ORIGIN - days like these

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Booker stared, sightless, gaze blank and unfocused. His hands clenched and unclenched unsteadily around the ripped fur, roots bloody, the patches on his arm releasing tiny streams of irritated red. Vaguely, he felt the touch of gentle hands on his cheek, his hands, but he couldn't see what was causing them. Everything was blurred, as if it was underwater. Was he... crying?

Experimentally, the numbat raised one paw to his working eye, coming away damp. Crying, then. Glancing up towards the touch's source, the scribe stared unseeing at his son, tilting his head to one side, opening his mouth as if to say something -

When he was wrenched back into his mind as a shrieking, piercing volt of pain traveled up the bond from Baratheon's side, racing through Booker's body like a bolt of lightning, making him hiss and whine, ears flicking back, eye widening in fear, losing his grip on the outer world.

Pain. Unending, wave after wave, boiling him from the inside, yet surely only a minute echo of what his brother was going through. Chattering wildly, Booker backed into the bark of the bush, clutching at its branches, barely breathing. And then, it ebbed - only to spike in his remaining eye, and he shrieked, falling to the ground, pushing both hands onto the eye, as if to keep it in its socket.

Right. I was right. Right. Right. Right.

Blood, too much, tangy in his mouth but it wasn't his mouth and God, he was dying but he wasn't. Thick streams from his ears and nose, there but not at all, ghosts of true injury seeping through the opened bond, wrenched from its locks by complete and total destruction.

Booker... I've failed... It was weak, barely there, a whisper or a thought, gently dancing across the blood-stained bond, its links fading, falling away to nothing with every step. Booker sat in the middle of his mind-space, putrid water rising to lap at his haunches, swamping the landscape, watching with bile in his throat as his brother...

Failed.

With one final, great crash the bond splintered apart, shards flying everywhere, the tunnel it had been housed in closing up in silence, like a scabbed-over wound, until it seemed nothing had ever been there, no, nothing at all.

A shout - had he shouted? And he was tossed back to the unforgiving light, wincing and retching up stomach acid, wrenching his hands away from his eye, blinking wildly as the world came back into focus. There was a bee in his ear. Was there? It was buzzing along happily, until he could hear nothing else, its tiny legs tingling. Or was that blood?

Didn't matter. Irritably, the numbat straightened up, scratching at the sensation, paw coming away bloodied. And then the red... moved. Just a bit. Twitched, a little. Then it slithered, curled up in his palm like a snake, and Booker watched, fascinated, mesmerised. It tilted its bloody head to the side, seeming as curious as he, growing longer and fatter the more blood drained out of his ears, then his nose, then his eye.

Come to think of it, the scribe felt a little... dizzy... with a flicker of his vision, the concentration broke, and the snake dissolved into a thick pool of blood, drip-drip-dripping to the floor. Booker blinked once, twice, pallid and bloodied, before collapsing to the ground.

@Diot

All he could do was stand beside his father and give him the comfort he needed. Try and help anyway he can, even if it was just being there before him. Though what the numbat did next, made it extremely hard. Kind eyes of the tamarin soon filled with fear as Booker unleashed an ungodly hiss. Whining as he ears flickered. He was losing himself, but how!? Why!?

Booker began to retreat, baking up into the bark of the bush. Clutching desperately at this branches as if it could keep him grounded from what was happening. When it seemed to maybe be working, he shrieked falling to the ground and covering his eye as if it would pop out of the socket.

There was no blood pooling around his father, only panic surged within the young tamarin as he tried to figure out a way to put an end to this. He had to help, he had to bring some relief to his father. The man had been through so much, after all nature would know and it was whispering to Diot now.

At least, Diot thought there was no blood. But that had taken a turn for the worse. Something was in his father's palm. Something red, something slithering. Then the ungodly happened as blood began to pool from the numbat's eye, nose and even his ears. Horror struck Diot's heart as in a panic he called upon nature to help.

Quickly small herbs and plants began to grow all around him as he shuffled over to his father. The plants following Diot's footsteps and growing where he had touched the soil. He was one with nature, he would control both himself and this gift. Standing over his collapsed father he ignored the plants that continued to bloom around the two of them. So much panic rising in the young one's chest, each plant feeding off his worries and attempting to assist in any way they could.

"Dad! Dad I-I'm here! Stay stay with me ok! Im gonna get you some help!" Grabbing a few specific leafs he called out to his father, awaiting an answer as he mashed the leafs into his palm. Within moment he was lifting his blood soaked maw. Opening it just wide enough to put the leaf mash on his tongue. He would need to swallow this, that is what they said. Giving a gently pat on the top of his noggin he continued to speak out to him. "Just eat this! Its-its medicine! It will help!"

"Speech"

"Thought"

Booker stared, rather dimly, at the ground, chin resting on the earth, breathing out in short bursts, watching as the exhales swept up dust into miniature waltzes. Then, Diot came into view - or rather his feet did. The scribe's eye slowly tracked up to the tamarin's face, blinking, puzzled. Had those plants been there before...? Strange.

Dad! Dad I-I'm here! Booker's brow wrinkled, and he sneezed at the feeling of liquid welling in his snout, unaware of the burst of blood that followed the action. Most of his attention was stalled on trying to figure out why his son sounded upset.

Stay, stay with me ok! I'm gonna get you some help! A gentle flick of his still trickling ears, and Booker hummed, smiling just a bit, revealing bloodied teeth, copper fluid dribbling out from clenched jaws.

Help. His son was so helpful, so kind and giving, despite being left alone to fend for himself.

Dizzy and flickering in and out of consciousness, Booker merely flinched back when hands gripped his jaw, pulling it from the forest floor, opening stubborn needlepoint teeth and depositing something utterly foul on his tongue. The numbat sputtered, retching, unable to stop the herbs from being swallowed, but certainly not taking the assistance gracefully.

The mashed mix of plant matter slowly rolled down his throat, stubbornly catching on every bump and ridge, making the scribe gag and wheeze until it finally hit stomach acid.

Then came a gentle pat on the head, and Booker turned a probably too harsh stare on Diot, before another wave of nausea sent him flopping to the ground once more, exhausted, the buzzing in his ears having returned once again.

Just eat this! It's-it's medicine! It will help! Grimacing, Booker dutifully swallowed the rest of the glop, feeling it stick between his teeth like glue. Still, it seemed to be working, slowly; the longer the numbat sat, the more fuzzy the world became, soft and warm at the edges.

The numbat began to hum something, softly, as if trying to calm himself down - one might recognize it as a dragon's bonding melody, if they had the knowledge. Colors began to weave together into tapestries, and Booker huffed, dragging himself through blood and bile to be just close enough to Diot to lay a paw on the tamarin's foot, patting it in return.

"Good... ya did... good, kiddo," he assured, rasping and wheezing, offering a shaky grin up at the Gembound as the "medicine" truly kicked in. The forest seemed to be dancing, and that melody had transferred from his lips to the air, circling around like a playful bird.

Come to think of it, didn't he deserve a break, just for a while? Maybe a nap, or a good night's sleep, or, hell, maybe forever. Diot could join him, after all. They could sit like this, and be happy and hazy.

Good. "'s good." Turning his head to gaze up at his son, the numbat giggled, tapping the ground. "How'd you get so tall?" Another giggle, and his eye was sliding shut, hum growing in volume.

Well that was easy. Never thought you'd just let go like that, gotta say, Books. My turn, now. You just... rest, hm? Forget about all this. I'll take care of everything. Just go to sleep for a while, now.

@Diot

It took more than a little work to have his father eat the plant mash he had made specially for him in this time of need. Having to see his copper strained teeth, feeling the warm fluid that dribbled from the numbat's jaws. This wasn't very pleasant, for either of them. But Booker had downed the mash. Giving Diot a look that one would easily call harsh, but all in all Diot understood. After all the plants he had used, one of which was pretty bitter. But it worked well, and FAST no doubt.

As before the young tamarin knew it Booker was on the ground once more. Giving a quick check of his father's mouth, he had ingested the last bit of the mystery mash. Though it became quickly apparent that his father began his euphoric state. The sharp edges of reality, dulling and becoming a nice haze of enjoyment. Diot stood there, watching Booker for a second drag himself through blood and bile. Getting just close enough to pat the tamarin on the foot. Praising him about the medicine he had just received.

His father began to hum now, and quiet loudly after a small remark of Diot's sudden height change. He would need to clean him up and get his father back into the burrow. If this was his first ride with these herbs, then he would need to get used to it in a nice safe environment. Can't be too careful!

With a calm smile on his father he gently coaxed Booker to his feet. "Lets get you inside! Get you in a nice comfy bed...and clean you up! yeah doesn't that sound nice dad!"

"Speech"

"Thought"

@Booker

Booker's body slowly rose with Diot's continued coaxing, unsteady and shivering - though whatever had a hold on it hid a smirk in his "son's" shoulder, choking back a snicker. Aw, that's cute. He's a keeper, this one, Books. Better not kill 'im like all the others.

The voice echoed and bounced through Booker's mind, though the scribe himself was far too hazy and fluid to hear, much less comprehend the words.

Let's get you inside! Get you in a nice comfy bed... and clean you up! Yeah, doesn't that sound nice, dad? Actually, that did sound nice, even to It, who simply leaned more heavily into Diot's grip, tail swishing lazily behind him, awkwardly drag-hopping along with use of one leg.

A stumble, and the numbat's tail was curling around the tamarin's with a startled grunt, barely catching himself from tumbling back to the forest floor. Still, the tiny Gembound's eye stayed closed, trusting his son - or, well, Booker's son - to get him wherever they were going safely.

The drugs were nice. Very nice. There was a pleasant warmth in his veins, link he was wrapped in a blanket on a chilly day, tremors running up and down his arms, whiskers twitching this way and that, random and uncontrolled. It's mouth lolled open, long tongue partially hanging out, tiny blood-stained teeth glinting in the light.

A few more steps, and they were declining, making It wrench his eye open. Nest... safe... burrow? Burrow, that was the word. They were making their way into the burrow. Didn't you... make something? Lucky he didn't see. The grave marker sat behind them like a solemn stone guard, blood and vomit creeping through the soft earth to pool beneath it.

@Diot

Subtly watching both where they were going he managed to get another glimpse or two on how his father walked using just one of his back legs. He would need to try and make another gift; maybe he could ask nature for a little help. After all it would help his father, it would be an item just perfect for him. But that would be attempted another time, he still had to clean Booker up.

The numbat practically fell backwards once or twice, though Diot made sure his father would stay steady. Arms under his, tail wrapped around his chest. Small little plants emerging along their every footstep. If he did manage to escape Diot's grasp the plant life would grab onto him, hold him upward. So there wasn't much worry on that front.

A smile on his face as he watched Booker's mouth loll open. Though the blood-stained teeth thrashed that happy feeling away. Though he kept a smile on his face, his father would be cleaned up shortly. Finally they were standing just inside the burrow. Walking a little deeper inside he carefully let go of Booker. Allowing him to sit flat on his butt, leaning against a wall. Juvenile plants began to flourish around him, making a comfy space should he fall over once or twice.

For now Diot was oblivious to the rather solemn grave marker outside. He had more important matters to deal with after all. Grabbing hold of a few of the flourishing plants that sprouted around his father. He prepared them for cleanup duty. This strain of moss would work well as a sponge, and some young root held plenty of moisture and water inside! This would work perfectly!

"I am going to need you to drink the water from this plant and chew on it! It will clean your teeth!" Handing over the root Diot began to dab moss across Booker's fur. Picking up stray blood stains and working on trying to make him smell less like death after all. Not that he minded how his father smelled. Though the blood was a factor he could definitely do without. Everything else thought was perfectly just the way it was. Just like his small smelly dad.

"Speech"

@Booker

It watched through half-lidded eyes as, bizarrely, plant-life began to sprout around them, seemingly following Diot's lead, as if the "son" were growing them himself. Which was... impressive, really. Less impressive when the green shoots reached out to grip at his feet and ankles in support. It twitched, grimacing - he didn't need to be reminded of just how fragile this vessel was.

The feeling only deepened when Diot practically had to haul the body into the burrow, dropping it to sit up against one of the dirt walls. More plants followed, cushioning him, holding him up like some sort of living throne. It's hands clenched and unclenched, but he let the numbat's eyes slip shut again, if only to block out how nauseatingly kind the scribe's son was. It was a strange thing, after seeing what the other "kind" creature had done to Booker. A snicker crawled up his throat, but was quickly snuffed out by the tamarin's voice.

I am going to need you to drink the water from this plant and chew on it! It will clean your teeth! Something rough was pushed into his palm, and It opened one eye to glance at it, absently opening his mouth to shove it between pointy back teeth. Liquid ran from the divots, and for a blissful moment It could pretend the water was coppery blood, thick and viscous.

The son was dabbing at his fur with something, and It huffed, blinking down at the vessel in amusement as it was... not so much cleaned as refreshed. He doubted the numbat had ever been clean in his life. "Thankya, kiddo. Yer doin' good," It assured, mimicking Booker's accent, adding in a deeper slur. The scribe himself was somewhere asleep, locked up tight enough not to make a sound. Good riddance.

Who bonded their mind to a foolhardy "hero," anyway?

@Diot

Cleaning the small smelly dad up was we more of a time consuming task. In fact, it was VERY consuming. But Diot had the urge to do this, no, the need. The numbat was tired, that much was obvious. Tired and broken in all honesty, Diot could tell. It would be alright, a long rest would help. It should right? More and more juvenile plants sprouted, many of which were in succession placed into his father's hand. With kind gentle words of 'eat this' or 'chew on that', so many herbs and roots to be consumed. His own little pharmacy flourishing around them. All from the love for the small smelly man.

"Thankya, kiddo. Yer doin' good,"

A wide smile flashed across the small tamarin's face. Glancing up from his current work. He was ecstatic he could help, especially in a time like this. Finally after what felt like hours, which could very well be from the condition of Booker; Diot was done. Well as done as he could get, only so much a small tamarin can do in such a time frame. "There we go! All cleaned up! At least the blood is!" He glanced over at the pile of blood stained moss his work had accumulated. It probably would be best to bury that outside...Let the earth take back what life it could.

"I'll be right back, just outside the burrow!" With a few quick motions he gathered as much of the moss as he could into his arms. He didn't realize just how much he had used till well he couldn't see. One step, two step, left, right, left and right. He made his way outside. Turning into the soon to be garden. To a small portion of dirt Booker had apparently sectioned off, he tripped. Fumble the moss all around he brought himself back to his feet. Glancing at the marker that proved to be in his way.

Scorch marks decorated its border. A small image of a familiar face and above it the name Diot vaguely impressed upon the surface. Diot blinked, once, twice and had the expression of well. What do you do? Staring at his own grave so to speak. His father really did think of him as dead. It would be better not to speak of this, especially with what stress or worry it could cause.

Diot wasn't upset, more appalled he hadn't noticed it sooner. Within a few seconds he quickly left the small grave, burying the moss where he could. Yes, it was better not to make a curious scene of it. Only to quickly scurry back into the burrow. With how long it took the tamarin he wouldn't want any worry.

"Speech"

@Booker

It smiled back at the tamarin, a tiny flash of something - some positive emotion, probably from the host - making his pulse thud. At the very least, he could appreciate the paternal instinct to make their son happy, though it spoke of Booker's general parenting skills that a simple compliment could please the boy so much. Is that a technique of yours, scribe? Make them depend on you, hang on every little morsel of praise? The vessel's leg twitched, and It's gaze snapped to it, eyes narrowing. Ah, waking up, are you? Well, we'll take care of that, won't we. He closed their eye, let Diot's work quiet the outside world, and focused.

The numbat's mindspace was cavernous, towering walls of black opal flickering in the light of what looked like the start of a fire, directly in the center of the room. Booker was at its edge, staring straight at him. It grinned, stalked forward, eye glinting in satisfaction when the scribe flinched back. It's my show, now, Books. You fucked it up. I'm only trying to fix it. The grin flickered into a stern frown. Don't you want to fix it? Have your friends back? Oh, but were they ever really your friends? Why, it's almost like every single member of your little family has tried to kill you... or you've hurt them. One of It's hands shot out, claws sharp, dug into Booker's face and forced it to look at the growing, swirling void that had replaced the... bond? Had it been a bond? We're losing memories as we speak. And all because your family is nothing more than a collection of broken toys, and you had to be the one to fix them.

It dropped his grip and let out a disgusted grunt, sneering as Booker simply sat, watching as the void grew, swallowing bits of floor and wall with it. Even now, you're blaming yourself. You don't even have the strength to hate them, do you? Fine. He turned on his heel, disappearing into the waking world inch by inch. I will be your hatred. There we go! All cleaned up! At least the blood is! Diot's voice brought him out fully, and It's eyes opened, focused on the tamarin's face, spared him a soft smile. They didn't have the energy for more words, but hopefully the gesture would work.

Apparently it did, considering the son turned to leave with a I'll be right back, just outside the burrow! It nodded, watching him go, distantly hoped he didn't wander upon the tombstone - but then again, how couldn't he? Booker hadn't exactly hidden it, had wanted to torture himself with its presence. It wanted to trudge outside and cover it up, destroy it, use the fire crawling through his veins to burn it to ash. But the damned vessel kept him tied to the earth, so useless it had to be propped up by sprouts no less.

It huffed, watched the burrow's entrance for movement, for another enemy, for any sign of danger. He'd do better. He'd make things right, get his dues. No matter how many "friends" he had to go through.

Diot scrambled back almost as quickly as he'd left, and It shored up the strength to raise an eyebrow, drawl out a response. "Problem, son?"

@Diot

Scrambling into the burrow wielding a smile that was all too sheepish, Diot calmly made his way to Booker. Just don't talk about the grave! Just don't talk about the grave! Talk about what he wants to eat! Though Diot doubted the tattered numbat could fit anything else in their stomach. He had just ingested all those roots and herbs... Well that was fine, he just had to play it cool! Wouldn't want to upset him after all, stress was a terrible thing when healing. Yes he would keep his cool! He had to of course! Except...This proved to be an extremely difficult task. Especially since a particular question arose.

"Problem, son?"

The young tamarin practically froze up. Flashing that sheepish smile that was as wide as his tail was long. Glancing over his father, watching that brow raise how most parent's would. Especially when they seemed to know if their child had gotten into something they shouldn't have. With a deep breath, exhaling into a slow psh he patted down his own fur nervously. "Everything fine! Well I mean...you aren't fine...BUT BUT you will be!"

Diot fumbled over to Booker's side, collecting a few sprouting herbs. Eyes wide as if he had been caught past bed time. "Not like I saw my own grave or anything!" A sincere chuckle that quickly died out into a slow and painful silence. Leaving only the rustle of plant gathering to fill the gap.

"Speech"

@Booker

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