He expected that rejection but he doesn't pull back until he's pushed off. It doesn't make it better to feel and see all these emotions get brought into the light... and very clearly tormenting his son enough to affect him physically as well.
Why are you Sin?
His expression hardens and a thin sheet of ice spreads under his feet. He smothers that emotion with Dunamis for now. Instead he reaches for his weapon in Regis's Armiger. First his own, then Tidus's. The latter he holds out to the blond.
"If you don't already know then you're not ready to."
It's not said unkindly but it's a little cold all the same. With his own sword in his other hand, he conjures up flames around the blade and jabs it into the ground between them. The fire red hot and exuding heat.
"You need to get warm or Auron's gonna have my head if I bring you home unconscious."
The familiar blue of the blade catches Tidus's eye, so course he looks; startled for a moment out of the emotions swirling in him for why the blade's there, or how. He doesn't reach to take it at first, maybe just confused about it being there. How supposedly Jecht had nothing, and now he has this.
Then Jecht speaks, and whatever initial intentions or distractions had been inside Tidus are gone, the red hot heat that comes licking off the blade stinging at his eyes. He doesn't blink, not until he stands; the towel knocked off him, the blade yanked from his father's hand to be speared into the ground to help him on his feet. Tidus stalks around the space of both blades and looks at Jecht straight-on for the first time, a hard anger pressed into his face and clenched in readied fists.
"No! You don't get to keep this from me! Tell me!"
Winds blow like sharp blades, and he's on Jecht before his feet should carry him, the fist punch to Jecht's chest harder than the shivering in him before should allow. Tidus doesn't care what's going on around him or because of him; the rage boils but doesn't burn as heat but translates into speed and strength, and with the first move, he's feral: looking to swing at Jecht more, to push at him, then go for him again, his actual successes not dismissing the shouting that goes on through it:
"Tell me why you're Sin! Tell me! You bastard! You don't get to keep lying to me! You don't have the right! You don't!"
But anger and a stubborn will can only help him so much, when still the shiver of the cold shudders through his movements, blind and wild.
Jecht sees the attack coming but he lets the first punch hit, and the second, lets the shove sway him back. It's the wind that actually leaves a physical mark though the cut along his cheek and arm barely registers.
His expression is carefully schooled blank and he lets his Dunamis suppress that complicated mix of emotions that manifest as tiny sharpened ice crystals on the ground. It doesn't matter whether he has the right or not. It was their fate... A stupid, crazy fate formed out of desperation. One he would change if he could.
He sees that anger and pain in the set of eyes that had refused to look straight at him since his arrival and something wrenches. An inky blackness spreads in the sand. A deep sorrow in his eyes as he reaches out to grab Tidus's wrist on his next punch... and then the other.
He grips them tight and doesn't let go.
His mouth feels like it's made of lead, so he waits till his son's anger eases, however little.
"You're not ready. There's something called Dunamis in this world. Learn it and we can talk."
Tidus writhes as he loses the control in his arms. Finding a cooling point to his anger is like waiting for the oceans to empty: the closest to it is when Tidus's vision hazes, the amalgamation of thick emotions in him and around himself, the ailing state of his body nearly making him crumble.
But he stays standing, straightening his knees and shifting forward.His chest heaving, the activity at least doing something to rattle heat in there, but—
More important is the steel-capped boot Tidus swings right at one of Jecht's fucking shins.
Fucking-- The kick drags a genuine wince out of him. That's... Yeah, that left some damage. He doesn't know why he didn't dodge that. But that's not important.
This ends now.
He releases Tidus's wrists and steps forward, draws an arm around the back of Tidus's shoulder. This close it's almost a hug. Probably would have been, if not for the sharp and solid punch straight to Tidus's gut to drag the air out of him and knock him out.
Tidus grabs at Jecht with a hand once freed, meaning it for support, his focus on another swing at his dad before anything else despite his failing concentration. It gets crushed when the arm wraps around him, but it wasn't going to stop Tidus from trying for another punch at his father; more of a slam, more of a knock. There was no time or sense or anything better than knuckles whitened by the grip of his fingers curled.
It doesn't get though, before the sharp pain at his abdomen, the choked sound that leaves his mouth. He can't see this close to Jecht, but still his vision blurs behind the dark; the fingers of his fist unfurling, brushing over skin before it drops.
The winds die, the tense air dying with Tidus's consciousness. His face is wet—but then, so is the rest of him.
Jecht silently completes the hug as Tidus slumps over, holding him with one arm, eyes cenched shut. There's no one there to see so he lets that wet streak slip down his cheek. The void-like darkness spreading in a haphazard shape like a blotch in the ground around him.
It'll work out. He'll find a way. They just need time.
For now he lets it hurt.
Once he collects himself, he throws Tidus over his shoulder, returns their swords to the Armiger and picks up the hidden bag in the sand, slinging that over his shoulder.
He tracks blackness in his path as he heads for home. He doesn't know where Tidus is staying. Auron may have mentioned the inn but he doesn't want to go there. Not like this.
And speaking of whom. his brother receives a ping through the amulet and a text - something Jecht never uses. The muted message only says: I'm leaving Tidus in the living room. His emotions got out of control and I knocked him out. I'm sorry to ask this again. Take care of him.
I'll sort my own mess this time. I... We need time.
He closes the connection and heads straight for home, to dry Tidus off, give him a change of clothes, cover him in blankets. Keep him safe and then leave.
Auron, who'd been working on ledgers for the Hearth and winding things up for the evening, kind of jerks at the mental message.
Then he swears out loud and proceeds to gather his things and run for home. Out of control emotions? That could be a lot of things with Tidus. Anger and resentment at Jecht. Perhaps destructive.
He doesn't find Jecht, but he does find Tidus, unconscious on the couch. He clenches his jaw.
Regis. Hey, you there? I've got a passed out Tidus on the couch. Think you can use your kingly powers to help him out?
And he does show up, quickly and a little winded, settling down next to the couch and starting to cast gentle curas on the unconscious boy, his eyes turning towards Auron only once that is under way.
"Do you know what happened?"
Quiet, but he's certainly an edge more a king than an old man, right now.
While the young man isn't in a state to pipe up in the conversation quite yet, the section of him visible from under the blankets—really, just his face and neck—is of a pallid complexion. He's far too cold, and there's a shiver in his breathing, but some colour and warmth may return to him as the spell takes effect, allowing his body to ease in its trembling.
"They must have got around to talking to each other and that didn't well. Jecht left me a message. Said Tidus' emotions got out of control and he had to knock him out. Then he left. Probably went to Caelia's place."
Auron isn't quite a fan of how chilled Tidus looks, but the curing spells seem to be helping.
"If his emotions got bad, then I'll need to help him tame them right away."
He's certainly doing a good job of holding his own back. He keeps his jaw clenched when he's not talking.
"I can take a guess what they were talking about. And that he had to knock him out to make him stop. But he just..."
Auron has to actually stop talking and concentrate on breathing. There are also tiny little sparks of fire in the air near him, a growing sign of anger and bad anger if he's not controlling them. They soon go away as he gets his anger under control.
"I have to solve his problems. Again."
There is so much to unpack from that simple statement. Auron doesn't bother, just concentrating on Tidus and making sure he's looking better.
There were some murmurs slipping through with his breathing, eyes twitching to touch of the hand to his face. But Tidus hears his name in that place between consciousness and where dreams are made, and it's familiar there. Auron speaking to him. The cold. A heavy lethargy in his body (despite the healing).
They're at the Boathouse, obviously; and he's sick and overslept, and now Auron's bugging him. What for? Tidus doesn't care, turning his head and groaning into the cushion beneath it, feeling the world slur behind his eyelids. He muffles words into the pillow about staying in bed, a tone likely more familiar to Auron than whatever the words were meant to be, before Tidus falls back silent again. Still, except for his breathing.
He could've drifted back to sleep, and it might be easy to believe—until Tidus drags an arm up from under the blankets to grab for the edge of the couch, the logic in his head finally failing to make sense. He tries to put weight onto it, tries to raise himself, a confused "Auron?" escaping before Tidus has even opened his eyes. And he buckles back against the couch for it, at least the soft padding better than a harder surface.
Give him a moment. Cure spells are cool and all, but he still needs to adjust.
"Aye... 'tis what brothers do, betimes. I shall do my best to aid."
His words are quiet, and he reaches with the other hand to grip Auron's hand, when he is close enough, squeezing, before his attention returns to the stirring youth on the couch.
His eyes go up to meet Auron's, with the quiet question of, should Regis talk with him, or will Auron?
He does not stop with the healing spells until Tidus actually pulls away from him.
"Tidus. Hey. You're not at the inn or wherever you're at with your friend. You're in the house."
Probably better not to immediately rile him up with WHY he's here, but giving him time to get his brain moving. While he's doing that, he's very much squeezing his husband's hand back.
Tidus is only half-listening—only half-aware—that he doesn't register the healing as something that’s happening, though he probably should. It's his own thoughts that take priority: realising that he's somewhere he shouldn't (wouldn't) be, understanding there's something off, but not yet figuring out what that is. He puts his weight onto his arm to turn himself to look towards the two men, his expression close to blank, if not for the tight knit of his brow showing his confusion. It diverts elsewhere, his mouth slightly parted.
And it's easy to know when it clicks: when the air around the couch becomes thick with moisture and frost, the strong smell of sea salt, and the rivulets that start running along Tidus's skin. Shadows cover him in expanding patches as he sits himself upright, shoving off the blankets onto the floor roughly, now not quite in the reach of Regis's healing. The emotions shift on his face as they come off his person: from shock to anger, to some mix of both, and grief.
Tidus wipes at a thin layer of ice trailing the thin streams of water on him, ends up giving it more area across his cheek to spread. And it just makes the emotions worse, the frustration, everything around him growing heavier with the cold.
He pulls himself towards the end of the couch away from the pair of them where his legs had been, now chucked onto the floor, feet pressing into the discarded blankets.
“I’m going,” he says thickly, not looking at either of them, as if said to the room instead. And he'll stand, if there isn't anything to stop him.
"Tidus, listen to Regis. If you've gotten emotional backlash from something, it can really mess with you.
"I'm going to do this, only because you need to listen clearly and then you can plan accordingly."
With that, Auron takes a deep breath and exhales. And repeats. Within a little bit of time, all three of them feel the invisible wings of calm surround them. It can't make anyone change their mind, but it certainly can bring more clarity so they're not acting in an overly emotional state. He flicks his gaze over to Regis, because he can't physically speak while concentrating and Tidus has shown a lot of dislike for mental conversation.
Residue sticks to Tidus, but the cause for the effects recede with the effect. He’s left with a shiver, and an emptiness in the place where his emotions had curdled. Now they don’t have the same grasp, and Tidus lingers between standing and sitting before finally coming back down on the edge of the sofa. A hand clenching into the arm, his body pointed away from the both of them.
“I don’t need anything.” It’s the best way he can dismiss the offer of the drink, their help, no bite to his words despite the weight to them. “I can make it back to the apartment and be out of your hair.”
Sickness or no sickness. There’s a strange sensation to have those emotions fogging around him and now not, but Tidus can’t pinpoint what it is. It’s not relief; there’s too much turning in his stomach for it to be that, but it might be something close. A phantom feeling.
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blitzcheer) wrote2019-10-26 12:26 am
no subject
Why are you Sin?
His expression hardens and a thin sheet of ice spreads under his feet. He smothers that emotion with Dunamis for now. Instead he reaches for his weapon in Regis's Armiger. First his own, then Tidus's. The latter he holds out to the blond.
"If you don't already know then you're not ready to."
It's not said unkindly but it's a little cold all the same. With his own sword in his other hand, he conjures up flames around the blade and jabs it into the ground between them. The fire red hot and exuding heat.
"You need to get warm or Auron's gonna have my head if I bring you home unconscious."
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Then Jecht speaks, and whatever initial intentions or distractions had been inside Tidus are gone, the red hot heat that comes licking off the blade stinging at his eyes. He doesn't blink, not until he stands; the towel knocked off him, the blade yanked from his father's hand to be speared into the ground to help him on his feet. Tidus stalks around the space of both blades and looks at Jecht straight-on for the first time, a hard anger pressed into his face and clenched in readied fists.
"No! You don't get to keep this from me! Tell me!"
Winds blow like sharp blades, and he's on Jecht before his feet should carry him, the fist punch to Jecht's chest harder than the shivering in him before should allow. Tidus doesn't care what's going on around him or because of him; the rage boils but doesn't burn as heat but translates into speed and strength, and with the first move, he's feral: looking to swing at Jecht more, to push at him, then go for him again, his actual successes not dismissing the shouting that goes on through it:
"Tell me why you're Sin! Tell me! You bastard! You don't get to keep lying to me! You don't have the right! You don't!"
But anger and a stubborn will can only help him so much, when still the shiver of the cold shudders through his movements, blind and wild.
no subject
His expression is carefully schooled blank and he lets his Dunamis suppress that complicated mix of emotions that manifest as tiny sharpened ice crystals on the ground. It doesn't matter whether he has the right or not. It was their fate... A stupid, crazy fate formed out of desperation. One he would change if he could.
He sees that anger and pain in the set of eyes that had refused to look straight at him since his arrival and something wrenches. An inky blackness spreads in the sand. A deep sorrow in his eyes as he reaches out to grab Tidus's wrist on his next punch... and then the other.
He grips them tight and doesn't let go.
His mouth feels like it's made of lead, so he waits till his son's anger eases, however little.
"You're not ready. There's something called Dunamis in this world. Learn it and we can talk."
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But he stays standing, straightening his knees and shifting forward.His chest heaving, the activity at least doing something to rattle heat in there, but—
More important is the steel-capped boot Tidus swings right at one of Jecht's fucking shins.
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This ends now.
He releases Tidus's wrists and steps forward, draws an arm around the back of Tidus's shoulder. This close it's almost a hug. Probably would have been, if not for the sharp and solid punch straight to Tidus's gut to drag the air out of him and knock him out.
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It doesn't get though, before the sharp pain at his abdomen, the choked sound that leaves his mouth. He can't see this close to Jecht, but still his vision blurs behind the dark; the fingers of his fist unfurling, brushing over skin before it drops.
The winds die, the tense air dying with Tidus's consciousness. His face is wet—but then, so is the rest of him.
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It'll work out. He'll find a way. They just need time.
For now he lets it hurt.
Once he collects himself, he throws Tidus over his shoulder, returns their swords to the Armiger and picks up the hidden bag in the sand, slinging that over his shoulder.
He tracks blackness in his path as he heads for home. He doesn't know where Tidus is staying. Auron may have mentioned the inn but he doesn't want to go there. Not like this.
And speaking of whom. his brother receives a ping through the amulet and a text - something Jecht never uses. The muted message only says:
I'm leaving Tidus in the living room. His emotions got out of control and I knocked him out. I'm sorry to ask this again. Take care of him.
I'll sort my own mess this time. I... We need time.
He closes the connection and heads straight for home, to dry Tidus off, give him a change of clothes, cover him in blankets. Keep him safe and then leave.
LIke he always does.
no subject
Then he swears out loud and proceeds to gather his things and run for home. Out of control emotions? That could be a lot of things with Tidus. Anger and resentment at Jecht. Perhaps destructive.
He doesn't find Jecht, but he does find Tidus, unconscious on the couch. He clenches his jaw.
Regis. Hey, you there? I've got a passed out Tidus on the couch. Think you can use your kingly powers to help him out?
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And he does show up, quickly and a little winded, settling down next to the couch and starting to cast gentle curas on the unconscious boy, his eyes turning towards Auron only once that is under way.
"Do you know what happened?"
Quiet, but he's certainly an edge more a king than an old man, right now.
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Auron isn't quite a fan of how chilled Tidus looks, but the curing spells seem to be helping.
"If his emotions got bad, then I'll need to help him tame them right away."
He's certainly doing a good job of holding his own back. He keeps his jaw clenched when he's not talking.
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"There are some conversations that are both very necessary and need more knowledge than one has at the time." He has had a few of those, himself.
"Do you need to find him, or have me go find him, to make sure he is all right? Or he will come when he needs to talk?"
He's not making a move to stop what he is currently doing, because it is clearly needed, but, sometimes, the need is not only in one place.
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Auron has to actually stop talking and concentrate on breathing. There are also tiny little sparks of fire in the air near him, a growing sign of anger and bad anger if he's not controlling them. They soon go away as he gets his anger under control.
"I have to solve his problems. Again."
There is so much to unpack from that simple statement. Auron doesn't bother, just concentrating on Tidus and making sure he's looking better.
"Tidus. Are you awake?"
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They're at the Boathouse, obviously; and he's sick and overslept, and now Auron's bugging him. What for? Tidus doesn't care, turning his head and groaning into the cushion beneath it, feeling the world slur behind his eyelids. He muffles words into the pillow about staying in bed, a tone likely more familiar to Auron than whatever the words were meant to be, before Tidus falls back silent again. Still, except for his breathing.
He could've drifted back to sleep, and it might be easy to believe—until Tidus drags an arm up from under the blankets to grab for the edge of the couch, the logic in his head finally failing to make sense. He tries to put weight onto it, tries to raise himself, a confused "Auron?" escaping before Tidus has even opened his eyes. And he buckles back against the couch for it, at least the soft padding better than a harder surface.
Give him a moment. Cure spells are cool and all, but he still needs to adjust.
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His words are quiet, and he reaches with the other hand to grip Auron's hand, when he is close enough, squeezing, before his attention returns to the stirring youth on the couch.
His eyes go up to meet Auron's, with the quiet question of, should Regis talk with him, or will Auron?
He does not stop with the healing spells until Tidus actually pulls away from him.
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Probably better not to immediately rile him up with WHY he's here, but giving him time to get his brain moving. While he's doing that, he's very much squeezing his husband's hand back.
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And it's easy to know when it clicks: when the air around the couch becomes thick with moisture and frost, the strong smell of sea salt, and the rivulets that start running along Tidus's skin. Shadows cover him in expanding patches as he sits himself upright, shoving off the blankets onto the floor roughly, now not quite in the reach of Regis's healing. The emotions shift on his face as they come off his person: from shock to anger, to some mix of both, and grief.
Tidus wipes at a thin layer of ice trailing the thin streams of water on him, ends up giving it more area across his cheek to spread. And it just makes the emotions worse, the frustration, everything around him growing heavier with the cold.
He pulls himself towards the end of the couch away from the pair of them where his legs had been, now chucked onto the floor, feet pressing into the discarded blankets.
“I’m going,” he says thickly, not looking at either of them, as if said to the room instead. And he'll stand, if there isn't anything to stop him.
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No questions from him, not right now. No comment on the emotional effects, either.
Everyone deserves a chance to deal with what happens to them at their own terms, within reason.
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"I'm going to do this, only because you need to listen clearly and then you can plan accordingly."
With that, Auron takes a deep breath and exhales. And repeats. Within a little bit of time, all three of them feel the invisible wings of calm surround them. It can't make anyone change their mind, but it certainly can bring more clarity so they're not acting in an overly emotional state. He flicks his gaze over to Regis, because he can't physically speak while concentrating and Tidus has shown a lot of dislike for mental conversation.
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“I don’t need anything.” It’s the best way he can dismiss the offer of the drink, their help, no bite to his words despite the weight to them. “I can make it back to the apartment and be out of your hair.”
Sickness or no sickness. There’s a strange sensation to have those emotions fogging around him and now not, but Tidus can’t pinpoint what it is. It’s not relief; there’s too much turning in his stomach for it to be that, but it might be something close. A phantom feeling.
It’s uncomfortable. Everything is uncomfortable.
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"One other thing. If you want me to, I can start training you on dunamis. It'll make you even stronger than him."
And there is nothing Tidus likes more than being able to show up his old man.