Xochipilli had... more or less fled the beach. He'd gone home, and stayed there for a while, but when no-one followed (why did he give himself the hope that Carasson would come to check on him, he didn't know) he left. He'd wandered to one of his favorite spots, further down the coast from the clan's current home. For those who were knowledgeable about the Keeper's favorite spots, they'd find him a few miles from the clan. There was a overhanging cliff that let him look out over the water. Far enough from the clan to provide solace, but close enough that he could get back if he needed too.
His legs dangled off the edge, as he stared at the unopened bottle of alcohol. He'd hidden it out here on the cliff, and had not visited since he was first sober. Staring at it, he warred with himself.
Chip could hear Inala's question—was his only purpose in life to hurt her? His relationship was hurting her; and that very firmly reminded him why he had abstained from romantic entanglements since they'd broken up. He didn't want to ruin anything for anyone in his family.
The elf pulled his knees to his chest, closing his eyes as he buried his face into his knees. The cliff wasn't exceptionally tall, a good jump if he wanted, but he could also walk down the path in five minutes. And he was seriously considering the cold bite of the water, or the liquid in that bottle.
His spirit spoke to him, trying to convince him that his intentions had been good even if what happened hadn't. He couldn't outrun the feeling that he'd screwed everything up. Again. And as the minutes ticked by, the Keeper reached to run his fingers across the bottle, fiddling with the lid, but not opening it. There was something comfortingly good about having it there, where he could have it if he wanted it. Even though it was wrong; he'd worked hard to get sober for as long as he had.
But Inala had assumed that's what they'd wanted to talk to her about. And she'd wanted him to out his failure to their clan. Hands withdrawn from the bottle, he scooted a few paces away and dug his toes into the sand. Everything was wrong. Chip flopped onto his back, to watch the sky. Eventually, the tranquility of the moment, of the space, drew him into sleeping.
How long, he didn't know. But when he awoke, he could hear footsteps.
His legs dangled off the edge, as he stared at the unopened bottle of alcohol. He'd hidden it out here on the cliff, and had not visited since he was first sober. Staring at it, he warred with himself.
Chip could hear Inala's question—was his only purpose in life to hurt her? His relationship was hurting her; and that very firmly reminded him why he had abstained from romantic entanglements since they'd broken up. He didn't want to ruin anything for anyone in his family.
The elf pulled his knees to his chest, closing his eyes as he buried his face into his knees. The cliff wasn't exceptionally tall, a good jump if he wanted, but he could also walk down the path in five minutes. And he was seriously considering the cold bite of the water, or the liquid in that bottle.
His spirit spoke to him, trying to convince him that his intentions had been good even if what happened hadn't. He couldn't outrun the feeling that he'd screwed everything up. Again. And as the minutes ticked by, the Keeper reached to run his fingers across the bottle, fiddling with the lid, but not opening it. There was something comfortingly good about having it there, where he could have it if he wanted it. Even though it was wrong; he'd worked hard to get sober for as long as he had.
But Inala had assumed that's what they'd wanted to talk to her about. And she'd wanted him to out his failure to their clan. Hands withdrawn from the bottle, he scooted a few paces away and dug his toes into the sand. Everything was wrong. Chip flopped onto his back, to watch the sky. Eventually, the tranquility of the moment, of the space, drew him into sleeping.
How long, he didn't know. But when he awoke, he could hear footsteps.
01-19-2023, 04:11 PM
