here's to you ; p&j day 4

[calla]

The best word to describe the aftermath would've been hysterical.

Perry slid off that gryphon and hit the ground hard, stumbling along with her hands all scratched up and a dark trail of red behind her.

“I’m gonna kill him,” She’d babbled, ignoring the way Larissa and Bellamy tried to get her to sit down and shut up so they could do something about her increasingly worrying state, “Gonna rip his legs off and then m’gonna rip his arms off, see how he likes it.” And then it all got muddled with the pain again, the moaning turning it into something incomprehensible as they tried to staunch the bleeding.

She'd lost her fucking foot.

There's nearly no white left to her skirts now. They didn't have enough water to rinse the blood off so now she just sits there on a mossy rock with the flakes of it stuck to her arms and her legs and her face, glaring at the neat and tidy bindings of where her ankle ends.

Better than a head, she supposes.

The pain's dulled now; Larissa did something with a bundle of flowers that made her skin briefly burn and then simmer down to a gentle warmth. It melted most of the agony away, but then the whole thing had gotten too touchy-feely and there'd been something in her allies' eyes that made the emotionally volatile alarm bells ring in the back of Perry's head and she told them she needed some air. Despite being in the middle of a forest.

Whatever. She's here now. Sulking on her own limited time until Wonderboy himself steps through the trees.

Perry just hoists her spear and waves it at Jayson half-heartedly.

“I’m armed.” She warns, but there’s no seriousness to it. She doesn't even try to get up. She just keeps spinning that weird vial of something she'd gotten between her fingers, running it over her knuckles. The glass stays warm, and she swears there's a pulse from it.

The liquid inside is dark, especially since there's no light around to catch it, and the vial is a lot heavier than it looks. Perry had looked for a label, or an obvious little tag that said Drink me! but no such luck. For all she knows, it could be a poison.

Only one way to find out right? You only live once, and all that shit. Just look at Cas.

Shit. She recoils from the thought. Uncorks the vial and takes the first swig.

Immediately, she winces at first taste. The liquid's thicker than she expected, which immediately makes it unpleasant. The first brush of it against her tongue is warm and metallic, reminiscent of Bellamy's blood, but then it sharpens out into something crisper. It's hot, almost scorching, and the tail end of it leaves a gentle tingle in her mouth, a lingering aftertaste that feels like she's just eaten a handful of peppers and washed it down with a fistful of cinnamon.

But she's still breathing. In fact, she feels fine. Her first exhale after the sip comes out smokey, the length of it curling up into the air like a cigarette.

It's remarkable that this isn't even the weirdest thing that's happened to her in the past four days.

Perry eyes Jayson, then holds the little vial out to him. Not quite a peace offering, but something close.

"You said you'd try anything once." She reminds him. "And you sort of owe me."

[lance]

J A Y S O N

You don't go far when you leave. Turns out that having your heart tethered to two is still nearly as strong as having it tethered to three, and even a fool's errand to find the missing third isn't enough to break them.

Just as well. Your hands are still stained red with blood that both is and is not your own, your body and heart share the burden of ache in equal parts, and you're not so certain that if you run into someone else right now, you'll be able to lift a finger to stop them, let alone a weapon.

Speaking of-

"I'm armed."

Heh. Typical. Guess there isn't room to carry a spear when Caspian's head requires the utmost care and affection, huh.

"I'm not," you respond, slowly raising your hands, but if there's one thing you and Perry seem to share in common at the moment, it's the weariness that only comes after something traumatic in body and soul regardless. You knows firsthand what she can do - hell, almost every wound crisscrossing your body was inflicted by the very same spear she points in your direction - yet you've seen the fire behind Perry's eyes, and this is not it.

This is more like that night on the kitchen floor, not like the night of curses and spears and pain. Sharing a drink over a bad memory. And like last time, she's brought the goods - you have no idea what, exactly, is in that vial, yet whatever it was couldn't be natural. Her breath comes out in a cloud as if she smoked a cigarette, minus, well, the cigarette, and honestly? It's kind of aesthetically pleasing.

Then, like last time, it's your turn. "You said you'd try anything once," she says, handing the vial out to you. "And you sort of owe me."

You smirk ever so slightly, and accept the vial without hesitation. "And I am nothing if not a man of my word," you agree readily. Fuck it, one last ball in the midst of hell. What's the worst that could happen, it'll kill you?

There's still no hesitation when you tip the vial's contents into your throat, just enough to match what Perry had taken. And okay, you see why she'd been literally steaming - you'd once eaten a strange pepper of some sort, imported straight from Eleven, on a dare, and had nearly burnt off your taste buds in the process, and this is weirdly similar to that in feel - and sure enough, once the concoction is down your throat, you exhale through your nose to twin streams of steam.

"Heh. Nice," you chuckle, as if you were just a pair of delinquent teenagers celebrating over a forbidden drink instead of, well, you know. You raise the vial up in a mock toast and a "Cheers," before handing it back to Perry.

Another memory, however short and bittersweet this life has left in you. Another piece of the world to fold up and store inside your chest until the machine behind it ceases to run.

You wouldn't trade that for the world, right now, not with one friend lost and the reality of this whole thing truly, bone-crushingly, sinking in for the first time.

elegant