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mating season profile
28 / male / bisexual / 8♢
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Back where I'm from, I was personally mentored by one of the best surgeons in the Kingdom of Rondon, who was a baron no less. Eventually, I also ended up serving as a combat medic for a war that just recently ended. As a result, I can't say I've had a lot of time exploring much in the way of hobbies, but I'll be glad to explore that kind of thing with people here. It's certainly much calmer by comparison.
Difficult to say as we adjust to life in this resort, but right now I'm just interested in getting to know everyone else here and assuring we all have a pleasant time. I assure you, I'd like to see to it you have one.
I used to work as a butler, so I have experiencing in mixing some pretty decent cocktails.
As much as I would love make people here a drink, I'd also enjoy showing how good I am with my hands. And, well, everything else, for the record.
Not much for books honestly; they put me to sleep better than any sedative. But I do like jazz and swing music, mystery films, and I favor beef wellingtons.
I consider myself a flexible man, but I like someone with a quick wit.
Wine.
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
Mimes, because at least they don't talk.
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
Bath.
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
Pirates, I guess.
.05 TITS OR ASS
Both.
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
Coffee.
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
Spicy. Never really got used to sweets.
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
Summer.
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
Lace.
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
Both.
ISFJ-T
2/2 formatting intentional
Her hands jolt away like Daan is on fire. Her expression goes for pure rage to terrified regret in a blink.]
Sorry. Daan, I'm so sorry. [She wants to cry. To scream.
Why can't she?
She's held back grief so long she doesn't know how to mourn. Not for her mother, not for Daan. All her talk of not following in her father's footsteps and here she is, realizing she killed some part of her humanity. Is that something she can ever get back?
Her hands shake as they pull back around her, clutching her arms, digging nails into the left one. Making sure it's still there. The rest of her is shaking after. She sounds very small.]
You are not that thing...
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The hand on his wrist earns a startled look in his eye, and he goes stiff, waiting for her to do something. It's awful, but it made him think of Baron von Dutch in one of his worst moods, the coldest he could be. But the moment is gone, and all that's left are their regrets.
Hesitantly, Daan reaches out, fingertips brushing Marina's hair from her face. The way he likes to show his affection for her.]
Want to sit next to me for a minute?
[His voice is calm and quiet, contemplative. Daan can't agree with her; Olivia wouldn't lie, after all.
One day, that will be him. One day, Daan will cease to be, and there's just going to be that fucking cat.]
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She tries again, like resetting the record will make it play correctly. Pain, suffering, terror, the greatest hits. It all hurts, aches, but why isn't it enough?
He smooths her hair from her face. She finally looks at him.
Grim humor escapes her, hollow and unamused,]
Doctor, I think there's something wrong with me.
[it's not funny.
The failure at levity tickles the back of her throat, she grinds her teeth. Humor isn't hiding the truth of that. She's unmasked. Helpless to sort out how she's feeling. Why she isn't feeling what she thinks- knows- she should be.
Why can't she express this grief in a way that matters to her or to anybody else? What did this to her? Who is to blame? Anger is easier to muster- She can't get angry. That makes her her worst self. She wants Daan to know how much she cares about him- That isn't how- The record scratches and resets.
Daan might need to tell her to lay down. She looks so lost.]
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You and me both.
[Honestly, who wasn't a little fucked up in their group somehow?]
Come on. Lay down for awhile. ...I know that was a lot.
[He's just more practiced at compartmentalizing it all.]
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[that she used those exact words to describe the Dark Priest her father was should give Daan some insight. Why she's shut down so hard, Marina's bold exuberance drained.
The hand cradling her face so tenderly seems to get through to her. She lets go of her own arms and reaches for Daan. Her arms wrap shakily around him, hug him for stability.
He's here. Daan. Her best friend. The moody doctor. Even in this haze of hollow emotion, there's a spark of how much she trusts him. She clings. He should reach out and carry her where she needs to go.]
Don't go anywhere. Stay with me. [for now and for after... as long as he can.
She won't make him promise.]
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[The words make their mark, and he feels somewhat aware now. The sudden sharp reminder of the baron by her reaction, it must have made her feel more like she took on a habit of her father.
Gently, he embraces her, giving her a moment before he's carefully lifting her up like a princess, taking her to bed to lay her down.]
Of course. You couldn't get rid of me at this point. You've completely doomed yourself to my company.
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Doomed.
[she echoes, but it's the first word where her tone is of peace and comfort.
If she can be doomed with Daan, she never wants salvation.]
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[Well. He's stuck like this now. Maybe it was a mistake to share everything like that with her; it's a lot to be burdened with, and he should know better than to burden others.
Nudging off his loafers, Daan arranges himself into bed with her, reaching to slowly pet her hair.]
I've got you.
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Daan offers a lot. His presence, his touch, his smell, his warmth. The sound of him breathing. It give her something to match, to anchor herself on. She very slowly relaxes her tensely held grip around him, but Marina isn't letting him go far. The young woman stays all night in the same position, scarcely adjusting aside from jolts awake where she checks he's still holding her. He is. He's got her.
When morning comes, Marina immediately feels so sore. Sprung tight muscles ache beneath skin like they got no rest and her head wakes foggy from the breakdown of her emotional state.
Terribly immature, her first impulsive thought is that she needs to run away. Before he can notice. She makes no effort to do so, but her instincts and pride scream this is a flight situation that she should exit from.]
cw: eye trauma mention, description of eye loss
Which is incredible, really.
Still, he wakes not long after her, clicking his tongue and muttering:] Ugh, didn't brush my teeth...
[Another facet of the nightmare of Prehevil: no bathing, and no brushing his teeth. Actually the worst for someone who has high hygienic standards. He frowns, his eyepatch crooked, and he peels it off and turns his head away, as if to spare Marina the sight of his missing eye; the eyelid has long since sunken in, after all. Hardly a pretty sight.]
...How are you feeling?
[Better than last night, he hopes.]
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That's sure Daan, through and through. There's a joke that Rondon men love to complain and he's especially good at it. Of course, his second action is something of consideration towards her, then a question of concern. That's Daan.
Morbid fascination, but she reaches to cradle his jaw on the side he's turned away from her. She's never seen him without the eyepatch. A missing eye isn't appalling, it's just... something about him to accept. A part of himself he gave away. Marina doesn't shy from the sight, wanting to know if he's willing to show her, but doesn't pull him towards her.
No more of that, she reminds herself, nerves still raw...]
Oh, pretty bad. [honestly, no faking her way out of that] What about you?
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So he relaxes, letting her guide his face.]
Mm. Probably at least less bad than you are. But still kinda rough.
[After admitting all of that to her, throwing so much weight onto her -- it was cruel. Marina has had enough in her life to deal with, she didn't need his problems added to it.]
...I'm sorry, for how the night turned out.
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She shakes herself from the thoughts, leaning in to kiss him with a slow, delicately shown compassion. Right on the cheek beneath that eye. (Not on the lips, their collective morning breath is terrible.)]
We can both be sorry. [because, of course, she is too. Very regretful. She's glad he's so calm towards her. She feels... frayed. Unwoven from her well maintained confidence.]
A lot came over me, all at once. Not your fault that I acted... badly. [she means that two ways. She did an action she regrets, lost her composure... but also didn't put on the correct act. Didn't make a show of what she should have. So much grief left undisplayed...]
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The look of it doesn't bother her, or Cloud. It helps put him on ease.]
I did tell you a lot of... overwhelming shit.
It's okay. I'm not mad at you, Marina.
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I want to know you. I want to know even if it hurts to. You shouldn't carry all that alone. Or take on my burdens without having your own helped.
[she shared first, even if her story didn't have the dimensions that Daan's does, it's not a tragedy competition.]
You really are the best friend I've ever had. I. [her voice catches, she needs to clear it...]
I don't want to lose you. Or push you away. I don't want you cured of liking me.
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[The feeling is mutual, Daan thinks, because he's never had a friend before her. Or a best friend, even. But he has found himself a strong bond with her, through both their sufferings in Prehevil and adapting to this strange resort.
Daan wants her to thrive. He really does.]
You'd have to do some seriously heinous shit to make me stop liking you, Marina. And you aren't that kind of person.
...I'm here. I promise.
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I reacted like that because... I can be that kind of person. Usually, I'm so sure sure of who I am. Then I'll slip up. [she sighs, closes her eyes, rests her head on her hands. She's very tired, Daan. Not from one bad night, but from so, so many. Not as many as him, but again, not a competition of suffering.]
Do something he would do. Reminds me that that blood is my blood... [it stops with her, she thinks. The world would be better with fewer Dark Priests in it. The Domek's end with her. Last stop on the train.]
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[There's a sigh as Daan pushes himself up to sit next to her, a deep frown on his face. He shakes his head and looks down at his hands.]
...We're not bound to behave in ways because of our blood. We're bound by what we learned by those who were supposed to love and teach us. [He pauses, scowling, biting hard on his lower lip before he shakes his head.]
I wanted... to do anything but be anything like my parents. When I escaped that life, I was so grateful. I didn't bother with using a Sylvian circle for myself because I wanted to do anything that would keep me from having to crawl back to her.
...But I wasn't gonna leave you hurt like that when we encountered that cat. And we didn't have a choice but to rely on magic when there were so little actual medical supplies. That doesn't... make me like them. And you aren't your father. You reacted in a way because it's what you learned.
[Daan looks at her now.] I respect you so much because you don't let people tell you who you are. Questioning yourself is... natural, I think. [he does it all the damned time] But you are Marina, you don't let anyone tell you what to do, and you are compassionate when someone needs it. And you're also a troublemaker when it suits you.
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Hearing out everything he has to say, she also tries to absorb that. Up through the roots of her, really taking it all in. Daan's so smart and being called compassionate by someone like him feels like a real compliment. If she could learn more of that from him, she'd proudly say she was taught by the best.]
I just... really thought I knew better. I'm disappointed in myself. [she'll work through it, but it feels like a open wound. Or maybe it's just tender as a bruise...]
The first night here, I met Artemy at dinner. We were talking and I explained... that Dark Priests have to sell out their humanity for their studies. He asked me if I gave anything of myself away like that, for what I learned. Didn't really answer him. Didn't think I really had. [a shaky breath falls out of her. Is she going to admit this to him?]
... imagining you becoming the Pocketcat... that broke my heart. A, and I couldn't even cry for you. I didn't cry for my mother, either. [Doctor, I think something is wrong with me]
Feeling like I lost some part of myself. I don't know when or where. Or how to get it back, Daan.
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...We've had to deal with a lot. All of us. You, Olivia, and me. I don't know that we know how to react to things like the average person anymore, to be honest.
I wish I could advise you better than that. But talking to each other... maybe that's the first step for us.
Just don't beat yourself up about it too much. We just have to try harder to be better, I guess.
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I want to be that free, [she admits, voice aspirational with such a strange ambition as this one] I want to sob and scream and make a fuss... anything but that horrible, rotted out numbness.
[a squeeze for him, saying with a return to her usual confidence]
You deserve someone who will cry for you, Daan. You're worth crying over.
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...Healing from that will be hard.
But I have complete confidence in you, Marina. You're so damned strong. Don't underestimate yourself.
[Daan frowns faintly.] I struggle to see that the way you do, if I'm gonna be honest.
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[she says in that "teasing, but the truth is there" way of hers.
She doesn't want to be the kind of hollow person her father was, the person he would have had her be. A cocoon with nothing of Marina left inside, everything worthwhile eaten away. That isn't her fate.
Daan's fate shouldn't be to become such a monster, either. She'll cherish him and keep him safe so that doesn't happen, she's dedicated. No convincing her otherwise, stubborn girl.]
Take it as a compliment. Sheesh.
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[At this point, Marina knows a decent gist of Daan's history, why he went to Prehevil, and still she is dedicated to being his friend. He struggles to see that worth, but he can't argue right now. He's too damned tired.]
That you'd let your makeup run if you could for me? Hmm, I see your point.
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Oh, no. Real ugly crying. Mascara stained tears and wailing and messy, ragged hiccups. Whole nine yards. [she chuckles lightly, knowing just how odd it must sound that she wants that for herself. Marina wants that kind of heights of emotion. Something about it seems respectful,]
That would do justice to my feelings about losing you. Nothing short.
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