childrenofbahamutlogs | Oh, the world is dark

Days pass strangely. There's an emptiness to them that fills the pit of his stomach with a leaden weight of dread. It kills his appetite entirely, makes the rations he took from the market taste like ash. But moreover, it leaves him with too many thoughts. Ravus doesn't ultimately know what to do with them, morose as they are. A void he can't fill, that asks, ‘what now?’

What now indeed?

He finds himself at the edge of the riverbank, as far from Town as the invisible magic allows. He's carefully tested it to the very inch of where it turns him around. Far away to be with his thoughts and the small tasks of living, and yet it doesn't help alleviate the gnawing emptiness of his mind. At least those tasks occupy his hands. For now, he sits along the river bank, carefully cleaning his coat and greaves as best he can with what he has.

Slow, simply motions to not damage the leather, working a rag under the metal rivets, decidedly not letting his mind wander beyond his task lest the yawning dread fill him more.

At least until there's sound from behind him. Nothing loud, nothing distinct, just motion in the underbrush. An animal maybe. But what would bother approaching other than a predator?

Ravus reaches for the scabbard of his sword, and shifts to stand with the blade drawn. Odd eyes fixate on the direction where he thinks he heard the noise; the brush is thick enough he can't make out much among the mass of foliage shapes. But there's more than just beasts out here. And while he'd like to have his coat and armor on if it comes to a fight, he's not willing to take the time or turn his back when something is so near. So he simply leers, and hopes any beast caught in the act will be smart enough to realize he's no easy meal.

Fortunately for Ravus, it is not a wild beast.

Unfortunately for Ravus, it is not a wild beast.

Frankly speaking, if Ignis really wanted to just corner the man, he's positive that he could jump him quite neatly. Ravus is a man meant for up front combat, a knight in every meaning of the word... and while Ignis has no doubt in his own battle prowess, it's mostly reliant on not getting hit long enough to take out someone's tends or poison them. He does better, in his professional opinion, with assassinations.

(In the future, he will be quite pleased about being able to combat Ravus face to face. In another future, one that may or may not come to pass, he'll take no small pride in being able to best Ardyn once the table is made neatly balanced.)

However, while he does want to corner the man... It's for his own good. And for that reason, Ignis makes sure he and Gladio announce their presence quietly as they approach his position, a good moment before Ignis steps out from the brush.

"Last I checked, one didn't need to go this far out from the town to do their laundry."

The surprise is plainly written in the fact he doesn't immediately jump to action. He stares, blinking owlishly at the fact Ignis and Gladio are here. Why though? It's as Ignis says, there's hardly a reason to be this far out for something like laundry, but is there a reason to be this far out at all? Other than to be away from people, Ravus has no answer. It makes sense for him, outsider that he is. But for them?

Ravus doesn't quite let the tension out of his shoulders. Nor does he put away his weapon. There's a needling thought in his mind, stitching together pieces he doesn't necessarily like. Perhaps, with time to ruminate on it, the fall of Insomnia was too much to let him escape for. He would understand, he does understand. Even if he doesn't wish to think so of someone he calls friend.

But why announce himself then? Ravus exhales a sigh. He's not about to sort this without asking, he thinks.

“To be undisturbed one might. But I see that it hasn't been nearly as successful as I hoped. But I also doubt you've come to do the same. So what is it you're here for?"

That the sword is still held up even in some capacity is proof enough that Ravus is on edge. That their last conversation contributed to that. And, for a moment, Ignis does think on that. On knowing exactly how he will lose his home, through what machinations and mistakes.

There's still a sting, in his chest. Just thinking about it. And a question, as well.

What circumstances have lead to their friendship?

Then again, in many ways, he thinks he can see how it would be very easy. It hasn't escaped him, now that he's had time to settle down from the world-ending news, how similar he and Ravus are. Goals of theirs that he could share easily enough.

So he takes in that weapon for just a moment before striding out from the bush, confident and smooth. "You, clearly," he says matter of fact, before wrinkling his nose down at the sword. "Now put that thing away. It is no way to have a civilized conversation, especially one in which you are being invited to breakfast."

In a not-so-far-away future, back on their star, Ignis will one day know the evaluating look Ravus sets him with both there and here. One where his gaze doesn't waver at all from meeting those severe greens. Nothing so cold as gauging for worth (he already knows; he already knew), but of deciding to throw relative safety to the wind, and trust him. For Ravus, it's only been a few days, but he supposes he's ready to do it all again.

The silver straightens up some, rolling back his shoulders to shed the tension in them before sheathing his sword.

"Once more, you surprise me." It's half-murmured, some form of exasperated fondness, before he speaks up properly. "By what strange manner of fate am I being invited to breakfast of all things? I expected an escort to the grave, first and foremost."

Later, he will likely ruminate over that simple action of a sword being sheathed. What it means for men at war, men who lose everything, men with no allies that they can realize at first.

Right now, he stays on topic, crossing his arms as he begins a slow measured step just a bit more around Ravus than coming directly at him as he had before.

"You would be dramatic as to think on an execution first, despite us all being in a place far away from home," he comments. "However, all of us were having a rather normal chat this morning, you see, when we realized something." Or, rather, Noctis pulled it out into the open and they all got to deal with it plainly. "It was realized further when I asked about town."

The slow circle begins to get a little tighter.

"You see, despite it being repeatedly mentioned both in our arrival and then, I know for certain, a conversation between you and I on how there are many empty buildings available for all of us who have newly arrived... No one had ever seen you in any of them. Truly, very few had ever seen you about town in general. Now, that is rather odd, isn't it? We are not a large community. One would think it rather easy to know who has moved where at this point. I even asked the resident baker - a man I know from prior interactions to be quite nosy and knowledgeable about people in his community - and it seemed as though he had not seen you about either."

Those sharp green eyes rake Ravus over, both in general and across the coals.

"So where have you been living, Ravus Nox Fleuret?"

"Dramatic, am I?" Ravus watches that slow, methodical circle. Predatory, for all Ignis assures him that his head isn't on the chopping block. No, Ravus doesn't think anything so neat as the headsman's axe is coming for him. Not when this young, spitting image of a shark going 'round its prey keeps talking, drawing ever closer.

Closer and closer, Ravus watching him with a hand on his hip, and his head cocked in the perfect display of dramatics he's been accused of. But who can blame him for his thoughts? Paranoia has gotten him further in life than most other perceptions of people. And really, Ignis must know the picture he paints. There's nothing about this trap he's waxing on about that's subtle or unintentional.

And then there's the shark's bite right at the end, the damning question that vices down on his throat. Ravus can't quite meet his eyes.

With a great sigh, Ravus broadly gestures to the surrounding forest. It's quite scenic, if anyone were to ask him. Beautiful, and so very away from people. People he's hurt. People he thinks he's hurt enough.

"Here and there," is what he says, before setting that hand back on his hip. "The woods offer serenity, and solitude." Not much in the way of human comforts, but somehow it hadn't felt right to make a home of one of the empty cottages. "There was hardly a need to bother anyone about me, let alone your ever-so-nosy neighbor. I made myself gone, as suggested. I cannot go further; I have already tried."

Oh, the absolute tit idiot.

"Who on earth asked you to go?" Ignis asks, eyes narrowing as he goes straight towards the front of the other man - neatly cutting off his access to the water and not caring if small bits of spray or such get on the edges of his pants. "When I said as much, I know you were well aware that I was asking you to only leave the premises so that Noctis could catch his breath. There was nothing in my request about you going off to live in the woods."

Despite appearing as a weedy little thing still in comparison to the very built military commander before him, there is zero hesitation as he crosses his arms and leans directly into Ravus's space.

"And to do so as the air gets colder, and food will become scarce in the wild? You are acting the fool, Ravus. I expected better of you. At least in the realm of sensibility."

Maybe for someone more used to people outside of the dogmatic cruelty of the Niflheim army that would occur to them. Unfortunately, Ravus' socialization has left him lacking in being able to interpret any form of grace or kindness from others. If that wasn't made obvious by the fact Ravus assumed they were here to play judge, jury and executioner, he says as much to prove it.

"You did not say when to return." A pause, then, quieter, "if I should return. Besides that, I think you underestimate just what environments I have been forcibly conditioned to endure. Niflheim is a wasteland through and through, a glacial desert. I would be more than fine out here."

But that's not really the issue. It's his sensibility in question, but to Ravus, it had made perfect sense. A logical answer to the adrift way he feels, to assign something solid to the nebulous insecurity to where he stands among it all now. Still, one more person being disappointed in him manages to sting, and while Ignis leans close, far too small to be intimidating someone of his size, Ravus still manages to be cowed by a man about half his weight. He keeps his head turned away when he speaks.

"I merely did what I thought was correct."

Really, he looks so pathetic - a lost dog left drenched by the rain and huddling in the gutter for even a fascimile of warmth - that Ignis almost feels regret for having cornered him so thoroughly like this. Almost.

Not nearly enough for him to keep his hand still as it rises up, taking Ravus by the chin and forcing him to look back at him.

"And if we are relying on the faulty evidence of things I did not say," he whispers. "Then I never once said that I did not still wish to be your friend, Ravus."

His own words strike true in his chest, then. Funny how he's been trying not to think too deeply about it, been wrapped up in so much work he's had to do, that he's not realized such a simple truth. Whatever that may mean, he still longs to keep Ravus as his friend. As someone close to him.

Taking a breath, Ignis lowers his hand now that Ravus is forced to properly look at him. "Just because you can simply survive out here, having experience worse, does not mean you should continue to experience worse. Do try to have a better view of my own person than to think I would simply leave you abandoned out here in the cold, ignored and neglected. Instead, simply do as I say, and come with us. To be in a warm house, and eat food I would at least like to think is half-decent."

If he looks pathetic, he certainly feels it too. Exhaustion weighs on him more than just the poor sleep without a roof over his head, or the fact he's barely eaten. It's the crushing weight of loss, of so many emotions, the shame of even feeling them. Worse still, letting anyone see them. But nothing outweighs the leaden lump in the pit of his stomach when Ignis takes him by the chin, and whispers to him.

"Ignis," he says, his name nearly a plea breathed between them. Begging for understanding. "No, I- there is so little I have left to cherish. I would not abandon something so precious did I not believe it had to be. I did not walk away from you with anything but a blade wedged into my heart. All I could think to stop it from bleeding at your feet was to leave it driven there. You are my friend. And I would not think so low of you."

"Then leave it at my feet. I'll accept the blood in my soles if it means to take care of your fool self, rather than you running off to the woods in winter." Ignis sighs, taking him by the arm to pull him away from the river.

"So come now. Make up for the rudeness by coming along with us. The house will be far warmer and more comfortable."

Just leave it there? Let this dear man have to wash the shine of blood from his feet? His blood? Ravus thinks to protest. He couldn't possibly burden Ignis with this, shouldn't- but the heat of his hand on his arm immediately quiets the thoughts, and the guilt silences any verbal means to protest. He's being rude now, is he?

"My apologies," Ravus murmurs, following the first step away from the river before pausing. He looks over his shoulder at his coat and his greaves. "If I agree to come home with you, will you let me at least finish the washing?"

Ignis considers things for a moment, eyeing the articles of clothing - well, clothing and armor, he supposes. It would be bothersome to have to come all the way out here once again to retrieve it all, let alone taking into consideration the cleaning. Probably for the best that at least they allow this much.

...Still, he does wonder if Ravus might perhaps slip off with an opportunity like that. He doesn't seem like the type to possess such guile, but, well. You never know, sometimes.

"I suppose it is for the best," he says after a second's thought. "Gladio and I will be right here, then."

Watching. Waiting.

Thankfully, Ravus is not a man that oft goes back on his word. He doesn't much care for lying, and is terrible enough at it to justify not, even without his sense of righteousness.

Still, he's grateful Ignis doesn't argue this. It's just the tiny bit of control over the small details that he needs. Ravus is a fastidious man by nature, and it's been difficult feeling clean for days now. Mostly because he's unsure how to wash years and years of unfounded violence from his hands, but the idea of his clothes being left dirty at the riverside feels like a very precariously placed final straw.

Ravus doesn't immediately untangle himself from where Ignis holds his arm. Instead, he leans against his side with the gentle press of his body, almost like the affectionate lean of a dog.

"I will try to be quick, given I have kept you all waiting long enough." Only after a too-brief moment does he actually go to do his laundry, though.

Oh, the world is dark

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