albinomilksnake | OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[Elena didn't make it. It's a loss that doesn't sit well with her-- won't sit well with Nate, to say the least-- but it does mean that where Chloe was previously unable to lend a hand she can trace his footsteps down into the twisted, tangled trunk that is the 'sacred' tree of life. A machine meant to turn men into monsters.

Because he can't face down Lazarevic on his own-- can't possibly--

And it's eerie how little sound there is, working her way through woven branches, down into the heart of Shambhala. Eerier still how that silence carries till she catches sight of Nate's silhouette stuck out against a fragmented azure glow. She hardly notices the crumpled bodies slumped down beneath deep, bottomless cast shadows.]

Nate...? [She doesn't need to notice to put two and two together.] What did you do?

[The silence had been deafening. He's hurt -- badly. The fight with Lazarevic hadn't gone well, and he isn't one hundred percent sure about the taste in his mouth -- whether its bone, sap, or blood. The guardians had finished the job for him, and he was fortunate enough that Lazarevic had enough fight in him to get his revenge on them before they had decided to turn on Nate himself.

He's half steeped in sap -- its a wonder it hadn't pulled him under when he had fallen. Part of him is still expecting the guardians to reappear and pound his skull into the floor. But Lazarevic was dead, that was all that mattered, and that Chloe and Elena were--

Behind him?]

He's dead.

[He'd be lying if he said he wasn't happy about it -- but there's a more pressing matter at hand. Nate drops his automatic to the side and grips the roots beside him for support as he prepares to turn around.]

What are you doing down here? Where's Elena?

Gone. [There's sincerity in her voice when she says it despite the distraction of-- everything currently surrounding them. The question of how on earth he'd managed it.] I'm sorry.

[She's not daft enough to presume he doesn't wish it'd been the other way round. Drops her hand down low once she's close enough, offering it as a handhold to pull him loose from the mess holding him.]

[The dawning realization on his face isn't slow, and pain morphs in his eyes -- but not the face.]

Gone--

[He says it like it has to be some kind of joke -- because it is, right? He had come down here to keep Lazarevic from getting back to Elena and Chloe, rest of the world be damned. And she was--gone?

The pain that begins to creep into his expression is quickly replaced by anger, and he looks down at the ground furiously. He couldn't take it out on Lazarevic -- he was already dead. There was nothing but this sap, Chloe's hand, and the tree he was holding onto. So rather than reach for Chloe's offered hand, tension rapidly wells up in his shoulders and he slams a fist down on the wood until it splits and his hand begins to bleed.]

Damn it--!

[It is very apparent that the swear is not for his now-mangled hand (it must be mangled -- there is blood, even if his skin suddenly appears to have knit back together). His shoulders stiffen with a mixture of hatred and guilt. How could he have let that happen? He never should have left. He should have taken Chloe and Elena and ran away -- far away, and burned together when their time came.

Now what? Now he has a bitter taste in his mouth, Elena's blood on his hands, and nothing to show for it. Nothing but glowing attire and sticky fingers.]

I did everything I could-- [Chloe doesn't jump at the fracture, doesn't do anthing more than lock up into harsh, uneven angles all juxtaposed against his. Till his eyes flick elsewhere enough for her to go in for that injured hand--] We both did.

[The blood stains don't have a trail; they're as free from the flow of an injury as paint or ink-- marking his skin without any point of origin or purpose. Her focus, understandably-- wordlessly-- shifts.

To him.]

[The contact doesn't help -- if anything, it feels foreign. His skin prickles where it connects with her's, and he shifts his weight to pull himself out of the sap only slightly, enough to make sure he can't look at Chloe -- so she can't see him visibly cracking under the weight of Elena's death.

His shoulders are tense -- they bulge a bit against the fabric of his shirt, like its become too small for him in the past twenty minutes.]

This is my fault -- this is all my fault.

[His voice cracks slightly at the end of the statement. Now that he's moved, its clear there is plenty of blood on his person. Its impossible to tell what belongs to him and what doesn't, but with every slice of his shirt, it seems there is no wound beneath it.

Not even where he's clearly been shot.]

Christ. [It's the last thing to be said at a time like this: when he's unraveling right at the seams and threatening to break-- has every right to-- but grief doesn't blind Chloe Frazer, it makes her sharper. Keen and aware of every last threat because removing herself from the weight of emotion's easier than dealing. Aware of the fine print getting harsher with each passing second spent watching him.]

You drank it, didn't you?

[He doesn't answer her right away -- has to compose himself, get his head in order. He still wants to go see her...maybe apologize for being such a worthless, useless fuck up despite not being able to hear him.

But first, he has to get out of here and get his head to stop swimming. Other than the crippling weight of despair, he actually feels pretty good. His blood is practically humming, his wounds have all but disappeared, and his broken leg appears to have mended.

No wonder Lazarevic wanted this shit so bad.]

I had to.

[Its not defensive -- a bit resigned.]

I was too late. He already drank it, and one of them -- [He gestures awkwardly to the dead bodies.] -- got a good shot on me.

[He finally pulls himself out of the glowing well and presses a hand to his head.]

He would've gotten away -- gone after you and...

[He can't say her name. It makes him sick.]

[Better that he doesn't say it. Better that they say nothing, really, because there's nothing to be found in words that would ease the hard knot wound up in either his stomach or hers.

Chloe stays at his back, less out of courtesy than it is a chance to watch him without the obligation of managing her movements. No need to hide how the .45 is no longer in its holster, even if her finger's far from the trigger.]

Right, well...you did fine. [A shallow lie; he needs the comfort. Their lives for hers: what a bloody waste.] Put an end to him - that's all that matters.

[He rubs his head as he gets to his feet, leaning against the tree for support. His vision is swimming with the sap pulsing through his veins like steroids, making his heart race.]

That's not why I did it.

[But she knows that. Why would he care about the rest of the world? He doesn't. Didn't is probably more accurate. Who would care about the world now, with Elena gone?

He can't linger on that. He has to see her. When he turns to Chloe, he ignores the gun. She wouldn't shoot him -- no way. Even if she did, he doubts it would do anything to him now.

Nate starts to walk back the way Chloe had come, pressing his hand against any surface he can find to keep him steady.]

Come on. We can't leave her there.

No, we can't. [He has time enough for that, doesn't he? ignoring the wounds that knit themselves up neatly, the blue resin stuck to his skin, he's not looking like one of those...things just yet.

So the trek back up is made without discussion, without more than the sound of her breath in her lungs and the crunch of jungle leaves beneath their feet, to the spot where Elena lies still and bloody exactly where they'd been nearly half an hour before.

Chloe respectfully keeps her distance.]

[Nate keeps his distance at first too, like he doesn't deserve to be within five feet of her. Eventually, though, he drags himself over and drops very heavily to his sap- soaked knees to sit over her, shoulders sagging in defeat. No sound comes from him, no tears fall -- just the sad, defeated stare that he allows himself, and a tentative hand to run through her hair.

That's about the point where he notices how swollen the muscles in his palm had become, the slight tearing of seams on his shirt. He pulls his hand away and mutters something completely inaudible.

The sap was taking hold. What was it Lazarevic had said? You don't have the will.

Well, he could at least carry Elena out of here and get Chloe to safety. The platforms were no longer steady after the firefight. There was no telling how long everything would stay standing. So, with no straining at all, Nate picks Elena's body up bridal style and steps over to hover beside Chloe. He's a little out of proportion now, but his skin remains as human as ever.

At least he managed to keep someone alive. They would have to pass Flynn on the way out.]

Ready?

When you are.

[It's a slow, somber sort of procession as they make their way out. There's plenty she ought to say. Plenty more she wants to before they reach the end of this grotesquely magnificent tomb. But the words-- all tangled up in themselves-- don't come. It's not until they reach the Cintamani stone that she starts to go tense: sharp edges of her nails digging into the soft skin of her palm.]

[Nate is perfectly fine with the silence. Despite being a hulk-in-progress, he's still clutching Elena's form like its taking physical effort to carry her. The weight in his arms is heavy for a different reason, but he presses on.

When they round up to the Cintamani stone, he can't help but stopping to glance over at the smear of ash and blood on the wall. He can't help but feel just a little sorry for him, despite the fact that the body in his hands was a direct result from his selfishness. And its that reason alone that he doesn't linger.

Harry Flynn didn't deserve everything he got, but that was one thing he couldn't forgive him for. He does, however, glance back to Chloe to make sure she is alright to continue.]

I'm fine. [She's not, but on the scale of being all right-- out of everyone that set foot in this place-- she's certainly made out like a bloody bandit, hasn't she? Besides, (Chloe doesn't look towards the wall, doesn't spare a glance at the blood soaked stone) they've got a job that needs doing. One more important than dwelling on what's already been done.

Facts over emotion.]

Yeah.

[Regardless of her words, he hovers until she moves next to him, and only then will he start to walk again. Not just because he wants to make sure she's really ok (because he knows she isn't -- this had been a disaster in every way imaginable), but because he wants to ensure they make it out of this hole without any further casualties.

Nate pauses and glances behind them warily, narrowing his eyes. Awkwardly, he adjusts Elena's body and unfastens the harness holding his gun -- it barely fits around his chest anymore as is, and he's sure that there are still guardians lurking about. Guardians that won't want him on the surface, having tasted Shambhala's bounty.

He thinks he might hear them coming but -- its probably just paranoia.]

Might wanna pick up the pace a bit.

OPEN RP PART II: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

/ruins everything

im fucking gone goodbye

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i dont have an icon for this

it's okay neither do I

fucking rip in peace

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