test drive meme #1.

[seeingyou]

Hello, passengers and potential passengers!! Welcome to the first-ever eyemind Test Drive Meme. Here you have a chance to play around in the game's setting before deciding to app, test out new characters, or just roll around and have some fun. Enjoy!

No invite is necessary to play in the test drive, but please remember that eyemind is a (semi)private game and you must request an invitation before submitting an application. Request an invitation here!

Please note: Threads from the test drive meme DO NOT count toward AC and ARE NOT considered game canon, but you are welcome to use them for your app samples.

SCENARIO ONE: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT



The ship has stopped on Arion, near the settlement of Taunican, at the height of harvest season, and since the planet is largely agricultural, that means there is a big harvest festival a-happening.

What's neat about this festival is that it's not just a celebration of the harvest - it's a celebration of the community, and of the planet as a whole. The dominant local religion (for lack of a better term) isn't exactly experienced in term of worship but of honoring the planet itself - the seasons, the landscapes, the crops. Natives talk of Arion as if it is a living, breathing entity, because for them? Arion is.

Every evening while the ship is docked, there is a bonfire in the fields outside the town square, starting at dusk. There's a giant potluck feast, with everyone in attendance encouraged to bring dishes to share, but no one will be turned away if they arrive empty-handed. Fiddles and flutes and drums provide the soundtrack for the folk songs about Arion the locals sing around the fire; dancing and games and laughter are everywhere. This is a peaceful, joyous celebration, and you're invited!

SCENARIO TWO: WE NEED TO GO DEEPER



You're asleep, but maybe you don't know that - in the middle of a dream, it's not always easy to tell the difference between reality and the scenes your subconscious creates. You find yourself somewhere that may or may not be familiar, doing something that may be mundane or fantastical, but you're not alone. This is a dream you're sharing with your shipmates. What secrets and truths will you learn about each other?

SCENARIO THREE: STOP HITTING YOURSELF



Ope, looks like Navi’s wandered a little too close to an interdimensional rift in space-time, and now things are getting a little weird. If you happen to have superpowers, you may find that you don’t have quite as good of a hold on them as you do normally, or maybe now there are unintended side effects that occur when your powers are used. Maybe your character usually possesses enhanced strength or speed, and now they suddenly find themselves too swol to handle ordinary objects without crushing them, or they may have uncontrollable zooms and be physically unable to slow their roll.

No superpowers? No problem! Non-powered characters may find themselves deprived of one or more of their natural senses, i.e., sight, hearing, smell, taste, etc. Have fun being suddenly and temporarily blind! Walk into walls, eat trash, be free.

Comments

Nero tol Scaeva | FFXIV

[nerological]

LIGHT UP THE NIGHT

[He could bitch, about the ship, about being far away from home, about being lost out in the middle of space on some grand adventure that he definitely never gave his consent to go on, sure.

If he wanted to be boring. No, he didn't want to land on the goddamn planet, he wanted to stay on the ship and poke around, he's been on land before, thanks. He knows what land looks like. It's only through some sort of stupid, backwards miracle that he's even off the ship right now. Maybe someone managed to convince him to get the hell off and touch some grass, but he doesn't look too chuffed to be here.

He doesn't have food, and he didn't need an invitation to take any, all the better that no one seemed to mind him helping himself, taking care not to roll his eyes too openly at the talk of the star being alive. Okay. Sure. Whatever.

As for the festivities, he's.... around. Watching, no doubt, munching on something, counting the minutes to when he can go back to the ship... and complaining defensively at anyone who tries to make small talk with him or make him interact.]

I'm in the middle of eating, sorry, hands tied.

[Did he just grab that plate of food as an excuse to be left alone? Probably.]

WE NEED TO GO DEEPER

[Night time in a vast, open, sprawling desert, the sounds of gunfire, shrieks and explosions distant and faded, but still all too obvious. The moon shone bright overhead, illuminating the sand in its pale blue-white glow. The only sound louder than the noises of war in the back were the crunching of booted feet underfoot and the gentle clink of armor.

He hurt, he hurt, by the Emperor himself did he hurt, his lungs burning. Hadn't he been here before...? It felt so familiar, but his mind wouldn't let him ponder that, forcibly turning his wandering thoughts back to where they belonged: in the here and now, fleeing from the compromised Praetorium before it could be decimated, after having... After being-

The thought stuck in there, like a bullet in flesh. He didn't lose. He didn't lose, he never lost. This wasn't losing, retreat was a tactical maneuver- not that the Emperor would see it as much. He winced, pausing to lean against a rock as the sound of another riotous explosion rocked the building, already so distant, behind him. He'd surely be far out enough where no debris or shockwaves could reach him now.

Lord van Baelsar, Gaius, would be disappointed. Imagine the look on his face, the tone of his voice, addressing a coward, a defector- He needed to sit down. He had to get his head about him again, there in the sand, propped against a rock, his head turned upwards at the stars and moon above. It was only the sound of footsteps that would shake him from whatever reverie he'd entered, scrabbling for his hammer and spitting elaborate, Garlean curses.]

-can't catch me unawares, it will not end here!

[ancestor]

[ It is a cacophony of sound she has never heard before. The shrill screams of fear and cries of death are familiar to her senses, but Archaeotania's destruction had been an aberration of creation; an accident. There are no such monsters here, only people. Though, as she watches the chaos around her, she begins to wonder if people weren't the monsters all along.

The moment her presence finally begins to draw attention is the moment she realizes she needs to leave. Something about the rods of metal pointed her way frighten her more than the explosions of fire and collapsing structures around her. Her teleportation spell activates, yet instead of touching down upon the beautiful stonework of home her feet sink into desert sand. She can still hear the sounds of fire and death in the distance...

She also hears the cursing of a man from much less of a distance. It startles her enough that she loses her already unsteady footing, leaving her tumbling head over heel down the dune until she slides into what is either a very conveniently or inconveniently placed rock. Head spinning, she lays still and quiet. Blood runs warm down her face where the edge of her mask cut into it.

A wheeze of a breath slips from her lips, and she cracks open an unnaturally bright, blue eye in an attempt to suss out the location of whoever it was she heard not a moment ago. ]

The chaos all seems rather like a finale, if you ask me. Which you didn't, but I'd rather hear my voice than all the screaming and dying.

[nerological]

[Oh... a woman. A wanderer who overheard the fighting, no doubt, perhaps trying to flee from it, considering how she'd inelegantly fallen into the sand. Even in the state he was in right now, there was the utmost confidence that she posed no threat to him whatsoever. It was easy, necessary even, to compare himself in that instant to her.

Could be worse, could be unable to stand. Thought so, even as he himself gave up on getting up, leaving off the hammer as he eyed her from his position, resting against the rock.]

A calamitous stumble, to be sure. [With an audience around, he had no choice but to pull it all back together again, the usual wall erected, though for once the confidence was naught but a facade.] But it's hardly a finale.

[ancestor]

A stumble. [ Her laugh is lilting, otherworldly, and utterly devoid of any humour. ] Is that what you call it? All this... This wanton killing?

[ She has never seen a person purposefully kill another out of cruelty before—never even heard of such a thing. After witnessing it herself she still isn't quite able to grasp it. ]

I would hope that this is the finale to such inhuman acts.

[nerological]

You sound new here.

[The answer was light, almost glib. Was he okay? No. Definitely not, but he'd put his senses back together elsewhere. At the moment, this... strange company, discordant with his surroundings and with the memory built around this nightmare, did well enough to give him a temporary foundation to stand upon. An old, time-honored favorite: being an aloof ballbag.

Even if his armor was scorched and his body ached, he could temporarily set aside the negative for this. Almost eager to in fact, better than allowing his mind to settle into the dark and unwelcoming, unexplored depths of self reflection. Can't have that.]

I'd hate to get your hopes up, so in the interest of mercy I regret to inform you that it most certainly is not the end.

Quite far from it, the Empire is going to be very upset about losing the Praetorium, I imagine the retribution will be swift and twice as deadly.

[ancestor]

And you sound like a child.

[ They all do. The souls of children in adult bodies. A dichotomy she still cannot wrap her mind around.

She gets to her feet with a small hiss of discomfort. Adjusting her mask, she runs her fingertips across the cuts on her cheeks, healing them in one smooth movement. ]

Everyone keeps referring to 'the Empire'. What in star's name is this cursed monstrosity that would have children killing children?

[ The more she thinks on it the more infuriated she feels. The fires burning in the distance are naught but smouldering ash compared to the righteous fury blazing in her soul. She shakes with it.

Her people did not sacrifice themselves for this. ]

Whatever this Empire is, I will end it.

[nerological]

If I'd not heard that insult before, I can assure you madam, I would be deeply offended.

[He'd certainly never been called that by his commanding officers, no, nor any of his subordinates (to his face), but a mess such a Nero was not crafted in a day. He's heard that before.

As for her question, now comfortably settled into a familiar roll, he waved one hand, still inside it's scorched armor, back towards the burning Praetorium, even as he made a concentrated effort not to look towards it himself.]

You can take your disagreements with the Emperor's method up with His Radiance himself, should you so desire. I'm sure he'd absolutely love to hear suggestions.

[He snorted, moving to finally start peeling off that armor, starting with his gauntlets.]

I wish you the best of luck with that. You can go ask Ala Mhigo how well that effort turned out.

[ancestor]

It's hardly an insult. You can't be older than a half-century—barely more than a toddler.

[ Had it not been for the myriad other distractions and things on her mind, Hemera would have noted the state of his odd armour by now. As it is, she looks to the burning structure with increasing anger as the boy continues speaking.

She knows who 'His Radiance' refers to, and she is livid. ]

Hades is responsible for this?

[ She raises her arms in a quick, violent motion, and the ground beneath them shudders in response. Soon water begins to seep up from the sand, pooling slowly at first but soon gaining momentum until a veritable lake of water flows its way into the 'Praetorium'.

Once she's felt as though she's accomplished something she turns to the boy yet again. ]

And just where is 'his radiance' now?

[nerological]

[Well, that's a new one. He'd charge on ahead with his dismissive bullshittery but... well now there was something else to consider. His brows furrowed, the memories of that night starting to separate themselves a little better from this meeting. Perhaps it was the absolute ridiculousness of the sentence itself. Barely older than half a century?

His response came quickly though, thoughts darting through his head,]

Most barely live to one hundred, madam.

[See what answer she might have for that. As for everything else, it was lumped right on top of the first inconsistency. His gaze easily followed the water streaming towards the Praetorium, the image memorized and quietly set aside, turning over then the mention of 'Hades'... A completely alien name to him.]

Varis, actually...

[... Maybe he should send her his way. There was an idea, consider him somewhat intrigued.]

In Garlemald, of course. It will be quite the hike on foot, mind you.

[ancestor]

Preposterous.

[ It's easy enough to brush that ridiculous statement aside and focus on other, more pertinent information. ]

Varis? No. Where is Solus?

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[Retreat is a tactical maneuver. Or can be, at least. It's true enough that it isn't always one that has proven useful, in creating an empire. But it is nonetheless an option. And given the screaming and explosions in the distance... it's not unreasonable that someone might have chosen to flee, rather than remain in the middle of that chaos. What he means to do about the fact that someone has is another question entirely, but it remains something he can understand for that he might not (publicly) approve.

He does, also, take a private moment to all but curse Lahabrea's name. Whatever the man has been up to in the name of fostering the right conditions for a Rejoining surely can't have required the near-destruction of the Praetorium itself, to say nothing of the castrum that had served to defend it. But he leaves that thought aside, for the time. Something to return to, perhaps, when the situation is less... volatile.]

Why should it not?

[The words are quiet. Pointedly so, even, as he ignores the stream of invective. A request that the man give him a good reason to rethink what at least looks like a tribunus abandoning his post. True, he stands unarmed and unarmored in the sand. But that hardly means he is without power, even should he appear so much younger than the man he has recently been.]

[nerological]

[A double take wouldn't be the right word, that would necessitate looking away from the really, almost comically familiar face that had appeared right in front of him. Comical only in the sense that it was so outrageously, outlandishly impossible to see that face here, in the middle of the sodding desert, that he had no choice but to either find it funny, or to start questioning his own sanity.

... Couldn't help but do a little of both. Might be a bit comical for the other man as well, the look on Nero's face, surprised, confused, alarmed. It was almost enough, almost enough, to convince him just to stay down. He'd hit his head most certainly, perhaps in shock... But that creeping feeling of familiarity with this situation, Solus zos Galvus notwithstanding, lent itself to a more metaphysical conclusion. One that even now, he wouldn't immediately entertain. He'd been asked a question and he felt compelled to answer. Why should it not? He couldn't help it, the scoff that escaped him, shaken to his core by every part of this situation to the point where it was almost impossible to keep up any sort of charade.]

... I cannot triumph over this, over them- [He flung his hand towards the burning Praetorium, the decimated castrum] if I'm dead. What good is honor and glory to a corpse? A dead man is a dead man, nothing more.

[The tone was vitriolic, and he visibly seemed to clamp down on his tongue the second he'd finished it, his mind still trying to wrap itself around the person standing in front of him. Impossible, absolutely impossible.]

[unnecessaryflourishes]

[For all that his very presence is incongruous at best and so odd to be all but impossible at the worst, he does at least seem to listen to Nero's case. True, the Praetorium is still smoldering in the background and it's not impossible that whatever troops are still in the middle of the siege (if it can be called that and if they can be called that, when he suspects he knows who Lahabrea might have managed to bait to Castrum and Praetorium both) might deign to look for those who might have managed to escape. But in the here and now, Solus stands, unconcerned about what might happen.

(And why should he? Though he is merely stepping back into an old role, Emet has little enough to fear from anything that might happen, here in scorched sands of Thanalan.)]

And what of those that yet remain within those walls? Do your comrades not deserve your consideration?

[He is not - yet - asking Nero to actually brave those flames. To see who yet might have lived, if anyone. But the quirk of his eyebrow with those words suggests that neither has he entirely decided it might be worth it to spare Nero a deserter's fate - and even the fact that he's considering sparing him might be as much due to the fact he serves under Gaius rather than any other legatus.]

[nerological]

... Lord Van Baelsar does not require my direct aid. I've provided him all that he needs for victory. [That much he can say, at least.

A defector, yes, a deserter, most certainly but he'd still managed to give Gaius the upper hand. This he was certain of. As for the others, the grunts and soldiers and yesmen well... he didn't even think about them. Why would he?]

My mechanical expertise first and foremost, and what time I've bought for him, he'll surely be right at the doors of the Ultima Weapon's chamber now.

All who deserve my consideration have received it already.

[But with that said and done, questions of his own were cleaving their way through the cloud of... he wouldn't call it panic.] But now, I turn my consideration to the here and now: not often I converse with ghosts of the past, which makes me wonder just how hard Eorzea's Champion managed to hit my head.

we neED TO GO DEEPER

[madengineersyndrome]

[Dreams, huh? What are those, anyway? Nightmares that aren't awful? Psssh, no such thing.

Well, at the very least they were a fair shake rarer now for someone who'd been through as much as the Warrior of Light, and this dream being somehow shared wasn't about to stop their mind from conjuring some of their worst fears. By the time they find themself scrambling across desert sands, cracked goggles pulled down uncharacteristically over their eyes and vision blurred with panic and tears, they're in no condition to notice someone in front of them.

The familiar voice spitting loud curses in their direction is the only thing that causes them to pause at all, and they fumble to a stop, nearly on all fours - had they been running on all fours? They already can't remember. But their body is tensed, their clothes ragged, their ears pressed backwards as far as they'll go and a too-long tail lashing behind them in agitation. They don't speak, but as far as Nero's concerned, this is a familiar face - and one that should very definitely not be here. One that should still be in the midst of the chaos behind them, dodging lasers and firing at "monsters" like the hero Eorzea so believed them to be.

...Or is it? There's something a little... off. Maybe their hair is a bit too white, a bit oddly fluffed. Certainly, the tie that normally keeps it in that braid has almost fallen out, and some of it has pulled loose. Maybe there's a subtle glow behind those goggles that really shouldn't be there, maybe their limbs look a tiny bit too long for their small frame, maybe their already pale skin looks almost bleached in the moonlight.

They freeze, wordlessly, and even behind the goggles there's a twist of fear on their face. Nero is little more than a vague red shape in front of them, but it's a shape they can still recognize - and not one they want to. Someone else they know. Someone else important to them, in however strange a way.

Someone else they can lose. (They almost did.) Someone else they can hurt. (They surely have.) They take a step back.]

[nerological]

[Off? Maybe. Maybe there was a lot off, maybe there was a little off, maybe the color was a little different, but the important features remained the same.

How did they get out here? What's going on? Why are they fleeing? Who cares, not him, evidenced by the sound of the machinery in that hammer warming up. That face is too familiar to let go without trying to break it. This wasn't how the memory went, this wasn't how it was supposed to go, but it was how he wanted it to go. Gaius must have chased them out, then. Must have turned the tide, alone, and the idea was at once both rallying and painful. He'd make up for it then.

There was no smug, smarmy banter for this, no crowing about inevitable victory. Instead, with a shout, he swung for the miqo'te, aiming to finish what he was so sure Gaius had started.]

[madengineersyndrome]

[There's only a startled hiss as they leap away from the hammer's impact zone, seemingly knowing where it will land almost before Nero himself does. As difficult to land a good hit on as ever, with the Echo still in their arsenal.

They land a ways away, bracing on all fours - something's wrong with their legs; did they always bend like that? - and bristling like, well... a spooked coeurl.

A piece of glass falls out of their cracked goggles. Nothing's visible behind it - the light's simply too bright, a blinding white with a faint orange tint, like the sun itself.

But they don't strike back, don't try to run, they seem... frozen, uncertain. They open their mouth, exhale a glowing mist - but no words will come no matter how their throat tries to move.

Their weapon is missing. No gun or aetherotransformer. No bow, even. They don't seem any less a threat for it, however.]

going DEEPER

[forgarlemald]

[For half a heartbeat, he can feel the blaze crawling across his skin again.]

[The smell of burning metal and ceruleum is thick in the air, even this far from ruined remains of the castrum. It's strange- it's unnerving, to see the destruction from this angle, not halfway across the moonlit desert. Watching the all encompassing glow of light surrounding Meridianum as the Ultima Weapon detonates, down in the bowels of the Praetorium, and brings the complex crumbling down around everyone still inside.]

[It's wrong. He can still feel the heat searing his lungs with every breath he takes, the oily smoke suffocating even now, this far away, and it's wrong. He shouldn't be here. The scar that cover his arm burn like a brand, a searing reminder of everything that happened, and he needs-]

[He needs to go back. He needs to save who he can, before it's too late. His footsteps carry him without any real thought on his part, pale eyes wide and unable to look away from the destruction before him (destruction he had allowed to happen, his people suffering because of mistakes he made-), and if he could just get to them-]

[It's the sound of movement that stops him dead in his tracks. The Garlean curses that fill the air, practically snarled, and it's such a deeply seated reflex to draw his weapon that Gaius doesn't quite realize he has Heirsbane in hand until he has it leveled on the disheveled man behind him, elaborate armor scuffed from battle and hair a mess, and it's too long of a moment before the face registers in his mind.]

Nero?

[Alive. Injured, panicked, but very much alive, and the shock of seeing the man isn't quit enough to drown out the sudden, overwhelming relief that floods through him to find him safe and whole. He falters, weapon lowering just a fraction.]

Stand down, and leave the weapon where it is.

[Listen to him, please.]

[nerological]

[... It couldn't be. He couldn't be out here... Not many had seen the Legatus without his helm, but his closest, trusted officers? Well of course they had. What was he doing out here...? Where was his armor, he looked ragged, had he finished off all of them on his own...?

It was the only thing that made any sense right now. Why else would he be here before him, ragged as he was, as the Praetorium burned behind him? With his weapon pointed at him. His fingers tightened for a moment on the handle of the gunhammer as two warring urges clashed in his head. Drop the hammer, his Legatus had given that order as clear as a bell. Hold tight to that hammer, he didn't want to die today. And yet, with emotions running high, it was impossible for him to clamp down as he normally would have, on words he ought not say.]

Shoot me quick, and spare me the shame of your disappointment, Lord van Baelsar. It's all I ask of you.

[forgarlemald]

[He's not putting the gunhammer down.]

[Of course he's not putting the gunhammer down. Nero may be many things, but stupid has never been one of them, in any form. Out here in the desert, his post long abandoned, with a weapon pointed right at him (Gaius' weapon, his own legatus), what fool would simply drop his weapon. It's tantamount to suicide. Just as remaining in the Praetorium would've been.]

[And after everything...how can Gaius fault him for it?]

Nero, listen- [He doesn't miss the way that the younger man's grip tightens on the hammer. Raises Heisbane again instinctively, before he just as quickly forces himself to lower it. Nero is panicking, yes, and panicking soldiers are dangerous, volatile things, but Nero isn't stupid. He's smarter than this, Gaius knows he is-]

[But it's the words that hit Gaius harder than that hammer surely ever could. Everything goes suddenly cold, despite the overwhelming heat around them, and his pleas die immediately in his throat.]

[It's so many long, unbearable seconds where he can only stand there, pale eyes wide as he stares at the young man before him, the words echoing horribly loud in his mind. But when he finally moves again, it's to throw his gunblade aside, listening to the weapon hit the sand and skid far from reach without taking his eyes away from Nero, to approach him, with all the poise and confidence of the general he no longer is.]

No one is going to be shot. But I said put down the weapon, tol Scaeva. That's an order.

I'm not going to give it a third time.

[nerological]

[This was it, this was how he'd die. Not remembered as a brilliant engineer, not with dignity nor with grace, but executed by his own commanding officer as a deserter. A cowards death outside their compromised Praetorium, after what he could only assume was the Legatus's unquestionable victory. If he were a man more disposed towards it, he'd cry.

If nothing else, he'd die dry eyed and on his feet, the weapon having never left his hand-

The sound of Heirsbane hitting the ground and skittering away was as loud as a gunshot would be, to him. He jerked, as the blade bounced and slid across the sand, far away from Gaius. It was enough, in that instant, to cause his grip upon Mjolnir to falter, unable to take his eyes off the discarded gunblade. Unable to anyway, until Gaius began his approach at least.

For one wild, embarrassingly terrified moment, he fixed his grip, shifting his weight as if he actually meant to swing. Only to have his hold once more falter... and then fail entirely, releasing the hammer and letting it fall into the sand. How could he? How could he even follow through with that swing?]

... My lord.

[The defeat in that tone spoke volumes, more than any actual words might.]

[forgarlemald]

[My lord, he says, and Gaius could almost bitterly laugh at the wild, unexpected absurdity of hearing that title again, when he still remembers so vividly the pain of waking beneath so much debris, remembers the suffocating, agonizing heat of the fire where his lord had ultimately died.]

[He doesn't laugh, though. Doesn't even flinch when it looks as if Nero might actually strike, because he knows - hopes so badly that he's right - the man better than that. Knows Nero's loyalty, regardless of the harrowing situation at hand, would never allow it.]

[And the sound of the gunhammer dropping to the sand is almost too difficult to hear over the heavy sound of his heart inside his chest. As if it was exactly the signal he was waiting for, Gaius' slow approach breaks into a jog across the sand, and his hands are on the young tribunus the moment he's close enough to grab, bandaged fingers running across the man's face, searching out injuries.]

I thought you'd died with all the others. [Nero's scratched up, bruised and bloody, but it's nothing as dire as it could have been, and for that Gaius is overwhelmingly grateful. Though it's harder to see if he carries any injuries elsewhere; Nero's once immaculate armor is heavily scarred from his battle with the Warrior of Light, and now isn't at all the time to go removing it. Not here, not when the Eorzean armies are still so close by. Finding two highly wanted corpses very much alive isn't a victory he's willing to give them this time (this time?), and they can't linger overlong. They should leave, while Gaius still feels as steady as he does, adrenaline still running like fire in his blood. He doesn't know if he's going to wake up, or if this is some undeserved second chance, but Nero is alive.]

[And Gaius pulls the younger man to him before realizing what exactly he's doing, the magiteck armor digging painfully into his own injuries as he wraps Nero into a crushing embrace.]

[nerological]

[He couldn't do it. Even with the threat of being executed laid out before him, he couldn't bring himself to attack the other man. He'd never been a person of high morals himself, what was right and wrong but an entirely subjective collection of opinions anyway?

But the loyalty he had for Gaius was, and would always be, an objective concept. The only person who's trust it would hurt, did hurt, unimaginably so, to betray. He still so firmly believed that his Legatus meant to end him here that, as he saw the other man break into a jog, he stiffened sharply, anticipating violence in spite of the weapon being flung away from him.

Instead of death however... He felt hands across his face, the bandages wrapped around Gaius's hand (how did those get there, what had happened) catching in the occasional sticky smears of blood from scratches that, at least upon his head and face, looked worse than they were. His thoughts had already begun to scatter and fray when Gaius tossed away his gunblade, the wheels in his head stuttering and slowing when the other man touched him in search of injuries. But everything officially ground to a halt when Gaius, Lord van Baelsar, the Black bloody Wolf, pulled him in for a tight, almost fatherly embrace. The pain of the injuries beneath the armor went unacknowledged, and for the first time in his life he seemed utterly unable to figure out what to do with himself.

After a moment however, what else could he do, but release all of that fear? No blade in his belly or bullet in his brain, every muscle near went lax all at once, supported in part by the locking of his knees, his armor, and by Gaius's own hold. He made a noise, a short, almost delirious little chuckle.]

As if I'd be so easily dispatched...

[He could manage that much, at least. A sliver of that usual pride.]

[forgarlemald]

[Ah, and that certainly sound like the Nero tol Scaeva he remembers. Gaius snorts, the noise startled out of him and muffled against the younger man's armor, but it's proof enough that Nero can't be that badly injured if he's still more than capable of being prideful and arrogant, and his hold on Nero tightens, bandaged fingers digging uselessly into the magitek armor as all the fight seems to drain out of Nero all at once.]

'Twas foolish of me to ever believe otherwise, and I hope you'll forgive me for it.

[Forgive me. If he had known Nero had escaped, if he had thought, for even a moment, that any of his men had survived...]

[It's surprisingly easy to support the other man's weight as Nero seems to sag against him, no doubt in no small part thanks to the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. Adrenaline that spikes again, followed too quickly by worry, as Gaius pulls from the embrace just enough to reposition the younger man; with a grunt, he wraps one of Nero's heavy, armored arms around his shoulders, and braces the younger man against himself as well as he's able. Because this is still far too open, and they need to move...somewhere. Anywhere else, so long as it puts the burning remains of Meridianum far, far behind them.]

Can you carry your hammer?

[nerological]

Consider it forgiven and forgotten, my lord.

[The conversation was surreal, and his foggy brain only threatened to haze further if he tried to think too hard about it. Forget it, then. He'd ponder upon this later, ask questions later. For now, Gaius's almost casual tone, the way he gripped him, the overwhelming and open concern the other man clearly displayed in this moment, would not only go unquestioned, but would be accepted with relief and gratitude.

He labored not to put too much weight on him, hissing softly as he tried to brace a little better upon his own two legs. If Gaius was offering it, then he'd not refuse the other man's help, as wildly confusing as this moment was aside. Right, they... couldn't stay here, so close to the fighting. It would be a shame to have escaped dying in there, only to be captured and killed here.]

Of course.

[The ease in his tone bore hints of strain regardless, though he moved to reach down and take the hilt of his hammer in hand. Even if he had to drag the damn thing, he'd carry that hammer. Metal could be fixed, paint replaced.

Dead was dead.]