synflux | ( closed ) life like the unplumbed sea;

[You see, he says that. He knows there's something inherent in it that should make any reasonable person with a brain sigh and shake their head. It's too much. A bird will cross many seas in its travels, and maybe it will never find its landing. Many wouldn't be able to make even one inch of that trip.]

[But see, he's not reasonable, and he has a brain, but all of this is just ringing something deep and nostalgic in his chest that pangs like a song. What folly. It drips through his words.]

...You know, you would be a Nameless.

[He drops that as easy as anything, reaching forward to brush his hand through the other's hair. His fingertips are scarred, now - their torment from the people of that vampire-besotted land now a memory of the past.]

I'll have to give you the whole backstory, but....there once was a god, an Aeon, called Akivili. THEY traveled the universe, far and wide, on a train through the cosmos. THEIR followers hold that belief of grand exploration, too. They're romantic, unfettered, uninhibited, and absolutely reckless. They change the tide, those people. And?

[A little wink.]

They're always a hoot to be around.

[ There's some specific vernacular being used here that he isn't being made completely privy to, but Elysium finds that he doesn't mind all that much. It's easy enough to dissect its meaning from the context clues Sampo's provided alone, and he smiles, wistfully, how even across galaxies and universes, societies and individuals alike arrive at eerily similar destinations and conclusions.

Elysium isn't the name of a person, not really. Elysium is the name of a fictitious place of unbridled and perfected happiness, a place that only exists in one's imagination. Much like the illusion that he is who he is, when it's seeming likelier and likelier that he'll have to take up the very name he'd discarded.

At least, that one day isn't today and it probably isn't tomorrow. It could be a week after that, or it could even be the day after. But for once, he's thinking that it might be enough, regardless of the amount of time, canting closer towards Sampo's hand with what would be a fully contented hum were it not for the direct comparison he'd be able to make between previously untextured fingertips and now.

And yet, and yet. The circumstances make it all the different somehow, softer still. What a pain. Things happen for a reason, didn't they? ]

When all that's said and done down below, the only other place to go is to take to the sky and far beyond, huh…? I wonder if I'll ever get to experience that in my lifetime. I'd like to.

[ A sky that isn't a sky with a threat that looms past it. His world isn't the forlorn place most make it out to be, but he can't help but feel envious. ]

… So that's why you called yourself the Sampo Express. [ pfft. ] Alright. Let's see how your experiences chalk up. Then maybe, just maybe, I can show you what it's like to take flight.

[ He leans back. A little wink of his own in return. ]

Are you going to let me get changed, or did you actually want the thrill of feeling like we're on the run, you punk?

Maybe you will. I think you'd take to it like a duck to water. Or a bird to sky? You get the idea. I'm pretty sure your footsteps would take you towards newer and newer heights.

[But...he laughs a little, something a little bittersweet in those emerald eyes. His turn to bump forehead against forehead, now.]

But stay here for a time before you do that, alright? On good old ground with your old pal, here.

[The perch, for as long as it can stand, for as long as it can be made available. Spite and...other feelings can prop that sort of thing up through thick and thin.]

[Not to let himself be dragged into such weighty notions for too long, he's latching onto the last statement with a little giggle.]

You want to get changed? Aw, does it really bother you? We can do that. I've been known to remove people's clothing in no time flat-

[He's obviously joking, but his hands are mirthfully rolling down to grasp at the other's clothes, as if to pluck them off.]

You can only go so far flying solo. You know, I really didn't mind. Staying grounded, that is. But… there's so much to see, isn't there? So much more to do than lament days long past. You don't think I'll dare to try and take you with me?

[ … Brief flights of fancies could still be considered flights nonetheless. In a manner of speaking, Sampo's 'getting away of a little while' could be it. He's a little over reaching newer and newer heights. Once upon a time, that thought might've made him more bitter; dig deep enough, and he might still be. Regardless, while he might not reach every height himself, not in in this lifetime, there is something to be said for making the heights they could reach count.

Aggravating as it may be, there's the pending valuation in not reaching them alone. Even the depths they'd achieved… in retrospect, were they truly so bad? Yikes. ]

Unless you were personally planning to keep me warm yourself, I'll freeze. [ He snorts, just as mirthful, eyes narrowing as those hands stray lower and lower. ] And so you say, so you say. I dunno know, man! Do you have a different definition of 'no time flat,' or what? I'm still as dressed—or underdressed—as you found me. Should I give you a hand?

[ by like… turning around and giving Sampo access to the drawstrings of his gown. cheeky. he's laughing, but if Sampo chooses to go along with the bit, he will get an unobstructed view of… well. The true damage from Brașov that isn't the scar tissue above his heart, in the increased number of neat rows of crystals crossing his back.

Maybe that's the point: the showing not telling. But Elysium isn't the type to let him or others be dragged into weighty notions either. ]

My bag, on the chair in the corner. Clothes are in there. [ Stripping or no. Make yourself useful, bro. ]

[You don't think I'll dare to try to take you with me?]

[What a notion. It seems so foreign. They are words that another version of him would have said on a beach somewhere. A version that would throw a knife at a ticking bomb. And now, this little bird of a bomb, bomb of a bird, whatever he is, would even joke about such a thing.]

[So he has roped the man in, unwilling to leave, and here he goes saying such things in return. It really peeves him in a way that makes him paradoxically feel warm. It sticks between his ribs like a pleasant little thorn.]

[Elysium turns, and his fingers pluck, and...pause. Crystals, in neat little lines. Like jewelry embedded in the skin.]

[His hands fret a little, now, dancing over his shoulders, but they take up the new task deftly as they pull back to that noted bag. Sampo pulls off the gown, one arm, and then another, and...]

[A little kiss to the brief glimmer of skin he sees of his neck admist his hair, unable to help himself. The appearance of the crystals seems so definite, and he wishes to not make it so.]

Here we go.

[And he's pulling Elysium's arms now into the sleeves of his shirt, humming all the whole.]

[ It's a bit too late to call it tit for tat. It's a bit too far to call it tit for tat. It's been more than just a bit of everything, and it has been for some time; it's harder to pinpoint when it went beyond repaying favors and settling debts than it is to simply wipe the slate clean and face it for what it is.

Oh, attachment. What a force. More haunting than the souls who give up their lives in search of Elysium are those willing to give even more for just a few extra minutes, seconds, for said attachments.

(A bubble under the sea. A world literally built for two. A face that melts into red until all that's left is a wooden puppet held up by strings… Fast forward, a friend he'd had to sink a knife into, an expression so betrayed that he'd wanted to be more bothered by but hadn't been because of the accompanying relief.

… Nightmares aren't so easily forgotten.)

But the kiss is a distraction, warmer than the last, and Elysium shudders, a little like a flutter. Without a protest as there once would have been, his head dips in embarrassment, teeth quietly sinking into his bottom lip. ]

… Say. [ He breathes, even. ] How nice of a guy do you think I am? [ Apropos of nothing as his head pokes through the collar, arms following suit through sleeves. He keeps his eyes closed, and for all that it's worth, his tone is kept perfectly light as he holds out a hand and beckons with it. Pants, please. ]

Perfect memory, remember? Don't think I haven't been keeping track, by the by.

[ yeah. ]

Keeping track of what?

[He asks, ever so innocently - as if he's never done a single crime in his life. The most pure man to ever exist. If he notes the way Elysium shivers at the kiss, he doesn't seem to point any attention to it, moving behind to pluck the pants up from the bag.]

My memory's never the best. I live in the moment, you know? Sometimes, in order to keep yourself falling down the spiral staircase of the past, you just gotta keep going.

[And going, and going, and going. Even at the end of the world, on a beach, through the stars.]

[He offers a wink, his voice shifting to match Elysium's tone - almost parroting:]

My life. Your life. Hehe, aren't they one and the same now?

[And he laughs, like its a splendid little memory, and not something fraught and painful and still raw, even after so much time. Nightmares aren't so easily forgotten.]

[Yes he is still continuing to hold the pants, twirling them a little gaily in one hand, as if he's forgotten what he's meant to be doing.]

[ Give it to Sampo to prompt the visceral reaction he does, time after time, sparking and quenching fires inside him that shift from heat to chill on whim. A lingering memory that's never been acknowledged—at least, not in full. Is a memory a memory if neither parties refuse to accept its existence?

He misses the wink, but the cadence and laugh are all he needs to complete the picture himself: the way Sampo's eyes crinkle at their corners, the gleam of bright emerald eyes shining with amusement, and the way his head tilts back just enough to send his hair flipping with the movement. And he should laugh, too—but he doesn't. Instead, his heart stutters, and a cool front spreads its way across his chest, far colder than the sharp bite of the scalpel that had once pierced it.

It's

a little something like

anger. More than just a little, eyes fluttering open into what can only be classified as a glare. Still seated on the side of his bed, a hand bunches where Sampo's cloak is clasped all to tug him forward, roughly, to meet him eye-to-eye. ]

… No pulling out. [ He could mimic Sampo's lilt, easily. But these aren't the words of a distant memory, a distant dream. These are their words now, in a reality where they're

teetering on the edge of something,

a cliff past a rickety bridge, tone icy and heavy, with scantly restrained irritation. ] Is that right?

[Elysium's hand grasps him, pulls him forward - and Sampo doesn't even resist, almost habit at this point to be at the other end of a hovering hand ready to punch him for being the bastard that he is. That's what he does best. Friendly, silver-tongued, but he turns situations into ones where he seems to get the flack for it all, only to turn that disadvantage into his favor.]

[For a moment there, the joyous eyes seem a little less so, dull in their gaze as it takes in that thorny irritation like a blank observer. Snakes can't help themselves. But even so, when that look might have lingered, the tension eases into something a little softer, now.]

Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

[The morbid mantra of a schoolboy in a playground, but he recites it with intent. Aren't they the one and the same now? My life. Your life.]

No pulling out, dear. Really, really. [As much as he can state it, as much as he, too, layers bricks upon his own irritation, but....Sampo Koski is no villain. Maybe one day, but not here. He couldn't manage to be so, after playing the part too well against his own will. His hand reaches to grab Elysium's bare hand, place a kiss against it like a balm to a wound.] I wouldn't do that to you.

[ He isn't used to feeling anger, not really. He isn't used to feeling one thing or another particularly strongly, his fingers curling painfully into his palm. Until Sampo lifts his hand, the tension within it dissolves nearly all at once. The marked fondness isn't fair—a kick when low.

But at the end of the day, his anger isn't directed at Sampo. Gaze faltering, he slips into a quiet resignation before he's once again burying his face into Sampo's shoulder, hand at his chest dropping to circle around his torso. ]

Sure. [ It's lame, muffled, mirroring Sampo's own lack of enthusiasm back then. He feels nauseous, the culmination of all the disregard he had for every alarm bell coming to a head. Even still, he picks up where they left off in the script, the page dog-eared and kept in pristine condition despite their best efforts to throw it into the shredder and sink it beneath the sea. ] Here to make the most of it. Sink or swim.

…

What's Elysium when I have my cielo right in front of me?

[ And that simple declaration, in itself, holds more weight than any bold or dramatic proclamation, doesn't it? That's how it is. That's how it will be.

Whether his pants are still in his free hand or waylaid onto the floor, Elysium will be back to his nonchalant self, picking himself up to pluck it out wherever it may be. It might feel like nothing's changed—but everything has, even if he's nondescriptly changing into them. ]

[ A beat. Two beats. Then, changed and with his bag slung over his shoulder—he's slinging his arm around Sampo's shoulder with a grin, but not without pressing a quick kiss to his jaw in the process. ]

It's about time that I show you how I've been playing naughty, yeah?

[ mom said it's my turn to bend down and pick you up bridal-style. ]

[He doesn't know what cielo means. An unfamiliar word. But its the weight of it that is very well understood - a deep warmth that perfuses him and wants to fill his soul.]

[Could it? Can it? He's speechless - a rare thing, for Sampo Koski - and as much as this is fair game from his shared fondness of earlier, its something he never actually expects in return. Nobody trusts a businessman of deals and transactions and tit-for-tat, but...]

[Elysium found some sort of elysium in him. For better. For worse. This script has been held in his hands so tightly that he can't bear to let go of it.]

[Does he care that much? It must be like Belobog. A place to fight the world for.]

[A person to fight the world for.]

[His eyes dash downwards, bashful despite himself with that statement, and he's still a little in his own world when Elysium steps in, places that little kiss and-]

[Oopsie, daisy! He's immediately jerking back to reality, letting out a very pathetic yelp as he's immediately grasping for Elysium's shoulders.]

Hey! HEY! Sir, is that even fair-!?

Tons of things aren't fair. This, that, [ a deliberate pause, ] you. Haha. Being this endearing's gotta be a crime.

[ For all that he shouldn't be, shrewd businessman that he is. What a guy. If something has no value on its own, what's the solution? Simple: tie it to something that does hold some kind of intrinsic value. Tie it to tightly it becomes inseparable, inextricably linked to the thing that gives it meaning.

It's suffocating. It's warming. The feeling of the air in his lungs being displaced as he sinks to the bottom of the sea, the anchor growing heavier with each passing moment. ]

… But at some point, you just have to learn to roll with the punches.

[ Like how this—whatever this was—may or may not become their new norm. Sampo flusters so nicely, it's hard not to want to take things further. But he settles, briefly nuzzling into his hair to nip at the shell of his ear.

Heheh.

As for following through on one's words, they'll simply take a leap from the sliding window, five floors above the ground, the fall broken only by LILITH's very own Hermes boots. No big! It's a little regretful, buuuut Elysium will set him Sampo down after. ]

So? Where to?

[ Even still, Elysium's proximity doesn't relent. A casual arm around the shoulder before they begin their move, then—the slowest, most deliberate unwind in fingers trailing across his backside and down his arm into a

link of hands. Two birds on a wire, aren't they? ]

Yeah, yeah.

[Life isn't fair. Life isn't fun. Life should be full of joy, but it isn't. A bird is cursed to end his life in suffering.]

[So yes, you have to roll with the punches. Find little bits of happiness. And if something doesn't have it, turn the trash into treasure. Things don't need to sink.]

[But maybe, if they can't fly, they can float on the endless waters, and stare at the sky above them in their splendor.]

[His ears are burning with the little bite - what a minx this guy is! - and he can't help but hold him a little tight, afraid with the jump. Now, they're on solid ground, but he doesn't let go for...a moment, as if afraid to lose more than just his life, now. He relents, though, settling on his feet, and-]

[Their hands intertwine. He stares at it for a moment - the anchor binds him, too - before he grins ever brightly.]

Follow me, and we'll see!

[To the great unknown! Or rather....on the train to the outskirts. Ruins stand in their wretched state, but close to the temple there are some flowering trees, wandering cats, and little places to camp out under the stars. And sure enough, Sampo has brought a nice tent to set up here, along with the necessities. Snacks, a nice pot to cook some stew and such over a little campfire, and comfortable blankets to rest their heads.]

[Just them, and the world, and no one else to enter this little bubble. As if time could still, and they could simply exist, with no worries or fears. Of course they're there, but...]

[Everything on the backburner. He'll make sure to be the best distraction he can be.]

[A night comes, and he's settling against Elysium on the blanket here, emerald eyes reflecting the glitter of the stars as he knocks his forehead against the other's shoulder.]

Do you like it here, Elysium?

[Is this what he wanted?]

[ It's an unfamiliar feeling—being led, following in the footsteps of someone else. Yet, he moves in perfect lockstep, almost mesmerised by it. The location, the setup, the meticulous planning and preparation—it's all so foreign to experience from the other side, these things he's used to taking upon himself, either for himself or for other people. Now, watching someone else take the reins, he feels a strange mix of awe and disorientation, like a part of him is untethered, somehow.

It isn't unpleasant, per se… but if he had to give a name to the feeling that arises,

he doesn't think he wants to. Rather, he thinks he doesn't need to.

But does he like it here, specifically? The thought lingers just as Sampo's head tips onto his shoulder. Instinct takes over, and he adjusts without thinking, tucking Sampo closer with his arms wrapping around his waist. There's a quiet hum, soft and thoughtful, as if he's genuinely mulling over the question. But he doesn't need to, not really. The answer is already there, settled in the last bit of distance between them. ]

If I say I don't, are you going to take me to more places?

[ … a slip of a hand underneath the other's cloak, but it isn't so much purposeful as it is to close that last bit of distance between them for whatever a piece of cloth would amount to. If that same hand touches skin, it isn't his fault? But Sampo probably feels and hears the smile from above him, the former in Elysium's head rested against his and the latter in the form of a mischievous sigh. ]

Should've heeded my warning about travellers, Sampo. We're greedy, greedy people, so if you give me the option, I'm going to say just that, until we've exhausted the world and then some. [ hehe. ] But if you're asking about another form of 'it,' [ as undefined as the quiet thrum of his heart, this companionship—until the end of the world, or perhaps the end of some world—however long it, or they, may last, ] you could say that.

[ Is this what Sampo wanted to hear? ]

How often do you do this, hm?

[Maybe that's the point. Maybe when you let someone in so close, you become like them. Another mask to add to the pile. Here, he's everything Elysium has shown him. The traveler. The one to make others happy. The one to put himself aside when there's a star to follow in the sky.]

[He doesn't need to think of it, either.]

[Elysium's hands encircle him - its funny, to think that someone can trap a slippery little man like himself, but here they are. He settles against him, pleasantly shivering at the brush of fingers against skin, and he smiles in reply, like a mirror, to Elysium's own.]

Well, of course! The customer has to be happy, after all. [He says, in that tongue in cheek way, giving him a squeeze.] But jokes aside, yeah. Of course. The world's our oyster and then some.

[A little smack of a kiss against his neck.]

Pot talking to kettle here, pal. At least, if other people have to say something about my greed. Maybe they're right! Who knows. But...

[Yeah. A little pause, as his breath catches in a little laugh, his fingers tracing up Elysium's spine.]

Not often at all. Really don't remember the last time when. Aren't ya special?

Edited 2024-12-13 04:12 (UTC)

[ What did someone like him know about holding onto anything? He really shouldn't be special, tempted to echo it in the same sort of tongue-in-cheek cadence that Sampo utilises. Instead— ]

Now that I think about it, it's probably not that big of a deal when a whole world's so small compared to an entire galaxy. Isn't that one of the tactics in your playbook? Not pointing out the details someone might've overlooked? I'm going to have to backtrack and reconsider the scale here, you crook.

[ —he goes with something else entirely, smoothing out his discomfort with a gentle pinch to deflect. If only that was how it really worked, and they weren't, in truth, anchored to so many things beyond their own control. ]

… Say. [ … and this is where the illusion fractures, the word punctuated by an intentionally perceptible shift in tone. Despite the way his body relaxes into Sampo's touch by contrast, the arm around him drops to the mat beneath them. A bird on a wire, but only for as long as the gentle breeze holds steady and the pillars in which supports it endures, talons uncurled and susceptible to free fall. ] What do you plan to do after this?

[ More specifically, and to leave no shadow of doubt: ]

When we head back and when you have to face everyone else. Laying low isn't going to resolve anything by itself.

I'm not a crook! I'm your dear friend, Sampo Koski! C'maaaawn. Now you're making a big deal over a tiny little deal! And those kind of deals don't get me any profit whatsoever.

[Elysium is obviously a big meanie - he hems and haws a little, playing it up with a little poke to the side. He's basically confirming what Elysium says - any good businessman never reveals his whole hand. The point is to point out a product's (him)'s values, not flaws.]

[The more serious follow-up gets him to blink for a moment, his expression settling into something a little more blank - before it cracks again into a smile. His eyes, though, are a little overshadowed, like a snake peeking through the grasp.]

Do I haaave to? Really. Maybe its best Sampo Koski stays out of the public eye for a while.

Even crooks can have people who cherish them, dear friend.

[ Flaws and all, his tone carrying a wry acknowledgement of the absurdity of his own words—a blatant, unspoken irony he doesn't bother to mask. After all, it had been that very behaviour of his, the kind that others often condemned, that had, in its own twisted way, saved him more than once.

But enough about that. He's more than eager to leave the subject behind, brushing it off with practiced ease when presented with the next available topic. ]

Not really. If you don't care too deeply about resolutions, then I suppose it doesn't matter. But to some extent, it does, doesn't it? Since this is as much for you as it is for me.

Mm. I suppose you speak from experience.

[He mutters - and yes, the irony of it all somehow touches him sincerely all the same. It sends a little butterfly flutter through his heart, flummoxed, and he nestles his head against the crook of his neck.]

[He actually frowns at the last part, pensive - before heaving a sigh as those emerald eyes close up.]

See, you got me there. I do like a good resolution. A play is only good as its ending. I just...don't know how to go about doing it, friend.

[ And here he is, tucking the culprit underneath his metaphorical wing despite himself. As much a shelter from the rain as Sampo had been, for him, resting his cheek atop the crown of his head. ]

… Just do what you usually do. [ with a casual gesture, he traces a small circle in the air with his index finger, a lazy yet purposeful motion that underscores his irreverence, a quiet dismissal of the resolution itself. It's not so much the outcome that matters to him so much as

ensuring the other's comfort, at the end of the day. ] If a resolution is too hard for the time being, you can leave it open-ended, come back with a sequel when you're ready. Even if it's shitty, even if the sequel might never see the light of day, I'll still watch and wait for it [ 'I'll still support you,' ] regardless.

You're good at them, aren't you? Surprises, deflection, and all the rest that entails. I'm sure you already know people don't blame you. [ … unlike how Elysium had been so deliberate, on the other hand. ] More pragmatically, they aren't in the position to blame you when it's as much of our fault as it is yours.

Heheh. [ … ] See? Even crooks have their cute sides.

[ Lifting his head a little and taking a hand to angle Sampo's jaw upwards, just to make eye contact from up above. Trailing that same hand upwards, he'll brush his bangs temporarily out of eyes. Have a forehead kiss while he's at it. ]

[He'll watch and wait for it. Elysium, audience of one, standing and clapping in the wings of the empty theater. Is that enough? Should he consider that enough? In a way, he does. Because what does the rest of the world mean to him? His heart resides in snowy Belobog for now, and it wants to stay awhile under this little roost he's made for a sad little bird. Does anything else matter?]

[Unfortunately, he knows it does. Even as Elysium tries to reassure him, his heart feels, still, like its dangling heavy, unsure which way to swing. It's comfortable here. He doesn't like to just put it out and get no return except further reminders of his own guilt. True happiness doesn't involve making people feel down, but...]

[He scrunches up his face a little at the kiss, but he's exhaling a laugh, rubbing his nose against the man's face with a bright smile.]

"Our fault"? Gee, that doesn't sound right. But I get it, I get it! I just...have to jump in the deep end with my eyes closed! [And now, a sigh as punctuation.] Really, though, I appreciate it. I do.

[Everything you do for me.]

[ None of it sounds right when there are multiple elephants in the theatre that remain unaddressed. For one, how he's the last person to make any guarantees, and yet here Sampo was, accepting them as they were. ]

Do you? I don't think I've said anything you don't already know.

[ And then Sampo's leaning in, and Elysium retreats, just a little, to briefly stare at the bright smile on the other's face before he flicks his gaze upwards. ]

… I just can't leave things unpaid, is all. By the by, I know you can't, either. So if I end up having to fish you out again, don't think I won't charge you extra for it. I'm not that selfless of a guy. [ Teasingly, and with the charged undercurrent of something else: ] Is that really something to be appreciative of?

[ being the recipient of both his shallow and deep whims, and having certain debts forced upon him, in kind. in "kind." ]

( closed ) life like the unplumbed sea;

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