PUPILS PINNED BEFORE the curve of distinctly Ionian lips; calmly, his gaze followed each calculated motion as if lulled by the haunting theme orchestrating their ceremony. His eyelids felt heavier, heart clawing up his windpipe. The echo reminded him of stillwater. Just like the minute rocking of their ship that night. Eyes sought reprieve in the vivid green glimmer of the man circling them both with intent. Feline-like, and yet in that moment his presence was undoubtedly the most comforting thing in the room.
Alas, the virtuoso would not allow him such comforts. Jhin's humming hammered into his head long after the Ionian had ceased; images of the last time he was strapped to that chair re-emerged. Jericho found his own gaze following as if hypnotized by each deliberately slow motion; prolonging his disquiet. The granite felt dead beneath his grip and yet his talons had clenched around it, producing a subtle screech when he turned away from the other's touch. Whatever concern Khada Jhin had managed to paint upon weary features quickly snapped back to frustration then, shooting him a glare between unruly strands of white that had fallen out of place with the motion. His glove had left a tingling sensation; as a tear rolling down his own cheek might have.
But nothing of the sort would come. If anything, Jericho's expression grew hollow as he watched him caress the appointed ritual knife, brows quirking lightly. He found reassurance in knowing what comes next; in reminding himself of his purpose. Those dreary walls... so much power dwelled within them. Power that could be used to protect, to restore... Reminiscence pestered him again, in that moment; he recalled his body lying flat on hostile land, staring at the birds circling him. Frozen in time, in that memory, which threatened to burst from his subconscious & overtake him whole.
Snapping back to the present abruptly, he turned to face his lifelong companion. The sheer apprehension in Marcus' gaze was enough to rekindle his determination, even as his sense of smell was assaulted by the herbal blend Jhin approached him with. A stench he'd hoped to never taste again. His chin tilted upwards slowly, with trepidation. Holding his breath, thin lips parted to accept the concoction. But as he swallowed it, thick and murky as it was, he could not help the convulsion in his throat. It sat at the top of his collarbone and burned its way down his lungs. The ties rattled with his coughing.
The atrium above, obscured by looming greenery, born from the undergrowth of higher ledges & openings in the Bastion's inner maze, revealed the time of evening; still young, with a pale moon peeking timidly behind thick clouds. When he was first sat on that chair, the sun was still offering him some comfort. But the night's veil had always been the more alluring option. Jericho's head rested against the ritual seat's back with a light tap. His hair fell smoothly over his chest once more. This time, beneath their wispy cover, something else was blending into the various carvings on his skin.
Beneath his chin, his aorta pulsed gingerly; and each tick was illustrated with ink. Black begun to pool into his veins, littering his pale skin with their pathings. The larger ones were clearly visible; the smaller, the more intricate, were a little harder to detect. That bitter substance served not only to prepare his body, but also to point the way for his appointed priest. So that he would know where to plunge that knife, come time. Jericho suppressed his shudder at the notion, and then slowly, he closed his eyes; and surrendered to the memory.
Dark waters, torn by the warship's bow. Flickering lights in the distance; their speckles dim just like those first tingles heralding numbness over his torso. He found shelter in a deep breath; and forced his mind to mistake iodine laden air for a sea breeze. Each beating of raven wings circling the mast bringing them closer to the shore...
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