03.17.3014: Destruction Begets Life
Summary: A call for help from Advent takes Cyrielle away from the Open Mic and into the Royal Tower…
Date: 9-12-14
Related: Therapeutic Distractions
Advent Cyrielle 

Family Sitting Room, Royal Tower, Landing
Branching off from the small bank of lifts is the luxurious family sitting room. It possesses mahogany wood floors, softened with deep violet carpets — each of which are accented by silver in some form or another. The ceilings here are vaulted, with pale colored walls to offset the dark wood wainscotting. Winged-back chairs, comfortable chaise lounges, and wood-framed sofas are arranged throughout the room, creating comfortable knots of seating where members of the Sauveur house cluster in small groups. There is an open archway that is protected by electrostatic fields, leading out onto a broad terrace that provides comfortable outdoor seating when the weather is right. The shielding staves off wind, rain, and other elements to maintain an internal comfort while providing an external view.

There are several hallways extending off this room, leading to the various apartments held by members of the Sauveur family.

Monday, March 17 3014

To: Cyrielle.Hollolas@HouseHollolas
From: Advent.Sauveur@HouseSauveur

Can't turn this off. Need your help. Don't tell Lyr. - Advent

The text messages were vague and the guards seem to have an idea of what's required. They will let Cyrielle up to the family sitting room where all the lights are off. The fire place is on and it seems like Advent is under a blanket hiding something. His knees are up and he's resting a book on them. His skin is not right. It seems rather pale and dry. All that is seen from the door is his hands. Every so often his hand lifts to push it towards the fire to warm himself. The room is rather warm on it's own though.

This is not how Cyrielle imagined her first visit to the Royal Tower. Then again, the woman has rarely ever imagined visiting the Royal Tower. Perhaps, from time to time, as a girl she would. Especially once she began in her father's navy. Imagining some great feat and coming before the Sauveurs in an official setting to be commended for her actions.

Since then, however… well, let's just say the woman is a bit out of sorts as she makes her way in on her crutches. Cyrielle is winded, having pushed herself to get from Mott's in Arboren to… here. The Ways are a glorious thing. "Lord Advent?" There's a slight nod of appreciation to the guards as she makes her way further into the sitting room.

The towers are protected in this time of war and each room is warm and inviting. Advent closes the book and brings the blanket closer to him and peaks towards the door, seeing the woman on crutches. He jumps up and moves towards her. His face still in shadow though there is ash falling around him. "I'm so sorry! Can I help you to the couch? It's very comfortable. Can I get you something to drink? Something to eat? Would you like fuzzy slippers?" He keeps himself veiled under the blanket, in darkness while he speaks to her with a voice full of concern. "How is your ankle?"

The concern earns a bit of surprise from Cyrielle and she almost draws back slightly, leaning against the crutches as she does so. "Fu… fuzzy slippers? No, no, Lord Advent. It's all fine." She nods towards the couch, though her eyes drop to the blanket, brow furrowed. "It's… I'm tired, is all. I'm still not used to it, I guess. Waiting for some pain meds to set in."

Eyes narrowed slightly to see better in the dark, Cyrielle looks to the Sauveur with some concern. "What happened? What's… happening?"

Advent nods slowly, he turns to the couch revealing his face in the fire for a split second. Something is off about his face. An Awakened would know the signs of the aura showing. He moves to the couch, making sure she get there. "A lot happened… I got upset. Now I can't turn it off." He grumbles quietly in an undertone. He doesn't seem too impressed with himself. He keeps the blanket covering himself waiting for her to rest.

There's a slight furrow of Cyrielle's brow as she gets a better look at Advent. "I thought… maybe it was something with your leg," she murmurs softly, lowering onto the couch. The crutches are set aside as she gets settled in, hands folding lightly in her lap. "It's… you're Awakened." Brow furrows as she thinks back to their previous meeting. "I…" She doesn't quite know where to proceed. "Is it recent? What… ah, tell me what happened."

Advent takes a seat at a close chair and keeps the blanket around himself. "I … don't tell many people. Also, if my leg was on a spree or something I believe the message you'd get would be 'My leg has gone berserk. Any ideas?'" He hunches forward. "I've been having dreams since I was fourteen. I never wanted more so … I didn't work at it. I should have learned to control it better cause now when I am badly physically hurt or an emotional wreck, … I turn into this visage of a monster and I didn't get nice eyes, calming aura… I got death…"

Biting into her lip slightly, Cyrielle looks towards the fire. "What'd your family do? I was fourteen, myself… Got sent to study with a family friend, in The Spine. I feel practically as Arboren as they come nowadays." Her lips curve in a brief smile, but it doesn't remain. She shifts and looks back towards him. There's a sorrow there.

"I know the feeling," the woman admits, voice still soft. "It was my accident that triggered it in me. I think that's why intense pain or… emotions can bring things forth." Cyrielle tilts her head. "What do you mean by… death? No auras match, Lord Advent."

Advent sighs. "I got sent to the Vale to be a squire. The knight understood and I slept on the floor by his bed so he could help when I was afraid." He keeps himself wrapped up. Hiding the facial expressions flitting over his face for Arboren. "Mine didn't explode out of me nor did I have an epiphany. I had a nightmare one night…that was a prophetic. I didn't realize it then it happened and then another…then another… until I couldn't ignore it." The head under the blanket shakes and he sighs. "My aura is of death. My sisters are beautiful. Everyone I've seen are powerful and stunning. I was told it reflects what is inside… mine is darkness." He sounds afraid. Then he follows that with a barely audible whisper, "All I am is darkness."

"I've never heard that," Cyrielle murmurs, her head tilting slightly. "I feel an aura is reflective of… a person's capabilities, perhaps. What they're inclined towards. Or maybe the path they're meant for." She draws in a breath and lets her state come over her, eyes fading into white. An arm extends and an ephemeral vine of a soft green shows there, winding its way around her. "I don't feel this reflects what lies inside at all."

Those white eyes study the Sauvuer and she shifts, trying to find a position of comfort for her leg. "I… don't know how much I can offer, Lord Advent, but let me try. I've gotten past the nightmares and found control where I thought there wasn't…" Cyrielle reaches a hand towards him, leaning forward, aiming to place it on his leg lightly; if he doesn't show a distaste for it. "You can work past this."

Advent feels her hand on his leg and he pulls the blanket from around himself, letting it fall around him. His eyes are as black as darkness itself and the veins around his eyes are black and snaking down his cheek and up on his forehead but they sink into his skin disappearing an inch away from each eye. His skin is pale and ash falls around him and when he thinks, red lightning strikes over his skin. He stays looking at his legs and her hand. "I was meant for destruction?" He sounds so very small. He keeps his hands in his lap and his breathing is uneven. "I'm upset so I can't turn it off. I've tried and I just get upset again. It's stupid too. It's my fault and I didn't think." The lightning starts to strike faster around him and the temperature starts to drop, while the little things on the table start to slide away from him.

"Destruction isn't a bad thing," Cyrielle says, shifting to move to the edge of the sofa she's sat on. Since he hasn't resisted, she does reach to try to take his hands in her own. It's a friendly, supportive gesture. Her palms might still be slightly sweaty from grasping the crutches, even. "Destruction, in nature, brings life. A fallen tree becomes home to all sorts of wildlife. Small animals, bugs… As it rots, it feeds the soil, which becomes more fertile so that new trees and plants can grow."

The woman is keeping her voice even; tapping into her skill for dissembling. Cyrielle keeps her own aura up, letting it spread further. It does, however, not spread past her right knee. Her cybernetic limb seems to miss out on the wending and winding vines. "And I could be wrong. I used to only find nature within my grasp and now… when I reach for it in the heat of the moment, I come away with the storm." Still even, still level, she's trying to give him focus. Trying to ignore the changes in their surroundings. "When you willingly tap into this, Lord Advent, what do you feel?"

Fingers curl around her hand and his eyes close slowly, hiding those dark onyx eyes. "Destruction might bring life but it brings pain first." The book flies against the wall and his eyes open to watch the book as if it offended him. "I feel angry, afraid, upset. I get waves of each. Betrayal and rage." He bows his head again and brings his other hand up to his face. "I rarely willingly tap into this. It comes against me and holds on while I feel those emotions. Most of the time I can hide it because I'm in armor or have enough time to hide." He sounds like he's tearing up behind the hand. "I'm broken… do you have any glue?" He tries to make a joke but the chuckle is choked out by his breathing.

"Breathe," Cyrielle offers. It's not quite an order, but there's a firmness behind her voice. "Life is pain, Lord Advent. We all suffer, but it's how we handle the suffering that let's us grow. You can work past this. You can learn to control it." She squeezes his hand gently, but doesn't pull or press beyond that.

Lips curl somewhat into a wry smile. "I haven't any glue, but I can offer support and a willing ear. Sometimes that's better. Tell me about it. What made you upset? Why do you think it's your fault?" Cyrielle will cast a glance towards the guards, offering a brief nod. Keeping them aware that she's fine and has everything — as far as she's aware — in hand.

Advent is breathing, quickly but it becomes controlled when she speaks. "I was trying to woo a Lady. A second attempt. My first ended badly. New Lady new chance… I am horrible with Ladies. She never even noticed I was there… and in her words, that I was of note until I got upset. She's been seen… with others. I stayed in her home for a month attempting to court her and men came and went from her chambers and I finally left… When I explained, she told me that I hadn't made my intentions clear. It was my fault. She wanted to try again knowing I was wanting to woo her. I fell to fast for someone who didn't even notice I was there…" The table flips.

There's a brief flinch as the table flips and Cyrielle's own aura flares. The edges of the vines shift and darken; the leaves seeming singed before the whole of it tightens in around her limbs. Seeming to find a renewed life. The Hollolas draws in a slow breath. "I'm sorry," she murmurs softly. "I truly am. Courting, in our lives is… no easy task. It is hoped we find love and even when we do, there… there is no guarantee, for politics may get in the way."

There's a moment of quiet and she sits up a bit straighter, whited-over eyes watching the Sauveur. "You'll recover from this, I'm sure, Lord Sauveur. You are a member of the royal line and a knight. Your heart will heal…" She leans in again, voice softer: "Perhaps it is not darkness or death that brings this aura, but pain. And if so, pain can be healed."

Advent watches her flinch then all the vines tighten. "…unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded. For some unfortunates, it turns bitter and mean, and those who come after pay the price for the hurt done by the one who came before." He slowly bows his head letting it hang between his shoulders. "I don't want to hurt anyone else. I kill too many as it is." He takes her hand, which is holding his own and brings it in towards his chest, holding it against his sternum. She can see and now feel his slow breathing.

"I cannot say, for myself, Lord Advent," Cyrielle murmurs softly, watching him. She seems mollified by the steadied breathing. "Whenever I would return from the forests, from my mentor, I would drown myself within parties, alcohol, drugs. I wanted to feel everything and yet nothing at all." She draws in a slow breath, "Opening to another person is a terrifying thing. Moreso, sometimes, than facing a Hostile."

Cyrielle swallows, white-veiled eyes narrowing slightly as she studies the Sauveur. "But… I've learned it's important. And it shows how strong and brave you are that you've let yourself be open to feeling such things. I'm not sure I could be that strong. Use that. Become that. Perhaps you are death and destruction, but you are also the life that comes after."

Advent keeps her hand against his chest and he's curled around it. "I do not fear the hostiles. I respect them enough to study their tactics so I can best tear their ranks apart." The voice is cold and calculated. It takes him a moment at the most to lift his face to hers. "Even a phoenix must rest in her egg before rebirth." Slowly his aura starts to fade, showing for a small moment his vibrant green tinged blue eyes before it comes back and his face contorts into rage and he bows his head again and hisses out.

The brief showing of color in his eyes is enough to push Cyrielle forward. Or perhaps she might have either way. As he bows his head, the Hollolas moves forward from the couch. She'll pay for it later, but her therapist will be glad she's pushing herself a bit more. The woman shifts to her knees before the man, resting lightly against her heels.

"Stay with me, Advent." He'll forgive her later for dropping the title. "Yes, the phoenix must rest. She burns bright, brilliant, and goes out in an amazing display… then returns, after her rest, renewed and stronger than before. You can do the same." Cyrielle draws in a slow breath, keeping herself focused. "You hurt now and I can't even begin to fathom how badly, but it will get better. It won't go away, but you'll adapt. It'll become a part of you and you'll use it to steel your reserve in the future."

Advent is watching her feet and then her ankle and the movement. His hand holds her own tightly now. "I don't exist until I am hurt. That was essentially what… was said." He shakes his head and frowns. "You shouldn't be bending like this." Worry sounding in his voice now. He moves off his chair and sits on the floor so she too can sit to avoid hurting herself. "Does it really get better? I am getting more and more bitter. The Lady who ends up wed to me will be miserable. I give up, milady. I give my heart to people and they break it and give it back. Sometimes it's best to leave it broken because repairing it will hurt more."

"That's what one person said," Cyrielle murmurs, even as she shakes her head to try to brush off his concern. She does not, however, argue or resist his move to sit on the floor. He's a royal; she's a mere vassal… and a woman who oft hates her noble heritage as of late. "I… I know bitterness, m'Lord. Trust me, I do. I have lived long with it, but… it is just that. Something I live with. It has become a part of me, but I do not fight it."

The woman lapses into a quiet, shifting to let her leg stretch out. Cyrielle draws in a slow breath, letting it out slowly. "Perhaps… this time… let it heal. And keep it safe. Guard it, like a secret or a treasure. The right person for you… they will make it known. They will be willing to go through the work it takes to be given the gift of your heart."

Advent finally releases her hand as it's only proper to do so. He stares at the fire with black eyes and a chill about him. "Just… Advent." He corrects her quietly. "I don't feel it anymore. You know that life you feel when you are young, the energy, the verve. That small voice in your head telling you everything is possible and nothing tried is ever wasted." He turns his eyes to her. "It's gone. I don't feel that…life or that gumption. Silence. Just my pounding heart as a beat of war drum begging me onto the battlefield. The war is all I have left. I can't give a rotten gift, milady. It would be cruel and unbefitting of a knight."

"Just Cyrielle," is offered in return. With her hand released, Cyrielle retracts it to rest in her lap. As he watches the fire, she watches him. There's a small breath drawn and she finally looks away. Her white gaze falls to her hand, but soon she releases the Awakened state. The soft glow of the green vines fades away and leaves her as… she is. "My first few months within the forest were full of my being sullen. Angry. All I wanted in life, up to that point, was to be a Captain. To serve my family in the fleet. Instead, I had a mangled leg, a fear of the ocean, and these powers I didn't want… Powers I think my family still fears."

Drawing in a breath, Cyrielle lifts her chin to look to Advent. "But… I'm learning. I'm learning that the Six have a plan for us all. The Father does not allow more to befall us than we can each handle. He set me on this path for a reason. I don't know what it is yet, but I'm trying. I got my leg replaced. I finally braved the oceans again…" Her voice lowers a touch, a small smile coming to her features. Something wistful; as if reflecting on something past. "We cannot judge the worth of our own heart, for it is not ours to judge."

Advent keeps his eyes on the fire. "You can still serve if it is what you wish." He turns his face finally to look at her, the black eyes still strong for the moment. "Plans aren't always glorious…sometimes you are the example for another's life…to prevent pain. Sometimes your the doormat. Sometimes you are the lonely one. Cyrielle I'm turning twenty eight. I've never kissed another person. I've only murdered. What about that…sounds like it's a good thing?" He takes a deep breath before noticing something. "Someone told you that…" His voice is quiet. "You… looked happy for a moment. Who told you that? Can you tell me about them?" His voice barely audible over the crackling of the fireplace beside them.

"Never?" Cyrielle's brow furrows as she mulls that over. "I… I've had a lot of flings. It's… well, if you simply want to kiss someone, or be with someone, the clubs…" Her shoulders rise and fall in a small shrug, her cheeks color. "Citizens aren't off limits to us, Advent. But… I understand what you mean. You want a kiss that means something. I… cut myself off from all of that for a long time. I would let myself go, find meaningless moments. I thought it'd fulfill me. It didn't."

There's a pause at his question and her brow furrows. Cyrielle exhales slowly, giving a small shake of her head. "Someone didn't tell me, I… came to realize it. I came to realize much of it just recently, really." Her eyes, dark brown, but the color there, rise to regard the Sauveur. "He's broken in his own ways. Just as I am. I… I do not feel his heart, should he give it to me, is a rotten gift. In fact… I think it's an even greater gift. That he'd be willing to share it with me, even though he's been hurt before."

Advent brings his knees to his chest. "I'm old fashioned I guess. I want my kiss to be with someone who I'm going to spend my life with. I think, if I don't know how to do it, as I've never tried, then I'm easily trainable, haven't picked up any bad habits and if they really care about me then they might feel a possession about being the only one to touch my lips or do other things." He flushes a little and exhales, letting the black disappear from his eyes. The clear greenish blue watching the Lady in front of him. He listens to her and tilts his head, his curls flopping over slightly. "Who is this man you fancy? Is there hope for you both to be together?"

There's a bit of a smirk — something feral — at Advent's words, but Cyrielle lets it fade away into a warmer smile as the color returns to his eyes. "Ah! There you go. I knew you could get there." She draws up her left leg — the human one — and drapes an arm over it. She's attired in dark clothing that drapes at different angles, with buckles. It speaks of dark forests… or streets. "Ah… I trust you could keep it a secret, perhaps. As we nobles are," here, distaste shows, "not meant to date, just to await banns. Makes one wonder how love matches ever occur."

A soft exhale and Cyrielle's glancing towards the hall that surely leads to the private rooms. A sudden realization sinking in. Still, she's begun. "Lord Nitrim Khournas. As for hope of us being together… Ah, well. That's a tricky question."

Well, he was calm. "Of course I will keep a secret." He really will. Then the name and his eyes turn back and the lightning starts to strike and he quickly looks away and focuses on the fire. His lips bitten hard and he's not saying anything now. He's completely stiff and unmoving. His eyes trying to focus on the fire and he's not breathing. His hands turn into fists against his pants and after a few minutes he whispers out. "Whatever your decision, I truly hope you are happy." It's sincere even with the vein of rage behind it.

If only she had put two and two together sooner. She was so focused on helping him… Cyrielle winces as the aura falls over the man again and she starts to reach for Advent's hand once more… but holds herself back. Her hand slowly retracts and she draws a slow breath. "Advent… I know his name is not one welcome here. I'm sorry. I… I met him just before the betrothal was called off." Unsure what to do, she leans back, her shoulders butting up against the front of the sofa she had been sitting on earlier.

"I'm not going to defend him. I don't… I don't know what went on between them. I just know who he is now and…" Cyrielle draws in a slow breath, looking towards the fire. "I never wanted to fall in love. I evaded every attempt my mother made to match me with this or that vassal. I just wanted to be a druid, left to the forests, if I couldn't be a Captain of a ship. Life is confusing and difficult, Advent. We make of it what we will… and I promise you, the person that cares about you will love you for your past and future, broken parts and all."

Advent keeps his eyes on the fire and he frowns. He's trying to stay calm. "The pain of packing up her home and saying goodbye…because she ended her life because of his infidelity and him playing games with her emotions. If he is a changed man, than he is a better man than he was, if I could call his previous incarnation a man. I will trust your better judgment in matters of…that one." His words spoken from between clenched teeth. The world starts to go cold and even the fire burns within itself for warmth. "Cyrielle, I do not want love. Not anymore. There is war to be had and unless I am fighting in it, I am a waste of fury." He pushes himself up fluidly and walks towards the fire, ash falling away from him as if parting. He leans against the fireplace and shakes his head. "Perhaps the Six want me to hate so deeply that I am never alone. I have it in the pit of my stomach. I fight to release it. Then I die. Finally free of this shit we call a life." He turns away from the fire and sits heavily on the chair. His eyes shark black now. A cold anger surrounding him.

"Advent…" Cyrielle realizes her voice has a pleading tone. She closes her eyes and draws in a slow, deep breath. "I don't know what happened between them. I'm not going to tell you to forgive him. But I know… her death affected him deeply. It still does. And now he's suffering the loss of a sister in the war… He's a changed man, yes, and I am fortunate to serve witness to it."

She watches the Sauveur rise, jaw tightening again. A sorrow writes itself within Cyrielle's eyes; a desire to help, an uncertainty as to how. "Advent… the Six would never wish that on anyone. They do not give us trials other than those we can bear." She looks to her leg, to the distance of her crutches. Hands reach up behind her to the edge of the couch and with a grunt, she starts working her way to sit on it. "I recen-" her breath catches as she takes a moment to struggle to the seat.

Advent shakes his head. "Or he was acting to get laid." He snarls out under his breath. "He's been with more women, promised things to so many Ladies, then breaks their hearts. I truly hope you are different." He hears her struggling and turns to help her get to the seat. He pulls away and stares at her. "The six do not give us trials we cannot bear. I can bear being alone. I can bear hatred. I can bear being only the soldier. Perhaps, the Six understand that sometimes, people need to serve as examples in times like this and those examples never get the cushy life. They do not get love. They do not feel the warmth of another's touch. The Six know I have broad shoulders and after everything, I believe that's where they point me now." He steps away from. "At least I know my destiny."

There's a slight shift of Cyrielle's jaw. She wants to argue it, she does… but she also knows the need to mourn. To grieve. And this is the man's need. To lash out in some way. "He would say he deserves this." That is all the Hollolas woman will offer. Though she wants to resist the aid, she doesn't want to be seen rebuffing a royal any more than she already has.

"Advent… I was, until recently, addicted to AMP." Perhaps she still is, but hasn't admitted to it yet. Cyrielle swallows. "It began as a way to… push past my bad leg. To forget the pain of the Dreams we Awakened get. But it became more… I went on a pilgrimage within the Forest of Eden. I wanted to be off of it and I wanted to be sure I was doing the right thing, in giving up my leg…" She looks towards the fire, sinking into the sofa. Trying to make herself smaller, perhaps. "The Six were there with me. I know what I have suffered is for a reason and I know they want the best for me… I don't think they would ever… doom someone to suffer just to serve as an example to others."

Advent shakes his head. "Course he would… while his internal monologue would tell a different story." He takes a deep breath and frowns. "Your destiny is different than mine. I believe in the Six being balanced. I see the death in this war and I see all these happy couples ignoring the fact people are being killed. Someone must pay for their ignorance." He walks towards the small kitchenette. "Without the dark, you cannot contrast the light. Without pain, pleasure is meaningless. Without death, life is valueless. Everything must have it's opposite to mean anything. Someone out there in this world is living happily. I am giving them that." He shakes his head again and brushes his fingers through his hair. "If that is all I can give, so be it." He pours some water and keeps his back to her. "You have found your way at least and…" He stops when a messanger walks in and hands him a letter. It has the crest of Arboren on it. "I apologize…one moment." He opens the letter and reads it over. He looks more and more crushed before he puts the letter back in the envelope and turns his back to Cyrielle. There is a pained sound that comes from his gut and the glass breaks in his hand as the letter is crushed in the other one.

The first finally does get to Cyrielle and she struggles to her feet, grabbing for her crutches. "That's not fair," she says, voice pitched slightly odd. There's a glimmer of green at the edges of her person. "You can't know his — or anyone's — inner thoughts." She gets to her feet, ignoring the pain that comes from the rapid movements. She starts moving towards him, there in the kitchenette… but pauses with the message brought. There's a frown and whatever else she had been about to say dies upon her lips.

"Advent…" The Hollolas moves in closer and moves one of the crutches to rest against a counter, reaching an arm out — haltingly at first — towards the Sauveur, trying to pull him into a hug. "Enough of that. I didn't come here to discuss my life. I came to help you. What's happened?"

Advent feels her attempt to pull him into a hug and he pulls away letting his bleeding hand fall to his side. The letter in his hands crushed and the tears down his face speaks enough volumes. What ever he just read was not taken well. "More salt." Is all he can get out as he pushes back against the wall. He stays standing but his shoulders are slumped forward and his hair is hiding his face but the painful noises are there. The aura is now as strong as ever and there is a vibration pushing through the air, a heavy thumping as if the very beats of his heart were trying to crush the room.

The bleeding is noticed and Cyrielle swears softly. She looks towards the letter he holds and frowns. The woman sets aside her other crutch and uses the counters in the kitchenette to support herself. She locates a small first aid kit, meant for kitchen accidents. There's bandages and cleansing supplies enough. "Get over here," she mutters; that hint of command back in her voice. The woman would have made a good Captain.

"I am sorry for what happened to Lady Soleil. I did not know her, but I mourn the loss of any Havenite." Cyrielle looks towards him as she arranges a few items on the counter's surface. "And I'm sorry the person my heart has chosen pains you. We don't choose who we love… If we did, would you be in as much pain?" She reaches out towards him, waiting for that hand. "Talk to me, Advent. Focus."

Advent doesn't move towards her yet it's clear he heard her. His bleeding hands turns into a fist which smashes the glass further into the flesh of his hand. He shakes his head and a finally pain-filled expulsion of frustration before it seems like the air itself is pulled from the room and slams into the royals chest dropping him hard into the ground unbreathing for a few moments before he sucks life giving air into his lungs. There are a few unsteady inhales before they end up being a large inhale and smaller quick inhales right after as if the air brought in was not enough. The hand holding the letter like a vice is beside him.

The young woman is already unsteady on her feet and the other Awakened's use of power, unfettered, almost drags her to the floor as well. Cyrielle draws in an unsteady breath, steeling herself against the counter. She shoves the stuff back in the kit and growls slightly under her breath. At this rate, the guards will throw her out of the Royal Tower… if she's lucky. They might blame this all on her and put her in jail.

Grabbing the kit, Cyrielle stumbles across the short distance until she falls to a knee in front of Advent. She grits her teeth, letting out a low hiss of pain. Not waiting for him this time, she snaps open the kit and reaches for his hand. "Breathe, Advent. Take in a breath, count to ten, let it out. Focus on the pain in your hand. Think of nothing else. Just the pain in your hand."

Advent's hand comes easily and limply. The glass shards in his hand like annoying long splinters. His eyes are closed and his breathing stays uneven and harsh. The guard at the door comes in and stares at the scene. "He did that last night. I asked him what was wrong and then boom… knocked himself out with his own powers. I will leave you to fix his hand, if you need help I'll just be outside the door." The door opens and closes behind the guard. The royals breathing finally starts to even out and he rolls to his side, hand still out to Cyrielle, as his knees curl up. "I grew up believing that no one would ever fall in love with me. That I'd be lonely forever and I'd never meet someone that made me feel like they build the sun for me. So my broken heart bled on the battlefield as I tried to empty myself so I would feel nothing. Don't tell me that hurts less than a cut on my hand."

Situating herself again on her knees, Cyrielle uses the pain herself. The pain in her legs is used as a focus, keeping her own Awakened abilities in check. She brings Advent's hand into her lap and grabs a pair of tweezers from the kit. Each shard is carefully removed. There's a small nod to the guard, but she remains focused on the Sauveur.

"I'm not telling you it hurts less. I'm telling you, right now, in this moment, to focus on the physical pain." Cyrielle glances up, gauging the level of his aura. "I'm teaching you how to control it, Advent. You find ways to focus. Right now, I want you to use the pain. Focus on it. Let it fill your mind."

Advent exhales and focuses on each thin blade of glass being pulled from his hand. His aura doesn't rise again, he's still just Advent with no aura. He's breathing slowly, still gripping that letter tightly in his fist but not saying anything about it. "Thank you for being here. I'm sorry I've been so rude." His voice projects exhaustion and an undertone of pain. "You deserve to be happy and I really hope you end up happy."

"You haven't been rude," Cyrielle assures, setting each piece of glass in a waiting container. Something small and disposable from the first aid kit. "You've been honest. I appreciate honesty… even when it's difficult to bear." She does cast a glance towards the letter he grips, but she holds back curiosity. For the moment.

"If I deserve happiness… then so do you, Advent." Cyrielle sets aside the tweezers once the pieces of glass are freed from his hand, reaching for a cloth with a sanitizing solution on it to begin cleaning the wounds themselves. "And no, I won't hear otherwise. You're a kind man who has been hurt. That's all."

Advent takes a few more breaths and shakes his head, disagreeing with her silently. He thrumps his head down on the floor and lets her clean his cuts. No complains at all. No wincing or visual pain cues. He just lies there looking up at the ceiling and breathing slowly. His hand still bleeds cause glass cuts suck. "I have been rude. I belittled someone you care about. That was inappropriate and vulgar. It was unbecoming of my character and I apologize."

"You did so because of what he did to someone you care about," Cyrielle points out gently. "I care about him, yes, but I'm not going to deny that he has done things that are wrong." She's not gentle, either, with the cleaning… Not on purpose, but out of a simple lack of knowledge. It's a simple tending to, thankfully, but she's no medic.

"I can tell you, honestly, that he would rather you lash out than keep it in. For courtesy's sake or not." Cyrielle does glance towards Advent's eyes from time to time, ensuring the color is still there. Once his hand is clean, she takes a bandage and starts winding it around; leaving his thumb free, but ensuring the palm is firmly applied with pressure from the wrapping. "Either way, consider yourself forgiven."

Advent gives her a small nod. The mention of 'him' makes his eyes shine black but they stay blue. He sits up slowly and looks at his hand. "Thank you and thank you for this. I am really exhausted though. I think I exerted more energy than this old body had left for today." He does look much more ragged after that push of power. He stands up slowly and holds his hands for her. "Let me help you for a moment."

"You did quite a bit," Cyrielle affirms, moving to tuck things into the kit. She closes the container, so that it can be cleaned up later. "Our Awakened powers are not endless. They come from within." She glances to him as he stands and there's a small smile. "I will be twenty-two in just a few days. I am not so much younger and I find myself oft-reminded by our elders that life is just beginning."

She looks to her crutches- too far off. Cyrielle accepts Advent's hands to get to her feet. It's slow-going and she winces with each movement of her right leg. "I'm honored you trusted me enough to call on me for this."

Advent wraps his arm around her middle and lifts her right up off the floor and walks to her crutches. He carefully puts her down and shakes his head. "I feel like a senior sometimes." He tosses the letter on the table and grins at her. "I had to trust someone eventually… I hope you return the trust to me some day. I'd be equally honored." He bows his head and grins to her. "Let me walk you out, do you need a lift to your home?"

There's a brief flutter of hands; Cyrielle wasn't expecting to be carried to her crutches. But again, there's no protest. The woman balances herself once set down and grabs up the crutches, setting her forearms against the upper braces. She's becoming more able on them, yes, but… she's still not happy with them.

"Consider it returned," Cyrielle murmurs, giving a small shake of her head at the offer. "I'm sure as soon as there's word I'm arriving at the Ways in Beacon, there will be members of my House there to ensure I make it safely to the Hand." There is a small smile, but she will let him walk her to the Ways in Landing.

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