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There was giggling coming from inside the cathedral. Likely the Drifter and it wouldn’t be so out of place if it wasn’t for the fact that Roathe was with the Cavia, Lyon in the library, and Marie herself just returning from clearing out the Murmur. So who was the Drifter talking to?
Curious, Marie phased through the fiery portal and blinked past the stars as she glided in. Then she soon got her answer when she found the Drifter seated in a chair in the middle of the cathedral. Well, less so seated and more like a melted candle dripping over the sides of its stand. And he was alone.
Despite that, the Drifter was giggling, bi-colored eyes staring off into nothing as he leaned his head back which was being held up by the back of the chair. Although, he must have heard her approach for Drifter sluggishly turned his head to her and that is when Marie noticed the flush to his cheeks with darkened shades under his eyes. He gave her a goofy grin.
“Marie.” His words were slurred and to her, it looked like it took effort for him to even sit up in the chair and even then, he had propped his elbows against his knees. It barely kept him upright, “hows it’s going?”
Concern bloomed in Marie’s chest at the sight and she couldn’t help but scan the Drifter over, hoping to spot any sign of visible injury — a head injury perhaps? — but she found none. However, she did see a bottle in the Drifter’s left and a pipe in his right. The latter was still smoking, leaving behind wispy trails in the air. But when Marie took in a breath, she smelled nothing.
“Drifter.” She finally greeted, coming to a stop an arm’s length away, “I am fine today, thank you, however…” Marie hesitated, sorting through her thoughts before finally settling upon, “how are you faring?”
Instead of answering her right away, Drifter flopped his head to one side, his grin not once going away. However, it did allow Marie to spot the redness around his eyes and how swollen they were. Like as though Drifter had been crying.
“Not well.” That is what Marie likes about Drifter; his honesty, “remember when we talked about chronic pain?”
“Yes – ah – oh.” It clicked, “Is there anything that I could do help?”
There was a pause, his grin vanishing as a fog settled into his eyes before he answered, “No, not really.” Then, the grin was back before promptly holding up the bottle and pipe, “But these are helping.” He held the pipe out to her, “Want to give it a try?”
Marie accepted it but not out of wanting to try it herself. She took it mostly to take it away from the Drifter. The way it smoked but yet remains scentless made her wary. It doesn’t help that as she held it carefully between her fingers, it’s warmth beat against her touch, almost as if it has a heartbeat. Her gut told her that it is something that Drifter shouldn’t be partaking.
“What is it?” She feigned interest as she slowly distanced herself; at least enough where if the Drifter to jump up suddenly, he wouldn’t be able to snatch the pipe back.
To her surprise, the Drifter shrugged.
“Don’t know.” He admitted and Marie looked on with concern as he leaned his head back and took a swig out of the bottle; she nearly jumped forward to catch him when he lowered his drink as he swung forward, as if a weight had suddenly been dropped onto his shoulders. Fortunately, he was able to keep himself seated.
“It’s from Duviri.” Drifter managed through a cough, “was desperate to stop the pain so just…” He vaguely waved a hand, “never got the name.” Another pause, his head rolling to his other shoulder, “Not even sure if even has one.”
The worry for Drifter grew exponentially at the fact that he just grabbed a random plant from a world created from his own mind and smoking it without knowing it effects, let alone using it for the pain. True, Marie wishes when her own pain was at it’s worse, that she was willing to do anything to be rid of it but for her, what the Drifter is doing, is too much, and far too risky.
“Are you not going to try it?”
The Drifter’s question sounded so innocent, so innocuous, especially when his eyes seemed to brighten, that it was almost convincing enough to bring the pipe to her lips to at least feign smoking it. Fortunately, Marie heard the cathedral door open. Unfortunately, when she turned, it was Roathe.
“Ah, it’s you.” She didn’t even bother hiding her disappointment.
“Yes?” Roathe raised a brow at her, “who else wouldn’t it be, besides Lyon of course.” Then his eyes looked over her shoulder and he scrunched his nose, “What’s going on here?”
“Roathe.” Drifter practically chirped behind Marie, “Want to have a drink with me?” When she turned back, he was waving it, as if to tempt the Orokin to join in, “It’s from Duviri. Might be similar make to Orokin wine.” Then, he brought the tip of the bottle to his nose and sniffed it, “Maybe.”
“What is going on with you?” Much to Marie’s surprise, there was genuine concern in Roathe’s voice as the former admiral approached and come to a pause just short enough to hover over the Drifter, “this is unlike you.”
“Perhaps.” The Drifter slurred out, “but today is just not a ‘me’ day.”
Then Marie noticed him reaching out to the pipe in her hands. Fortunately, thanks to her prediction and gut feeling, she was far enough that she was easily able to pull it away from his reach. This earned her a pout.
“Marie.” He whined.
“I’m sorry, Drifter.” She apologized, “but I feel this isn’t the way to help with the pain.”
“Pain?” Roathe asked.
“But it’s the only thing that makes it go away.” Drifter protested, “Marie —”
Then he tried to stand.
And he promptly fell.
Marie gasped and she dropped the pipe as she reached out her arms. Only for Drifter to come to a lurching stop. Coming to a halt and confused, Marie only understood as when the Drifter was being lifted, that she spotted the familiar glint of Roathe’s tail wrapped around his abdomen.
“What is this?”
As the Drifter was set back onto the chair as he groaned, Marie turned her attention to Roathe. Somehow, when she dropped the pipe, the Orokin had caught it and now he was inspecting it between his clawed fingers with a frown.
“A drug that the Drifter partakes.” She explained; to be honest, considering how the Drifter is currently giggling again in his seat despite his near fall, Marie thought it best to get another set of hands to help, even if it’s Roathe, “he claims it is from Duviri.”
“Duviri.” The former commander repeated before he scoffed, “That would explain why it’s so familiar.”
Marie blinked, “You know of it?”
“Duviri maybe made from the Drifter’s mind, but much of its influence is still Orokin.” Roathe answered, “I recognize this drug anywhere.”
“You do?” Relief settled into Marie’s chest; perhaps it was a good idea that Roathe came as he did, “then, do you know if it’s safe?”
Then, to her surprise, there is a laugh from Roathe, short and stark, “Safe? Far from it. If one partakes it excessively it can deteriorate the mind and body.” Then, his smile vanished and his eyes glanced back to the Drifter, “Do you know how long he has been taking this?”
“I cannot say.” Marie admitted, her gut twisting, “all I know is that he takes it when he is in pain.”
That is when Roathe scowled, “I see no injury on him.”
“It is an infliction similar to mine.” At least, Marie thinks so; Drifter never really elaborated, just sympathized, “but the pain must be severe if he is this desperate.”
“Desperate? More like an act of a fool.” Roathe spat then, before she could stop him, he closed in on the Drifter, grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, “Drifter, tell me, how long have you been smoking this?”
There is a snort from the Drifter followed by a vague wave of the hand, “If you’re worried about side effects, don’t worry.” Then he lazily turned his head and grinned at Roathe, “When it gets too severe, I just take a knife and…” Drifter then raised his hands, wrapped them together and then thrust them against his chest.
Marie took in a sharp inhale, “Drifter…”
“Oh, don’t give me that.” Drifter looked genuinely offended, waving away Roathe who reluctantly took steps back, “when you had no one else to help you and a dangerous plant is the only thing to help.” He took a sip of his wine and then smacked his lips after, “Desperate times calls for desperate measures.”
“But not stupid ones.” Roathe added in; Marie couldn’t help but agree, “Was there truly no one else to help you with these pains of yours? If I recall, you said that there were other inhabitants in Duviri. Were they no help?”
That is when a scoff came from the Drifter, “If you forgot, I made Duviri when I was a kid. In other words, they only know as much as me when I made it.” Then he paused followed by a sniff, “Well, maybe not Mathila. She’s the one to introduce me to the drug.”
Roathe raised a brow, “Mathila?”
“One of the courtiers of Thrax, the Harbinger of Joy.” Lyon’s voice rang familiar and brought relief to Marie as her fellow Brother came to a stop next to her; there was a visible scowl on his face, “and you are saying she is the only one to help you?”
“Well.” Drifter licked his lips, a thoughtful look settling over his face, “they tried but like I said, I made Duviri when I was a kid. They were knowledgeable as I was.” He gave a vague wave, “Lodun was shouting at his Thrax to do something, Bombastine was pretending to know what he was doing when he didn’t, Luscinia started crying for me, and Sythel started to ramble how it was going to kill me before running off.” Again, he shrugged, “Mathila was the only one who seemed to keep it together long enough to give me drug after drug until something worked. And all with a her usual smile.”
Marie couldn’t help but wince at the image. Just imagining someone dosing her with mysterious drugs all with a smile is unsettling. She can’t imagine how it would be for a child.
“How long have you been doing this?”
Lyon’s question prompted Drifter to look at the bottle in his hand, then to the pipe in Roathe’s hand, and then shrugged.
“Since I was a kid.” He answered.
There is a heavy exhale from Lyon, “Mon Miracle…”
A shushing sound came from the Drifter, “No, no, none of that. No pity. I don’t need it.” There is a giggle but this one sounded strained, forced, “Not like I deserve it. This is what I get for living far beyond my years.”
Marie paused and then quickly rewound Drifter’s words. She was stunned. What did he mean? Did he mean the loops? But then she remembered his casual remark of stabbing himself in the chest and Marie brushed that thought aside.
“What do you mean, Mon Miracle?” Lyon’s voice pulled Marie out of her thoughts and it was only then she realized that not only she, but her fellow Brother and Roathe had gotten quiet at Drifter’s words. It was Lyon who broke the silence.
His question earned him a subtle wave, “I told you about aches and pains, right?” The way Roathe’s face twisted wasn’t surprising, but the way Lyon nodded was to Marie, “Well, I didn’t tell you that it was from a sickness.”
“Sickness? You are ill?” It was Roathe who asked, “and you weren’t treated?”
“Oh, they tried.” Drifter continued, “but whatever I had, they couldn’t fix it.” Another giggle followed by a sip of wine, “Must have been a rare disease or something because they couldn’t even give my parents a name. But whatever it was, it was slowly killing me.” Another sip from the bottle, “It gradually eats away at my muscles, my bones, and everything else it until finally, it reaches my organs.” Then, he gave her and the others a broad grin, “I wasn’t even suppose to make it to my sixteenth birthday.”
Sixteen. And not even. The man before her wasn’t even supposed to reach sixteen years of life. But yet, here he is, living beyond his estimated years and repairing bonds and pains that he wasn’t obligated to fix but did so with a stern and gentle touch. Something she is glad for but now, Marie also could see that it is brought him great suffering.
“Your body wasn’t built for when you reach adulthood.” Roathe spoke and Marie can see his eyes narrow as he scanned the Drifter up and down, “That would explain the pain.”
“Pfah, they were still there when I was a kid.” Drifter scoffed, “It just became unbearable once I hit sixteen in Duviri.” There is another huff from him followed by a lazy smile, “Can’t help but be envious of the kid.” Then he rolled his head to Roathe and his bi-colored eyes settled upon the pipe in the former commander’s hand, “Could I have that back, please? I’m starting to feel my legs and the pain is worse there.”
There is hesitation, a pause from Roathe, and Marie can see his claws tighten around the pipe. In his eyes, she can spot an internal conflict alongside genuine worry, and she wonders if the Orokin will cave.
Fortunately, Lyon slowly walked towards the Drifter, getting close until he clasped his hands against the latter’s cheeks.
“Mon miracle.” Lyon said, “This isn’t the way.”
Then, for the first time since Marie entered the room, the glaze in the Drifter’s eyes cleared and a glimmer of pain set in, causing his smile to fade. He raised a hand and clasped it around Lyon’s wrist.
“It makes the pain go away.” Drifter said.
“Not when it destroys you so.” Lyon retorted, “I know not what this drug does to you but I can see that it only hurts you. And I cannot bear to see it.”
That is when Drifter’s face twisted and his head dipped, “But, it hurts. It hurts so much.”
“Then let us help.” A smile, so gentle and kind, appeared on Lyon’s face, “Let us help take your pain away.”
Marie then looked on as the Drifter subtle lifted his head and for the first time she had known him, tears formed in his eyes which were made more clear thanks to its glow. Then, he leaned forward and pressed his face into Lyon’s shoulders and this was followed by muffled sobs.
Seeing an opportunity, Marie hovered close and delicately took the bottle of wine from the Drifter’s hand. As she set it on a nearby table, he had wrapped it under Lyon’s arms and against the latter’s back, forcing him closer. Not that her fellow Brother minded it, as she saw him press his cheek against the side of Drifter’s head and rocked back and forth as he embraced back. Then, to Marie’s surprise, Roathe walked around until he was behind the pair and pressed a hand against the Drifter’s back, face stoic but his eyes betrayed his worry.
Gliding close, Marie then delicately and carefully slipped her fingers under Drifter’s. It wasn’t long until she felt his grip fall into hers. It was strong but it didn’t hurt and he held onto her as if she was a lifeline. And she is willing to play the part.
They all are willing to play the part.