[In Communion, Byleth was far more solid in his perception of himself. There was no abstract, no ambiguity; he was as he was in reality, unable to conceptualise a 'him' beyond that which he saw in the mirror everyday. It meant that as Set reeled him into a shared Communion space, he offset Set's chaotic presence with his own immutable one, grounded despite the mental maelstrom the god buffeted him with.
It was like being trapped in a sandstorm, gritty and blinding. Byleth had to take a moment to blink the figurative sand out of his eyes, feeling a little like he had just ran headlong into a wall from being yanked so roughly into this joint space. His poor, unbeating heart was getting a bit of a shock from so much emotional overload here, goodness.]
I... yes, you have. [Byleth adjusted, though, as quickly as he could, and kept his grip firm on Set.] But you have me at a slight disadvantage... are you upset by your findings? Excited? Do you need me to help in some way?
[ Byleth is rooted and firm, where Set has always gone where his whims have taken him. A trait that had caused an unending grief and madness to be born ( to have been exacerbated? ) within others, but not Byleth. He has always been gentle, been kind. No matter the numbed neutrality of emotions within him, he has clearly always felt things, lived by a code that might have befitted a mercenary, but had also allowed him to grow into something sweet.
It seems that it takes a long moment, for Set to fully recognize who's mind he has dashed himself into. Longer still to muddle through that it is Byleth, that he does not know why he has driven himself to Byleth. Why he is held instead of thrown out. The disorientation of it leaves him a swirling storm, the impression of his wrist caught within a firm grip. And with the cooling, calming wash of Zenith, Set forms from the sands and drops into Byleth's company — the guise of a human with endless red hair pouring behind him like veils and ribbons, back into the depths of his own mind.
]
Oh. Of course I would come to you.
[ A little raw, he admits aloud something he seems to have come to realize. ]
No, no. Liem is with me, we are deciding what to do — I only was feeling so many things at once, and there was not enough of "me" to hold it all.
[Byleth, always cutting to the heart of the matter. Still, there was no judgement or anything in Byleth's voice, just a simple observation, his grip gentling on Set but not releasing him. He found it easier to gaze upon the god now that he had taken a form he could fully understand. A sandstorm wasn't really kind on the eyes.]
Do you feel better now? If you still feel too much, I could try singing to calm your emotions. I'm not sure how effective it'd be within the confines of our mind, though...
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the pen!!!
It was like being trapped in a sandstorm, gritty and blinding. Byleth had to take a moment to blink the figurative sand out of his eyes, feeling a little like he had just ran headlong into a wall from being yanked so roughly into this joint space. His poor, unbeating heart was getting a bit of a shock from so much emotional overload here, goodness.]
I... yes, you have. [Byleth adjusted, though, as quickly as he could, and kept his grip firm on Set.] But you have me at a slight disadvantage... are you upset by your findings? Excited? Do you need me to help in some way?
no subject
It seems that it takes a long moment, for Set to fully recognize who's mind he has dashed himself into. Longer still to muddle through that it is Byleth, that he does not know why he has driven himself to Byleth. Why he is held instead of thrown out. The disorientation of it leaves him a swirling storm, the impression of his wrist caught within a firm grip. And with the cooling, calming wash of Zenith, Set forms from the sands and drops into Byleth's company — the guise of a human with endless red hair pouring behind him like veils and ribbons, back into the depths of his own mind.
Oh. Of course I would come to you.
[ A little raw, he admits aloud something he seems to have come to realize. ]
No, no. Liem is with me, we are deciding what to do — I only was feeling so many things at once, and there was not enough of "me" to hold it all.
no subject
[Byleth, always cutting to the heart of the matter. Still, there was no judgement or anything in Byleth's voice, just a simple observation, his grip gentling on Set but not releasing him. He found it easier to gaze upon the god now that he had taken a form he could fully understand. A sandstorm wasn't really kind on the eyes.]
Do you feel better now? If you still feel too much, I could try singing to calm your emotions. I'm not sure how effective it'd be within the confines of our mind, though...