vax knows these weapons. even if they're not real, just made of smoke. he knows - the sting of grog's axe, has fought it off before when he's been charmed, and sometimes when they were just fooling around for no reason. he makes a choked off noise, a " ghhk--" as blood comes up the back of his throat.
he knows the mace that shatters his leg. it's tiny, held by someone half his size, normally made of golden, glowing light. someone who heals, who has taken vax's confused, miserable, lost soul and soothed it back into place when he was at his most terrified.
the vines - gods, of course. even as he struggles against them, even as they wrap hard against his wrists, it could be an embrace, pulling him free of whatever stupid danger he's normally gotten himself into. the knife clatters free of his hand as it loosens his grip.
even the lute - the shrieking noise is wrong, scanlan sometimes can't play, but by the gods when he does things with his music it saves all of their asses. the acid burns hit him like he's slapped.
how lucky i have been, to know all of you.
vax chokes, and he spits blood to the side and feels the whole world going pitch dark, and all he can see in his tunnel vision is percy, his red, red eyes, the misery and agony on his face. i'm sorry, he thinks, among the pain and the sensation of dying, again, vax'ildan, all you ever do is die at the wrong time. ]
Per... [ again. low.
but there's one missing. there's someone missing. he doesn't have the capacity to think, really, the pain blurring his thoughts together, but someone's missing, and vax breathes out - ] Vex...'ahlia.
[ how lucky he has been, to live among the members of vox machina.
his fingers twitch under the smoke, under keyleth's not real smoky vines, and he thinks about snowdrops, and he thinks about home, and there's a little flicker of amber color as warm as light that forms itself into the tiny shape of a feather that might fall on the end of an arrow, clutched in his hand. ]
no subject
vax knows these weapons. even if they're not real, just made of smoke. he knows - the sting of grog's axe, has fought it off before when he's been charmed, and sometimes when they were just fooling around for no reason. he makes a choked off noise, a " ghhk--" as blood comes up the back of his throat.
he knows the mace that shatters his leg. it's tiny, held by someone half his size, normally made of golden, glowing light. someone who heals, who has taken vax's confused, miserable, lost soul and soothed it back into place when he was at his most terrified.
the vines - gods, of course. even as he struggles against them, even as they wrap hard against his wrists, it could be an embrace, pulling him free of whatever stupid danger he's normally gotten himself into. the knife clatters free of his hand as it loosens his grip.
even the lute - the shrieking noise is wrong, scanlan sometimes can't play, but by the gods when he does things with his music it saves all of their asses. the acid burns hit him like he's slapped.
how lucky i have been, to know all of you.
vax chokes, and he spits blood to the side and feels the whole world going pitch dark, and all he can see in his tunnel vision is percy, his red, red eyes, the misery and agony on his face. i'm sorry, he thinks, among the pain and the sensation of dying, again, vax'ildan, all you ever do is die at the wrong time. ]
Per... [ again. low.
but there's one missing. there's someone missing. he doesn't have the capacity to think, really, the pain blurring his thoughts together, but someone's missing, and vax breathes out - ] Vex...'ahlia.
[ how lucky he has been, to live among the members of vox machina.
his fingers twitch under the smoke, under keyleth's not real smoky vines, and he thinks about snowdrops, and he thinks about home, and there's a little flicker of amber color as warm as light that forms itself into the tiny shape of a feather that might fall on the end of an arrow, clutched in his hand. ]