𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐄

                you   are   the   sun . . .                 you   heal 

                           you   burn.

 #  HELMWORN  , independent,  selective  ,  mutuals-only  RP  blog  for    BERNARD   —    Helm  Paladin  from  BALDUR'S  GATE  III  ,  oath  of  the  ancients   ,  healed  by  Fungi  ,  mun   &   muse  +25

→  𝚁𝚄𝙻𝙴𝚂/𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃  𝙸𝙽  𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙳

Finally and blessedly quiet when he starts to answer, Iago scribbles a few shorthand notes while they listen. They hold the journal close to their chest and hunch over it protectively, keeping it's already nearly illegible contents to themselves. Bernard already thinks them a fool, he doesn't need to know that their riveting commentary is little more than a stream of consciousness,

       ' experience helps. he remembers. brag.                 hair maybe. comfort? ←revisit. try this       bnrd is looking at me like im stupid. again. he always looks at me like im              less than ten million questions. no questions- ' 

When he looks over them during the lithe reach above his head, Iago's stills, feeling too small, heart rabbiting, hit by the sudden urge to bolt - a frequent habit of theirs, brief bouts of panic in which they're convinced of some sudden threat. It dulls to its usual murmur after a few moments. Another page is quickly flipped to, given another tally mark among many others, and then turned to their current page again seamlessly. They like to keep track of things. Those little habits. 

Bernard's obvious, incredulous comment irks Iago, despite their equally obvious comment to evoke it. They scowl into their pages and rub that spot on their chest again with one hand,

       of course i have a   family

They mirror him when he sits, preferring him when he's not towering over them anyway. Iago starts studying him once again while he answers their last few inquiries, noting the shift in his demeanor with as much curiosity as wariness. The discomfort is obvious and the seat he takes looks more defensive than causal. 

   bnrd is a bad actor. 

Their notetaking dwindles until their pen merely sits on the page, slowly bleeding a splotch while they're distracted by his tail. 

They wonder if they're supposed to say something now too. Something comforting. They don't think he'd appreciate if they offered to comb his hair right about now. 

And kindness isn't something that comes too naturally to Iago. The best they can do is bite back a sigh when they tuck their pen away like a bookmark and put their journal to rest in their lap, letting him talk unrecorded.         They hope they remember to ask him their names.

When he says it hurts, they open their mouth to excitedly ask ‘where?’, comparing notes, but clench their jaw so suddenly that they feel a twinge. Attentive eyes turn sharp and cold in a blink,         “Don't say that.”

They grip their book, the book that he hates, and force their voice level again, light, looking past his shoulder instead of trying to burn that hole he wished for into his head with their glare, “Be careful what you wish for or you'll be as annoying as I am."

A corner of a page is sacrificed for them to tear at, “And disappointed to find it does little to alleviate that pain. Seems all it does is make it more confusing." 

       ❝  Don't  you  worry,  I  doubt  there  could  be  a  universe  where  anyone  is  more  annoying  than  you.  ❞       His  remark  would  have  bitten  more  if  it  wasn't  for  the  exhausted  tone,  softening  the  blow   &   making  it  seem  almost  somber.  The  tiefling  didn't  react  when  Iago  shifted  down  to  sit,  perhaps  that  was  one  of  the  more  normal  reactions  they  could  have  chosen.  Better  than  standing  up  the  whole  time  anyway.  The  tip  of  his  tail  flicked  continuously,  another  pause,  another  narrowing  of  crimson  eyes.

       ❝  Why  the  hell  would  you  want  names     ?     You're  writing  a  biography  now     ?  ❞       Unsurprisingly  defensive,  he  had  already  told  them  so  much.  Would  he  start  crying  if  he  spoke  their  names  again    ?    He  can't  fucking  cry  in  front  of  Iago.  Most  likely,  they  would  go  ahead   &   sketch  him  sobbing  like  a  boy.  The  paladin  shook  his  head  sober,  jaw  clenching  for  a  moment.  Another  huff.

Uncurling  from  his  arguably  pitiful  pose,  Bernard  placed  both  hands  behind  himself,  now  letting  them  support  his  own  weight   &   opting  for  something  resembling  a  more  relaxed  position,  although  his  tail  would  betray  the  turmoil  inside.

He  humored  the  quizmaster,  if  only  out  of  fear  they  would  press  on.       ❝  Karlson,  Petulia  .  .  .  Jana.  ❞        The  helmite's  voice  went  quieter  at  the  last  name.  Everyone  was  dear  to  him   ;   yet,  his  sister's  name  still  felt  like  he  just  sucked  on  a  lump  of  coal.  His  tongue  was  going  dry,  and  he  felt  like  he  was  suffocating.  As  if  the  letters  were  hexed.        ❝  You  don't  remember  your  own  family,  so  why  collect  names  from  another     ?    Seems  fucking  dense  to  me.  ❞

The questions are listed out quickly and all at once,

"How do you know what to say to her? Tact is something I seem to lack, but I don't know how to measure it. Have you ever done this before? Is that why you knew what to say?"

They write a few notes before he's even answered and ramble onto the next, "How long should she be upset? Would it help if I brushed her hair? Sometimes that helps. Should I help? I could ignore her, if that would be better."

They point at him with the end of the pen that seemingingly appeared in their hand, "I've been wondering if I have family. Do you have any family? Have they died? What was that like? Do you feel it here-" they gesture their pen at themselves then, at the tight, stabbing pain in their own chest at the mere thought.

       There  were  moments        when  Bernard  regretted  offering  something.  This  was  one  of  them.  Foolish  of  him  to  expect  Iago  to  take  the  hint   ;   because  of  course  they  would  be  all  over  him  as  soon  as  the  tiefling  gave  the  go.  With  their  stupid  journal  again,  with  their  stupid  pen.  Stupidly  not  blinking.  Stupidly  talking   &   talking   &   talking  .  .  .

Was  that  some  doctor's  appointment     ?    A  quiz    ?

      ❝  Can  you  take  a  fucking  breath  for  fuck's  sake     ?  ❞        The  paladin  got  rid  of  his  undershirt,  not  awarding  the  amnesiac  one  with  a  glance  in  their  direction.  A  snarl  was  hard  to  conceal,  as  was  the  lashing  of  tail.  His  words  were  huffed  rather  than  carefully  picked.  Leave  it  to  Iago  to  drain  this  mountain  of  a  man  with  a  few  sentences.

A  clawed  pair  of  fingers  lifted  to  pinch  the  bridge  of  his  nose.  A  normal  person  would  have,  like,  waited  for  an  answer  before  bombarding  Bernard  with  the  following  ones.      ❝  Good  job  figuring  out  the  tact  you  lack.  ❞        Praise  that  was  not  shy  of  sarcasm.

       ❝  Look,  I  dealt  with  people  like  her  often  enough  in  the  past.  It  just  .  .  .  You  will  just  remember  what  to  say.  What's  best  to  say.  And  when  to  leave  it  be.  Speaking  of  which,  ❞      A  sharp  nod  towards  the  child's  direction,        ❝  .  .  .  Don't  know  if  she  wants  to  have  anyone  fussing  over  her  hair  as  of  now.  Then  again,  don't  think  I've  ever  tried  that  one.  Give  it  a  shot   ;   just  don't  ask  her  ten-million  things  at  once.  ❞

The  tiefling  began  to  stretch  to  his  full  height  before  recalling  the  other  wall  of  questionnaires  the  bhaalspawn  threw  at  him  a  second  ago.  A  blink  down  to  them,  a  disgruntled  sigh   ;   contemplating  just  leaving  his  own  spot,  but  they  wouldn't  get  the  hint,  he  was  sure  of  it.

      ❝  Of  course  you  have  family   ;   you  wouldn't  be  here  otherwise.  ❞       Stupid  frog.       ❝  Yes  I  had.  ❞        He  let  their  awkward  motion  pass  with  no  more  than  a  bewildered  raise  of  one  brow.  Perhaps  they  didn't  have  family   &   were  produced  in  some  laboratory.  Hells,  they  might  as  well  be  an  alien.  Would  explain  more  than  them  actually  having  had  relationships  in  their  past.      ❝  They  died  in  Avernus.  Most  of  them,  anyway.  ❞       

Never  feeling  the  need  to  cover  himself,  but  ultimately  searching  for  a  shirt,  a  blanket   ;   to  not  having  to  endure  this  biting  feeling  of  vulnerability,  which  sat  deeper  than  any  physical  extraneous  influence  could  ease.  Bernard  plopped  down  on  the  rug,  with  his  arms  folded   &   elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  forcing  a  somewhat  relaxed  posture.  Perhaps  failing.

       ❝  My  father  died  protecting  the  weaker  ones.  Alongside  his  comrades.  My  mother's  illness  took  her  a  few  weeks  after  that.  They  never  saw  the  surface  again  when  this  shit  was  over.  ❞       And  his  tail  began  to  curl  around  his  own  legs.        ❝  My  sister's  death  was  preventable  .  .  .  Hurt  like  hell.  Still  does.  I  just  wish  I  had  a  hole  in  my  head  where  these  memories  are.  Not  remembering  stuff.  In  some  way,  I'm  jealous  of  you.  ❞

Iago feels horribly out of place as the conversation, a rather short one, seems to go on forever. They don't speak. They don't know what to say. They're relieved she doesn't run, but they wouldn't have blamed her. Watching the girl's heavy realization, noting the tension in Bernard's shoulders and the twitch of his tail, there grows an uncomfortable, hollow ache in their chest. With a morbid fascination, they cling to it, that feeling, any feeling, and let the discomfort threaten to choke them.

She's lost her family. That means something, it's almost too much to bear. Iago knows this from a logical standpoint, as well as a sense of rare familiarity when they find themselves nearly overwhelmed by the mere thought of such a thing. Notably moreso than their other exercises in empathy, putting themselves in others' shoes out of a ghastly curiosity to discover what fits. A morbid excitement makes their heart race at the prospect: this could be something personal to Iago. A pain their body remembers even if they do not.

Bernard abruptly brushes past them and snaps them out of their half-revelation. Without writing it down, they hope they remember to catch Arabella before she goes to sleep tonight - that hair needs to be detangled before it turns into a nest and it's a routine comfort for Iago that they'd be capable of sharing. Maybe. If Bernard thinks it'd be a good idea.

"Is that all?" they say once out of earshot, following on his heels. They don't pay mind to the direction until they're just outside of his tent.

"If you call me your lackey, you might as well act a decent boss. Give your assistant some guidance, no? Unless you asked me to join in just for fun."

They feel antsy with context-less, misplaced emotion. His voice sounds Odd. Off. They also sound Odd- a subtle, manic twinge to their voice that comes along with the rabbit holes they scramble down.

"I have questions about-" Everything. They always have questions. Astarion has compared them to an annoying toddler more than once. "I have questions. More stupid shit for my blasted journal, but I really do think it's important to note some things."

         His  mood  remained  foul.       Bernard  didn't  attempt  to  slow  his  steps  down  when  Iago  tagged  along,  who  soon  pestering  him  with  more  questions,  as  if  they  didn't  comprehend  what  just  occurred.  That  was  all.  There  was  no  use  sugar-coating,  it  would  have  only  prolonged  the  worry   &   pain  the  little  one  would  experience,  by  hook  or  by  crook.  The  paladin  came  to  stop,  orbs  that  tried  to  burn  into  Iago's  frog-like  ones  narrowing.

       ❝  What  more  do  you  want  to  hear    ?     People  died.  She  took  it  awfully.  'S  to  be  expected.  ❞       Stiff   &   matter-of-factly.  The  tiefling  was  in  a  flow  state  of  freeing  himself  from  heavy  silver  armour  which  got  placed  piece  by  piece  next  to  his  tent's  entry  flap.  He  didn't  shoo  them  away,  which  was  either  a  good  sign  for  bonding  through  horrible  situations,  or  his  energy  wasn't  enough  to  order  Iago's  retreat.

   With  a  dull  ‘clank’,  his  chest  plate  came  off,  a  roll  of  shoulders  followed,  standing  sideways  next  to  his  little  assistant.

       ❝  Go  ahead.  Just  credit  me,  if  you  keep  writing  my  reactions   &   thoughts  down  in  your  diary  like  a  godforsaken  doctor.  ❞

"i'd hardly call my style nimble, but i will take the compliments where i can get them." neyvin huffed a laugh, though she takes the offered hand without hesitation. she was many things, but a sore loser was not one of them. she had been bested, and she could admire the graciousness of the winner.

as soon as the firbolg is to their feet, they drop bernard's hand, instead leaning down to pick up their hammer. "yes, you do hear heavy breathing. i am a little rusty in one on one." they say, "sparing works my skills in a way that our usual day to day, doesn't. so, yes, i am a little more...tired than i might normally be. after a round." a scrunch of their nose.

       The  tiefling's  gaze  remained  on  her  form.        Neyvin's  explanation  made  sense   &   all  respect  to  her,  she  put  up  decently  ;  if  her  bones  truly  suffered  tiredness.  The  man  crossed  his  arms,  folding  them  over  his  plated  chest  before  a  tip  of  his  chin  motioned  away  from  the  makeshift  training  grounds.

       ❝  Wanna  grab  a  drink   ?  ❞      The  helmite  suddenly  offered.  As  a  healer,  he  was  very  well  aware  of  how  important  it  is  to  not  overdo  it,  especially  in  their  very  situation.  Any  sprained  ankle  can  be  crucial  on  the  road,  and  Bernard  rather  not  be  the  cause  of  such  a  set-back.  If  they  were  exhausted,  they  needed  to  cool  off,  rather  than  go  round  after  round.  Unrelenting  spirit   &   need  to  keep  up  or  not.

   The  paladin's  hand  gave  a  hearty  clap  to  their  shoulder  blade  as  soon  as  the  firbolg  stood  on  their  set  of  feet  again.

       ❝  No  use  in  wearing  you  down  even  more.  You  did  well,  that  should  be  rewarded,  in  my  books.  Come  on.  ❞