jesterlies | OPEN POST 2 ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

[ Oh how dare he laugh! And then say that! Oh!! With an aggrieved noise he reaches up and pinches Mavericks ear at the tip, giving it a - relatively gentle - pull. ]

If you make me go grey before my time, I will make your life miserable!

[ Knowing how annoying it is to braid your own long hair, Percy moves to help Maverick, thinking of his questions as he does. It's also soothing and helps him calm down again. ]

Mmm... first question. You said you were once a Vampire. Are you technically not anymore, despite some Vampire like traits?

Oh? I think you'd look rather charming with a streak or two of white.

[Hm, was that too much of an overt flirt? He should try better to keep himself in check. Especially as Percy takes his hair from him and braids.]

That's correct, very astute. I was very much turned around the inception of the Order, that is how our knowledge of Vampires became so robust when before most was shrouded in superstition.

[He hums thoughtfully.]

I think if you were to call me a proper Vampire today, I can think of a few who would get their knickers in a twist over it. My reliance on blood is less of an all consuming thirst and more of a nuisance that makes me cranky from time to time.

[ Was that a flirt? Or was it just Maverick? Percy chews on the inside of his cheek and tries not to think about it. The man is old, and while he counts Maverick as his dearest friend and thinks about kissing him, surely the man wouldn't look at someone as young as him and see anything he hasn't seen before.

Oh that- he's not gonna think about that.

Instead he hums softly to Mavericks reply, thoughtful as he gathers his hair carefully to gently braid it. ]

Mm, I see. Are you a physical combination of something? Vampire and Siren, for example, or Lamia? Or would you say your change is-

[ Hm, spiritual is not the word he's looking for, nor is mental. More than magical. Ah! ]

-metaphysical?

[Percy would be surprised, or perhaps not surprised, to find the man very closed off to most. That he has let Percy in this far is a bit of a surprise. Perhaps someone in the staff will comment as such later.]

Hmm...that's not a bad way to put it, I think.

[And then, Percy will find the hair he's braiding to suddenly fall from his hands- no, fall through his hands, and Maverick's form becomes transparent, though a bit of smokes begins to rise off of him, dark in color mixing with his hair, giving him an almost ghostly quality.]

The physical form is something I consciously choose to inhabit.

Edited 2025-12-28 03:46 (UTC)

Oh!

[ The hair suddenly turning intangible and falling through his hands, combined with his friends translucent look and the smoke, makes him pause. Carefully he reaches out again to touch Mavericks ghostly form, seeing if he's simply not "there" anymore. ]

Fascinating...

[ He breathes the word out in curiosity and deep interest. A conscious effort to retain physical form. He huffs a little laugh. ]

Perhaps Banshee shouldn't have been marked out.

[ Hm, but no. A Banshee doesn't fit his friend. One, he has never heard of a male formed one. Two, a harbinger of sorrow and death doesn't seem like something his friend would be. ]

Mm... have you ever made a pact with another being?

[There is a chill when touching him, but it's not a harsh one, painful. No, there's strangely something comforting about it. Like the feeling of returning home from a snowy night.]

You were surprisingly close with that one I suppose, but I won't tell you in what way.

[He returns to form, and that presence shifts away.]

Mm...No. Not in the way you may be thinking, but I will say I have made an agreement with something that directly lead to this.

[ That sensation is so strange. It's not bad. Almost soothing. Like a offer to close his eyes and simply relax. Float away, maybe.

Hm.

Close to Banshee?

He moves his hands as Maverick returns to normal, his hands automatically gathering Mavericks hair back up to continue to braid it. He's silent as he ponders his friends words.

Exhales softly. ]

Certainly not a demon.

[ It's not a question. A statement. He knows Maverick would not contact a creature considered so vile. He considers his friends state. The ability. That he's no longer a Vampire. Remembers how he misted away. The smoke and comforting feeling.

His friends almost pout that he didn't consider something more powerful. Demi-Saint.

Inhales sharply. ]

Seamus, are you a Saint or Saint Heir?

[He laughs a little at that. Certainly he's been called demon before. Mostly by his family.]

[It's nice for the moment as Percy thinks. Maverick falls quiet too, wondering if what he's doing is proper, if this game is going to destroy something between them. He's never spoken of what he was to anyone but Lily and Eochaidh, never let anyone else get this close to the answer.]

[What is he doing... he's being a fool.]

[Percy's guess gives him a little wiggle room, buys him a little time.]

Hm, much better. I like those guesses better.

[He taps his fingers a little, not at all a nervous tick.]

Though even I know what a lofty, egotistical thing that would be to claim. I wonder, what would you even make of such a thing? That the person sitting before you holds a concept in their hands as their dominion.

[ The twist around the question and the return of his own question solidifies the idea a little in his mind. Whatever Maverick is, he's unsure of whether he wants Percy to know. Or unsure of how Percy will react.

And said healer hums gently, setting the braided hair over Mavericks shoulder and moves to gather Mavericks robe to sling it around his shoulders for him, then sit down beside him, shoulder to shoulder. ]

I don't know.

[ His voice is soft, thoughtful, as he folds his hands into his lap. Considers. ]

The Order, this Spire and you, have taught us to accept the unfathomable. Every student here digs into the practical and theory of magic. The Saints are beyond our ken but we know they exist. Or existed. The very belief system of this world surrounds them.

[ But... the idea his friend, his best friend, his mentor and his crush is... a Saint? Or something akin to one?

Silence for a longer moment, then snorts and gently elbows him in the side. ]

Have you been it the entire time I've known you? If yes, then nothing changes.

[He makes a noise as the robes are settled on his shoulders, and he feels Percy's comfortable weight beside him. It gives him a moment to compose himself, to try and get a rational head about all this.]

[He has already committed this far, has strung Percy along all this way, dangling a carrot before him, what kind of monster would he be to yank it back at the last second? Because he, the one who taught to seek knowledge and truth suddenly couldn't handle the truth being given.]

[In a rare show of nerves, Maverick clasps his own hands and holds them tightly together.]

...

[And why is it that he's suddenly so scared of telling him? Would he truly be so devastated if Percy could not accept it? Yes, he thinks so. That is the crux of this, isn't it. But it seems like ...Percy has it figured out, and so with his composure intact, with their closeness intact, he is assuring him things won't change.]

[Does he choose to believe him? Maverick sits for a very long moment, perhaps too long, before he sighs.]

My family never learned it, that I can recall, that the bastard they detested harboring so inherited the will of the bloodline. I never thought much of it myself until I found myself on the front line of that pointless war I mentioned before. When the horseman's lance ran me through.

[He looks up, gaze distant, as he thinks back to that time.]

I experienced True Death as a vampire that night, but as I crossed the veil I was taken by the hands by my Saint and she said to me "There is still so much for you to learn."

[ Oh, his poor friend. Percy has never seen Maverick like this. This confident charismatic man suddenly showing nerves like a student whose been caught doing something they shouldn't. Their roles reversed.

Hesitating only briefly, he reaches out with one hand to take one of Mavericks, folding his other hand over it gently to give him reassurance. Listens as he finally sighs and begins to talk. That he was always a Heir in line for Sainthood, but it wasn't until the War when he came into it.

Wasn't until he was lanced through and crossed the veil. That mythical line between all that is and ever will be, and the mortal realm.

But what he is. Who he is. ]

Death?

[ The Saint of Death? ]

Astute as always.

[He says it almost breathlessly, though he squeezes his hand for a moment. He's prepared for Percy to wrench away from him. After all, what kindness would a Healer have left for Death?]

The Saint of Mourning and Remembrance is the title I've inherited.

[So "Death" in a manner, but there is nuance to what his domain really is. What he governs. It's not as cut and dry as Death. Most Saint titles are this way, though they often get simplified over time.]

[ The Saint of Mourning and Remembrance.

And Percy knows. Percy knows Death is nuanced.

But he's not there anymore. He's back in those medical tents, hunched over a man younger than himself, but old enough to be conscripted. The wound is magic and he can't heal it, and his hands are shaking as he tries desperately to stitch it closed.

But there's bleeding internally and he can't make it stop he can't make it stop without his magic Barty where are you he needs you he needs your help and the young man is staring upwards at him with tears in his eyes that are dulling and he whispers something that Percy can't hear around the screaming outside the tent and something lands nearby and fire erupts around them and he tries to cover the soldier barty barty!! ]

You-

[ His voice is choked as he forces himself out of the memory, eyes trying to focus on Maverick but not really seeing him still for a moment. Then they sharpen behind the glasses, become firm. ]

You!

[ It's not anger, not really. It's grief. It's something raw and bruised. ]

Why didn't you help!! Why didn't you stop it!!

[There it is. The shoes dropped and it plays out much like he expected. He closes his eyes as Percy reacts. Makes the demands of a desperate man who had to witness so much death at the hands of the natural order.]

[But is it really? When wars are man-made? He often wonders.]

[Still, he gives Percy a chance to get it out, to condemn him to his hearts content. He takes his hand back before Percy is the one to reject it and clasps them tightly once more. He stands from the table, taking a step forward, but turns finally, after he's collected himself.]

Because that is not how my role works, Percy. I ...am sorry, that you had to see perhaps the cruelest part of the natural order, but I am not omnipotent, and I cannot change, or even redirect the wheel of life. Not on a scale such as that.

[A quiet pause as he pulls his robes back on properly, ties them up. He makes to head for the door.]

I believe the exam is finished, yes? You've learned what you wished to learn.

[ And Percy knows that. Percy knows the order of the world can't be altered. Saints were always said to be merely guides, they're not truly Gods. They can extend their hands, and change the course of a river through careful planning, but they can't stop the flow of it.

And the river will eventually return back to it's proper course.

He makes a choked noise as Maverick pulls away, gets up, walks away from him. For a moment anger flares. Then grief again and he makes another noise. A soft sob. ]

Wait-!

[ He lifts his hands to knuckle them into his eyes, working to get rid of the tears that have begun to gather. ]

Wait... I'm sorry. I know- I know you couldn't. I know you can't.

[Maverick does pause, when he hears Percy call out for him, and his heart aches, dead as it is, to hear him speak when his voice is wracked with guilt and misery. The grief is strong, and Maverick knows that the man calling to him has been mourning for years the lives he could not save.]

[That's why it's so hard to look at him suddenly. To see the grief he's been carrying and knowing that there was nothing he could have done, even if it feels like he should have been able to do something.]

[He steps back towards him, quietly, like a ghost, and lifts his hands, though he does not yet come close enough to touch him, doesn't dare to. Instead the air shifts around them and Maverick's form shifts. The ghostly quality returns, as does the smoke of the veil that rises off of him. This time his presence nearly fills the room, and his eyes turn white. Feathers and scales climb up his skin.]

It's alright. Give me that which you grieve, what you mourn, show me your sorrow and your anger, and I will accept it all. Every lost soul that slipped through your fingers I have personally walked hand-in-hand across Veil, secured their safe arrival to what awaits them next. Remember them, grieve for them, and so will I.

[ There was nothing any of them could have done. He has to tell himself that all the time. Every night before he sleeps, to keep the ghosts away. There was nothing to be done. Life comes and goes. And he tried. Oh, he tried. They all tried.

Ah, he thought himself past this.

The tears don't stop as Maverick approaches again, but Percy looks up as he feels that shift. The presence. The change in his friend is startling, but not frightening. Like before, there's that feeling of comfort. Compassion. Even if he seems larger than life itself now, fills the room until there's nothing but him.

And he balks at first at the idea of sharing his sorrow. His misery. His guilt and grief. Then he reaches out towards Maverick, towards those lifted hands. It's ... not a gesture of a plea, or even a request for relief. It's a gesture of a friend to a friend.

He needs a hug, most of all. Someone who understands. ]

[He tried, he did everything he could, Maverick knows this. As he watched people cross over, as he kept tabs on the fight, heard the whispers of the Healer with the gold and blue eyes who desperately fought for their survival, he knows this all to be true.]

[But of course it haunts him, because his soul is gentle and kind. Remembrance is a double edged sword in this way, to forget is to truly kill, and to remember is to continue to hurt. To mourn is to release, but to mourn is also to hold tightly as well. Death is both the end and the beginning, it is joyous and painful.]

[When Percy reaches for him he moves forward, sweeps him into a hug. Holds him tightly, securely, so that Percy can grieve in earnest.]

You do not have to carry this grief like this, this burden, Percy. Let it out.

[ It's warm. Percy thought it would be cool but no. As Mavericks arms wrap around him and he sinks his face into his friends shoulder, his fingers clinging tightly to his back as he begins to cry in earnest, all he can feel is the warmth.

He cries for those who he couldn't save. He cries for the families that lost their loved ones. Under Mavericks tight hold, he mourns and he remembers.

It takes him a moment for his sobs to slowly fade down to hiccups, then to wet watery sniffles as he tries to get himself under control. His voice is raggedy, shaky, and his grip never lightens. Not yet. ]

I'm glad... I'm glad it was you. Who greeted them. I can't think of- [ A soft hiccup. ] -anyone else who'd I'd rather it be.

[It hurts, but as his Sainthood flows through him, it helps dulls that pain somewhat. Just as he's held every clinging soul who grieved for their lost life, he holds onto Percy. Just as that part of him that greets the newly dead thousands of times a day settles within him.]

[Maverick too, takes a moment to grieve. Death does not solely come in the form human souls, in the shucking of the physical, but in other things too, and Maverick grieves for the way things were before this moment, for after this, it will surely change. For better or worse? He isn't sure.]

[As Percy begins to quiet down, his hold stays firm, but that presence slowly shrinks back. Maverick returning to his former state. As the Sainthood leaves him, leaving him a little lightheaded. He exists in two states, split between the Veil and the mortal plane, and when they come together it's charged and overwhelming. He is relieved to be left with himself for now.]

[His voice is quiet, but maybe Percy hears some relief in it.]

Of course. They all spoke fondly of you. I was nosy of course, even then.

[ Percy is rather glad as Maverick returns to himself. As much as the Saint had felt warm in it's comfort, it's his friend he wants the most right now. The man he wrote to all those years; telling his stories of the front, the people he's met. The faint shaky confessions of wishing he had never left the Spire, the guilt of feeling it. The theories, his late night thoughts, the jokes all penned into letters for this man.

This is who he clings to now, as he quiets down with his head still pillowed on his shoulder, his glasses askew and his eyes closed. Who he draws true comfort from.

So as much as Maverick is relieved, so to is Percy.

He huffs a little watery laugh, sniffing and moving one hand up to Mavericks shoulder to wipe at his eyes a little with his fingers. ]

Why does that not surprise me? But I'm glad they weren't mad and I'm so glad that they had you to guide them over, so they weren't lost and confused.

[ And he feels the need to explain himself, a guilty little voice in the back of his head that scolds him for blowing up at his best friend. ]

Forgive me my outburst, I shouldn't have gotten mad at you. I know the rules of Nature. We all do. But I was not thinking in that moment.

[And those letters he keeps tucked delicately in his desk drawer, where he takes and rereads them often. Where he would wait on pins and needles for the next one to arrive. Where his heart would ache to see him go through the cruelty of war, but he hoped still to see him come home, honored for his hard work, for every life he lost, surely five- tens were saved.]

[Fingers gently thread through his long hair, soothing.]

There's nothing to forgive, dear. I ...am sorry that I played this cruel game with you, when I knew at the end there would only be grief.

[He leans back a little so he can cup his face, hold their foreheads together.]

Your reaction was expected, and yet I allowed you to keep digging.

[ The gentle touch through his hair and the soft use of dear warm something in Percy far better than anything else possible could have. The love and care soothes away the last of the worry. He will, perhaps, always carry a smidgen of survivors guilt but here is the guide of the dead reassuring him that the dead held no ill will.

Here is his friend, the man his heart aches and yearns for, tendering away the last bit of grief.

His hands shift as Maverick holds his face, their foreheads together, to rest his hands against his neck. His thumbs gently against his jaw, where he strokes a little. And he smiles a little wobbly, shaking his head, rubbing their foreheads together. ]

You wanted me to know. Desperately. I saw it. But I also saw the fear. Your game was your way of offering me the chance to know, yet giving yourself - and me - and out. Oh, Seamus, do not be apologetic.

[ The urge to kiss him, to brush his mouth against Mavericks, is almost dizzying in its sudden overwhelming surge but he withholds. Even as his mind whispers Maverick called him dear. Dearest. Surely- Surely-! ]

Thank you. Thank you for trusting me. For being here for me. For them. For being you.

[It's wretched, being this close and still being so far away. He could bridge that gap, it wouldn't take very much at all. Just lean a little closer and he could just release all of the secrets he's kept in his heart all this time.]

Mm, guilty as charged. I've ... [His hands fall to Percy's, to cup them gently.] I've never told anyone else aside from Lily and Eochaidh, but I couldn't bare keeping it from you much longer.

[Ah, he's already laid himself bare more than he has ever before, should he just rip the bandage off? Oh, his heart would be thundering if it could.]

There's no one else I would trust this to, and though my heart quailed at the thought of rejection, I knew it could be no one else.

[ Maverick should have no issue hearing the way Percy's heart beat picks up. The way his pulse jumps, as those hands cup his own. His mouth feels suddenly dry, and he resists the urge to lick his lips to try and dampen them again.

Because Maverick is so close and what if he accidentally does something they'll both regret.

Or Maverick will not want.

Oh Saints, guide him, what does he do?

The idea of rejecting him makes him blink his eyes open finally, pulling back just a bit to study Mavericks face. ]

How could I ever reject you? No, impossible. It matters not what you are, what you have been or what you will be. You're Seamus. You're the man who knows my heart better than I feel I do. You're my deepest dearest friend. How could I ever reject you?

[ Perhaps that's what makes him not lean in, not press his mouth to Mavericks. There's still so much left between them to find out about the other, despite how deeply they know one another. How can he possibly rush it or ruin it by pouring his desire out right now? ]

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