towerofanimus | A couple promised closed (or semi-closed) logs

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A couple promised closed (or semi-closed) logs

Characters: Enoch and Lucifel, and anyone who would visit his room too. Just let me know! Also, Enoch and Lancer.
Setting: Dorm 3-18 backdated to November 1st, Floor 62 backdated to December 1st
Format: I'll match!
Summary: Enoch has had something very unpleasant happen to him as a punishment for too many failed riddles. That is an understatement. Also, he and Lancer agreed to a sparring match.
Warnings: Talk of being flayed may happen if you press for information. (If this is one of your listed squicks I'll actively avoid it coming up), maybe blood or broken limbs in the sparring match? There is a tangent involving sexual discussion.

Dorm 3-18, November 1st

He woke with a scream.

Or tried to. In his sleep paralysis it was only a choked sound as he stared at the ceiling wide-eyed. Unable to move or speak, all he had was the nightmare he'd just lived, punctuated by Eleven's shrill screaming. All he had was that he was not in pain. Parts of him were still numb from revival, but he was not in pain.

An involuntary, low, distressed moan was what told him he could move again. Shaking and pale, he pushed himself up. He was covered in a sheen of sweat and his gaze was unfocused, glazed-over. He raised a hand, still numb and tingling, and pressed it to his own chest. With something between a laugh and a sob, he curled up on himself, a tight human ball on the bed.

Unlike the time that had given him such an adverse reaction, there was nothing driving him to keep going. Only the horror of what had happened.

Floor 62, December 1st

The beach had always been a calming place for him. That is, until his return to Meridian. As he waited for Lancer, he watched the waves, arms folded as his thoughts wandered. Mostly, they wandered to Armaros, and their time in Meridian. Time spent there, he on a large dune watching as Armaros swam.

And now, he was here. Torn apart. In so much pain he could only blame him.

A nautilus shell washed up against his foot. He bent down to pick it up, idly playing with it as he waited for Lancer, stewing in his own thoughts.

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[Lancer arrives shortly, having foregone his usual suit for a hideous red and green tunic and his black (now grey from wear) pants.]

Yo, Enoch!

[Though he's here for a spar, he still looks as relaxed as ever.]

*It's a good thing he isn't Lucifel. And that Lucifel isn't here. Lancer would be getting pulled aside for a wardrobe change so fast.

When Lancer speaks up, Enoch turns to face him, still holding the shell. He manages a small smile.*

Hello, Lancer. You've come prepared, I take it?

Yep, brought my fists and nothing else. Unless you really wanna see my spear.

[Then again, they had agreed to spar without weapons.]

*He obligingly dismisses his armor, his smile a little more relaxed and natural once he gets to talking about the matter at hand.* I take it armor is off-limits, then, as well. Do you have any special rules in mind, or should we simply test our fighting skills as they are?

I think we'll be fine as we are. Come on.

[He beckons toward Enoch.]

*Enoch isn't a fighter by disposition. He only makes the first move if that was his intention all along. And this time, it isn't. He raises his fists and drops into a battle stance, rolling his neck to loosen it.

He can't swim, so the first order of business is getting away from the water, while it's still early in the fight and his mind isn't clouded by adrenaline. He begins circling, up and farther from the tide, maintaining caution.*

[Lancer gets impatient as he and Enoch circle each other. Therefore, even if his back is toward the water, he makes the first move. It's a kick at Enoch's head.]

The archangel had waited for Enoch to be able to move again.

He had seen him on that day. Or rather what had remained of him, it was an image that had burnt itself in his inner eye, his screams when it happened still echoing in his ears. And he had told Enoch to watch out. To see him if he needed help with his riddles since he didn't have much luck with them.

The bad luck apparently had decided to stick around until the very end.

Lucifel had sat down next to the scribe, looking at him for a long time until he spoke up. "... Enoch..."

Even when he thought he knew, he'd gotten them wrong. And gotten them wrong. Until...

He didn't hear Lucifel come in or sit down, Eleven's screaming perfectly matching his own thoughts, an internal jumble of fear forcing its way bit by bit through his throat in choked sobs. He didn't even make any effort to hide these, didn't even seem to be aware he wasn't alone.

When the angel spoke his name, he responded, uncurling and clumsily crawling his way upright, practically falling against Lucifel for his inability to properly feel his arms.

"Lucifel, Lucifel..." He was crying in a way he hadn't cried in a long time, desperate, pained, scared. Unlike the day he had killed Rick, any protective numbing his brain had managed had worn off by now with everything beneath still in chaos, a chaos that made it hard to think and impossible to speak coherently. All he could think was that his closest friend was here, and he needed to stay near him.

He had no words to say. Lucifel wrapped his arms around the scribe, even though the scribe couldn't feel a thing at this moment. There wasn't much he could do to comfort him, saying it would be fine seemed to be the wrong thing to do...

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm here."

His torso was just fine. It was his arms and one of his legs that were numb and awkward. His vision was too blurry with tears to see where his arms were, too, so he couldn't hug him back.

He had been worn down. By Eleven. By the quarantine. By his time here. By the week of failed riddles and lack of appetite and resultant lack of energy. By losing Yotsuba and Tohko and Raphael and Yu.

He'd had no defenses left for this. All he could do was cry, trying to hold Lucifel tight but clumsy and uncoordinated. All he could do was cry, slumped against his guardian. Cry, while he tried to find strength.

"Help me..."

The archangel lifted his left hand, reaching out to wipe away the tears that were streaming down the face of the blond. How much time would it take for Enoch to recover, he wondered every single day. And by now it almost felt like not even all the time of the world would be enough to fix him.

But what could he do to help Enoch in this Tower where he too was helpless?

His attempts to stop crying only made it worse, eventually leading to him hyperventilating through his tears, choking, gasping breaths punctuating his sobs as his body shook, once again panicked. Apparently, trying to stop before he'd cried himself out wasn't going to happen this time. It was just too much...

*A kick aiming that high is just begging to be ducked under. He does so and lashes out with a roundhouse kick in retaliation, trying to catch him before he has his feet firmly planted again.*

[Lancer gets his feet knocked out from under him, but he's quick to plant a hand on the ground and try to flip into an upright position again.]

"It's alright Enoch, you don't have to force yourself." He could continue crying if it helped him. Lucifel had just wanted to make sure that...

... What exactly had he wanted to be sure of? That Enoch was there, that he looked like not a thing had happened to him?

Without proper feeling in his arms, he clung the only way he could: he buried his head against Lucifel's shoulder, eventually catching his breath and, a few minutes later, quiet, dead silent except for the shaky breaths against his guardian's shoulder.

He looked up at Lucifel with reddened eyes. "I'm sorry...I tried to survive..."

Lucifel leaned his head against Enoch's while he listened to him. The archangel knew that he tried his best to survive... but like so often in this place, the scribe didn't have much luck.

"You're not at fault..."

Enoch slumped against him again, quieting a bit on hearing that. After a moment more, he spoke again, quietly and subdued.

"I'm so tired, Lucifel. It feels as if I've been here a hundred years..."

*And while he's doing that, Enoch draws a leg back, a flash of energy at his foot the only indication this will be anything more than human before he lashes out with a rapid-fire flurry of kicks that would be impossible for any normal human to pull off. It was meant to catch him before he was ready, but doubtlessly a Servant's speed would be able to handle such a feat - his ability to turn is limited and he's only balanced on one leg while he's at it.*

[Indeed, Lancer's speed allows him to block the kicks, though it take some effort on his part. This time, it's his turn to try to knock Enoch off balance as he pushes hard against Enoch's raised leg during one of the kicks.]

*It works. Enoch tumbles backwards into the sand, leaving him open for a moment as he gets to his feet.*

Gotcha.

[Lancer dashes forward, closing the gap between them in just one step, and swings a fist at Enoch's face.]

*If he wasn't just standing up, he would have been able to duck that easily. But he was, so Lancer's fist crashes into his jaw as he turns his head in a failed attempt to dodge, and he staggers at the unexpected force. It's been a long time since anyone's bare-fisted strike was so effective against him...this is the strength that survived that drop from above a modern skyline, after all. A normal human's jaw would have been broken severely.

Enoch rubs at his cheek a second before lunging into a punch of his own - a feint from the left to hopefully catch him with a hook from his dominant right hand.*

[Lancer dodges the feint, but because he's shifting his position to prepare another punch of his own, he can't dodge the right hook. It slams into his jaw, forcing him to stumble back and to the side. When he recovers his footing, he wipes away the blood coming from his torn lips and laughs.]

Oh man, that one was good! First time I've been punched so hard in a long time.

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A couple promised closed (or semi-closed) logs

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November 1st

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