arcanarumlogs | The dire wolf collects his dues, while the boys sing round the fire

Who: France and you!
When: November 1st, from about noon to sunset
Where: All over the island - feel free to meet him anywhere!
What: France is alive, but contemplating his successive deaths in the forest, and is appreciating life just a little more. Also he looks terrible.
Warnings: Mentions of death and small mentions of bile, lots of ~feelings~. Likely lots of tearful reunions.

It was with a jolt that Francis woke, as he sat straight up with a gasp. But his head began to spin, his whole body tingled as he remembered the scene in the forest, with the wolf slashing at his flesh. It almost seemed like a dream, now, but it felt so real -

Francis felt the bile rising in his throat and in a rush he tried to clamber out of bed, to get to the bathroom, but his limbs just wouldn't work - they were numb from not being used for several days. So he ended up on all fours on the floor, retching, body trembling all over from the nostalgic chills of pain, from the phantom feeling of missing flesh despite his side looking very much present, and him being very much alive. France felt as if he was going to be sick again, but he had nothing in his stomach in the first place, so the little bit of bile was all that stained his floor, as he continued to dry heave for what seemed like an eternity. Damn this mortal body! Francis thought to himself, eyes closed, teeth gritted, as he tried to get it back under his control.

Once it seemed to be done, Francis coughed, wiping off his mouth on the back of his sleeve. He recognized it - the old, blood-stained, red costume he was forced to wear that night. Thankfully, the hat and the mask were completely gone. But that thing... it still felt wrong to be in it. And with the slight smell of blood... well, it was almost making him sick, again. So he decided to quickly change out of it into something else. He tugged off the coat, throwing it to the side - the shirt went over his head and in the same pile. The boots he had to sit on the floor to tug off, and the leggings were (thankfully) easy to remove. Shakily, he stood back up, and went to his wardrobe to look at his choices. He pulled on a simple shirt and pair of slacks - but he had to lean against the wardrobe to get dressed, and he couldn't even really be bothered with buttons or laces, so he ended up also slipping on a pair of loafers.

Once Francis has changed out of his old costume and fixed his room (thank god his imagination could get rid of his bile and that old costume for good), he carefully used the wall to climb out into the main room of his house. But that wasn't what he was interested in - he wanted to go outside. So, he used the wall to make it to the front door, and stepped outside.

Then sun felt good on his face. It almost made him feel better, somehow, and it was what finally got him to take a trembling step on his own, away from any support. Within a few minutes, he felt as if he could walk again, and so he started around the island, looking at everything again with new eyes. But something still plagued his thoughts, and that was the thought of his death in the forest. He remembered distinctly that he had said his last goodbyes to a number of people. Was he going mad? He had remembered distinct times when he felt himself giving his last breath. And they were multiple. But that was impossible, unless...

(( ooc: Please specify time and location in the title of your post! Thank you! ))

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Howl had managed to evade the wolf by some sheer miracle that horrible night. After France's death, he had used the little magic he had to speed him home then locked the door and hidden in his room, refusing to emerge until the sun had risen and bathed the island in a comforting warmth. That had been the first time he had personally witnessed a death, and though he had felt himself immune to it after long days spent observing the state of the war in his world, it didn't make the devastation any less worse. France had been his house mate, his friend - the loss made the emptiness where his heart had been somehow ache.

Not knowing of the strange power of the island that resurrected the dead, he received the shock of his life when he heard noises originating from France's room. At first, he was too frightened to take a look, but eventually he plucked up the courage to sneak over to the door, inch it open and peek through the crack. His eyes widened upon seeing France clutching the wall and staggering to the door, so shocked that he crouched there without saying anything and missed his chance to call out to the man.

Retreating to his bed again, Howl huddled beneath the blankets while he came to terms with what he had just seen. France had died; he'd seen the man's last breath leave him. So how...?

He waited all day for his house mate to return. Other than the occasional foray into the kitchen for food, he stayed mostly in his room and experimented with a few spells, listening for the sound of the door opening and shutting that might mean France had returned.

He had spent the entire day wandering the island, and catching up with a few people who managed to find him wandering around. They all seemed happy that he was alive, and were just as surprised as he was - thankfully that meant that he wasn't the only one feeling that way.

So it was no surprise that he came home later in the evening, feeling a lot better than he had been when he'd left. But, that was only mentally - his body still ached, especially from his journey, when his body was still weak from his death and its disuse over several days. So when he came into the house, he was quick to sit down at the kitchen table (letting out a little sigh in the process), to give himself a little rest before he tried to feed himself.

The sounds of France's return brought him out of his research reverie. Rubbing at his eye with the back of his hand, he leaned back in his chair and stretched. The spell he had just been working on confirmed what he had suspected ever since some of his magic had returned to him - that only one aspect of his magic had returned to him, and then very little of it. He'd hoped it wouldn't be so, but what could he do? At least he had some of it.

He eased himself out of his chair and wandered out of his room into the kitchen to make some tea. As he passed France, he threw the man a glance. The other looked hale enough. Now, how could he broach the subject in a way that wasn't too blunt...?

Thankfully, Francis was the first to speak up. When he saw Howl pass him, he murmured his usual "bonjour" and gave a very tired smile. As Howl walked into the kitchen, however, France spoke up a little louder, his voice just a bit dry. "Howl, cher, may I ask you for a favor? Would you mind bringing me a glass of water?"

He was fairly certain now that he had opened up a conversation, that Howl was going to ask him how this was possible, as all the others had. Unfortunately, the only conclusion he'd come to was that he had no idea himself. Still, it would be good to relax and be friendly again. It had been a while since they'd done that, just the two of them.

The wizard nodded and filled a glass of water from the tap while the kettle simmered. After setting it on the table before the other man, he hovered for a moment, anxious. "How are you feeling?" he asks eventually, thinking that a better conversation starter than 'How are you alive?' "I can cook for us today if you're tired."

He had been thinking for some time now at trying his hand in making French food. Back home he hadn't bothered since he rarely ate anyway. But having the time to sit down and do things he otherwise wouldn't have done put a great many things into perspective.

Francis was thankful for the glass, and for a moment he just let his hands rest around it, enjoying the coolness diffusing through the glass. Then, he took a long drink, thankful that it did seem to be helping at this his stomach wasn't totally rejecting it.

Setting the glass down, half-finished, he let out a bitter snort of laughter. "Like death," he murmured, the morbid pun actually amusing him now that he was completely too tired to care. "May I have your cooking tomorrow morning? I... am not sure I can stomach any food right now." France hadn't eaten all day, but he wasn't sure he was going to be able to finish all of the water, either. And he knew after sleep, he would feel much better.

"Sit with me, s'il te plaît?" Francis motioned to one of the chairs, leaning back a little in his for a moment. He was sure Howl had questions, ones that he had answered a few dozen times to a few dozen people.

"Of course."

Howl took the indicated seat, staring keenly but not - he hoped - too intently at the other man. He was told sometimes that when he stared in a particular way the force of his stare was a little unsettling. Not in a bad way, but in a manner that suggested he had perhaps too much interest in whatever someone had to say or do. Yet while he knew this, it was hard not to keep his eyes away from Francis and abstain from noticing the tiredness dragging at the lines of the Frenchman's face, his limbs, his very manner.

"I wish I could give you some sort of potion..." he commented, frowning to himself. Air magic was useful, but not nearly as useful alone compared to when it was combined with other strands of magic.

Francis didn't seem to mind being stared at - in fact, he seemed rather used to it, in that while he obviously noticed it, he made no comment. Perhaps it was from years of purposefully being fashionable and handsome enough to turn heads, perhaps in this instance it was the day or so he had spent getting strange looks from his friends on the island. But either way, Francis smiled at him a little, almost with relief.

"Merci beaucoup, mais... I think it is for the best that I recover on my own, mm? I think all I need is a little rest, and I will be right as rain." And frankly, Francis didn't want to admit that he didn't really trust potions, mostly because of the connotations from his world. Especially not when he had the unfortunate condition of mortality at the moment.

The dire wolf collects his dues, while the boys sing round the fire

their unit, night (or whenever France returns to it)

sorry for late/shortness

also sorry for lateness ;;

Re: also sorry for lateness ;;

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/finally rolls in orz

/rolls with ;u;