' i broke '

  It is obvious, Mollymauk is sure of that- but he can’t quite bring himself to care. The proverbial cat is out of the bag, and the thought brings Molly closer to his friend, shoulder to shoulder as his tail can’t help but wrap just a bit tighter, safer, around Caleb’s back. He’s careful not to let the sharp end prod the wizard too much, minding more how the man walks than anything else.

    The feeling of dread that crawls up his back is unfortunately very familiar, while alien at the same time.

    “Stay with us, Caleb,” the tiefling murmurs, emphasizing the man’s name. His hand snakes around his side, just barely holding onto Caleb’s waist, patting his friend lightly. “Eyes forward, we don’t look back here. Understand me?”

CALEB CAN'T BREATHE. His chest tightens, vision blurs, one hand claws into the opposite arm. His gaze darts to Mollymauk, then away, empty all the while. He shudders at the touch.

He leans into Molly's shoulder, the slightest indication that he's not completely out of it.

They don't look back, but Caleb itches to look over his shoulder, to be sure that Trent isn't there, watching, waiting, prepared to pounce. He gives a full-body shiver.

THE VOICE of Trent Ikithon is all too grating in her ears - exactly the way she’d have thought he’d sound like: smarmy, creepy, unnerving - and the way he carries himself, the way he evenSPEAKS - it sends chills down her spine; the nonchalance as he speaks to them - speaks TOCaleb - it takes her all of her strength to pretend that she doesn’t want to whip out her crossbow and sink an explosive bolt right into his skull.

But she doesn’t - for the sake of the Nein - for the sake of the WORLD, at this point. Instead, the Nein form a protective circle around him - Caleb stuck squarely in the middle, and Nott following beside. It stays like that, long after they’ve left the premises, even when they arrive at the Shimmer Ward.

Caleb holds her hand tighter. She squeezes back - though she knows how much distress he’s under - but she’s not entirely sure what she can even do to soothe his mind, other than just - be there, just like he has for her so many times.

“Caleb,” she whispers, and she gently lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around him. “It’s okay, Caleb. You’re safe now - you’re here, you’re with me, I -” amber eyes blink for a moment, “Do - do you need me to do anything? A blanket? Food? We’re going to…” be here for a while - but she decides not to say anything else.

HE MERELY holds onto Nott tighter, the two of them settling down on the floor, because Caleb's legs are bound to give out if he stays standing a moment longer. He feels he should probably respond, try and give Nott something to go off of, but he can't seem to speak up.

Scarred arms wrap around Nott, pull her even closer. The revelation hits him again. He knows. He saw.

Is he... crying? His mind goes from emptiness to roaring with speed within seconds. It was safer before, on his own. The only person who would get hurt if Trent found him was... him. He's dragged six more people into this twisted game, and Trent will...

The years of torment and training rest in the back of his mind, and Caleb feels dangerously close to puking. He can't run, can't hide, the rest of them will pay the price. Trent knows these people are important to him, now. He'll hurt them, use them, all to get at him.

STILLNESS. Caleb thinks he may not even be breathing, his body refusing to cooperate with his mind, and vice versa. Not that his mind is in any state to be taking charge of things — he hardly knows what's going on around them.

All he can see is that damned face, all he can hear is that awful, grating voice. Fear grips him, icy and cold, pushes him deeper into the water, suffocates him.

There's a ringing in his ears, loud and high and horrible. He feels bodies all around him — almost as oppressive as the fear — but they're protective, creating a shield around him. A tail curls around his back, helps guide him along as they walk.

Caleb feels like he's about to fall apart, or perhaps collapse inwards on himself. Bren.

HIS FRIENDS ARE SPEAKING, and Caleb hears nothing. There's sound, yes, he can recognize that, but beyond that... he's a bit, er, preoccupied.

Empty gaze travels around the room, not taking in a single thing. He should set up the dome and the alarm, part of him thinks, but the rest of him is trembling so much it feels like the slightest touch will cause him to shatter into a million pieces, never to be whole again.

( He hasn't been whole in a long, long time. )

THERE'S A SOFT RINGING in his ears, high-pitched and monotonous. Cold, bloodied fingers dig into scarred arms, dirty nails scratching and scraping at the skin. Trent's gaze burns itself in the back of Caleb's mind.

He thinks he might be sick.

He doesn't know if he's thinking at all.

Half-formed thoughts flicker through his mind, already gone before he processes them. This is dangerous. What they are doing — what are they doing, right now? He can barely keep track of where they are as the Nein gently guides him along.

He feels a small hand curl around his own, and his gaze drops down to look at the goblin woman who's helping hold him together. Nott helps — she's always helped, she's always...

Caleb doesn't understand why they're still here. Why they're helping him. They finally make it to their lodgings for the night, and before he knows what is going on, they've all gathered in one room instead of splitting into the several different ones, and are beginning to set up for the night.

Part of Caleb knows they're doing it for him, but most of Caleb isn't there to acknowledge it. His grip on Nott's hand tightens ever so slightly, instinctive and void of any true intent.

Especially you, Bren.

send ◕‿◕ to play with my muse’s hair | accepting

if it were anyone other than jester or nott, caleb wouldn't have allowed it, but by now he's all but admitted to himself that he has a soft spot for the little blue tiefling, and he's rather patient as she firmly musses with his hair. he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter, really.

it's a little distracting -- jester's hands are firmer and more... almost aggressive, in their styling of caleb's hair, but that may just be the fact that caleb isn't used to people touching it. the most he's allowed has been a flower or two.

send ◕‿◕ to play with my muse’s hair | accepting

caleb's shoulders tense at the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, but he glances back and relaxes at the sight of keyleth. her fingers are deft and nimble as she weaves flowers into his hair -- seemingly out of nowhere, though he supposes she druidcrafted them. " what are you doing? "