[It's telling, this brief pause that follows. Connor hasn't forgotten the promise he made to be more careful, and likely tossing himself into the eye of the Storm did not qualify. Hilariously off the mark, and he's not going to insult his friend by feigning ignorance or obliviousness to this.
There is the consideration, however, that Arenvald might be upset. His mind tries to go through all the ways to word his reply, before Connor decides upon a more straightforward approach. It's difficult spin this in a more pleasant manner.]
I went into the eye of the Storm with a handful of others. The Device needed activating, and I was one of the very few who possessed the knowledge of how to do so.
[ He is more than half expecting for Connor to admit that he went near the Storm despite being warned, despite his near brush with death and the terror that it brought. What he does not expect is for Connor to admit that he was out in the middle of the damned thing! ]
The eye of the— By the Twelve, Connor. Are you all right? Where are you?
[Surprise is better than reprimand, though perhaps the former is too much like a splash of water in the face for the latter to quite rise to the surface yet. Connor has already prepared a multitude of responses in his mind, but he attends to Arenvald's request for information first.]
In one of the tents set up for recovery and generalized first aid. [He provides him with a more specific location in the city.]
But I told you-- I'm fine. I'm simply taking time to recover, and I'll be at a fully functional status sooner rather than later.
...Of course. [Oh, he almost scoffs, but reins in this impulse.]
I won't be going anywhere for a while.
[He can move, now, but he cannot move quickly nor for a terribly long time. At least by now Connor's found a chair, and has taken up trying to look somewhat dignified by remaining seated and not being a useless mess slouched over on the ground.]
[ The communication ends there, but it doesn’t take Arenvald too terribly long to track Connor down. He ducks into the tent area, giving some of the BGs a friendly nod as he does. Most of them are too busy to pay him much notice, and he can hardly fault them for that.
He spots Connor in a chair across the way and plucks up a vacant chair for himself as he heads over. He plops his chair and himself down next to his friend. ]
[The smile he gives him is worn and almost apologetic; but he’s glad to see Arenvald as he enters the tent. Good to know that he’s uninjured and in one piece after fighting the rage of the Storm in his own way.]
My presence was required, as I said. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done it, I wouldn’t have risked—
[He pauses, then realigns to another statement. But the implication is clear: risked everything.]
[ His ridiculous suit of armor came in handy in keeping him mostly unscathed. Rion's fashion sense was very much appreciated, but when it came to dealing with flying debris, there's something to be said for good old-fashioned plate mail. ]
It seems it did.
[ He's still not exactly happy about Connor putting himself in danger, but he gets why he did it. And can Arenvald really rebuke him when he himself ran headlong into danger? ]
How did you even manage to get to the middle of the Storm?
The BGs provided me with a protective suit that kept the electromagnetic radiation at bay in a very... limited capacity. It was burdensome and the shielding was temporary at best, but it provided me with just enough time to connect to the Device and active it fully.
[Connor shifts in his seat, eying Arenvald closely. As if he's expecting a reaction that's not yet come, constantly braced for disapproval that surely must still be lurking in the background.]
[ A lot of that doesn’t mean much to Arenvald, but he has seen healers (and others) who can shield, so that is the comparison he draws. A limited barrier, then. At least it kept Connor alive. ]
I… A little bit, I suppose. It seems all I’ve done since we got here is to tell you to be careful, only for you to turn around and do something dangerous, but I’m not going to yell at you or anything. Were we facing down something that could be fought with a sword, I’d have surely put myself in harm’s way as well.
[ He reaches over, resting a hand on Connor’s shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. ]
[The gesture is… appreciated, really, in the way that Connor doesn’t attempt to analyze how to react to it, what to say. Perhaps it'ss the heavy weight of practically having to reboot himself, waiting for that period for everything to slide back into the category of normalcy again, that he choses not to expend the effort, and merely accepts it for a sign of friendship and camaraderie.
Maybe he’s glad that he’s all right, too, and to be in the company of a friend once more. Maybe it’s because the tension of everything has slowly drained away, from everyone with the Storm gone.]
Thank you, Arenvald. The sentiment is mutual.
[His mouth tilts up in a slightly crooked grin, just a whisper of a thing.]
Our next mission, whatever it is… I will do my best to avoid this level of consistent danger.
[ It’s good to see Connor smile, even just slightly. Outside of their jaunts on odd job after first arriving, this whole stay has been fraught with danger for his friend, and Arenvald knows he hasn’t made the situation much easier, harping on him as he had been. (Even if he does feel it’s deserved.) ]
You’d better. Save some danger for the rest of us.
[The small fleck of amusement is lingering enough to not leave his eyes just yet, despite everything. Such is the power of good company, he supposes -- better than left to recover in a tent on his own, with many coming and going, again and again.]
Of course. It would be a shame if you wore all that armor for show only.
[Actually-]
What was your part in dispelling the Storm, if I may ask?
[ Arenvald is all too glad to provide company if someone needs it – he knew loneliness when it was at its darkest, its biggest and coldest, and so he strives to make sure no one else has to experience that, even to a lesser degree.
And, well, he does enjoy Connor’s company. Their friendship came together quickly, and he very much treasures it. The other’s presence to be a bright spot all its own. ]
Me? I went with some others to set the pins around the Storm. Not half as dangerous as what you went through, but the wind sure was nasty.
[ His armor kept most of his safe, it’s true, but he’s got a nice scratch on one cheek. An angry red line carved through his usual white warpaint. ]
[The injury across his cheek is easily noted, had been noted the moment Arenvald wandered into the tent. It sings brightly against the whiteness of his friend's warpaint, a stark difference in color and texture.
Connor reaches up to gesture at his own face with a finger, mirroring where the scratch lies across Arenvald's.]
[ The blinks, tracking the motion of Connor’s hand with his eyes. Ah, yes. It’s a pretty minor injury, all things considered, and he’d almost forgotten about it. ]
Ah, just a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing major, I promise. There was just all sorts of debris getting flung about, and it caught me a few times.
[ He can’t help but laugh. Not that he doesn’t appreciate the show of concern, but the way Connor presents it is so… factual, and he finds something about that funny. ]
I can pop over there and get it cleaned up if that would make you feel better.
[ “Over there” being one of the tables manned by a handful of the BGs, which he indicates with a tilt of his head. ]
All right, all right. I'm going. I'd hate to have you nagging at me all day.
[ It's said with good humor as he rises from his seat, giving Connor one last pat on the shoulder before he departs.
Arenvald wanders over to the table, exchanging a few words with an android manning it - a BG with a face of dirty, once-white silicon that puckers in odd places when she moves her mouth, and large, dark eyes, almost like the lenses of sunglasses. She offers him a crooked smile and reaches across the counter to tend to the scratch on Arenvald's face with some sort of sterile wipe. The warpaint around the mark comes away as she wipes at it, and when she moves her hand to clean the rest of the paint away, he stops her.
It's fine, his lips form the shape of the words, though there's enough bustle in the tent that it's hard to pick up his voice. I'd rather you leave it.
She tilts her head, confused, but ultimately complies, pressing something like a white band-aid to his skin. It's oddly soothing, whatever medication they have on it, and he leaves the table with a word of thanks to resume his place next to Connor. ]
[(You joke, Arenvald... and so does Connor, but he really would've been nagging at you about it all day.)
His eyes track his friend, casually, as he makes his way over to the BG who had been tending to the non-critical wounds of many who had visited throughout the day. He watches, merely observing, simply because it's what he does, what comes naturally to him. Watches as the android cleans the cut, wiping away a little at the warpaint that always adorns Arenvald's face. Furrows his brow slightly as Arenvald politely stops her, mouth forming words he cannot quite make out, but can create approximate guesses at.
Connor realizes that he's never seen Arenavld without the strokes of warpaint across his face. Aesthetic, he thought, perhaps cultural. But its significance -- in whatever degree it might be -- is therefore highlighted to him, watching this transpire.
When he comes back to him, Connor nods.]
Satisfied. [Ah, but wait for it. Here it comes, that question behind his eyes making its way to his lips.] Though, I noticed something that I'm curious about.
[ Arenvald, for his part, can’t think of anything that happened between points A and B that would pique the other’s curiosity, and his brows arch in surprise. ]
[ He realizes then that Connor must have caught the exchange he just had with the BG, and he rubs at the back of his neck, obviously self-conscious.
It's not like he wants to keep his reasons a secret from Connor -- he trusts him, would trust him with his life, even -- but he's not so sure he wants to get into the whole mess that is his past right now. ]
I, ah. Had kid of a nasty injury when I was a kid. Warpaint covers up the scar.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
What do you mean, you’re fine now? Did something happen?
[ Knowing Connor as he has come to since they’ve been here, he very much suspects that something did happen. ]
no subject
There is the consideration, however, that Arenvald might be upset. His mind tries to go through all the ways to word his reply, before Connor decides upon a more straightforward approach. It's difficult spin this in a more pleasant manner.]
I went into the eye of the Storm with a handful of others. The Device needed activating, and I was one of the very few who possessed the knowledge of how to do so.
no subject
The eye of the— By the Twelve, Connor. Are you all right? Where are you?
no subject
In one of the tents set up for recovery and generalized first aid. [He provides him with a more specific location in the city.]
But I told you-- I'm fine. I'm simply taking time to recover, and I'll be at a fully functional status sooner rather than later.
[At least, he sure hopes so.]
no subject
I’d still like to come see you, if that’s all right.
[ As if he were not already on his way. ]
no subject
I won't be going anywhere for a while.
[He can move, now, but he cannot move quickly nor for a terribly long time. At least by now Connor's found a chair, and has taken up trying to look somewhat dignified by remaining seated and not being a useless mess slouched over on the ground.]
no subject
[ The communication ends there, but it doesn’t take Arenvald too terribly long to track Connor down. He ducks into the tent area, giving some of the BGs a friendly nod as he does. Most of them are too busy to pay him much notice, and he can hardly fault them for that.
He spots Connor in a chair across the way and plucks up a vacant chair for himself as he heads over. He plops his chair and himself down next to his friend. ]
You sure have a funny idea of being careful.
no subject
My presence was required, as I said. Otherwise I wouldn’t have done it, I wouldn’t have risked—
[He pauses, then realigns to another statement. But the implication is clear: risked everything.]
Connecting to the Library paid off, in the end.
no subject
It seems it did.
[ He's still not exactly happy about Connor putting himself in danger, but he gets why he did it. And can Arenvald really rebuke him when he himself ran headlong into danger? ]
How did you even manage to get to the middle of the Storm?
no subject
[Connor shifts in his seat, eying Arenvald closely. As if he's expecting a reaction that's not yet come, constantly braced for disapproval that surely must still be lurking in the background.]
Are you not upset?
no subject
I… A little bit, I suppose. It seems all I’ve done since we got here is to tell you to be careful, only for you to turn around and do something dangerous, but I’m not going to yell at you or anything. Were we facing down something that could be fought with a sword, I’d have surely put myself in harm’s way as well.
[ He reaches over, resting a hand on Connor’s shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. ]
I’m just glad you’re all right.
no subject
Maybe he’s glad that he’s all right, too, and to be in the company of a friend once more. Maybe it’s because the tension of everything has slowly drained away, from everyone with the Storm gone.]
Thank you, Arenvald. The sentiment is mutual.
[His mouth tilts up in a slightly crooked grin, just a whisper of a thing.]
Our next mission, whatever it is… I will do my best to avoid this level of consistent danger.
no subject
You’d better. Save some danger for the rest of us.
no subject
Of course. It would be a shame if you wore all that armor for show only.
[Actually-]
What was your part in dispelling the Storm, if I may ask?
no subject
And, well, he does enjoy Connor’s company. Their friendship came together quickly, and he very much treasures it. The other’s presence to be a bright spot all its own. ]
Me? I went with some others to set the pins around the Storm. Not half as dangerous as what you went through, but the wind sure was nasty.
[ His armor kept most of his safe, it’s true, but he’s got a nice scratch on one cheek. An angry red line carved through his usual white warpaint. ]
no subject
[The injury across his cheek is easily noted, had been noted the moment Arenvald wandered into the tent. It sings brightly against the whiteness of his friend's warpaint, a stark difference in color and texture.
Connor reaches up to gesture at his own face with a finger, mirroring where the scratch lies across Arenvald's.]
You were hurt.
no subject
[ The blinks, tracking the motion of Connor’s hand with his eyes. Ah, yes. It’s a pretty minor injury, all things considered, and he’d almost forgotten about it. ]
Ah, just a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing major, I promise. There was just all sorts of debris getting flung about, and it caught me a few times.
no subject
[Here comes that prodding concern of Connor's, because organics are squishy and fragile, and need to take care of themselves!]
no subject
I can pop over there and get it cleaned up if that would make you feel better.
[ “Over there” being one of the tables manned by a handful of the BGs, which he indicates with a tilt of his head. ]
no subject
I would be less inclined to continually suggest that you do so, at least.
[So, yes, Arenvald. That would make him feel better.]
no subject
[ It's said with good humor as he rises from his seat, giving Connor one last pat on the shoulder before he departs.
Arenvald wanders over to the table, exchanging a few words with an android manning it - a BG with a face of dirty, once-white silicon that puckers in odd places when she moves her mouth, and large, dark eyes, almost like the lenses of sunglasses. She offers him a crooked smile and reaches across the counter to tend to the scratch on Arenvald's face with some sort of sterile wipe. The warpaint around the mark comes away as she wipes at it, and when she moves her hand to clean the rest of the paint away, he stops her.
It's fine, his lips form the shape of the words, though there's enough bustle in the tent that it's hard to pick up his voice. I'd rather you leave it.
She tilts her head, confused, but ultimately complies, pressing something like a white band-aid to his skin. It's oddly soothing, whatever medication they have on it, and he leaves the table with a word of thanks to resume his place next to Connor. ]
Happy now?
no subject
His eyes track his friend, casually, as he makes his way over to the BG who had been tending to the non-critical wounds of many who had visited throughout the day. He watches, merely observing, simply because it's what he does, what comes naturally to him. Watches as the android cleans the cut, wiping away a little at the warpaint that always adorns Arenvald's face. Furrows his brow slightly as Arenvald politely stops her, mouth forming words he cannot quite make out, but can create approximate guesses at.
Connor realizes that he's never seen Arenavld without the strokes of warpaint across his face. Aesthetic, he thought, perhaps cultural. But its significance -- in whatever degree it might be -- is therefore highlighted to him, watching this transpire.
When he comes back to him, Connor nods.]
Satisfied. [Ah, but wait for it. Here it comes, that question behind his eyes making its way to his lips.] Though, I noticed something that I'm curious about.
no subject
Alright then. What is it?
no subject
I’ve never seen you without your warpaint. Why is that?
no subject
It's not like he wants to keep his reasons a secret from Connor -- he trusts him, would trust him with his life, even -- but he's not so sure he wants to get into the whole mess that is his past right now. ]
I, ah. Had kid of a nasty injury when I was a kid. Warpaint covers up the scar.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)