[CR] Vigil
Feb. 21st, 2019 06:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22Title: Vigil
Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, Episode 29/30 adjacent, Folly of the Brave series
Characters: Caduceus Clay, The Mighty Nein
Rated: K+
Description: In the still and quiet, Caduceus contemplates his new companions.
For a long time, Caduceus doesn’t rest. He can’t bring himself to do it.
He stays up, and he keeps vigil of this new, unusual group he’s found himself a part of. The loud, angry one isn’t here. She’s crept off with the dwarf, and Caduceus can hear their laughter, their low murmurs of pleasure, the soft susurrus of skin against skin.
The rest curl in the small space of the wizard’s protective sphere, apart but together. They are weary and worn, beaten and bedraggled, bloody and mourning, relieved and strained. They are a contradiction.
He doesn’t know why Melora has put him in their path. He suspects he’ll understand Her intentions in time.
The tiefling – she’s blue, apparently there had been another – curls closest to Nott, her face buried between the goblin’s shoulderblades, the occasional shiver rippling over her body. A shiver Caduceus knows has nothing to do with a chill, but the circumstances where she was found. He’d needed only look at the chains and instruments of torture to get a small inkling of what these slavers had done.
Curled on Nott’s other side is Caleb, flat on his back, snoring softly, dark, dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray around him. A smudge of dirt paints one cheek, arms over his head, and a blanket haphazardly tossed over his wiry frame. Nott’s head rests on his belly, rising and falling with his stuttered breathing.
Yasha is as unconscious as when they found her. Jester and Beau had taken care to comfortably prop her upright – apparently, she prefers to sleep sitting up – and despite the amount of healing Caduceus has poured into her, Yasha is still a map of welts and bruises and weals. They’d tried their hardest to break her.
Caduceus does not know Yasha, but he suspects they could have kept trying and never succeeded. She emanates strength, even unconscious.
The only one slightly apart from the group, aside from Caduceus himself, is Fjord. He’s clutching a pillow to his chest, his face lined with stress, even in sleep. Like Yasha and Jester, he’s streaked with bruises and scrapes and scars. Fatigue lines every inch of his body.
It’s not, however, his injuries which capture Caduceus’ attention the most. It’s the way Fjord clings to the pillow, not in such a manner to suggest he needs something to ground him right now, to hold him. More as if he’s accustomed to holding something – or rather someone – while he sleeps and misses it dearly now.
That someone is most certainly not Beauregard. Her interests rather obviously lie in other directions.
It cannot be someone already in this tent. Otherwise Fjord would have drawn them into his arms, taken comfort from their presence. Unless, of course, their relationship is a secret from the others. It would be hard to hide, from a group as tight-knit as this one. Given the way the others curl together, Fjord’s distance – while small – might as well be a chasm for all that it is obvious to Caduceus.
Their lost friend, this Molly they refer to with aching notes in their voices, perhaps he is the one Fjord reaches for.
Caduceus is accustomed to the grief of loss. He has comforted more than his share of mourners throughout his lifetime. Words can be helpful. But not, he thinks, in this particular situation.
He watches for a few moments more as the tension seems to build and build in Fjord’s body, threatening to disturb his rest.
Caduceus rises then. He steps gingerly through the splayed limbs of the resting Mighty Nein, and squeezes down into the space between Fjord and the edge of the mystical tent. He does not lay, but instead leans up against the wall, much like Yasha. He doesn’t want to presume.
He brushes his fingertips over Fjord’s forehead, pouring the last of his day’s reserve in the form of a Calm Emotions.
Fjord doesn’t immediately calm, but he does audibly exhale, in a slow, steady stream. His face arcs toward Caduceus’ hand as though seeking the warmth of it. A shiver wracks his body, not one of chill, but perhaps to mirror the emotions quivering beneath the surface.
Sympathy wells within Caduceus. This band of odd adventurers need someone like him, he thinks. They are so brash, so forward, so… reckless. Perhaps that is why Melora has put him in their path. They need something to steady them.
Especially this one.
Caduceus leans back and crosses his legs beneath him, trying to minimize the amount of space he consumes by virtue of who he is. He folds his hands in his lap and glances over the entirety of the team again.
Caleb has not moved, though his snores have quieted to mere snuffles. No, correction. One arm has lowered, hand resting over Nott’s head, curving as if protective. Nott, too, has shifted to wrap green fingers around Caleb’s wrist, her hold light but present.
Yasha remains against the wall, her greatsword next to her, her eyes shuttered in sleep. She, at least, seems to be resting easy. Perhaps her dreams have carried her to a better, safer place.
Jester hasn’t moved, save to curl closer to Nott, as though trying to shield the goblin’s body with her own.
A small sound captures Caduceus’ attention. He looks back down at Fjord, and the half-orc has moved closer to him, close enough that his forehead barely touches Caduceus’ knee. His grip on the pillow has loosened, less a death-grip and more an embrace. The furrow of his forehead has smoothed out.
He seems to be resting easier at least.
They all do.
Caduceus breathes in and out and leans back against the wall of the magical bubble, closing his eyes. He can safely rest now, he thinks.
It has been a long, long day.
*
Universe: Critical Role, Campaign Two, Episode 29/30 adjacent, Folly of the Brave series
Characters: Caduceus Clay, The Mighty Nein
Rated: K+
Description: In the still and quiet, Caduceus contemplates his new companions.
For a long time, Caduceus doesn’t rest. He can’t bring himself to do it.
He stays up, and he keeps vigil of this new, unusual group he’s found himself a part of. The loud, angry one isn’t here. She’s crept off with the dwarf, and Caduceus can hear their laughter, their low murmurs of pleasure, the soft susurrus of skin against skin.
The rest curl in the small space of the wizard’s protective sphere, apart but together. They are weary and worn, beaten and bedraggled, bloody and mourning, relieved and strained. They are a contradiction.
He doesn’t know why Melora has put him in their path. He suspects he’ll understand Her intentions in time.
The tiefling – she’s blue, apparently there had been another – curls closest to Nott, her face buried between the goblin’s shoulderblades, the occasional shiver rippling over her body. A shiver Caduceus knows has nothing to do with a chill, but the circumstances where she was found. He’d needed only look at the chains and instruments of torture to get a small inkling of what these slavers had done.
Curled on Nott’s other side is Caleb, flat on his back, snoring softly, dark, dark circles under his eyes and his hair in disarray around him. A smudge of dirt paints one cheek, arms over his head, and a blanket haphazardly tossed over his wiry frame. Nott’s head rests on his belly, rising and falling with his stuttered breathing.
Yasha is as unconscious as when they found her. Jester and Beau had taken care to comfortably prop her upright – apparently, she prefers to sleep sitting up – and despite the amount of healing Caduceus has poured into her, Yasha is still a map of welts and bruises and weals. They’d tried their hardest to break her.
Caduceus does not know Yasha, but he suspects they could have kept trying and never succeeded. She emanates strength, even unconscious.
The only one slightly apart from the group, aside from Caduceus himself, is Fjord. He’s clutching a pillow to his chest, his face lined with stress, even in sleep. Like Yasha and Jester, he’s streaked with bruises and scrapes and scars. Fatigue lines every inch of his body.
It’s not, however, his injuries which capture Caduceus’ attention the most. It’s the way Fjord clings to the pillow, not in such a manner to suggest he needs something to ground him right now, to hold him. More as if he’s accustomed to holding something – or rather someone – while he sleeps and misses it dearly now.
That someone is most certainly not Beauregard. Her interests rather obviously lie in other directions.
It cannot be someone already in this tent. Otherwise Fjord would have drawn them into his arms, taken comfort from their presence. Unless, of course, their relationship is a secret from the others. It would be hard to hide, from a group as tight-knit as this one. Given the way the others curl together, Fjord’s distance – while small – might as well be a chasm for all that it is obvious to Caduceus.
Their lost friend, this Molly they refer to with aching notes in their voices, perhaps he is the one Fjord reaches for.
Caduceus is accustomed to the grief of loss. He has comforted more than his share of mourners throughout his lifetime. Words can be helpful. But not, he thinks, in this particular situation.
He watches for a few moments more as the tension seems to build and build in Fjord’s body, threatening to disturb his rest.
Caduceus rises then. He steps gingerly through the splayed limbs of the resting Mighty Nein, and squeezes down into the space between Fjord and the edge of the mystical tent. He does not lay, but instead leans up against the wall, much like Yasha. He doesn’t want to presume.
He brushes his fingertips over Fjord’s forehead, pouring the last of his day’s reserve in the form of a Calm Emotions.
Fjord doesn’t immediately calm, but he does audibly exhale, in a slow, steady stream. His face arcs toward Caduceus’ hand as though seeking the warmth of it. A shiver wracks his body, not one of chill, but perhaps to mirror the emotions quivering beneath the surface.
Sympathy wells within Caduceus. This band of odd adventurers need someone like him, he thinks. They are so brash, so forward, so… reckless. Perhaps that is why Melora has put him in their path. They need something to steady them.
Especially this one.
Caduceus leans back and crosses his legs beneath him, trying to minimize the amount of space he consumes by virtue of who he is. He folds his hands in his lap and glances over the entirety of the team again.
Caleb has not moved, though his snores have quieted to mere snuffles. No, correction. One arm has lowered, hand resting over Nott’s head, curving as if protective. Nott, too, has shifted to wrap green fingers around Caleb’s wrist, her hold light but present.
Yasha remains against the wall, her greatsword next to her, her eyes shuttered in sleep. She, at least, seems to be resting easy. Perhaps her dreams have carried her to a better, safer place.
Jester hasn’t moved, save to curl closer to Nott, as though trying to shield the goblin’s body with her own.
A small sound captures Caduceus’ attention. He looks back down at Fjord, and the half-orc has moved closer to him, close enough that his forehead barely touches Caduceus’ knee. His grip on the pillow has loosened, less a death-grip and more an embrace. The furrow of his forehead has smoothed out.
He seems to be resting easier at least.
They all do.
Caduceus breathes in and out and leans back against the wall of the magical bubble, closing his eyes. He can safely rest now, he thinks.
It has been a long, long day.
*
