#bowise

          caleb doesn’t want death. 

          there are things he has to do and people he has to protect. making things right, whatever that means for himself. he thinks he’ll be ready to die if it means his parents get to live, but as it stands right now, he’s still far away from that point. and until it reaches him, the mighty nein rely on him to do his job as part of the team. that’s how it works. 

          when the fight breaks out he stays in the back, as he always does. there’s no space for him on the frontlines, no time for decisions or strategizing. a couple of bandits had ambushed their group mid-day, giving them the advantage of surprise, and there’s enough self-confidence and skill in their fighting that caleb knows better than to engage directly. 

          one of them passes his range as he tries to attack nott and caleb blasts a fireball into his back. it’s as startling as it always is, the scream of agony as the heat burns through fabric and skin, destroying anything it touches. glazed eyes watch as the man twitches, rolls around in the brown grass below trying to put the flame out, and eventually stops moving with a crossbow bolt in his skull. nott catches his gaze and he sees her grinning before turning to hide again.

          it’s enough of a distraction for him to hear the footfall a little too late.

          when caleb turns the man is already too close to react in time. if he burned him his own clothes would catch fire and there’s nothing else he can think of before he already feels metal sinking into his chest, pushing past bone and muscle, only to promptly be ripped from his body again. he tries to breathe and finds there’s only blood in his throat, a bubbling, hissing liquid where it escapes him, too much for comfort. enough to know that it’s too much. 

          he can’t see the man who did it, but he hears the footsteps away from himself after another tremor goes through him, another push into his chest. the sound is distorted, as if far away - he’s reminded of the ocean, the sound of noise below water, a pressure on his ears. caleb feels like he’s drowning. his body crumples to the ground like a ragdoll ripped from its strings, and he doesn’t feel the impact. one would think that’d be scary, to not feel anything after everything fell together on top of him, but even the panic is taken from him the second it starts to reach his consciousness. caleb is numb. caleb feels his chest heave with every gurgling breath he tries to take, blood spilling past dry lips, into the grass beneath his back.

          caleb wonders if this is how mollymauk felt when he fell. 

          there’s a scream, and part of him thinks it’s nott, but the other recognizes his mother. her pained cries echoing in his mind as he remembers the night he killed his parents. he wants to get up. wants to run inside, wants to save them, but his limbs are so tired, and he feels so heavy. his body longs for sleep, and caleb recognizes it as death. he’s numb. he’s empty. he’s dying. 

There was nothing that premeditated how Caleb’s day was going to go and so he dozed in the back of the cart, lightly leaned against beau in a silent trust he could hardly claim to share with most of their group. 

A mistake really.

The sun was high above, warm and laughing when the wagon jerked suddenly to the left, a wheel raising only to shatter. Caleb awoke to Beau just barely catching him from smashing his face in and Fjord cursing loudly. He could see the shift of energy as the man cast an eldritch blast, could hear the thwip of Nott’s crossbow, could feel the holy energy as Jester summoned her spiritual weapon. He couldn’t think, however, as their car tilted over and they all came spilling out the side. He couldn’t think as he tumbled over rock and brush, arm screaming in pain. He couldn’t think as the wolf always under his skin pushed its way through. 

          caleb’s not sure how to feel about this. 

          he supposes he doesn’t mind - it’s not like he’s ever cared about how his hair looks, and trying to fix it is a nice gesture in itself. there was no reason to say no at the time. but then again ... there’s also not a lot of fixing to be made here. you won’t get past the burnt bits and chopped off strands without a pair of scissors. and that’s something caleb’s nervous about. 

          there’s a short moment where he stares at caduceus’ hair. the self-consciousness is quick to kick in. suddenly, shrugging off his coat and pulling the hair out of his shirt bit by bit seems to take awfully long, but he pulls through, and even manages to bridge the following awkward silence by asking questions instead. ‘ so, uh. should i sit down? or. lie down? ‘ 

( soft sentence starters. / @bowise. ) 

          caduceus looks inviting. 

          that’s not something he should think, he’s very aware. he only allows himself to brood about it because he’s doing it begrudgingly. taking watch with caduceus is always a combination of unnerving and reassuring, both of which he’s not entirely sure about: how sitting next to the calmest member of their group is making him feel giddy and prone to awkwardness remains a mystery, for now. he has a cup of tea nearby. the sea is blessedly silent. 

          either way, caduceus is right. he’s cold. approximately two hours have passed since the middle of the night, and the temperature has been dropping ever since then. he’s still debating if it’s getting worse because of the cold wind whistling past them constantly, but does the source of it really matter if he’s going to end up with a cold nevertheless?

          the decision’s made the second caduceus makes the offer, really. it’s just that caleb needs a minute or two to rationalize it by himself: this is completely normal. sharing heat in a situation like this is nothing but logical and reading into it is ridiculous. there’s nothing to see here. after he’s taken his time, it’s almost easy to scoot closer. partially, caleb doesn’t know if he even had another option. caduceus’ words sounded a lot like an order, if anything else. 

          their height difference makes it easy for him to tuck his head into the cleric’s shoulder, wiggling a bit until he’s found a comfortable position on the wooden deck, knees to his chest. maybe it’s just to keep his hands busy, but he cups them into a bowl between the two of them. with a whisper and a short-lived, concentrated frown, a flame appears out of thin air, gentle and small. there’s no intent behind it other than to give them more warmth to share. 

          caleb considers the feeling of body pressed against body for a second. as always, caduceus is soft. he’s not wearing his armor, which is a little unfair, because it almost feels like leaning into a solid blanket. one that’s breathing, and moving, and invited him here for a purely practical reason. it reminds him of the last time he was this close to him, which was in an even more intimate position. he’s not planning to pass out anytime soon, though, so he might manage to work past any momentary awkwardness that might ensue.

danger meme ( open ): @bowise​

“Oh no no no, I don’t think—you shouldn’t—”

He’s big, but she’s powerful, and so Calianna lifts her draconic arm to warn him back, switches immediately to her flesh hand, her safe hand, with a flinch of shame as those black talons curl into a fist she promptly shoves behind her back. Her breath comes in short bursts, gaze wide with terror, cheeks ashen. They say it takes time to forget, but time has done nothing to dull the memory of Serissa’s voice, crisp and clear as a bell in her head with a whispered, He shouldn’t be near your things, darling. Her claws bunch in the fabric of her skirt, rending it.

That’s not true. They aren’t her things. They’re no one’s things.

—Not yet.

Her breath stutters.

“I might. I might be okay, but you might not if you. If you get closer, I–I–I–. I’m sorry! I’m sorry.”

“danke, mr. clay.” caleb takes the leftover incense with a half-smile – more of a grimace, really. setting up the ritual for find familiar was much easier with two pairs of hands, and nott was busy causing chaos with jester.

… he assumed, at least. if the shouting outside the inn was any indicator, it was going well.