metalogs | Fear and Loathing in Excelsior

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Fear and Loathing in Excelsior

Who: Balthier

portolan and anyone else!
What: A mysterious object leads to a horrific week of fear and misery
When: May 21
Where: Excelsior
Content Warnings: death, violence, phobias, memories of characters worst traumas – this is fear based; please tag specifics for your threads.

CWs: death, violence, phobias, memories of characters worst traumas – this is fear based; please tag specifics for your threads.

OPT OUT OPTIONS: Don’t be in Excelsior or don’t be hit by a spell yourself. Players may also limit to smaller scale fears, or avoid specific fear topics they don’t want to play out.

FEAR AND LOATHING IN EXCELSIOR

An ancient artifact releases three pixies intent on spreading as much fear and chaos as possible. When they hit someone with their spell, their fears manifest, with effects worsening the longer the pixies are free. To escape the spell, characters must face their fears or be trapped in the fear cauldron. Once the pixies are captured, the captured souls will be released and the manifestations will fade, though the damage caused will remain.

ANTIQUES ROADSHOW —

Downtown Excelsior may seem like an odd location to open an antiques store. One wouldn’t think that the chic youth of today would be interested in dusty relics of the past. Yet ask anyone and they will tell you this shop has been around for decades. Rue Moore once reported that it's particularly beloved by the Society and that was how it was able to stay afloat through the changing times, speculating that they use it to move black market goods.

Step inside the high end building and find yourself disoriented by the clash of differing time periods. French Rococo chandeliers, a pristine settee owned by John Adams, an honest-to-god suit of medieval armor, and a few framed sketches by Rembrandt and the like. There’s an electric thrill, as if you could reach out and touch history - though some of that may be the high number of protection magicks being employed.

Whatever you touch is probably worth more than your annual salary. You break it, you buy it.

Balthier is standing at an antique desk plucking away at a laptop as the first few volunteers arrive. He gestures for them to head to the classy bar tucked in the corner. You’re free to enjoy a glass of rich wine and high end appetizers, chatting amongst yourselves about the task at hand while the host finishes his work. As the crowd gathers he shuts his computer and ushers them into the back room, where even more antiques are carefully stacked. Among them are the offenders from the network post and a stack of additional concerning items.

A Little Bit Of Pixie Dust

The biggest puzzle of the night is a medieval cauldron. Intricate carvings depict great tales of monsters and magic. The most notable carving of all is three human faces engraved next to three creatures: a fae, a shade, and a troll.

Search as they might, there’s no record of this object in any database. At the end of the day this one is the only one left identified. As the last remaining investigation team members turn away to pack their things, they miss three small lights slowly rising from the carving’s open mouths. As the door shuts behind them, they may miss the sound of giggling. Or the soft swish of a tricky spell hitting you squarely in the back.

Pixie Magic is unfortunately difficult to detect, after all.

But the first spell cast is a sign these fickle spirits are picking up an old game. Who can create the most chaos? They're powered by human suffering. All fear that they collect returns to their cauldron, making them stronger and increasing the distance they can travel from it.

They are not discriminating and their targets are random. Anyone hit by their spells will become the victims of their fear manifestation spells. Each pixie specializes in a different kind of fear.

The first specializes in internal conflict. Think you have a face like a horse? Well now you might be Bojack Horseman. Worried you’re annoying? Well now you can’t stop doing every annoying habit you’ve ever had. Terrified you might be stone-cold and heartless? Congrats! You're turning into a statue.

Afraid of being ignored? Day 1 you might notice more people are ignoring you. As the spell progresses, no one is returning your calls or texts, people are avoiding you, and you are having trouble being served at coffee shops. By the end of the week, congratulations, you are no one can see or hear you!

These fear spells may be defeated by the character facing their fear or someone where someone helping them see they are still wanted or safe despite their flaws.

The Second Pixie specializes in interpersonal conflict. Maybe your love life explodes. Maybe your worst nemesis returns to harass and humiliate you. Whatever it is, you’re having trouble with others.

EXAMPLES: One day 1, you might be increasingly aware of your significant other's flaws or the health of the relationship. By midweek, you may find yourselves hitting each others buttons and fighting constantly. By the end of the week, you both may be compulsively playing out every flaw the other person perceives you to have.

If you have a nemesis from your past who haunts you, you may find yourself having more memories and dreams of them on Day 1. By Day 3 you might start seeing their face or signs of their work around town, or impacts of their presence. By the end of the week, they may full-on appear in this world, with all their powers, threatening to repeat that terrible memory if you don’t stop them.

These fear spells may be defeated by literally defeating the other person, or by reconciling with them. They could also be defeated by accepting reconciliation is not possible but removing the person's access to you (or to destroying the city, RIP).

The Third Pixie specializes in person versus environment conflict: packs of angry chihuahuas. The weather. The sidewalk opening up to swallow your ankles. Awakening dormant magical creatures. A super volcano going off.

EXAMPLES: You hate the cold and can't shake a chill. By midweek, the temperature around you is literally 10 degrees colder than everywhere else. By the end of the week, you are the eye of a blizzard.

These fear spells may be defeated by overcoming the physical obstacle through whatever means necessary.

Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter...

Perhaps you failed to overcome this challenge. Just as you succumb to your worst fears, your eyes open and you find yourself standing in an empty space. Others are there with you, looking equally as forlorn and lost.

And then it transforms.

You and your fellow victims are now trapped in a HELLISH LIMBO. You’re living out one fear after another – whether it’s yours, or that of one of the others who failed to overcome their fear in the world outside.

In this hell your very worst fears are realized. And there’s no way out. The pixie’s magic brings things in, but it doesn’t let them out.

Those who have not succumbed to their fears may be drawn to the back room of the antique shop, finding the cauldron abandoned but overflowing with power. The magically inclined may be able to find the seam on this pocket dimension and ATTEMPT A RESCUE.

But more concerningly, the carvings on the cauldron appear to be glowing. What was once a fanciful depiction of ancient battles now appears to be a warning that the worst is yet to come.

These powerful creatures need to be defeated and returned to the cauldron. They have fanned out across the city and will be encountered separately, so teams may wish to form. They cannot be killed, but wounding them will bleed out their power until they can be re-sealed on the cauldron.

The only trouble is you need to find them.

Transformation

As the pixies amass more and more power from the fear they’re generating, the range they can travel from the cauldron increases. The further they can travel, the more fear they can inflict. And where better to feast than a city built upon consumerism, where fear isn’t dealt with but bought off. Perhaps you may spot the flickering light of a pixie out of the corner of your eye, but it’s gone in a flash.

Eventually though, they trade speed for power. As their power crescendos the pixies begin to change shape. By the seventh day, all three of them have shape shifted into much larger and more imposing forms.

The first pixie will become a beautiful and terrifying fae. They make themselves at home in the city’s enormous man-made park and offer fae bargains to those foolhardy enough to trust them. Strength won’t overcome them, but a quick thinking mind might.

The second becomes nothing but a shade. It slides under cars and along walls, hiding in people’s shadows and whispers their darkest fears. This entity can’t be held down or stopped with physical force, but it recoils from the light.

The third rampages throughout the business center in the form of an enormous troll. Like the other two, this entity cannot be stopped with force. Excelsior’s artificial weather systems may be needed to slow this beast down.

AFTERMATH —

Once the pixies are restored to the cauldron, their fears in the city fade away and trapped characters are released, physically unharmed but mentally shaken. The damage any fear manifestations did to the city remain, but any people or objects they conjured fade away within the day.

The cauldron cannot be destroyed, so something will need to be done to keep it from wreaking havoc again.

IN SUMMARY...

Balthier asks for help identifying magical objects. Characters interacting with one object in particular awakens sleeping magic inside.

When the pixies first awaken, they must stay close to the cauldron to sustain their power.

Each pixie's fear spell works on a different kind of conflict (though characters can be affected by more than one, or cured and then affected by another). As the week goes on, the manifested fears will worsen.

Characters can defeat the fear spells by facing their fears or by someone else helping/interfering.

The pixies must be defeated and returned to the cauldron.

Comment HERE if you'd like to be involved in taking out the pixies!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ It's honestly a relief to see a familiar face. And a capable one who doesn't seem to have entirely lost his regular comportment. It's been a long and unnerving week, made worse by the fact that the particular afflictions people are suffering seem able to change day to day.

at least Balthier has his mind and his powers today. not that his magic is going to be much use. but wits have always been a better tool with his father. at least he'll tell himself that as he tries to steel himself for what he suspects is coming ]

Presuming he's the same as home, combat magick, military training in sword and dagger. Last time he destroyed a city my mother was in it, so I wouldn't hold our breath on any sort of mercy.

[ he follows after briefly but Cidolfus disappears into the crowd. at least he doesn't have a hovercraft. ]

I presume he's heading for the city center, and he's vain enough he'll want me to be an audience. That buys us a little time, at least.

[ Oh, great. Just a city-totalling guy with no qualms murdering his own family bearing magic, arms and the means to destroy the city. Exactly what he was hoping to hear.

There's an awareness in there somewhere that Balthier's just shared a loss, but given the context Stephen doesn't have the time to either touch on it or feel relieved that he can leave that for another day. They have a job to do. One he's woefully under-equipped to take on. ]

Fine. Good. If you see anyone else on the way, grab them.

[ They're going to need all the help they can get, though everyone they pass by seems wrapped up either in the own lives or the chaos of a myriad other small personal crises unfolding seen and unseen. No metas that he recognises, no more familiar faces.

It'll be just his luck if they have to take this one alone.

They follow on through the crowd, heading in what Balthier's supposition suggests is the right direction, and Stephen ventures: ]

And you? Anything on hand?

[ Yes, well, Balthier's just as thrilled, he promises. Add in the inevitable personal stabs at his dignity and worth as a hume and it's going to be an absolutely lovely Saturday.

He nods to Stephen's suggestion, but he's not holding his breath. Truth be told he's most skilled working in a pair, but usually his counterpart is his partner of seven years, and normally they both are armed with weapon and magick.

This-- this is not ideal. ]

Illusions and a quick tongue.

[ His sigh betrays his nerves even if nothing else does, even if he's still pushing toward the city center. He can't die, can't leave David or Peter or any of them. But there will be no one to leave if they don't get the nethicite from Cid. And if it's them or Balthier well, he's already made that choice once. And he hasn't changed at all. ]

If I think pretending to join him or assist him will help, I will. If you have to injure me to get to him, I understand. So long as we get the stone away, he's not any more dangerous than a mid-level meta.

[ Presuming he's the way he was at home, but Balthier isn't going to lose himself to anymore fear than he has to. ]

[ Illusions, a quick tongue and a penchant for self-sacrifice. Wonderful, this can only go well. ]

Okay, get the stone, got it. I've got a sword I can't lift, a dozen vials of liquids I hope still have some power left in them and a magic carpet at my disposal. What could possibly go wrong? Speaking of -

[ The cloak doesn't have time to take offense at the carpet comment, he's busy whisking it off from around his shoulders to throw into the air. It takes its cue from him as he veers sharply to the left and shoves an arm around Balthier's torso with absolutely no preamble. ]

Hold tight.

[ To what? A mystery. But momentum carries them forward and Stephen's sudden lunge tips the balance and they're falling... onto a stretch of deep red fabric he'd been wearing a second ago, that swiftly rises them up above a startled crowd.

It's not a particularly steady ride. The cloak isn't meant for two, and it isn't a carpet, making balancing two passengers a challenge. Stephen keeps his arm locked around Balthier's torso, painfully gripping whatever unyielding fabric he can find, to reduce the risk of anyone going overboard as he peers down over the milling streets, searching as much for a safer place for a showdown as he is their target. ]

I can swing a sword.

[ Not his preferred weapon, but being armed is preferable to not, so if Stephen is offering, he'll take it.

As to the cloak turned magic carpet, well, it seems a crime in hindsight that he lives in a world with magic clothes and has none. Assuming they survive this, he'll have to put that on his acquisitions list.

It's certainly not the first time he's been manhandled into some strange form of transportation so really, he doesn't bat an eye at that. If anything, is just makes the hole where Fran should be ache. If she were here, even with their magick dampened, he'd feel a lot more confident.

As used to flying as Balthier is, this is different, though, and he braces himself best he can, leaning into Stephen to try keep their balance. He does have enough sense from hovercrafts to be acutely aware of how their vehicle moves between their weight and the sky, and it's honestly a little unnerving given how flimsy the fabric is.

Alas, beggars can't be choosers, and he'll cast his eye over the edge into the crowd. It takes long slow minutes of flying and scanning, but then he catches hair that matches his own, clothes completely unsuited to this world. ]

There. I'm going to try to get him to follow us somewhere more open -- there should be a park at the end of this block.

[ He doesn't wait for an answer, instead conjuring and illusion of fire emenating from their perch. He's improved; it now comes with the sensation of heat, but if anyone were to touch it, they would be perfectly fine. It is, after all, only dreams and willpower.

But he sets it off a few times so people below can see it, then starts to carefully strike down with it so that it doesn't touch anyone and give away the ruse, but does encourage the already rattled citizenry to rapidly clear the area. ]

Letting me sneak up on you? Must be slipping in your old age.

[ He's got Cid's attention now, at least. ]

[ A park is a plan, and he's about to say as much, glad of Balthier's familiarity with a city Stephen spends relatively little time in when there's— fire, sudden and real enough that for a moment and without his own magic to sense the difference he almost flinches away. Then he catches up - illusions, right, and how - and watches on impressed as fire rains down in careful avoidance of the people below, scattering them.

And catching the eye of the one holding the keys to the decimation of the kingdom. Great. Well, that's his cue to shut up and drive.

Stephen swoops them low, a sudden dip that carries them almost right over the head of the father they need to outwit, Stephen remembering slightly too late about the combat magick and swerving the cloak out of reach before any wayward spells can be sent their way. Still, they've got his attention and are now out ahead of him, sailing toward the park, enough space bought between them that Stephen should have the opportunity to offload the sword to Balthier once they get there before the problem is upon them.

Dismount is about as graceful as falling on board was, though the cloak does them the favour of pulling up in front of them to push them upright until they can stand comfortably on their own two feet. Stephen doesn't waste any time pulling the strap of the sword's sheath over his shoulder and handing it out to Balthier. ]

Here. It's a charmed blade, sharper than it looks.

[ Useful when you can wield it, useless when you can't. ]

Do what you can with it. I'm going to get clear until I see an opportunity. Keep him busy, I'll get the stone, then we figure it out from there. Alright?

[ It's the only plan he's got, so here's hoping the answer isn't no. ]

[ Well-flown, which is a tough compliment to elicit from a sky pirate. Competence is always welcome in an ally.

Balthier takes the unsettling dismount in stride, stomach churning but altogether in one piece. He takes the sword. Heavy; he's preferred knives and guns more recently, but the memory is there, and his arms are still in good shape. And if he has to offload some of the aching and fatigue onto Cid, well, that's not the worst thing. ]

Understood.

[ He's the better distraction, of course. Cid will want something from him; Strange is no one to him.

Balthier sends another wave of fire, pressing Cid back toward the park. Scions, let this work. ]

Hour late and a penny short, old man. The magic here is beyond your understanding.

[ Balthier's not normally the type for gloating banter, but Cid is, and Cid can't stand knowing he isn't the smartest in the room. If he thinks this world is worth having, it may delay his desire to destroy it.

Cid certainly takes the bait turning to look for his son's voice. When he does, he waves, stone glinting in his hand. If Balthier just had his gun or his magick, he could knock it out right now. ]

Ffamran, is that you? I didn't recognize you in those terrible garments. Ran all the way to another world this time, did you?

[ Balthier grits his teeth. He knows this is a fear manifestation, knows on the scheme of things being called a coward doesn't matter, but it still needles under his skin, threatening to pull of a lifetime of memories and rage.

He has to stay focused. He pushes another illusion, forcing Cid to step back or risk being burned. Let him not risk it -- then Balthier will have nothing. ]

[ Understood. Understood and Stephen takes off, the cloak lifting him up and out of sight to leave Balthier as lure and final line of defence. False flames fall to litter the ground and force their target back and Stephen waits, perched atop a nearby building, for a moment to try for the stone.

He draws the dagger from its sheath at his waist, not fool enough to think they're going to manage this without violence. ]

[ Stephen’s out of harm’s way, at least, presuming spell range is the same here. That leaves Balthier vulnerable but that was always going to be the case.

He gives the sword a swing just to test it. Heavy but he can. He will have to choose wisely though. And he’s going to have to get close if he wants to try to get the stone away himself.

Disorientation may be best, and about all he’s got. He throws up a ring of flames around Cid, then creates a double of himself so they can circle. ]

It’s not just me here. This world has an entire league of people more powerful than I am.

You could have been great if you’d only applied yourself, Ffamran.

I could have been your tool.

You could have been a son deserving of my pride.

[ Scions it’s embarrassing how much that hurts. He knows this is just a projection, knows this isn’t his father. And yet.

He takes a lunge through the flame but Cid sidesteps him, throwing a spell at Balthier. He doesn’t quite dodge, hissing as freezing pain burns his side. Lovely. ]

[ Stephen watches closely, eyes sharp for a moment amidst the fight to try for the stone. The problem is, Balthier's illusions are strong. His position helps get some insight on the whereabouts of the stone at any one time, but it's not a surefire thing. There's no certainty in it, Stephen left to estimate from the position of Balthier and his double.

Which means he doesn't miss that spell hitting home. It's instinct more than sense that pushes him off the building's edge and into the air then to play at secondary distraction for Balthier's sake, taking the opportunity of his wounding as a moment to catch his father on the backfoot of a taste of victory. Get the stone, strike a blow to give Balthier a second to regain his bearings. That's the plan.

He and the Cloak bear down through the not-there flames, aiming to land quietly behind him and make a play for the stone while raising the hilt of the dagger in his other hand for a blow to the man's head. ]

[ For a moment, Balthier thinks Stephen has gotten the upper hand, that maybe this ends easily with knocking Cid out and extracting the stone. For once. Please.

Then Cid's expression changes, and a different sort of cold goes through Balthier. Yelling, he tries to distract the old man, but his wounded side slows him down. Cid's hand goes to his coat, and in a moment he's turned about, plunging a dagger straight into Stephen's gut.

Habit mixes with rage. He reaches for a spell -- the old kind -- but all that happens is heat and the image of flames passing through the pair of them.

Scions, he's useless. A friend is dying and he's useless-- ]

Even your magic is a lie here, Ffamran. You should have stayed at home. Should have listened to me...

[ Balthier has rarely felt the urge to be cruel in his life, but now he reaches without thinking, a snarl on his face. First it's Stephen's wound, ripped off of him with the force of years of pent up anger and slammed into Cid. Then he pulls his own bespelled wound. The dagger in Strange is forced out of him even as Cid lets out a garbled noise of distress, blood pooling through his clothes as his legs crumple.

Fuck, fuck Balthier is not this cruel, and yet right now it feels good. Just. ]

You are done hurting others for your own gain. [ He's not real Balthier. He's not. But this rage is. ] I should have killed you as a boy. I should have made you suffer when I finally did. Why were so many people kind to you?

[ He can't stop. He's searching for any wound or discomfort on any person in the area, pulling them to add to Cid. ]

Stab him again so I can kill you properly, old man. Through the heart would suit you.

[ Of course, he still has the stone and use of his hands, and Balthier has entirely lose sight of that. ]

[ —Oh. Oh, fuck.

The blade sinks deep and tears through things that shouldn't be torn and Stephen's thoughts go briefly, completely blank.

It isn't the same as death by Dormammu or death by dusting or death by any of the usual ways he goes down. Not that death ever comes easy, but at least usually it comes committed to.

This doesn't even have the drama of his car crash. In the midst of the threat of city-wide decimation, it's barely a scratch. One man going down. A parting of skin and tissue around point and force - pedestrian. How many people have died with a knife in their gut, from the dawn of time to today, across multiverses? No wonder he didn't account for it. Hubris strikes again.

The cloak takes his weight when he loses hold of himself and it's only then, as he can feel the tension of it angling to try to fly him free of danger, that he comes back fully into the now. Knowledge flashes through pain and shock: the blade's blocking the outward flow of blood but the internal bleeding is serious. If he goes now he might make it to a hospital, but he might just as easily not. Even if he gets there, there's no guarantee they'll save him. If he goes, there's a net zero chance of him helping put an end to this. If he stays, his chances may not be much better, but they'll at least exist. Decision made, he wraps a hand into the cloak's material to still it, comfort for an old friend (and just as much for himself)—

And then he's fine. No pain, no encroaching cold. Stephen wonders for a second if he was wrong before, if this is the shock setting in... but a glance down shows the knife spilling out of him, wounds of exit seeming to knit themselves shut as a sound that he's sure isn't his own pain pours from someone close.

It takes him a second to tune into Balthier's voice, to really see the blood pooling out onto the floor. It doesn't take him more than that to realise what's happening - to see that it isn't going to be fast enough. Balthier goads his father on but the man isn't interested in Stephen any longer. The time for hesitation has passed. The only victory left to him now is action, and Stephen can see that decision cross his face up close and personal.

Right. The time for hesitation has passed indeed.

There's a flurry of fabric as the cloak's shrugged off to wrap in an angry bind around the man's reaching hands, and then the knife that had moments earlier been forced from Stephen's gut is being driven up into the space between two of the would-be city-razer's ribs, puncturing a (not real) lung, eliciting a (not real) choked off wheeze that ends in a splutter of blood.

Stephen stands, pulling the knife out as he goes so the deed is well and truly done and he's clear when the body slumps forward to writhe and splutter in the spot he himself might have died in without the save. He looks down at the man for only a few more seconds, fighting every last urge to help (do no harm) as he ducks instead to pluck the stone from where it's tucked away and fold it into his own palm.

Rising again, he fixes Balthier with a stare that's close to impenetrable, and waits. ]

[ Stephen stabs him. Fuck fuck. Twice he's killed this man and twice he hasn't dealt the killing blow. Some part of him is furious, almost wants to heal the wound and do it himself, like somehow that would make everything he's carrying match the deed.

And some other part of him wants to cradle the man, use this new found power to throw the wounds away, throw away whatever sickness has made him so wrong for so long.

Except there is no sickness, or if there is, it's been so braided with who he is that there is nothing clean or healthy to go back to. It would be a fantasy. Just like this is not his father, but some twisted projection.

But he still feels bile in his stomach as he watches the man who raised him writhe and go still. The bile only rises as how little he feels losing him, how some part of him boils with rage that this is just. Balthier clenches his fists to try to hide the shake in them, and he's vaguely aware he'll have nightmares of this moment for months, likely to join images of the time the real man died.

Is it better, this time, that Cid has no cruel parting words? That Balthier was not stayed by empathy then spit in his face for it?

If it is, it's made worse by the rage that's starting to leave him. Scions, this god damned man won't leave him be even here, still turning him into something he doesn't want to be. How does this wound keep getting deeper? ]

Apparitions from the spell tend to disappear once it's dealt with. [ His voice comes out hoarse, and he's entirely unaware that there are tears cutting tracks on his face. ] Better to move the stone, but I suspect it will fade.

[ He swallows hard, unable to meet Stephen's gaze. Ashamed of what he's done, what he hasn't, of the way he lost control. Angry at himself that Stephen was injured. Terrified that he has the power to kill someone. That he has killed someone this way. Gods, he wants to go home and lock the doors and erase all of this.]

Thank you for your assistance.

[ There's blood on his hand, a splash of it over the hip of his robes. Will that fade? But even as the soft sounds of a violent passing come to a halt at his feet, Stephen's looking into the face of a man who just lost his father. A father Stephen plunged a knife into like that father had plunged a knife into him.

There's an inference in Balthier's words that he understands what it is that's happening here and Stephen latches onto it like any man with a last hope would. But this isn't the time, as much as everything in him wants to push.

So instead he opens up his hand, holding out the prize from this little escapade for Balthier. He knows more about it than Stephen does, will know better than him how to protect it until it's gone - he seems to be enough himself again for that risk to be safe to take. ]

Sorry about your dad.

[ There's not a lot of inflection in it, but something about having said it at all isn't exactly kind. ]

[ Yes, well, it's not the first time he lost his father, and maybe he should be glad Stephen did the honors so he didn't have to. ]

It was worse the first time. [ Not a lie. Also not acknowledging that this one still hurts.

He takes the nethicite though. Strange, because here it doesn't make his stomach sick and block the Mist, leaving him helpless and nauseated like it did at home. Maybe that's one thing his powers have and advantage at here. ]

A pretty stone that killed millions. He was helping them manufacture it. Giving it to the military. [ He doesn't know why he's talking. But he feels like if he stops he's going to cry instead and Scions that would be embarrassing. ] He was the hero in the family.

[ His voice is back to something like even. Even if he'd entirely lost his composure moments before. Fuck fuck he hates this. ] Thank you for your help. I'm sorry for the... [ He gestures at Stephen's no longer a wound. And the blood. ]

I'm just glad he chose to prioritise blowing up the city over - [ What was it..? ] Stabbing me in the heart.

[ Light, breezy. Unnecessary, unkind. But an apology from Balthier runs the risk of turning the spotlight his way, and he has no plans to acknowledge how his stomach's still roiling with another almost-death, no desire to reflect in company on how it had felt to drive a blade through flesh that, while spell-made, was still flesh. Muscle, sinew, organ. It's very far from the first time he's cut into a body, not even the first time he's done it with the intent to cause harm. But to kill? Quickly, efficiently, bloodily?

Let them look back instead on how Balthier had morphed under the effects of his father's presence. Or, better still and before he can any further misdirect the gnawing knot of dread and disgust in his gut onto the freshly re-orphaned young man in front of him (not that it seems the guy was much of a father) (not that that's any justification for murder), let them stop looking back on it at all.

He should probably help him more than this. Offer some support to a person who has every reason to be on the brink of collapse. But his hands are shaking more violently than they have all day where he's concealed them under the bulk of the cloak, and magic is a memory on the wind, and he doesn't have an inch of room left for nursing somebody else's pain. ]

Is there anything else?

[ It's a little brusque, and that isn't fair. But it's high time he was gone. ]

[ Balthier winces at that. Not just the threat of violence against Stephen, which is bad enough, but the cold terror that he has that kind of cruelty in him. If it's come out once, what's to say it won't again? It's something his father would do; it stands to reason Balthier would have it in him too. ]

First time killing someone with good old fashion steel and brute force then?

[ Equally breezy, equally unkind. Further cruelty, and internally he blanches at himself, but he's so overwhelmed that all he can do is reach for the persona he's spent years using to obscure himself.

But maybe there's a little growth, because he manages to add, ] I thank you for your services. The first one lingers. You may want a sleep aid.

[ Scions no one else should have suffered this because of him. But the reality is without Stephen, without this stupid stone that doesn't even really exist, the whole city could be...nothing.

Like his mother's.

And he really can't help but add, ] I killed him, the first time. With my own hands. This one wasn't real. You know that, right?

[ That I am a murderer, and you aren't. Balthier and his blasted heart. A lifetime of being made to carry too much means he can't let others do the same. ]

[ I've killed people with worse bites the retort he doesn't let past a suddenly clenched jaw as Balthier just keeps talking, moving from the initial cut (fine, if he must) to kindness. When he pushes on to self-pity wearing a coat of earnest concern it digs like a thorn under Stephen's skin.

That's enough. He doesn't need babying from a kid half his age.

(Not from a man whose father is laying dead on the ground, his blood drying on Stephen's hand.) ]

That's all, then.

[ He doesn't wait. Turning, Stephen takes a few strides and lets the cloak lift him up and off, leaving Balthier to deal with the mess they made alone. ]

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Fear and Loathing in Excelsior

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