll think about how the thing had been clinging to Ashe's ankles. How it had been holding him back. Maybe later he'll think about how hard it is to get through something like that if you have to do it all by yourself, and how sometimes it makes all the difference when it turns out you were never alone to begin with.

But that's later. Right now, he's not really thinking at all; he's just angry, both for Ashe's sake and for his own.]

What about what you didn't do? What about what you were supposed to do? Why bother, when it's so much easier to put it all on someone else, isn't it?

[There is something about it, how that even someone like Balthus who Ashe sees as a confident, strong individual can relate to something like this. That kind of accusation or even inner voice can impact anyone, can't it? Yet, only one thing rings true to him: they don't deserve this. Balthus deserved better, and so did Ashe.

Friendship is a two way street. You can't just give and give and give expecting it to be enough. Why is he expected to be eternally patient or open-minded? Does everyone just expect him to be spineless?!]

I deserve better!

[He reaches out, ripping what's left of the clinging form from his legs. Throwing it down on the floor, Ashe slams his foot down, crushing it under his heel.]

...Yeah. Yeah, you do.

[It's not his stepmother. Even just that passing thought of her has a bad taste soaking into the back of his mouth, dampening that fleeting moment of ire as quickly as it came. But it seems that flash of indignation made a spark that set Ashe's own self-confidence alight, and so Balthus doesn't try to approach any further, letting Ashe stamp out his own demons and conquer them in his own way.

It's almost funny how that worked out. Like the thing that bridged the last remaining space between them wasn't anything to do with crossing the physical distance, but some of his own fight arcing over and finding a long-buried well of it within his friend.]

You don't get to put a price on caring about someone. Either you do it or you don't. And if they don't, pal...believe me, nothing you do is ever gonna be enough to change their mind, no matter what they say.

[It's relieving to hear it put out that way. And he does know that there's no real way to be everyone's friend; the world isn't that forgiving, and people have their own paths. Still, it's just refreshing to hear it phrased so directly.]

Oh, Balthus...

[This time, though, Ashe is able to close the distance. It's a dream, and he doesn't think much about asking if certain things are okay or not, so he just goes in and reaches out to embrace Balthus, squeezing his arms around him. Sure, he looks different, but there's no hesitation in Ashe's mind that this is his friend.]

I don't know how you're here, but thanks. I'm glad you are.

[It feels good, the instant they make contact. Like a nagging itch he hadn't really realized had been itching is finally satisfied, and abruptly fades away. It's probably not all that easy on Ashe to hold onto him between the scales and rough edges and everything, but damn if he isn't glad for it, anyway.]

Hey, that's me. Always there in a pinch.

[His wings sweep around, gathering in gently around them; they're not nearly enough to be confining, but they at least make a sort of curtain, cutting Ashe off from the weird foggy environment that surrounds them, and whatever remains of the thing he'd just stomped into oblivion a few seconds ago.]

...Uh. Where is "here", anyway?

[The wings are actually kind of nice, like a blanket around them. Ashe smiles to himself and he leas his head against Balthus' chest. It's remarkably warm, despite all of the scales and such. He doesn't mind it.

Here. Here?]

Isn't it Garreg Mach? Or... no, it was-- we were by Gaspard?

[Now even Ashe looks confused. Slowly, his mind clicks together.]

Oh. Right. It's a dream, isn't it? How funny.

Gaspard? How could you tell through all that fog?

[...Oh. Ohhh. Okay, wait a minute, that makes more sense. If it's a dream, then of course you'd know things without knowing how you know them. Like how he'd known they were in Garreg Mach even though to be perfectly honest, nothing really looks like Garreg Mach.

Of course, that presents an even bigger question.]

Wait a minute. If it's a dream, then how are we both here? I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm me, but...I'm pretty sure you're you, too...

It was... that way when we were to sent to deal with Lonato. You wouldn't know about that, I guess.

[What a weird thing for dream!Balthus to say. He's him? What, as if he's the one dreaming right now?

But... then again, why would Ashe dream about Balthus yelling at that thing like it was his stepmom? And how that emotional outburst struck with his own struggles.]

Wait, it's really you?!

Yeah, I mean — well, I'm pretty sure it's me!

[oh seiros here we go]

Quick, ask me something only I'd know!

Oh! Um!

W-what's Yuri's crest?!

Piece of cake. It's Aubin, of course.

[Missing the point, of course, that if they're trying to prove that he's not a figment of Ashe's imagination, having Ashe ask him something that he by definition knows the answer to isn't...really...proof of anything...]

Well, now, this is certainly something, isn't it. This is a dream, and we're the both of us.

IC Inbox | noctiumrp

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