Fic fragment I dunno what to do with
Sep. 11th, 2023 02:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ghoulmouseI was working on this Unukalhai (FFXIV) fic a while back, but I ran out of steam for a variety of reasons. One was that the glimpses of the Thirteenth prior to becoming the Void that we've gotten in the game are like, JUST different enough from what I had in the story that I don't think it works anymore but not different enough to spark a new direction. The other was...I just could not for the life of me nail down Elidibus. Unukalhai obviously has mixed feelings about him and I could not figure out the right...balance? Something?
This was the only scene I actually liked upon poking at it again but I genuinely have no idea if it makes sense out of context as its own vignette. Elidibus retrieves Unukalhai from some kind of voidsent torture dungeon shortly after the Flood of Darkness; Unukalhai is unconscious for a while and Elidibus leaves him in that structure on the moon to recover; when he wakes up he's obviously fucking terrified. I think there was supposed to be a scene where he tries to flee and ends up getting caught by Emet-Selch and handed back to Elidibus that I never wrote, because obviously I wanted to get to the part where Unukalhai tries to graphically murder Elidibus.
---
His aim really was incredible, especially for a desperate child. The mirror shard slammed into Elidibus's neck as the boy leaped off the bed, putting his entire weight behind the strike so it pierced easily through flesh and vein and tendon, and the both of them tumbled down together to the ground. Actually slitting the throat was far more difficult, and the boy was forced to use both hands for it. The resulting spew of blood was immense and forceful, spraying the boy's face and hair and soaking both of their white robes.
Elidibus had genuinely not been expecting the attack, and if he were mortal, he reflected as he shoved the boy off of him and staggered woozily to his feet, he would have been exsanguinated in moments. As it was, though, Elidibus could feel his limbs weakening as the blood poured out of him, and of course his slashed throat made it impossible to speak. Elidibus turned away, clutching his hands to his neck to mend the damage. The boy might run while his back was turned, but there was hardly anywhere for him to go, so it did not particularly matter if he tried. A wet sputtering sound echoed in his ears as the air rushed from his lungs through the hole in his throat, and he heard the boy choke at the noise. Under his fingers windpipe and jugular knit back together and flesh smoothed over the wound -- imperfect, but it would do until he could either fix it properly or find a new shell to replace this one.
There was blood everywhere, more blood than it seemed like there should be from a single wound or even a single body, but that was always the way of things when a mortal form had taken a strike to a major vein. The floor was slick with it, and the front of Elidibus's robe was dripping red; he had not worn his mask, but his face was coated in more crimson than his emblem of office would have covered in any case.
The boy hadn't run away -- he was still sitting where he'd fallen backwards, too stunned to move. He'd dropped the broken sliver of glass he'd used to attack Elidibus and was frantically wiping at his eyes and mouth with a section of his sleeve that had somehow escaped the fountain of blood. He'd wrapped one end of the glass shard in a torn piece of bedding to protect his hands, but the force of the blow and his own desperate carelessness had caused the fabric to slip out of place or shred, and the palm of his left hand and the insides of his fingers were lacerated regardless of his caution.
"Ah," Elidibus said, to see if his voice was still working. It was. "You're hurt." The shock of hearing him still speaking after having his throat quite decisively cut startled the boy out of his trance, and he scrambled to his feet clumsily, slipping on the blood-soaked tile. "Give me your hand."
"Don't touch me!" the boy barked in terror, but Elidibus ignored him, reaching out and seizing both of the boy's thin wrists in the grip of one hand.
"I think that's the first time I've heard you speak since you woke from your sleep," Elidibus mused, turning the boy's hands palm up to inspect the wounds. It was hard to tell how much of the blood was the boy's own and how much was his, but the cut itself stood out like a bright line where the skin pulled back from the meat of his palm. It looked painful, and indeed the boy bit back a cry as he struggled and twisted in Elidibus's grip. Wrenching one arm free, he pounded his fist blindly against anything in reach.
"Boy," Elidibus said sternly, "I have no intention of hurting you." This produced no reaction, and the boy jerking and twisting his blood-soaked wrist was making any attempt to deal with his injured hand impossible. Frustrated, Elidibus seized the boy's chin with his free hand and forced his face upwards to meet his gaze. Elidibus watched as the boy's eyes, which had been trained on nothing in his frenzy to escape, refocused on his face for a moment.
"And where," Elidibus said as soon as he had captured the boy's attention, "did fighting against hopeless odds get you last time?"
There was a long silent moment as the boy's struggles ceased, and he stood shaking for a heartbeat before his legs seemed to give way beneath him as though immense exhaustion had overcome him all at once. He dropped to the ground, and Elidibus kneeled in front of him to make short work of the cut on the boy's palm. The boy simply watched this happen mutely, tears starting to pool in his blank, expressionless eyes and spill over to trace lines down his blood-smeared face. His fingers twitched involuntarily as Elidibus's magic surged through them.
Finally, the wound was gone. It was good, careful work, unlike the healing Elidibus had quickly done on his own neck, where the line of the original slash was still faintly visible beneath the sticky red smear. The boy sat obediently in a pool of blood, his mended hand resting in Elidibus's lap limply once the spell had concluded. Elidibus was no longer trying to hold him still, but the boy made no attempt to move.
Eventually, just when Elidibus was starting to suspect he never would, the boy spoke again, his voice whispery and ragged from long disuse. "Where am I?" he asked quietly.
"The surface of the moon." There was no reason not to tell the truth.
"The moon was swallowed up."
"Another moon, somewhere else."
It was perhaps a testament to how crushed the boy's spirit must have been that he accepted this answer without question, even though it was likely incomprehensible to him. "Who are you?" he went on, screwing his eyes shut as a fresh flood of tears began to glass over his vision.
Elidibus reached out to wipe away some of the mess on the boy's cheek, and this time he met no resistance.
"I don't remember," he said. "Call me Elidibus."
This was the only scene I actually liked upon poking at it again but I genuinely have no idea if it makes sense out of context as its own vignette. Elidibus retrieves Unukalhai from some kind of voidsent torture dungeon shortly after the Flood of Darkness; Unukalhai is unconscious for a while and Elidibus leaves him in that structure on the moon to recover; when he wakes up he's obviously fucking terrified. I think there was supposed to be a scene where he tries to flee and ends up getting caught by Emet-Selch and handed back to Elidibus that I never wrote, because obviously I wanted to get to the part where Unukalhai tries to graphically murder Elidibus.
---
His aim really was incredible, especially for a desperate child. The mirror shard slammed into Elidibus's neck as the boy leaped off the bed, putting his entire weight behind the strike so it pierced easily through flesh and vein and tendon, and the both of them tumbled down together to the ground. Actually slitting the throat was far more difficult, and the boy was forced to use both hands for it. The resulting spew of blood was immense and forceful, spraying the boy's face and hair and soaking both of their white robes.
Elidibus had genuinely not been expecting the attack, and if he were mortal, he reflected as he shoved the boy off of him and staggered woozily to his feet, he would have been exsanguinated in moments. As it was, though, Elidibus could feel his limbs weakening as the blood poured out of him, and of course his slashed throat made it impossible to speak. Elidibus turned away, clutching his hands to his neck to mend the damage. The boy might run while his back was turned, but there was hardly anywhere for him to go, so it did not particularly matter if he tried. A wet sputtering sound echoed in his ears as the air rushed from his lungs through the hole in his throat, and he heard the boy choke at the noise. Under his fingers windpipe and jugular knit back together and flesh smoothed over the wound -- imperfect, but it would do until he could either fix it properly or find a new shell to replace this one.
There was blood everywhere, more blood than it seemed like there should be from a single wound or even a single body, but that was always the way of things when a mortal form had taken a strike to a major vein. The floor was slick with it, and the front of Elidibus's robe was dripping red; he had not worn his mask, but his face was coated in more crimson than his emblem of office would have covered in any case.
The boy hadn't run away -- he was still sitting where he'd fallen backwards, too stunned to move. He'd dropped the broken sliver of glass he'd used to attack Elidibus and was frantically wiping at his eyes and mouth with a section of his sleeve that had somehow escaped the fountain of blood. He'd wrapped one end of the glass shard in a torn piece of bedding to protect his hands, but the force of the blow and his own desperate carelessness had caused the fabric to slip out of place or shred, and the palm of his left hand and the insides of his fingers were lacerated regardless of his caution.
"Ah," Elidibus said, to see if his voice was still working. It was. "You're hurt." The shock of hearing him still speaking after having his throat quite decisively cut startled the boy out of his trance, and he scrambled to his feet clumsily, slipping on the blood-soaked tile. "Give me your hand."
"Don't touch me!" the boy barked in terror, but Elidibus ignored him, reaching out and seizing both of the boy's thin wrists in the grip of one hand.
"I think that's the first time I've heard you speak since you woke from your sleep," Elidibus mused, turning the boy's hands palm up to inspect the wounds. It was hard to tell how much of the blood was the boy's own and how much was his, but the cut itself stood out like a bright line where the skin pulled back from the meat of his palm. It looked painful, and indeed the boy bit back a cry as he struggled and twisted in Elidibus's grip. Wrenching one arm free, he pounded his fist blindly against anything in reach.
"Boy," Elidibus said sternly, "I have no intention of hurting you." This produced no reaction, and the boy jerking and twisting his blood-soaked wrist was making any attempt to deal with his injured hand impossible. Frustrated, Elidibus seized the boy's chin with his free hand and forced his face upwards to meet his gaze. Elidibus watched as the boy's eyes, which had been trained on nothing in his frenzy to escape, refocused on his face for a moment.
"And where," Elidibus said as soon as he had captured the boy's attention, "did fighting against hopeless odds get you last time?"
There was a long silent moment as the boy's struggles ceased, and he stood shaking for a heartbeat before his legs seemed to give way beneath him as though immense exhaustion had overcome him all at once. He dropped to the ground, and Elidibus kneeled in front of him to make short work of the cut on the boy's palm. The boy simply watched this happen mutely, tears starting to pool in his blank, expressionless eyes and spill over to trace lines down his blood-smeared face. His fingers twitched involuntarily as Elidibus's magic surged through them.
Finally, the wound was gone. It was good, careful work, unlike the healing Elidibus had quickly done on his own neck, where the line of the original slash was still faintly visible beneath the sticky red smear. The boy sat obediently in a pool of blood, his mended hand resting in Elidibus's lap limply once the spell had concluded. Elidibus was no longer trying to hold him still, but the boy made no attempt to move.
Eventually, just when Elidibus was starting to suspect he never would, the boy spoke again, his voice whispery and ragged from long disuse. "Where am I?" he asked quietly.
"The surface of the moon." There was no reason not to tell the truth.
"The moon was swallowed up."
"Another moon, somewhere else."
It was perhaps a testament to how crushed the boy's spirit must have been that he accepted this answer without question, even though it was likely incomprehensible to him. "Who are you?" he went on, screwing his eyes shut as a fresh flood of tears began to glass over his vision.
Elidibus reached out to wipe away some of the mess on the boy's cheek, and this time he met no resistance.
"I don't remember," he said. "Call me Elidibus."
