mogget_cat | OOM: Healing Asher

On the agreed-upon evening, Yrael waits outside for Asher to arrive. He lounges on a branch of a tree near the lake shore, green eyes half-shut as he watches the unsuspecting bluebird on the branch above him. He hasn't moved in two hours.

Maybe this time, he'll get dessert.

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"You will not regret the loss of them, the restoration of how you were? I will not do what will only bring regret and pain."

He must make sure.

Asher shakes his head.

"No. I will not," on that he's firm. "I want this, I do, I just..." he pauses. "It is rather complicated, back in my worl, but things are simpler here."

"Sometimes the bar does grant us that some things be simpler, here. Possibly to make up for the complications it adds in other ways," he says, smiling slightly.

"I must warn you, though. This will hurt, quite a bit, and I am not sure exactly how long it will take."

Asher nods, standing very still.

"I cannot imagine it hurting more than their creation," he murmurs, stepping closer to Yrael. "Should we perhaps go somewhere else?"

"Where would you suggest? There's a large rock by the lake's shore, nearby. It'll probably be dry enough to sit upon. You won't want to be standing, and everywhere else is mud. Interruption would be bad."

"That sounds perfectly adequate." Asher has no room of his own, after all, and after dark there are few outside to disturb them.

"All right."

Yrael has a room, but he rarely thinks of it. It's used for the storage of his musical instruments and books, rather than as a place to sleep. He sleeps in his box in the Staff corridor, where he has always made his home, since he came here.

It doesn't take long to get to the large flat rock by the lake shore. It would be perfect for sunbathing or catnaps in the blazing summer sun. Mrrrr.

"Make yourself comfortable as possible, I suppose," Yrael says, sitting cross-legged on one side of the stone.

Asher lies back gingerly, smoothing his coat as he closes his eyes, his arms straight by his sides.

He opens his eyes again, glancing at Yrael. "Do I need to remove any clothing?" There's a glint in his eye.

Yrael smirks, slightly cattily. "Only if you want to."

He won't stop him.

"I will, however, need to stay in contact with you during this. Holding onto your hand will be enough."

Asher sits up, holding Yrael's gaze as he strips off his jacket, slowly unbuttoning his shirt, parting the frothy folds at his throat, exposing a long strip of skin from throat to waistband.

He lies back, lazy and wicked all at once, the flirting helping to distract from his nerves.

Neither blinking nor looking away, Yrael responds by reaching forward to poke Asher's nose. Gently, at least.

"If you start mwrring for petting and tummy-rubs, you will not find me wanting."

But more than that, Yrael promises nothing.

Asher laughs lightly, musically, shaking his head. There is one he would be more than happy to accept stomach rubs from, and he has made it perfectly clear it will never be.

"I merely seek to make your job easier," he replies loftily.

"By seeking to distract, clearly," Yrael grins.

Asher sobers, a little.

"It would not do to have you distracted, of course," he murmurs, laying his head back and closing his eyes.

"I just need your hand, if you're ready," he says, resting the tips of his fingers on the back of Asher's hand.

Asher nodded, turning his hand over, wrapping his fingers around Yrael's.

"I am."

Yrael takes Asher's hand, and after a moment, it feels like they are falling backwards again, through the rock and soil of the lakeshore into nothingness. The Charter wells up around Asher like an endless torrent of golden light, that which composes all Life and connects all living beings together, defining what each being is by how it relates to others.

Defining Asher, and every facet of his being.

Beyond the golden light, a larger stream of symbols rushes in its endless pattern, punctuated by flashes and arcs of silver lightning woven through the Charter Marks.

These flow closer, weaving amongst Asher's pattern and beginning to rearrange the Charter Marks within them. Charter Marks form and are placed among those that define Asher's hurt side. If Asher had his eyes open, he could see Yrael's other hand furiously drawing burning Charter Marks in the air, chaining them together to heal what had been done. Very faintly, Asher may hear Yrael's voice calling aloud those Charter Marks who require their names to be used. He does not slow, but works with a steady pace, setting the Charter Marks defining Asher into their proper place.

And it hurts, having details of your physical being rearranged. It hurts beyond definition, all across Asher's right side, as scars are unmade, nerves restored and put back where they had been, muscle tissue is rebuilt, as skin and blood vessels and hair and glands and everything that had been harmed is put back the way it had been before.

Yrael hopes that Asher does not mind symmetry, for he is basing the healing pattern off of Asher's left side.

There is no telling how long the pain goes on. How long Yrael rearranges each individual facet to make it match the unscarred side of Asher. At the last, Yrael draws a Master Mark, white smoke issuing from his mouth as he speaks its name, to tie off the spell like a surgeon snipping the thread used for stitches.

Asher takes a shuddering breath as he comes back to himself, each nerve screaming with pain, nerves that have felt nothing in so very long.

He opens his eyes, slowly, body trembling, ragged gasps as he tries to remember how to speak, how uneccessary breathing is. Slowly, he leans up on one elbow, staring in amazement as his hand; whole, and perfect. He tilts it slowly back and forth, looking at the palm, then the unmarked back of his hand.

Yrael pulls back, watching Asher with his head tilted.

He will wait. It's a lot to take in.

Asher moves, slow and careful, unused to the ease with which unscarred skin shifts and stretches. He sheds his coat, and then his shirt, eyes slowly raking over every inch of perfect, unblemished skin.

He raises a trembling hand to his face, a smile lighting up once-again-angelic features as he looks at Yrael, touches pale, unblemished skin.

Asher's smile makes Yrael's face brighten into a pleased grin.

"To your liking?"

Asher nods.

"Very much so," he murmurs, with some difficulty. Sitting up fully, he hugs Yrael, still shaking a little, though he would deny it.

"Very much so, my friend," he repeats, still smiling.

Yrael chuckles and hugs Asher in return, grinning. "Then I am glad."

It's a good feeling, sometimes, doing good things.

"Please, allow me to buy you a drink," Asher pulls back at last, buttoning his shirt (though he is tempted to walk into the Bar naked, to show everyone how he once looked, to garner the stares he once took for granted).

"It is the least I can do, if you will take no other payment."

Yrael smiles. "The only payment I would ask is a favor. A trip to your St. Louis some day."

"It is one of my greatest joys, visiting new places and worlds."

"Very well." He does not feel like returning home just yet, however.

"Leave a note when you wish to accompany me, and I shall gladly give you a tour of St Louis." He smiles, again.