[PRP] Far From Home (Mahir + Mengyao)

[Molten Tigrex]

The tower was something different - something constrained. It was much more like the islands than the reserve. Strict, separated, focused. The weight of tradition was all around them, the roof over their heads and the very foundation they stood on. It had been like this for some time.

All the while, Mahir's condition was still deteriorating. It was a struggle to focus here. The whispering had become indistinguishable from hundreds of voices echoing up and down the tower. The others moved on to greater purpose, while he remained, a shell of his former self. Alone, with his Insanity. In rare moments he would be struck by the inspiration to search for a cure, a panacea, anything that could possibly push back against the unraveling of his being, but those moments were fleeting and Mahir's attention was quick to wander. This one, too, would pass. Predictable paranoia - the other famine horsemen avoided him, they had cast him out, it was only a matter of time before they would tire of sheltering something so useless.

The words on the pages of the journals he'd spread around him began to blur. This was pointless. He was pointless. The whispering was getting louder in his ears, and covering them did nothing to stop it. Mahir gathered his robes around him and ran, past the sand and rock of the famine floor, past ornate architecture and bridges spanning a lake of lilypads. He didn't stop running until he didn't even recognize where he was --

And collided with a tall and familiarly-robed conquest horseman, in a tangle of noodly shadow arms.

kuropeco

 

[kuropeco]

Mengyao had not expected to run into anyone, literally or otherwise.

He'd spent the morning reading, and then several hours practicing calligraphy, mostly in solitude, which seemed to be all that he was good for these days. After that he'd at least managed to eat, which felt like a chore in and of itself, and after that, he'd decided to take a walk, just to get some fresh air.

He had not, as usual, wanted to talk to anyone. Or touch anyone. Or really be around anyone at all.

And, as usual, the world had simply not listened to him.

Mengyao staggered backwards, batting instinctively at the black shadowy arms that rose up in a tangle around him. It took him only a few seconds to understand what was happening, though in that short space of time, the voices inside of his head rose and fell like a crescendo, shouting and then fading once more.

There was a scowl on his face - a usual expression.

"Mahir? What in the goddess's name - "

molten tigrex