#eoselle

“Yeah. I know. If Irielle don’t wanna say hello, that’s her beeswax, y’know?” Mel raises a brow at Junior, who’s floated over the arcwave to twist tendrils about Mels upper arm. The octopode stares at him. 

“Don’t give me that look. I’m not gonna make some half assed attempt to reach out to her. And i’m definitely not gonna ask her her business either, cause I don’t really give much a damn about her reasons - only thing that matters is that she’s about and the whispers don’t have her.”

A lie, really - he wondered a lot about what was going on behind the scenes. Not out of any misplaced notion that he could fix them - wounds on the mind and heart weren’t his strong suit.

Junior tilts his head.

“No, not Eoselle either.” Mel looks back up at the ceiling, flicking that lighter open and shut. 

He knew they had something going on, Eoselle and Irielle. Irielle, the lax bartender with a wandering streak. Who had enchanted weapons by the boatload under her bed - probably with a swanky deal or job to afford them, and the know-how to use them. Eoselle, the researcher who barely, if ever, emoted, and never spoke unless she absolutely had to. He didn’t need to know all the details - Irielle was acting funny when she and Eoselle nearly crossed paths, a few months ago, so he had his suspicions…

The anguished exchange between the two within the rift a month ago confirmed it - they had a history. To what degree, he had no idea - but there was something there. Eoselle had been working on something for her- Oil to stop the whispers. Brought the package with her into the rift. Carried it through everything, silently.

Also promptly broke her ankle, trying to climb the jagged surfaces of Telogrus and the landmasses locked in the void. Mel had watched her silently then - confused as all hell at what she was even intending to do - didn’t even have time to catch her when she slipped and cracked (and subsequently mended) the ankle - all without saying a lick of anything. “Eoselle really doesn’t like admitting or asking for help.” He murmurs to himself, white eyes half lidded.

When they found Irielle, she was awash in void magic. Volatile. Uncontrolled. Mel watched when Eoselle approached. When a void elf teters on the bridge with the whispers, it’s a dangerous precipice, a slippery slope of illusions and half baked truths. When someone is on that precipice, caught up in illusions - they had to be subdued. They could harm friends, or themselves. Irielle had been empowered, somehow - she was using portals, leaving scorch marks in stone of Telogrus - she was able to fling knives into stone.

He can remember the image in his head, clearly - Irielle struggling in front of Eoselle. The sheer amount of power that was barely even restrained was palatable to him. Wreathed in grief. Eoselle had pleaded with Irielle, telling her that they could banish the whispers with the oil. Mel scowls. He remembered the line Irielle had said, that boiled his blood and froze his throat. 

“The whispers? They’ve only told me truth.”

Mel clicks his lighter faster. Irielle had the signs. She struck at Mel when he had made his presence known.

“She didn’t recognize me. Iri, I mean.” he glances at Junior. “That was kinda my confirmation. She was empowered, unstable, emotionally a wreck, and probably was having her surroundings obscured. All the signs were there - that she was in their grip.” he says at the Octopode. As if Junior could comprehend whatever he was spewing. “And then I got pissed and told her to piss off with accepting truths on a platter. And went in to subdue. But really, I was just right pissed at anyone thinking the void was the truth. Was hoping maybe a physical fight would jog her senses. Get Irielle out of whatever she was trapped in. She wouldn’t like it, but if I could get her weapons out of her hands, I think she’d appreciate the quick, to the point wake up call.”

“...Can’t say I was expecting Eoselle to be so pissed though.”

"I hate ALL of you!" 

"ALL OF Y'THINK Y'KNOW SO MUCH BETTER FOR ME, FOR HER. Y'PUSH SO FUCKIN' HARD."

"CAN'T ALL OF Y'JUST FUCK OFF?!"

Mel makes a face. Eoselle...She has her dad’s accent.

He had no context for Eoselle’s words. He still has none. Just the image of the researcher refusing to speak as she climbs jagged rocks.

It also didn’t help that he was trying to not get stabbed at the time - Irielle registered him as a threat, and Eoselle had thrown her spellwork into the fray as well. Defensively, he noted - but it’s still enough to be a 2v1 on the field. And if Irielle wasn’t recognizing him…He’d be a threat between her and Eoselle, who she did recognize. And Eoselle was attacking him too. And Irielle had a spear. And knives. He folds his arms behind his head.

Yeah, he could have died there. “I don’t even know if she even recognized me at the end. Hope she did though.” Mel closes his eyes, flicking a long ear. He yaaaaaaaaaaaawns.

He already had a headache rolling the details through his head. He’s not made for this shit. So he rolls over to get sleep.