curiosity killed the cat [ o, ghost recovery? ] but a vendetta brought him back

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    / ska'arq . and in case y'all missed it, he got crushed by a meteor in the event thread


    He had made a mistake. A terrible mistake. He shouldn't of forced himself back into the living world so soon. He could be relaxing as he regained enough energy to recreate his physical apparition. But no, he was convinced to stay around just to comfort someone who simply turned on the fucking waterworks for him. But Pad didn't regret it. There were a lot of things he regretted, terrible crimes he had committed, terrible innocents he had killed in blind rages, terrible friends he left behind as soon as they showed affection for someone other than his dead and sorry ass. Staying visible and physical for Ska'arq was at the bottom of the list, if not completely absent at all.


    Pad was used to this cruel cycle: fuck up in some foolish way, end up fatally injured, and have to wait it out until his body reset to factory settings. Thankfully, Ska'arq airlifted him to the medic's den, so he wasn't paralyzed in a crater. No, instead, he got to stare at a blank wall, splayed out and limp in a nest of blankets. Sometimes Groteske- or Ezekiel, whatever the hell he wanted to call himself now- was there with him. Pad ignored the cursed canine. Like he could actually formulate conversational words in this muddled state.


    Sometimes, he saw scenes unfurling before his exhausted gaze. Scenes from his long and dark past, scenes that weren't there. It was like staring through a narrow tunnel he could never cross. His mother. The massacre. The forest. The crimes. The men. His death. Their deaths. The girl. He tried to linger on the joyful memories on the girl, aching to reach out with a healing limb and hold her hand once more. Her warm, thin, welcoming hand intwined with his cold, bandaged, and muddied one. Everytime he saw the girl in his hallucinations, he also saw betrayal. There were many things he also imagined in that dark, musty corner of the hut, shadowy beasts that had no name, wisps of feathered angels, and even his own corpse, rotting, stiff, and crying.


    At least the visions that teased him distracted his mind from the pain wracking his nerves as he concentrated on holding himself together. Damn, being dead was hard. It was glorified as some sweet release, but Pad wouldn't wish his fate on any of his enemies. Progressively, his broken frame had been appearing, well, less flattened, and occasionally, one could see his sides rising and falling in a ragged sigh. Such was the way of reverting back to his permanent body. But holy hell, did it have to be this slow?


    ***
    1K BITCHES
    ***
    Ska'arq hadn't flown so fast in his life. His mind had completely blocked out everything else. Blood pounding in his ears, the rush of wind in his face as he climbed to the islands. The devastation below had been completely wiped from his conscience. Pad was clutched in his arms, and he struggled not to squeeze him too hard. He didn't want to hurt him. After arriving to camp, he had all but begged Iselotta to help. There had been much doubt in whether or not she could actually do anything, but he eventually convinced her that Pad was still alive. Sort of.


    Without much she could do, Pad had eventually been laid in a nest in the den, where Ska'arq sat nearby, hunched like a gargoyle. Not for one moment did he leave the feline's side, his stare fixed on his still form. He will get better. He had seen Pad move. He was sure of it. He had felt it. Figurative brows furrowing, the dragon finally moved as he lowered himself to his belly, resting his chin on the ground as he continued to watch his friend.


    With hours passing, Ska'arq found himself falling asleep when a faint movement snapped him out of it. Head jerking up, his eyes narrowed as he peered at the ghost. Nothing... Nothing... There! He was breathing. He was breathing! The dragon trembled excitedly, jumping to his feet. "He's alright! He's alright!" he practically shouted, bouncing up and down. Then, as quickly as it came, the excitement died away as he flopped over again, gaze locking on the demon's less-flat form.


    He was still hurt, though. He hadn't said anything in quite some time. Was he okay? Could he even hear him?


    Maybe.


    Gently, oh so gently, he reached out with one of his hands until his fingers brushed the boy's fur. "Pad," he murmured. The pink vial had begun to glow gently. Yes, he trusted that Pad would come back. He would get better. "I really care about you. You're the only friend I've ever had." He frowned, still unsure if the boy could hear him. Maybe the gesture could be felt. "So... get well soon, okay? I'll carry you out to the lake if it still hurts to move. We can share stories again." A weak smile attempted to surface, but never quite made it. Ska'arq sighed and closed his eyes. "I look forward to it."
    ***
    ATTACK IN BOLD #6e65b5 - TAGS - EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

    Everything had been so quiet, so muted, it was awful. He wished there was something to do other than wildly hallucinate and contemplate the meaning of life. Fortunately, his wish came true.


    Pad would of jumped ten feet high at the booming voice of the dragon, but all that his burning muscles could bear was a startled flinch. Alright? Well, duh, he was alright. It wasn't like Pad could die a second time, or at least permanently. He didn't notice another's presence until now, too exhausted and too concentrated on other things. How long had Ska'arq been there? Had he been just sitting there, watching him? He knew the dragon was semi-stalkerish, but yes, this was concerning. Okay, maybe not that weird, but Pad just wasn't used to attention. He strained to lift up his head, to do anything, but his entire being felt like it had been loaded with stinging, torturous lead. As a coping mechanism to the constant waves of throbbing, Pad's mind simply shut out all the artificial pain his apparition sensed and created. He barely realized the fact that Ska'arq had dared to make contact with his frigid side. Ska'arq's words were alien to him. He cared? Pad thought he was emotionless, did the vials really serve as a complete substitute? His dead heart sank as he was called a friend. No, no, this was terrible. A friend was the last thing he wanted. He didn't want Ska'arq to end up like her, he couldn't bear another one growing too old for his companionship. Pad's eyes began to glaze over in dread, picturing Ska'arq leaving him behind, leaving him just like every other person he had known, while his immortal spirit stayed behind, never to rejoin them.


    He didn't hear what else Ska'arq had to say after that, he was too busy trying not to cry in front of him again. There was a pregnant silence afterwards, before, Pad dared to open up his jaws and attempt to communicate, closing his exhausted eyes to prevent any sign of sadness from being seen. After a failed sound or two, the ghost croaked, voice even scratchier than before due to neglect and words slurred by fatigue. "How long?" How long have I been out? It wasn't much, it was the only question he could correctly string together while his thoughts clashed and collided at light speed, going too fast for him to properly judge what was reality, and what was imagined. Pad shifted his neck, ignoring the agony the action brought with it, so he could see at least some of Ska'arq. He opened his eyes, honeyed optics glowing in the dim light and pupils adjusting as he tried to make out the dragon's familiar shapes in his bleared vision.