[ jayce's chest expands like two balloons still filled with fluid— but at least they move. the sunken cavity rises and falls, rises and falls with each breath of life viktor gives him. parts of jayce, such as his limbs, his hands, twitch and unfurl with an abberant jerk to the movement itself, like it wants to shift. the muscles were energized, now they only needed the brain to switch on. consciousness to reactivate.
their chances look dim the longer jayce just doesn't breathe on his own. the air whistles in and bubbles the blood still sitting in his lungs, but that is what repeats— soft whistling, expansion, and a subtle spuming reverberating inside its broken casing like blowing through a straw into a glass of water. if viktor doesn't give up, neither does jayce, and the result of that shines through like the surprise pop from an ignition. with one more push of viktor's blow, the hardest one yet— jayce finally reacts. he lurches violently and coughs inward, a warning sign for viktor to retreat with his mouth, because the second time jayce coughs, it's a messy expulsion. blood, blight and frothy sputum stain his teeth versicolor and splatters wherever the blots fall. strangely enough, it doesn't feel as dire as his earlier breathing. it might even be more of a relief than something to panic about.
jayce's convulsing to disgorge the blood continues for a short while, barely enough to fully clean his airways— but he is gasping, wetness scratching his throat and a deep bubbling recoiling in his chest that makes it feel like someone threw him into the ocean and placed a boulder on top to keep him there. he takes his first breath after laying dead for a few hours, which shouldn't be possible, but here he was: back. not exactly alive. not entirely dead. very disoriented as his eyes reel back into his head when he tries to open them.
he can't translate if what he's feeling under his ribs is immense pain or bizzare pleasure. it feels like lava and ice course through him with each thrum, leaving a trail of intense vigor behind, an obscure warping that— distorts, disrupts the pain, and growls within his marrow like the mercury hammer's core would respire. it's the same wordless whisper that came from rubbing his rune, that humming in his brain . . .
he is hushing nonsense, none of the sounds actual words yet beyond broken syllables. it's not until an uncoordinated hand tries to pad at his collar down to the hole in his chest, weak, sloppy and unaware it's gaping because there's something there, there's pressure and vibrating, and burning when he breathes so maybe he should whack it off— ]
I-I'm . . . Ready, V—
[ his voice is so hoarse, garbled, not unlike someone trying to talk under waves and yet he still speaks. he's ready to "try again", but it seems he's in dire need of aid first. or, well.
perhaps he's a bit beyond that. it should be hurting more than he shows. it should be excruciating. but it's likely jayce is a little too detached from what's happening to catalog what he's feeling at all.
no subject
their chances look dim the longer jayce just doesn't breathe on his own. the air whistles in and bubbles the blood still sitting in his lungs, but that is what repeats— soft whistling, expansion, and a subtle spuming reverberating inside its broken casing like blowing through a straw into a glass of water. if viktor doesn't give up, neither does jayce, and the result of that shines through like the surprise pop from an ignition. with one more push of viktor's blow, the hardest one yet— jayce finally reacts. he lurches violently and coughs inward, a warning sign for viktor to retreat with his mouth, because the second time jayce coughs, it's a messy expulsion. blood, blight and frothy sputum stain his teeth versicolor and splatters wherever the blots fall. strangely enough, it doesn't feel as dire as his earlier breathing. it might even be more of a relief than something to panic about.
jayce's convulsing to disgorge the blood continues for a short while, barely enough to fully clean his airways— but he is gasping, wetness scratching his throat and a deep bubbling recoiling in his chest that makes it feel like someone threw him into the ocean and placed a boulder on top to keep him there. he takes his first breath after laying dead for a few hours, which shouldn't be possible, but here he was: back. not exactly alive. not entirely dead. very disoriented as his eyes reel back into his head when he tries to open them.
he can't translate if what he's feeling under his ribs is immense pain or bizzare pleasure. it feels like lava and ice course through him with each thrum, leaving a trail of intense vigor behind, an obscure warping that— distorts, disrupts the pain, and growls within his marrow like the mercury hammer's core would respire. it's the same wordless whisper that came from rubbing his rune, that humming in his brain . . .
he is hushing nonsense, none of the sounds actual words yet beyond broken syllables. it's not until an uncoordinated hand tries to pad at his collar down to the hole in his chest, weak, sloppy and unaware it's gaping because there's something there, there's pressure and vibrating, and burning when he breathes so maybe he should whack it off— ]
I-I'm . . . Ready, V—
[ his voice is so hoarse, garbled, not unlike someone trying to talk under waves and yet he still speaks. he's ready to "try again", but it seems he's in dire need of aid first. or, well.
perhaps he's a bit beyond that. it should be hurting more than he shows. it should be excruciating. but it's likely jayce is a little too detached from what's happening to catalog what he's feeling at all.
maybe that's it. ]