The Buddy System (Attn: Cat)

[Jenn]

Zarius Iiro

Faster.

He had to go faster.

His feet pounded against the hard packed ground, calves and thighs burning as the blood roared in his ears. His knees ached. His toes were numb. It was overcast out, cloud cover blocking out much of the moon, but he did not stop. He could not stop. It was well and good that the Asha’man did not need much light to see by. He knew his surroundings well.

Zeen ran and ran and ran, the fence that ringed around the perimeter of Warder Yards long since fading into a nondescript blur. His breath came out in uneven, ragged gasps, the harsh sound mingling with the rapid thunder of the pulse that roared in his ears. It did nothing to silence the frantic beating of his heart, which in turn only served as a brilliant beacon that led straight up to the cesspool of memories that shattered over and over again inside the confines of his skull. Try as he might, he could not outrun the cresting wave of emotions that threatened to crush and suffocate him.

Make it stop. There was no collar. Light, please, just make it stop. He was free. There was no collar!

A small, curiously detached part of himself knew that the horrors in his mind were not real. The spectres that twisted and lurched in his memory were not here with him. That small, curiously detached part of himself even went so far as to question why he was having an episode now, of all times. Nothing had provoked him; the day had gone as quietly and as smoothly as the Fang of Hama Valon could expect. So why? That sliver of rational awareness poked and prodded, but it could find no satisfactory answer. It could do nothing to stop what was happening.

So the brown haired man kept going. Until the stitch in his side turned into lancing, searing pain. Until his body shuddered to a flailing halt. Until his palm slapped against the topmost railing of the fence in the desperate attempt to hold himself up. Until he leaned over and emptied out the contents of his stomach. Zeen grimaced faintly, a touch of saidin and a rush of blistering fire erasing all traces of his mess. It had been months since he had resorted to this desperate a run, but the tightly coiled knot that curled around his heart and yanked at his guts was terrible in its familiarity. Light in heaven, he did not miss this feeling.

He groaned inwardly as he forced himself to straighten, lifting himself to his full height. Limping towards the water jug and his discarded shirt, the former Green half-heartedly muttered curses aloud, not having much breath to spare. He kept whispering regardless, finding the way the words formed on his lips and rolled off his tongue strangely soothing.

Zeen took several small sips, remembering to breathe in between each one. Several longer swallows of cool water followed, and when he was certain that he would not lose what little he had in his belly, he simply upended the jug over his head. He spluttered at the shock of cold water colliding with hot sweat and skin. He shook himself, tossing the sturdy earthenware to the side. He scrubbed at his face, as if attempting to scour himself clean. A slight noise made him stop, long thick fingers splaying open as the M’Hael peered out between them. Silver-grey eyes went flat as he realized belatedly that he was not alone. A man in uniform. Grey. Not one of his finger wigglers, as Callie called them. Zeen pushed soggy dripping wavy curls away from his face, the scar that slashed between his eyebrows twinging in response.

“Is there something I can help you with?” He busied himself with saidin as he waited for an answer, a rush of heated Air pulling the water up off his skin before evaporating it. He ran his hands through his hair, attempting to impart some semblance of order to the mess that it had become. “I promise I am not here to steal anything.” The corners of his lips quirked up as he leaned back against fence, suddenly exhausted, his entire body protesting at the ordeal he had just put it through. The Amadician rested more of his weight against the top wooden railing. His legs... were trembling. The salty broad was going to laugh at him. "Though if I was, I suppose it would be prudent not to actually tell you that I was, would you not agree?"

[Cat]

Johan

Johan still couldn’t sleep. Every time he tried, the nightmares would come and he’d be forced awake, struggling for breath, gasping, panting, trying to find a calm that didn’t want to – wouldn’t - come. Half the time, the images didn’t fade even upon waking up. The blankets on his bed turned into the mud clawing at him, wrapping around him, refusing to let go and dragging him down, until, panicked, he flung himself from the bed, trying to get as far away as he could. He’d drowned. He had felt himself drown. He had died. And it had felt so real. But those nightmares, those memories, weren’t as bad as the ones where his brother died and he could do nothing to stop it. The scary part was that at least he’d seen, known that it had happened, whereas in reality his brother could die right now and he wouldn’t know any different. He hadn’t heard from or seen his family since coming to the Tower, and he had no way of knowing if they were all right.

The Rahad wasn’t a safe place.

He really couldn’t sleep.

These days it felt like he didn’t sleep at all.

And he couldn’t just sit here and wait for sleep to come.

Decision made, Johan pushed himself to his feet and dragged his uniform on, before grabbing his sword and leaving his room far behind. He’d never been one for curfews. Why stay locked in a room when you could be somewhere else? He’d also never been one to stare at the wall if he could help it. He preferred to be doing something useful. Even though he had greatly improved since coming to the Tower, he still had a long way to go to even be half as good as the best, and he wanted that to change. Sooner rather than later.

The moon was out, but it may as well not have been, the cloud covering it almost completely, making it hard to see. He didn’t care. The route to the Warder Yards was engrained in his memory; he could have done it with his eyes shut. It was easy.

When he got there, though, he wasn’t alone.

Johan stopped on the edge of the Yard, staring at the man in front of him. From his height alone, there was no mistaking who he was, and Johan couldn’t but draw in a breath. The M’Hael. He’d heard of him, but had never seen him until now. He couldn’t stop the slight flinch at the use of the One Power, and he straightened, setting his face into a careful mask, trying to hide it. His grip on his sword tightened ever so slightly, and he took a small, involuntary step back.

“You’re the M’Hael,” he said, shrugging his shoulders ever so slightly, still watching him. “You can steal anything you like. Who’s going to say no? Although…” He tried to smile, to push through his nerves and his suddenly pounding heart. “I don’t think there’s really anything to steal. Sand, maybe?”

[Jenn]

Zeen

White knuckles wrapped around sword hilt. The quick, shuffling step back. The attempt at a smile that looked more like the grey-uniformed youth was battling against a severe bout of nausea. Or constipation. Zeen sighed inwardly, more and more of his weight resting back against the fence. Light, but he was tired.

“Sand seems like a rather poor thing to steal,” he agreed amicably, arms lifting to fold across his chest. He made no further move, head tilting ever-so-slightly to the side as he studied the skittish Ji in front of him. Short. Dark olive skin. The hair was different, as were the eyes, but if the Asha’man had to hazard a guess... Altaran was as good a one as any. “Messy, as well.”

The former Green watched the Ji watching him, inappropriate, nearly hysterical amusement bubbling up from somewhere near his navel. What a bloody jollybag. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be feared. The pain that shot through his chest nearly stole his breath away.

Zeen wanted to laugh... he wanted to cry... perhaps he could laugh madly until he broke down and cried. One corner of his mouth ticked upwards. Later, in the privacy of his own rooms. He would rather eat barbed steel than risk a public meltdown. Also... given the way his reluctant companion held himself, the M’Hael doubted that any outburst of emotion would met with calm and poise. He had no desire to be stabbed, when the boy panicked. He also had no desire to retaliate to being stabbed by setting the boy on fire or something equally unpleasant. It was generally frowned upon.

The Amadician slowly counted to ten. He did not reach for the Void, knowing that any peace it brought was cold and empty. Still, having it there to use, should he need it, was comforting.

“Might I know your name? I am Zarius Iiro.” He left out his rank and his title. It would do neither of them any good in the here and now.

He shook his head warily, slowly pushing himself upright to his full height. His hands lifted, palms facing upwards. “The way you are fondling your pig sticker is making me rather nervous.” Zeen’s voice was quiet, barely reaching across the distance that separated them. “It is obvious that something about me makes you uncomfortable. I would very much like to put your worries and fears at ease. I swear, I am not going to hurt you.” Here was where he paused, a lopsided smile appearing on his face. “I promise I will make no attempt to steal the practice dummies, training lathes, or those sandbags there over in the corner of the Yards. In return, I would appreciate it greatly if you would refrain from trying to run me through.”

[Cat]

Johan

He may as well have been facing off a lion. The One Power was dangerous and unpredictable, and so were those who wielded it. Johan had done a good job so far of avoiding most of the full-ranked channelers. It was just the way things had always been, what he’d always done; he was only here for the weapons training, and then he would be back on his merry way. He just had to find some way to get out of his current situation. If he could have run, he would have, but he was pretty much cornered. There was no just walking away.

He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry. All he had wanted was some time to himself away from his nightmares, to work things through in his mind, to… to… just get away, but that wasn’t going to happen now. He drew in another deep breath in attempt to calm himself and find the ever elusive Void that he had been told so much about. It didn’t work. He still felt like he wanted to run away, like the only thing that was keeping here was sheer willpower and stubbornness. He could feel the knots already forming as he held himself still, his eyes never once leaving the M’Hael, watching his every move.

It was tempting to give a false name, but he knew that that wouldn’t work here. The Tower was small and he was easily traced; there weren’t too many Altaran Warders students about, especially ones from the Rahad.

“Johan,” he finally said somewhat grudgingly, unable to keep the reluctance out of his voice. “Johan Albaer.”

There was a hint of stubbornness there, too, and defiance as he lifted his chin and stared directly at the M’Hael. He wanted to say that he wasn’t scared, thank you very much, and most definitely didn’t need the man’s comfort and reassurance, but he wasn’t sure how well that would go down. Channelers, he had found, tended to be a rather touchy bunch. He rather liked not being burnt to a crisp.

Instead, “Here,” was all he said, and he dropped the sword, because he really didn’t want to be scared or nervous or worried, and most definitely didn’t want to show it. The best way of doing that, he had found, was letting go of the one thing that could protect you. “You don’t have to worry about me running you through. I can’t do it without a weapon. You’re safe. You…” He paused, hesitating, before he forced himself to continue, raising his chin that bit higher. “You just have to promise me that I’m not going to get in trouble for being out of bed when I shouldn’t. I just…” He pushed a hand through his hair and shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep.”

[Jenn]

Not Actually a Trolloc

His brows lowered as he studied the Ji, the boy radiating twitching, nervous energy to the point where it was almost painful for Zeen himself to stay still. He wanted to fidget in sympathy, which only made him press his backside harder against the fence to stop the urge.

The brown haired man eyed the sword that lay at Johan’s feet, dubious grey eyes slowly traveling up to the blank expression before dropping warily back down to the discarded sword. He was not entirely sure that the trainee would not still manage to run him through with something else, if spooked. The Asha’man debated the merits of bundling up the boy with Air, but he knew he would not. There was no reason to. At least, not yet. I suppose when I get stabbed there will be, came the sour thought. That would be a fun meeting with Julian.

“You do realize that I not actually going to eat you.” A pause. “You are far too tough and gamey looking.”

Voicing that out loud was a mistake. The Amadician regretted speaking the moment the words left his mouth. He could not be certain in the dim barely there light of the moon, but he could have sworn that Johan actually paled.

Zeen sighed under his breath, the tall man reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers in exasperation. He counted to five before taking a deep breath, forcibly moderating his tone as his expression smoothed out. “That was a joke. As in, it was meant to be amusing and funny.” The swarthy face did not look convinced. The Amadician’s arms dropped to his sides.

“Oh for the love of the Light! I am not actually a Trolloc, boy. I swear that neither the Master of Training nor the Gaidin Captain will hear about your breach of curfew.”

Still nothing.

He muttered several unflattering phrases under his breath, too soft to reach even his own ears. Zeen tried to give his most disarming smile. “Perhaps it would be best if we started over again. Hello. I am Zarius Iiro. It is very nice to meet you, Johan Albaer. I do not eat people. Thank you for not running me through. Shall we continue standing here being awkward, or would you perhaps like to do something else? Spar? Talk? Walk?” Preferably out to Hama Valon where the boy could drown his anxiety in a vat of mead or ale.

[Cat]

Johan

Johan couldn’t help but look at the man as if he had grown an extra head. He seemed to be… having a conversation with himself? Or, at least, a rather one-sided imaginary conversation. That sort of thing wasn’t very good, especially when you were a channeler. Johan thought it was the former M’Hael who was mad, not the current, but, for all he knew, it was actually the other way around and the man before him might start chucking fireballs at himself, and he didn’t really want to be there for that, but, at the same time, his fear had increased and he was worried that if he did move he’d definitely end up being burnt to a crisp. Trust him to meet the crazy one!

He glanced at his sword, wondering if he should pick it up again just in case, but, of course, a sword wouldn’t stand a chance against the One Power. Somewhere, someone needed to create a sword that could withstand it, that if a channeler decided to send a bolt of lightning their way, the sword would catch it and absorb it. He’d had lessons on how to protect an Aes Sedai and Asha’man, but there had been none on how to actually protect himself from them. Right now he was rather wishing he had.

When the M’Hael seemed to have stopped, Johan stared at him for a moment longer, still looking at him as if he had grown an extra head, before he shook his own head, somehow resisting the urge to turn around and run away. He managed to stay where he was, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly proud of that.

“Why would I think you’re a Trolloc set on eating me?” he asked, his voice not quite as strong as he’d hoped, sounding more like he was speaking to some madman who would indeed snap at any moment and eat him. He spoke slower, too. No sudden movements. Sound soothing. Just like dealing with a crazed animal. Raise your voice, jump around, and they attacked. If anything, the way the M’Hael had spoken had convinced him more that, despite having not thought of it before, the man was thinking about eating him. Crazy. He was crazy.

Johan smiled, still feeling like he was dealing with a madman. “I am glad to know you don’t eat people, Zarius Iiro. You’re welcome for me not running you through. And whatever you like. I’d quite like a walk, though.”

Because it would give him a chance to get away from the madman who seemed convinced that he was convinced that he was going to eat him.

[Jenn]

Zeen

Flaming Light.

Well of course he did not eat people! What did the boy truly think he was?! The tone of the Ji’s voice and the exaggerated way he enunciated the words made Zeen grit his teeth for a moment. There really had been no need to be so succinct and dubious about it... He eyed the Ji with much the same wary intent as was being directed at him, wondering how long they could stand there and circle one another without actually moving.

The Asha’man swallowed back a resigned sigh and fought down the urge to scrub at his face. Perhaps the nublet was a touch slow... Repeated blows to the head could leave lasting damage, if one was not fortunate to be Healed in time. He frowned slightly. Silver-grey eyes narrowed as he carefully searched for signs of discolouration, bruising, swelling... anything misshapen or crooked at all about Johan’s face. Nothing obvious jumped out at the M’Hael, but that meant little. Injuries to the head could go undetected for years.

Jittery and high-strung... suspicious and mistrustful of Zeen - it did not take a master in Daes Dae’mar to know that - not truly believing that the former Green did not eat people... perhaps the boy was prone to flights of impossible fancy as well... or answered to voices that no one else heard. Did he see things that no one else did as well? Such as, perhaps, seeing a certain M’hael devouring a poor hapless child? It all made sense... that would explain the obvious incredulity. And the boy was armed with a pig sticker to boot.

What a bloody jollybag.

Light! Why did he have to encounter the one Gaidin trainee with addled wits that no one had warned him of -? Zeen felt an immediate stab of remorse; that was unbecoming of him. He had to be patient... it was not the boy’s fault. Giving himself a shake and forcibly reordering his thoughts, he did his best to smile instead.

“I would very much like to go for a walk. I find that the Gardens are peaceful at any time, but if they are not to your liking, we could also venture out into Hama Valon. The city is mostly quiet this time of night, save for the streets where the taverns are located.” That was not entirely the truth, but it was truth enough.

Zeen wrestled with himself for nearly a full minute before finally managing to convince himself to move. He seized saidin, picking up Johan’s discarded sword with a flow of Air and passing it back to the Ji. Without speaking further, he strode over to where his shirt lay draped over the top rung of the fence and hauled it back on over his head. He did not keep his back to the boy for long, turning too quickly to look over expectantly once he had finished dressing. He was suddenly acutely aware of the way the raised hard lines pulled and twisted between his shoulders and along his back. Two set of scars were quite enough for him and he did not feel the particular need to acquire any more.

“Shall we, Johan Albaer?”

[Cat]

Johan

The Light save him.

Johan didn’t really want there to be any ‘shall we’, but you didn’t go about refusing the bloody M’Hael of all people, even if you suspected them of not quite being all there. Maybe especially because of that. At least now he had his sword back, and, after checking it over, he sheathed it. It would be easy for him to draw it in seconds if need be, and the less threatened the M’Hael felt, the safer he himself felt. Couldn’t have the man set him on fire, could he?

He shot him another look, even as he rubbed wearily at his face, feeling far too tired to have to deal with all this. He was tired. That was, after all, what tended to happen when you got very little sleep. All he really wanted was a chance to relax and let his guard down. That most definitely was not going to happen now. By the end of the night, for all he knew, he could be dead, killed by a crazed channeler.

There wasn’t anything outwardly that gave any indication that there might be anything wrong – Zarius really didn’t have two heads -, but Johan couldn’t interpret the way the M’Hael was acting as being down to anything else. Who the hell thought that people thought, and wasn’t that a mouthful, they were going to eat them. No one sane, that was who. People back home went about it the right way; they avoided Asha’man and Aes Sedai at all cost, but that wasn’t really an option for him. He was going to have to tolerate channelers for a while yet.

He didn’t bother trying to smile, because that seemed to have caused even more of a reaction, and just shook his head.

“The last time I went to Hama Valon I ended up minutes from death saving a Novice,” he said, choosing to be honest. That had been an experience, and the days afterwards had been something of an experience too. He’d do again, though. There was no question when it came to helping people. It was what you did, even if it meant putting your own life on the line. He’d do it for anyone. “And if it’s a walk,” he shot another cautious look at the M’Hael, trying to gauge his reaction, “I’d rather it be somewhere other than the Tower. I don’t find being here very relaxing. It’s too… closed.” Added into the fact that he wasn’t sure that he wanted to be anywhere peaceful with the M’Hael. A place with plenty of people sounded much, much safer.

He paused, raising his chin again, daring the other man to really set him on fire. “And it’s Johan. Last time I checked you weren’t a Trolloc, yes, but you also aren’t an Aiel. You don’t need to say my full name every time.”

[Jenn]

Zeen

His fingers twitched upwards to pinch the bridge of his nose again, but Zeen fought down the nearly overpowering urge. He kept his expression neutral, kept himself faced forward, even as he eyed the Ji warily. Prickly, on top of being dim witted. Light in heaven, what had he gotten himself into? He had not meant to say the boy’s full name... it had simply happened. Come to think of it, he did much the same when referring to Ravak Darrow - see? The Asha’man’s head tilted to the side ever-so-slightly. Curious. Why was that?

“Very well. Johan, then. Your forays into Hama Valon are far more exciting than mine, it would seem,” came the light acknowledgement, followed by the equally light observation, which was... not at all the truth. There was no sense in telling the boy all that had happened to him while outside of the Tower, however. Inside as well, for that matter. No, the less that was known at this moment, the better. For both their sakes.

He made no comment about a Novice being out in Hama Valon, though he did file that tidbit of information away for later. Zeen did not care much for Velanya, but the same could be said that the Mistress of Novices did not care much for him, either.

“I am not Aiel, no. Amadician,” he offered as he made no move to approach the boy or leave the Yards. “You... have much the same look as one of my bondmates. You are Altaran?” The former Green smiled faintly. “And for whatever it is worth, I agree with you about the Tower feeling too closed.”

Zeen leaned back against the fence once more, arms folding across his chest. His look was curious and a touch weary as he openly appraised the Ji in front of him. “So tell me. If you do not wish to stay inside Tower grounds, nor fancy a trip out into Hama Valon, where is it you wish to go? The only other place nearby is Lake Sommal and I am afraid I cannot recommend that. I am too bloody tired to be fishing you out of there. I also do not fancy the idea of having to come up with an explanation as to what in the bloody Light I was thinking when the Master of Training asks why I nearly let one of his nublets drown.”

[Cat]

Johan

”..nearly let one of his nublets drown.”

But he had already drowned once before already. He remembered the way the water had filled his lungs; remembered it pulling him down, dragging him down, down, and down; remembered the fear, the panic at not being able to breathe, the way his heart had pounded as the darkness drew in, the way he’d struggled, fought, tried to get free... It had felt so real. It couldn’t not be real. It had to be real. He had felt himself die. That the reason he was here.

Johan drew in a deep breath, trying to push the panic away as the memories forced their way to the front of his mind. He could breathe. It was fine. He could breathe and everything was all right. It wasn’t happening now. It was over. It was never going to happen again. He took a step back and another breath, the memories still crowding his mind, refusing to go away. This was why just leaving his room wasn’t enough; he had to get out the Tower, go somewhere, just… just get away from here.

“I can swim,” he said, still fighting the panic, biting down on the fear and memories. None it showed on his face, though. He wouldn’t let it. You couldn’t let yourself be scared of memories, could you? He forced himself not to reach for his sword. Couldn’t kill memories either, no matter how much he wanted to. He made himself smile instead. “It’s one of the things you learn pretty quickly when you grow up by the river. And, yes, I’m Altaran.” He was tempted to say that he was from Ebou Dar, but there was no point in that. It was clear from the way that he spoke, the way he acted, that he was from the other side of the river. “The Rahad. I’ve… heard of Jaryd.”

He moved so that he could also lean back against the fence, though he made sure not to get too close to the M’Hael. He took another moment to simply try and find some level of calm, before he shrugged his shoulders almost helplessly. “Lake Sommal sounds better than here. Because it’s not here. I’d go further away. I don’t care where. I just want to get away from the Tower. And the test.”

So he could think, so he could be himself, and stop with all the bloody fear.