red sky at morning BY Carasson

The Keeper was wheezing softly, though he could feel his breathing slowly improving. But that whistling wheeze never seemed to fuck off. He leaned into the table, warring with himself. Did he... run? Abandon his home and go to Inala? Or... How did he know this was Carasson and not the possessor? It was hard to separate what had happened from his lover. The man was slowly rolling onto his hands and knees, crawling towards him.

And he decided, likely a stupid decision but sometimes Chip was a dreamer, that he still wanted to help Carasson. Convinced himself against all reality that he might be able to catch when it was Cara versus his possessor. We... were practicing blood magic, his breathing stuttered as he spoke, clearing his throat to try and breathe easier. You said... bad idea, I insisted. S'my fault. Immediately take the blame. Like a good Keeper; shouldering the burdens of his people.

Demon... gone now, we're... safe. He coughed against his palm, ignoring the speckling of blood that danced over his flesh as he coughed. Either Carasson didn't remember, or the spirit was screwing with him before it gathered its strength to kill him. Either way, he decided he'd play roulette. There was still a slight chance the man crawling toward him was really his Cara.

More paralyzing dread and not at memories but the instead the complete lack of any memory that bothered him. They had been practicing blood magic. Alright. That might explain the over abundant presence of it around them, on each of them and even the familiar implements he could see atop the table. But it failed to explain why none of that rang true in him, why none of it resonated. He'd had his bell rung more than once in his life but each time he could remember bits and pieces. Right there there was nothing but void looking back at him. 

Heels of his hands rubbed methodically at his eyes as he dropped back to his heels in a child's position. Maker, Chip....this isn't right. He groaned from behind his hands, still bowed into the pose as if he was paying some sort of homage to royalty the way he bent inches from the other man. He truly feared having to ever remember what happened. He hoped he never would. A far away part of him, deep and buried now almost chuckled at that thought. 

No more blood magic. It was a plea and a promise. If Chip had asked for this, may he never ask for it again. And if Cara had willingly begun the ritual of letting, may he never touch that dagger until he got some much needed answers. 

He looked up again, searching for the Chip he knew and finding him quite altered. All he did was shake his head, afraid of what either of them could say to make this matter. All the while that sinking feeling that he had more a hand in this remained persistant inside of him. I can help...you. Still squatting on the floor he reached out, aiming for the Keeper's hand if only to hold for his own comfort.

Xochipilli felt like he was dying, the way his lungs stuck with every breath, like he couldn't quite fill them fully. He slowly came to rest his head against the table, mumbling, No, no more blood magic. He'd seek to learn it if only to better himself against whoever the fuck was living with his lover, sharing a body against his will. But he would not ask Carasson to teach him. He could find another teacher or teach himself. He wouldn't risk that spirit finding a way to control him, or hurt him further.

When the other man reached for him, Chip closed his eyes, exhaling softly as he felt his fingers curl through Cara's. Gentle. Familiar. Gods, he hoped this was his boyfriend.

I think... we could both use some help, he murmured, squeezing his hand tightly. ...don't think I can walk, though. He wheezed the words, as his chest tightened particularly hard in that moment. His heart thundered against his ribs; fear permeated every part of him. He reminded himself it was Carasson. Not... whatever unnamed cretin lived within him. Mmm, just... gonna lay here. 'til... body catches up. He was watching his boyfriend, eyes bloodshot, dried blood covering his face.

So... glad you're okay. And he was, even if every fiber of his being screamed that this man was dangerous. He cleared his throat, and reached out with his other hand, trembling slightly as he very carefully stroked Cara's face.

Glad they could agree on something as morbidly straightforward as that. Honestly he didn't know he could trust himself with something like blood magic if he was losing so much of his time to these voids. Blood magic had the tendency to lead down a dark path if the mage wasn't diligent. That or had the tendency to hand out open invitations to many an ill-gotten spirit or demon. Adept as he was in the practice, he knew the limits. At least he thought he did. He'd never let it get to the point of summoning. He raked his brain....and nothing. Void upon void. I troubled him deeply and he was only just coming to the realization how much of an issue this could become. 

When their fingers entwined, Cara mightve sworn he felt the slightest bit of apprehension were it not for his own immense wave of relief, drowning everything out. His body hurt just as he could see how badly Chip was hurting. There was little doubt his outward experience compared to what he felt inside because he felt the same. It hurt to breath, to talk, to move, to exist. Chip you should, he groaned allowed with pain as he sat up to his knees but willed himself to continue. You should....sit up. Don't, grimace, Fall asleep. 

But as if in direct disobedience to his own words, his eyes fluttered shut. Though it was only to relish all the more in the tender caress of his cheek. He reached up to lay his hand over Chip's, eyes looking up with a pleading expressing, almost hopeful. Chip looked terrible but what was worse was that.....he just didn't look right. Despite his body being a ruined blood mess, something about all of this felt very wrong. I'm okay. He lied, confirming Chip's words. 

That hand on his cheek he would tug at gently and if Chip allowed it, he would press a kiss to a palm. It'll be alright. He lied again.

Groaning, he pushed himself upright, as his lover reminded him that he shouldn't fall asleep. Gods, sleep sounded good right about now. Chip closed his eyes at the kiss to his palm, Don't lie to me. Neither of us are okay. He let his boyfriend hold his hands, as he very slowly, clumsily, slipped from his chair.

He was right in not trying to stand, because his legs buckled under even a slight amount of weight. But with a thud and a groan, he'd managed to settle onto his knees in front of Cara.

Come here, he whispered, coughing as he moved to pull the man to his chest, the chair behind of them the only thing keeping Chip upright. I love you. So, very much. For a really long time. He murmured the words into Carasson's hair, And, coughing, I'm so... fucking thankful that you're here still.

It wasn't like clinging to his boyfriend was going to keep him there, if the spirit possessing him wanted to take over, it would. Chip took a deep, shuddering breath.

Baby, you've got a... very strong, possession. That's who summoned the demon. Not you— It was probably a bad idea to tell him anything relating to the truth; but Chip just couldn't handle lying. He wouldn't admit that Carasson's body and powers had been used against him; he'd remain adamant that it was a demon summoned by his possession.

Lie, but slightly better than omitting so many details. Because maybe, he could help his lover find a way to dampen the hold the spirit had. He could already hear his spirit whispering ideas.

—we need... to figure out a way to dampen your possession. Chip didn't stop to think that, well. The closer Cara got to him, the more likely he was to recognize signs that his partner had been boiling alive. The splotchy bruises and burns across his body, the way his eyes were dry, bloodshot and had been bleeding.

He'd just wanted to be close to him. While he knew (mostly knew) it was really him.

The moment they were on the same level and arms grappled him into an embrace, Cara melted. Air expelled in a pained rush from his mouth, eyes squeezing shut at the discomfort his body experienced with every movement. He embraced back, though he feared squeezing too hard and instead just allowed his hands to ghost over shoulders. It was a relief not to have to continue in the farce that any of this was okay, because it wasn't. For either of them to be so effected was serious on its own, not to mention the overarching circumstance. 

A sort of whimper sounded in his throat at the Keeper's declaration. His already burning eyes burned anew with brimming tears. Twenty years, give or take, he'd been with Varahel. Twenty years he'd spent in the company of Chip, Inala and Chi. Twenty years in which he'd grown to love each of them in different ways. Twenty years he'd stiffled urges he worried might ruin an already good thing. Fate however, had other plans for these sorts of inevitabilities. I love you. he replied simply. And though he'd said the words before they took on a different meaning as of late. 

The Keeper's next words however, forced his blood to chill. He stilled, frozen, every muscle locked before he could fully comprehend what he was hearing. 

Posession. 

It would explain the lapses in memory, would explain his uncharacteristic use of blood magic. A fire burned deep in his gut as if answering a call. Cara stirred, panic starting reflect in his features. He pulled away, arms dropping, forcing himself out of them embrace. No, this didn't seem right. Bile rose in his throat as he studied Chip's features then, noted the splotches of red. A hand reached up, fingertips grazing some of the dried blood on the man's face. Rage demons were a formidable force. But rage demons also had a purpose. Rage demons had a master. 

As if he'd been shocked, Carasson pulled back his hand.  The fire, bright but shrouded in an inexplicable darkness continued to swell inside of him. 

He huffed, his eyes darkening ever so slightly as he warred with intrusive emotions. He fell to his heels, scrambling backward away from Chip despite the revolt from every inch of his body. No, I...I'm sorry. On his hands and needs he crawled for the door, manging to pull himself up with the handle by sheer willpower before he was able to stumble outside. Whether he was running on his own volition or something else, he couldn't say. All he wanted to do was get as far away from his Keeper as possible. When he was over the closest dune, he braced on his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach violently, before continuing on until he could no longer move.