[He still spends a good five or ten minutes half-dormant, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at the wall, willing himself to move. Eventually, he gets up, and slowly makes himself presentable. His body feels like lead, stiff and heavy, so each task is arduous. Finally, though, he leaves the Valentia, breathing fresh air for the first time since the escape. He limps to the tram, which takes him to the city's edge, and walks from there.
It helps, being in the forest, seeing the sun shining and smelling the dying leaves. He starts to feel a bit lighter, his movement a bit easier, even before he reaches Cassius' house.
And the house has flowers surrounding it, too, though they are starting to show the effects of the cooling weather. He looks around for Cassius to see if he's outside, and if not, he will knock on the door.]
[Cassius is outside, Dedue's visitation providing more motivation than he's had in days (weeks?). He's been waiting for a good half hour, sitting on a small bench that has seen better days. Flora has bloomed at his feet, where his worms have burrowed and taken root; he has a whole system in the works underneath his home. It's why when Dedue finally approaches, he's already there, winding his way around his home to meet him.]
Friend Dedue, hello. [He looks a little tired - as much as a floral shell of worms can, anyway. There's a small wilt to his petals, and his colors are a shade faded, but he still greets his friend with a faint smile.
His hands go out on instinct, and then stop just before he makes contact. They hesitate in the air between them for a moment, before he draws them into his chest.] You are alright? Your journey was not too much?
[His face is as stern as ever, but his tone is warm.
His own hands lift toward Cassius, but then he pulls back, and—
Vines wound tight around flesh and metal, thorns digging in, both of them warping, bleeding, crying out for help, and the pain, the pain–
Dedue's hands lower. He'd... Forgotten about that.]
I am alright. It is nice to get outside.
[He looks weary, his left hand is bandaged up, and his posture is crooked since one leg won't fully straighten. His modest clothing covers the rest of his wounds, except for a couple of healing scratches that peek out of his collar, and the warped steel on the back of his right hand.
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[Somewhere warm, with a view of what flowers he's begun to grow. He thinks he can manage this. Maybe he can even make a bench.]
Please be safe.
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[He still spends a good five or ten minutes half-dormant, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at the wall, willing himself to move. Eventually, he gets up, and slowly makes himself presentable. His body feels like lead, stiff and heavy, so each task is arduous. Finally, though, he leaves the Valentia, breathing fresh air for the first time since the escape. He limps to the tram, which takes him to the city's edge, and walks from there.
It helps, being in the forest, seeing the sun shining and smelling the dying leaves. He starts to feel a bit lighter, his movement a bit easier, even before he reaches Cassius' house.
And the house has flowers surrounding it, too, though they are starting to show the effects of the cooling weather. He looks around for Cassius to see if he's outside, and if not, he will knock on the door.]
no subject
Friend Dedue, hello. [He looks a little tired - as much as a floral shell of worms can, anyway. There's a small wilt to his petals, and his colors are a shade faded, but he still greets his friend with a faint smile.
His hands go out on instinct, and then stop just before he makes contact. They hesitate in the air between them for a moment, before he draws them into his chest.] You are alright? Your journey was not too much?
no subject
[His face is as stern as ever, but his tone is warm.
His own hands lift toward Cassius, but then he pulls back, and—
Vines wound tight around flesh and metal, thorns digging in, both of them warping, bleeding, crying out for help, and the pain, the pain–
Dedue's hands lower. He'd... Forgotten about that.]
I am alright. It is nice to get outside.
[He looks weary, his left hand is bandaged up, and his posture is crooked since one leg won't fully straighten. His modest clothing covers the rest of his wounds, except for a couple of healing scratches that peek out of his collar, and the warped steel on the back of his right hand.
He looks around.]
This place has come a long way. It's lovely.