2306/Kingmaker: Was It Worth It

Kingmaker: Was It Worth It
Date of Scene:	02 July 2020
Location:	Recreation Room
Synopsis:	Julian has his soul back after a bit of blood magic to restore it. One day, they'll take their vengeance on The Three, but for now? Julian is whole again.
Cast of Characters:	Emma Frost, Julian Keller, Illyana Rasputina, Julio Richter, Rahne Sinclair, James Proudstar

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Emma Frost has posed:
The return from limbo may have been a bit discomfiting, but now Julian and his companions have returned to a somewhat safer place: back to the school in Westchester many of them call home. Julian's soul in the form of a beautiful amulet with five glowing green gems, is in their possession... both phyically and, for all demonic intents and purposes... legally.

It has come at a small cost for his companions (save Illyana), who each had given up a small portion of their own soul for Illyana to form the counterfeit that was traded for Julian's. In time, that counterfeit will explode, and someone might be a little unhappy. In time, the tiny bit snipped away from each othe rthem will recover, but until then.... they all may feel slightly lessened, slightly emptier. But it was for a good cause.

Now all that remains is to put what belongs to Julian back where it belongs... but this isn't an easy task. Illyana has already taxed some of her powers and sanity in the creation of the counterfiet. And this will be still more taxing... and she may need to draw on the strength and goodness of the others to keep her own non-corrupted stones from faltering.

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller has a hard time not being near the amulet. It possesses a draw for him, an absence he never knew he had suddenly needing to be restored. He still doesn't fully understand what it will m ean to have his soul back, but he knows he's ready to find out.

He's freshly showered and wearing comfortable clothes, a t-shirt and jeans. He felt he needed to be clean for some reason. Now he sits and waits to see what needs to be done. He's nervous and it radiates off him.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Everything has its cost. As above, so below; the arcane rules that so bind a sorceress see their outward reflection in the wrenching transfer out of Limbo. Where before was a swandive of questionable proportions, the expulsion represents something more of the twisting, undulating waterslide through a surreal, psychedelic trip of sheer horrors. Things that should not be seen might be glimpsed in passing, undulating horrors turning their ancient heads, glittering eyes and cavernous forms responding to the white comet streaking through their infernal night.

Demon Queen isn't an idle term. It hardly applies for shits and giggles. The nice blonde girl very much is an existential threat, keenly attuned to that amulet wherever it may go, and drawing eldritch symbols on the arm of the couch where she loiters like the nightmarish sovereign that she is. Her black armour hasn't gone anywhere, sooted to a lightless shine, leather and something akin to her brother's inverted steel in place. And that smirk...

It's begging for someone to just try. Violence is inherent in the system, practically screaming to get out. Still, she waits for the presentation of the jewels glittering an impish green, temptation of the highest water.

So easy to seize them. So easy to claim the prize. So easy to eat that raspberry crumble cookie in two big munches, eyes narrowed, glowing ever so slightly. Yep, all's sincerely and utterly screwed up riiiight here.

Julio Richter has posed:
As he passed through the portal back into the school, Julio was still wiping crimson mud away from his mouth. The pallid, greenish cast his skin had taken on made the contrast against the gory filth more stark. He ran off upstairs, ahead of even Julian, and has spent the intervening time nearly wearing out his toothbrush and going through a solid third of a tube of paste.

By the time he gets back downstairs, he has washed his entire face and is looking a lot more like himself, but his behavior is nonetheless significantly subdued. He slumps into a leather couch and pulls his feet up onto the cushion, then drapes his arms over his knees. He lowers his chin onto the little platform his forearms create and watches warily as Illyana takes possession of the amulet, wondering what happens next.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    The return trip...wasn't pleasant. It is never pleasant for Rahne to go in and out of Limbo...but...it was especially vexing this time around. Not even the usual tricks helped to keep Rahne this side of comfortable. There may have been a rather pronounced sigh as a werewolf foot touched terra firma. A foot that immediately shrinks, the red hair retracting inward, becoming a pale bare human foot as the wolf is put away, allowing Rahne to be her normal self.

    At least, whatever passed for normal

    And it is the petite version of Rahne...barefoot, closely cropped red hair, green eyes....that walks back into the rec room. She picks a place to sit....not the couch or any chairs...but the floor. Close to the couch. Close to her friends. No, she isn't about to leave now. Not until the deed is done and Julian is whole once more.

James Proudstar has posed:
Jimmy Proudstar made it through relatively unscathed compared to most,but he definitely noticed that the transition back from Limbo was even less gentle than usual. Maybe only by degrees, but given the intensity of that experience even a few degrees can make a big difference. Or maybe he's just extra sensitive because of super-senses. After that, he hasn't been out of Illyana's arm's reach since their return, and the same holds true now. His "disguise" has faded back to his normal costume, though he's at least peeled off the mask. He's not paying much attention to the amulet. He's paying a lot of attention to Illyana. He's not terribly happy about the price she's paid, but he can't change it, so all he can do beyond that is just...be there. Try to make sure she doesn't cross any lines she can't un-cross.

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller leans forward, elbows braced on his knees as he's taken a chair for himself. He looks at Illyana directly. "Thank you," he says simply. He hasn't said it before. He doesn't say it often. But he means it. "All of you," he adds, looking around to the others. "I...know I haven't always been the best person to be around. I didn't do anything to deserve your help. You did it because you're good people. I haven't been around a lot of good people."

"So...now what?"

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
"Decide how much you want your soul back," Illyana says in that dry, winter-seared tone that alludes to tooth and nail control over the ophidian gaze pitiless in its intensity. Her pale, slanted eyes rest an oblique gaze on Julian, upnod terse and his. She rarely minces words and her laconic tendencies only grow tighter the closer she reaches to the edge. Oblivion's a long, long fall. "I put it back. No needle for this, so don't try and burn me."

Jimmy and Rahne probably know her well enough not to even have to guess at the unspoken threat if he tries.

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio stays in his curled-up position as Rahne parks on the carpet in front of him, but as Julian offers his thanks to the group, the Latino does at least find his voice again, to chime in, a bit hoarsely: "I don't think that was the kind of help someone /can/ deserve."

He mulls it over for a second, decides he hasn't really gotten his point across, and tries another tack, continuing, "I don't know if I'm good people, but I do know I'm your people. Or... you're my people? Si nos jodes a uno, nos jodes a todos. What you deserve is a lot better than what your dad did. I'm happy I could help set it right."

His gaze flicks over to Illyana, then, and he quiets, waiting once again to see what develops.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    There is no guess needed. The redhead stirs uneasily, her head craning back to watch her friend. Yes, Rahne did recognize the tone. And it did not sit well with her.

    Speaking of sitting, Rahne leans backwards, placing her hands on the floor to prop herself up. The right hand....precariously close to a Illy-foot while the left is more out in the open, threatening to cause a hazard should anyone decide to walk by, not that anyone is walking. The emerald orbs focus upward, staring at the ceiling as word tumble from the Scot's lips.

    "Tis not if ye deserve it nor not. Tis doin' the right thing. The proper thing. Everyone's deserving the chance for salvation. Yer dad took that chance from ye. He might of had good intentions at the time..but tae deal with devils is never right. Unless ye havta." With that, Rahne rolls her head to the side, peering over to Julian. "Just make sure yer willin' tae return the favor if we havta do it again."

James Proudstar has posed:
"If we don't look out for each other ain't nobody else going to." Jimmy replies, "We got a lotta folks around here who can sometimes be not a lot of fun to hang around. You're pretty tame compared to some of 'em." A shoulder shrugged and a faint grin, "But you're welcome, anyway."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller frowns, "I'm not sure I believe in salvation, even after all this. Seems to me like the world might be an even darker place than I'd ever imagined. And I wasn't really an optimist to begin with," he says. "Now that the sappy stuff is out of the way..."

He pushes up to stand and looks down at Illyana. Something of the man he had always been comes out, as if he's retaking his confidence, shaking off the fear and the anxiety that have haunted him these last weeks. "I want it. I'm ready."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Illyana won't answer about salvation or costs. She makes no reaction to Rahne's statement beyond a subtle lift of her shoulder, falling thereafter. Give it a minute and she lifts herself off the couch, bounding up fast enough with a hint of unnatural finesse that isn't a candle to Jimmy's speeds. Neither is the accelaration of her heartbeat, likely triggering a cascade of bad-bad-bad warnings on instinctive bases alone. "Lie down. Shirt off."

The oddness roiling around them isn't bound to get any better as she reaches for the nothingness and twists, yanking shadows into a form nothing at all like the Soulsword still trotting around in a hidden form at the back of the Apache. Julian receives that intense, incisive stare from her as she pulls out the more standard practice known around the world: just a knife, wickedly sharp, made of a dark, dark shard of metal. "I have to reintroduce your soul. It will hurt. Stay flat."

Julio Richter has posed:
"Again?" Julio echoes Rahne, his voice pitching up toward a whine as he does so. "Please don't talk like that." He uncurls from the sofa and heads toward the bar, stepping carefully around Rahne as he does so. "Does anyone else need something to drink? People started talking about going back to demontown after we ripped them off and left a bomb in their fancy bank and now for some reason I need something to drink."

From behind the bar, he watches as Illyana begins some kind of fell surgical procedure to restore Julian's soul, and hisses in a breath through his teeth. "Yeah, drinks. Definitely." He doesn't actually make a move to get anything, though; he's not looking away from this for a moment.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    There is a shrug from the Scot. "Ye don't have tae believe in salvation. Ah got enough faith for all of us." Then, a glance towards Julio. "Well, Ah definitely don't wanna try that again. But....as ye said, we dropped a bomb in there. Ah am not that naïve tae think this is all over yet."

    However, as Illyana gets down to business, so too does Rahne fall silent. This is some serious work to be performed...and a brattling little girl is not needed for the distraction.

James Proudstar has posed:
Jimmy steps up beside Illyana, soulsword still on his back for some reason. He may not like to think about half the implications of that even if the OTHER half of the implications are A-OK by him. But it's that first half on his mind now. He's out of Illyana's way, for certain, but he's still close. Within striking distance once might say. Just in case this whole ordeal has caused more damage than even he (and Rahne at a minimum) fears.

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller nods and removes his shirt, using a mix of muscle and TK. He does it instinctively now, having learned to operate without his hands, mind and body in concert as he bares his body. He's in pretty good shape, not super muscular but fit. He lays down as instructed.

"I was really hoping for, like, eating a magic cookie or doing some mescaline to get the job done. Oh well," he says. Luckily, his pain tolerance has increased significantly this year.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
All begins at the point of contact. "Once I start, no stopping. Think of Sinister, if you have to," she murmurs to the Hellion of Hellions, dark queen without mercy. For this, they should rightly take her head.

For this, there is no bright smile or shiny cookie.

In Julian's case, a scribed arc swept by the finely honed blade beneath his collarbone and offset slightly. It bleeds likely before any sting comes to the surface, Illyana wielding the knife to slide between layers of flesh and fat, distinctly avoiding the muscle. Limbo gives her many a curious or uncommon talent, and foremost among them, the act of flensing a living being as neatly as the blades ever turned on her for a purpose ill-suited to long-term comprehension. Steel it is not, but the blackened blade tracks an orbit across the muscled slope or defined uplift where the sternum rises. It isn't enough for scarlet to simply wash from the bloodied design, not when ornate fletched anchoring points need to be drawn. A full circle cut point-down emulates the stone to be set there, the first of them done with painstaking elegance given the human body deserves not to be mistreated in such a horrific way.

"Drinks, Julio? A poor idea given your control is faulty," she replies, not exactly in the sonnet of a Russian singsong, but close. Snegurochka, following Ded Moroz, might bring gifts but in the end, Piotr's little snowflake is also related to the most fearsome Grandmother of them all. Her fingers and her palms are soon enough bloodied, that ornate artwork being sliced and gouged into Julian's chest done unrelentingly unless the soul-scoured mutant bucks and jerks on her. One setting, then an inward carved crescent goes for another, and all that practice in making arcane circles and wards looks considerably different when slitting open the chest over the heart and lungs, where a slip of the wrist is just about fatal. It's immediately apparent to anyone who has seen that amulet, she recreates the design in a larger scale on him, giving the upended pentacle with its triplicate circle a mirror image. The rec room wasn't made for insinuating translucent lines of flesh open like a demented flower, but then the idea of recreation likely never included 'attach my soul back into my body following the standard contract terms established by a rogue great demon,' either.

If he can make it through the scribing, all that waits is pulling the gemstones from the amulet and laying them on his bloodied chest, one by one, and dropping the amulet in the centre. Invoking Julian's true name, three times. Simple.

If surgery without anaesthesia is simple.

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio leans forward, setting his elbows on the bartop to watch events unfold. At first, it's just a shirtless guy, which is an interest of his, sure -- but almost immediately, the procedure takes a dark turn into another wheelhouse entirely. His casual attention turns to rapt, squeamish anxiety in seconds.

This is, after all, a glimpse into a world he'll be expected to know a lot about soon, if he isn't already. It isn't the magic of music and metaphor that he encountered in the Bronx; or the firm, steady logic of the earth sorcery he has been able to draw upon since. This is magic of blood and sinew, magic like the thing that crawled out of him and stole his body earlier in the day.

And just in the middle of his riveted contemplation, Illyana takes a second from her laser-accurate task to deliver a stinging rebuke of his efforts to assist in their endeavor so far. He jerks upright, off of his propping elbows, a hurt, bewildered look on his face, and takes a step backward, nearly bumping into the cooler behind him.

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller feels the blade piercing his skin and stifles a scream. His back wants to arch, his body wants to writhe, but he forces himself still. It isn't easy, not by a longshot. He's white-knuckled and closing his eyes, all his concentration focused on keeping himself restrained. No point in going through this only to mess it up and make her have to do it again. If she even could.

There is some rattling around the room, though, a picture falling off the wall, a glass rattling the ice in it. His power is grounded in his emotions, after all, and he's going through quite a range at the moment.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    If the sudden paling of Rahne's face is any indication, it is perfectly clear what she thinks of the procedure. An already pale complexion for the ginger now nearly bloodless, white as Death herself. This is foul magic afoot and Rahne is not at all comfortable with it.

    Yet, Rahne does not turn. She does not walk away, though she certainly isn't closing the distance either. Instead, she concentrates on Illyana. As Jimmy watches from one side, Rahne watches from the other. The eyes are not on the blade, nor the carving it so effortlessly performs upon Julian's flesh.

    No. It is solely upon Illyana where Rahne's attention lies. Should she need to....should it become necessary, Rahne prepares herself not only to help her friend, but to save her from herself.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Eyes gone completely electric blue speaks not to the angels in the phone lines or the lightning cleansing the wrath of the great storms, but the flooded power of Limbo arcing across dimensions to empower her. Julio's words are utterly forgotten, his sickness pushed to the outer periphery. Somewhere, it registers. Somewhere, the shaking walls and the tremors charged through the room mean something. At some level, she knows Rahne watches her perform a ritual worse than a black mass and better in a way, profaning everything that one holds sacred, that pleasure and pain chase one another like the ouroboros in a reckless interpretation of ancient actions despised by the Apache in the twisted tales carried up from the Triple Alliance in Mexico where the blood-letting on pyramids above the torrid rainforests stains the stones still.

But it doesn't stop the girl from splitting open human flesh. If she is the macabre artist, Julian Keller is her masterpiece in the sigils marking the arc of the soul's confinement, in the lines anchoring element to element, all to self of the body. Illyana finishes off the pentacle with the deepest gouges, ripped open with utter deliberation. If there was perfection, it lies in ruins. Symmetries are hideous red smiles, her fingers surprisingly neat for all that. Green flames dance around the glittering gems, liquid receptacles for the manic soul-shine trying to seep in.

One moment when she could steal it all. She instead presses the amulet points down, round sockets biting into the wounds, drinking the wrecked ruin. It's supposed to hurt, and her incantation is nothing more than leaning onto him so he cannot rise. Easy to steal... so, so close.

Do they know what it costs her to speak the words? The knife in one hand, the amulet pressed down, her bent over him, "Your name. All of it." The Soulsword's burning in the backdrop against Jimmy's back, seething bright, no longer inert but violently alive in its vibrant weight. A whisper, close as intimates, dances on the bleeding edge of choice, her golden hair falling over Julian's shoulder in a curtain stained.

It's in Russian that she croons, the Russian of her forefather: Grigori, as if he's over her shoulder in witness to pagan rites and wrong deeds. <<Help me to decide, to make the most of this life or the next, for it will be in this house alone that you take your rest. Drink or perish, child of clay.>>

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller has entered into a sort of fugue state, pain and magick bleeding together. He's a subject, a canvas, every stroke of Illyana's blade searing something through his body and his mind and...yes, his soul, he can almost feel it, something he's never felt in memory, some deeper essence of his existence. His eyelids are fluttering, rolled back in his head as something arcane and foul touches the depths of his being.

"Julian...Thomas...Keller," he manages. His tongue feels dry, cracked, as if he hasn't had a drink in a weak. He feels a throbbing pulse at the base of his spine, trying to make his body arch and his back spasm but he holds it in, keeps it in, stiffling the scream that the knife is pulling out of him. He bleeds and he bleeds and he opens himself up.

Julio Richter has posed:
Julian's restoration is what's important right now, so Julio clamps down on any rejoinders he might like to make. Still, his reddening face and sagging shoulders make it clear how he feels, even before his attention returns to the horrific soul-surgery that continues in the center of the room.

And as Julian, in his agony, reaches out to create tremors rippling through the room, Julio leans back and puts his hands against the wall, reaching out with his own abilities. Illyana thinks he doesn't have control? Here's an answer, of a sort: he syncs with the pulse that rattles through the room, feeling the energy Julian is bleeding off and firing counter-vibrations through the walls, absorbing, controlling, and negating that thrum of power.

"Let it out, Julian," he says, his words quiet, but riding the carrier wave of his mutant vibes directly to their destination. He'll do what he can, with the earth as a reservoir, to soak the damage from the telekinetic tempest.

James Proudstar has posed:
It's a grim sight...and honestly the sounds and smells aren't a whole lotta fun either, particularly for one with greater-than-human senses. But Jimmy just keeps watching. Though with the sword "burning" against his back, he does remove it, resting the top against the floor and his hand on the pommel. Not /wielding/ but still within an easy shift to that state. He briefly looks across where Julian and Illyana lie, making eye contact with Rahne. There's a sense of understanding there. But so far...as dark as this may be...she's doing what needs to be done, to his eyes. Unpleasant though it may be.

Emma Frost has posed:
The soulstones sink into Julian's skin. The amulet as well. And as they do, they almost... melt into nothingness. The cuts on his chest heal as if they were never there. The blood that had been dripping onto the table disappears.

Julian is left laying there, shirtless... and whole once more. Entirely whole.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    This is bad. This is so, so, *so* bad.

    As much as Rahne tried to not watch the actual ritual...as much as she tried to just focus on her friend and just stand by....Rahne just cannot stand by anymore. With a cry out, Rahne reaches....and takes the hand holding the knife within both of her own. The pale digits curls about Illyana's own fingers, clutching around and interlocking with Rahne's own fingers, until it looks almost as if her hands are folded in prayer. The young girl sinks to her knees, her head bowed, those hands entwined about the hand with the knife. There is no fear from that knife, none whatsoever as the eyes close.

    And then, it is quite apparent. It doesn't just look like Rahne is praying. No. As Gaelic words pour from her lips...it isn't just a facsimile of prayer...but the real deal.

    "Is e an Tighearna mo bhuachaille; Cha bhith mi ag iarraidh. Tha e a ?toirt orm laighe sìos ann an cluaintean uaine: stiùir e mi ri taobh nan uisgeachan ciùin. Tha e ag ath-nuadhachadh m ?anam: stiùir e mi ann an slighean na fìreantachd air sgàth ainm. Seadh, ged a choisicheas mi tro ghleann sgàil a ?bhàis, cha bhith eagal sam bith orm: oir tha thu còmhla rium; do shlat agus do luchd-obrach tha iad a ?toirt comhfhurtachd dhomh. Tha thu ag ullachadh bòrd romham an làthair mo nàimhdean: dh ?ung thu mo cheann le ola; ruith mo chupa thairis. Gu cinnteach leanaidh maitheas agus tròcair mi uile làithean mo bheatha: agus gabhaidh mi còmhnaidh ann an taigh an Tighearna gu bràth."

    The Gaelic seems recited...it has a cadence all its own. But...the last part. That...that is truthful. "Feuch, sàbhail anam mo charaid. An dithis aca."

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
The moment of touch can be intimate, hostile, welcome, many things. Or theft. Hands closing over a blooded knife about to be lifted to Illyana's mouth halts the ascent, the matter compounded by her turning her head in Rahne's direction. Garnet lips gone almost blackberry curl for a snarl. Shadows writhe and spasm in fits at the corners of the room, gathering together, the air thickened to a cloying humidity and shot by the magnesium flame, incense, and streak of molten copper tangible to the dullest sense of smell.

The testimony of having some base shreds of self-control into unconsciousness are telling. No horns. But the blonde shoves back at Rahne lightly, the vibrations in her body keying up too fast on an adrenaline spike that hums to the mystic blade just out of reach. To Julio and Julian's tremblings. "You are not he who keeps my soul."

It's the only warning she can give, the blackest aspects of what she is mobile beneath the seraphic frown. "I want to bite."

Julian Keller has posed:
Julian Keller can't do much but lay there, the outside world lost to him as his soul reattaches to his body after so long absent. Even the pain disappears for the moment, an ecstatic experience more intense than any chemical Julian's ever ingested (and he's ingested more than a few).

He spasms a bit, shuddering and finally going still slowly, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to the struggle going on right next to him.

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio isn't a faithful heart like Rahne, ready to intervene with a moment of divinity, or a proud warrior like Jimmy, empowered with the strength of a militant soul; he certainly isn't a demon-crowned queen of the underworld like Illyana. He's just the Xavier School's resident dirtbag.

But as he vibes away the last of Julian's TK poltergeists and the recently re-ensouled mutant pops back to a form of consciousness, he proves to be a dirtbag who's surprisingly quick on his feet. He darts forward, off to the side of Illyana and Rahne's confrontation, catches Julian below the shoulders, and tugs him out from under the knife. "Vamonos, compañero," he grunts. Hellion might be oblivious, but Julio sees this as a pretty dangerous moment.

James Proudstar has posed:
A hand reaches down, the one not on the sword. Offered, rather than seizing.

"Come on. You need to rest. We all do. And once we're done, we can figure out how we're gonna put the Three out of business for good. You'll get to bite...just not our friends." Jimmy nods to Julio as he moves to help take the blissfully only semi-conscious Julian out of Illyana's grasp.

Rahne Sinclair has posed:
    The shoving from Illyana is more than enough to topple Rahne off-balance. That is the thing with praying. It leaves one extremely vulnerable. The shove shifts Rahne's center of balance, causing her to tumble backwards onto the floor, releasing Illyana's hand in the process. The back of the head bounces on the carpet, but the pain is barely, if at all, felt. What is felt, though, is the anguish within Rahne's own heart as she sees just how close....how precariously close her friend is to the precipice and there is nothing Rahne can do for her.

    No words are exchanged. But, it really isn't needed. Rahne's face says it all. It is clear, for anyone paying attention, that there is pity in that expression. Pity..and a deep seated urge to help. To comfort.

    To save.

Illyana Rasputina has posed:
Praying is vulnerable, but Rahne is not alone.

The one at this point summonable by any idiot who really wants to try knocking down that door is left staring off at the blade humming her name. Holding out her hand means it would normally leap to her palm, but instead she gets Jimmy's hand instead. An anchorage, one that absolutely tells because the solid blue-white fire in her eyes dies out very slowly, draining like a badly stopped pipe. A little leaks away over every few seconds, and if he's smart, the much bigger man will fling her over his shoulder and force her to go for a several mile run. Maybe a couple of marathons will ease the Demon Queen's infernal temperament, but teetering on the edge has its risks. On the other hand, the Soulsword isn't in stabbing range or position so it's a plus.

But Illyana doesn't apologize to Rahne, though she should. Just that toothy smirk meaning someone -is- getting bitten or more than likely tested in their patience. Tomorrow there might be words, for Julio forced to pull away their soul-healed friend, and Julian in seizures of the senses or the self. The tingles in his toes won't likely ease up soon. Saving graces; she has to sleep. Sometime.

"The Kingmaker will kneel or perish. I look forward to the day the Three bend, and it won't be long off."

Julio Richter has posed:
Julio has his hands full, pulling the near-catatonic Julian out of harm's way, but he hisses out a frustrated, "Mierda, Illyana--" as Rahne topples to the floor. He tries to lift Julian up into a sitting position so he can go help the Scotswoman up, but the moment he starts to let go, the blissed-out teen slumps over precipitously. Julio lunges back into place, throwing his arms around Julian's shoulders in the rush to steady him.

He tilts back his head and stares over the other boy's shoulder with a mad-eyed look of impotent frustration. "Can someone at least find me his pinche shirt? I do /not/ want to have to explain this if someone walks in here."