Fenris (idonotbrood) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2014-08-05 13:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | fenris |
Who: Fenris
When: 4 August, late-ish.
Where: Escargot, Paris
What: Fenris' lyrium brands do something strange.
Rating: PG
Fenris rather liked Paris. If he was going to be displaced with no idea what his future held, there were definitely worse places to be than in Paris. The French reminded him very much of the Orlesians and they definitely sounded like them. Certainly many of the Parisians had what might be termed the Orlesian style. It was, despite all the modern things around, a little like being at home. And being in a strange place somehow made the whole affair being taken back to his childhood seem less bizarre. It just blended in with everything else. He still wasn’t sure what to make of it. His memories of it were fuzzy and incomplete but there were photographs. He’d asked for copies and while he didn’t look at them much, he did bring them out from time to time to stare at them and cudgel his mind in the hopes that true memories of his childhood might somehow begin to surface. One thing that always struck him when he saw the photographs was the lack of the lyrium brands. He didn’t understand it. Had his younger self been brought here temporarily? Or had the process the tesseract used to send him back to that age somehow removed them? And if so, why hadn’t it hurt when they were put back? It had surely hurt a great deal when they were originally burned into his skin. As if responding to his thoughts, a shiver of… something ran through his brands. He twitched and shifted his shoulders and ignored it but then it happened again. It wasn’t pain precisely. He knew what kind of pain the brands could cause and this was something different. It felt… strange, itchy, like insects were crawling up and down each brand. He shifted his shoulders again and wriggled a bit but the movement only seemed to make things worse. He backed away from the window he had been looking out and stumbled out of the room and down the corridor until he found an isolated and unused room… ironically enough, the same one he’d been sleeping in when he had been reduced in age. He shut the door with a bang, shucked off his sword, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter, and leaned against the door as the strange, unpleasant sensation crawled all over him. It felt like the brands themselves were trying to crawl off his skin. He sank down to the ground and curled up, his hands clenching into fists. He had endured worse. He had endured pain, unending pain, he could endure this, no matter how bad it got. He stayed like that for almost five minutes before the itching, crawling sensation slowly died down, though it was another ten minutes before he dared to uncurl. But the sensation had seemingly gone as suddenly as it had appeared and when he stood, there were no signs that his brands had ever done anything strange in the first place. He stared down at the markings on his hands for a long, long moment and then abruptly shook his head. It was over and there was nothing to be concerned about. It was merely a… minor problem, endured and quickly finished, and nothing more than that. |