Multiple Settings Crescent Hill ~ IC thread

[Pyroclast]

August Lovell
~ Crescent Inn ~​

It was a mystery to August what had come over Helena, but the sickly pallor of her face and the tremble on her breath worried him. He was sure she had been fine only a minute ago, when he had been laying on the couch. Maybe, he wondered, it was one of those things when the body puts off the illness or the stress until it has time to feel it - she had had to be the strong one when he wasn't feeling well, but as soon as he started feeling better and no longer needed her watchful eye on him, her own body had given in. Could it be that?

Even reasoning with himself, he couldn’t shake his concern. He watched as Helena stumbled over to the sofa and sank into the cushions. She looked so small, somehow. Smaller than she usually held herself. She took the tiniest sip of water from the water bottle. August wondered how long the bottle had been there - it looked full, at least, and when the screw cap made that click sound he was at least reassured that it was new and he hadn’t just suggested Helena drink from a water bottle that had once touched the lips of one of their guests. He wasn’t sure who would have left an unopened water bottle there, but if Helena was at all nauseous then perhaps room temperature water would be more palatable to her than one taken straight from the fridge.

With her legs drawn up onto the sofa, Helena looked even smaller, and August felt a natural desire to pull her into his arms and cradle her. Instead, he took a tentative seat beside her and scanned her with a worried gaze. She told him that Lydia had gone to get them some cocoa after her study session, something that she suggested he ought to know, but he was pretty sure his cousin hadn’t told him anything about that. He did remember she had been in the inn earlier, but figured she must have left around the time he fainted and before he woke up again. “Well, that’s sweet of her,” he said softly. “And also good, because now I can stay here with you.”

For some reason she still seemed concerned for him, and her voice even wavered a little when she spoke. When she dropped her gaze and admitted she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts, it reminded August of when he would feel like that. For him, it had been mostly in the aftermath of the death of his sister and father, at times when he was so shaken and so upset that if he was left alone with his thoughts, they would lead him to fulfill an uncontainable urge to do something crazy: to break something, to punch a hole through the wall, to run away somewhere, to hurt himself, to scream out the anxiety until his throat grew hoarse. Or simply let his thoughts run until he broke down into inconsolable tears, or a panic attack so bad that he couldn’t breathe. During such times, he had needed an anchor, somebody to distract him from his thoughts. Just watching TV or playing video games wasn’t enough - he needed attention, and a reason to keep his head up, and having someone there beside him worked better than anything to stave off the intense emotion.

That’s what he imagined Helena meant; that if he left her alone with her thoughts now, she would descend into tears or panic. He had to be that anchor for her. “Well, then I won’t leave you alone,” he assured her. “I’m right here, Helena.” She held her hands together in a desperate grip, and he could recognise signs of tension and distress in the way she held herself. When she described the tightness in her lungs, the weight in her chest that she couldn’t shake, the buzzing in her head as if everything was growing distant, and the multitude of incomprehensible voices all fighting to take the wheel, he understood what was happening.

“Helena, I think you’re having a panic attack,” he told her. “It’s okay, I used to get them all the time. Just focus on my voice, alright? I’m right here beside you and I’m not going anywhere. We’re gonna get through it together.” He took his eyes off her and instead looked ahead so that she didn’t feel self-conscious or observed, then he let his hand rest in the space between them. “I’m not going to touch you, but if you want someone to hold onto, then I’m here,” he offered. “We’re going to breathe together, now. You can put a hand on your chest or your stomach if you want - I find it helps sometimes to just feel a bit of warmth where the anxiety is. So, first we’re gonna take an inhale through your nose, as deep and slow as you can, and then when you can’t breathe in any more, you’re gonna let it all out through the mouth in a forceful exhale. And on that exhale, just like, imagine that you’re expelling those bad thoughts. So, every time you breathe out, you're undoing a knot or silencing one of those voices.” August stole a glance at his friend, and sent her a reassuring smile before looking away again. “Alright, ready? Let’s breathe in.”

August placed a warm hand over his stomach as he followed his own instructions, listening to make sure that Helena was following along with him. The point of it was to shift the focus from the mind to the body, and in the process gain control of both. Yet, as August performed the technique, he couldn’t help but wonder what had caused Helena to grow so anxious all of a sudden. Was something going on that he didn’t know about? Surely she couldn’t just be worried about him. After all, he was fine.

After a short while, he returned to his normal breathing pattern and looked over at her, watching her for a moment to see if she was any less tense. “Helena…” he piped up, his voice low and gentle. “I don’t know if you’re going through something or whatever, but…if you ever wanna talk, I’m here for you. You know, I think of you as a close friend, and I care about you. I know we work a customer facing job and part of that means leaving your shit at the door, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to be brave all the time, or pretend to be okay all the time. If you’re not doing okay, you can come to me and I’ll listen, I’ll do what I can to make you feel better.” He leaned down to try to catch her eye, willing her to look at him. "So...is there anything you wanna talk to me about?"

Bellz Helena

 

[Bellz]

Helena Crayne
Crescent Inn​

It felt strange—maddening, even—and disturbingly familiar. Helena’s gaze fixed on her trembling hands, resting unsteadily in her lap. They weren’t shaking from hunger, the constant presence that usually gnawed at her mind, but from something else entirely. Anger, her ever-persistent shadow when pushed too far, simmered quietly, but this wasn’t that. Tears refused to fall, though she felt as if she might shatter at any moment. The mix of terror and strange relief left her dizzy, her thoughts spinning out of control. It was so unlike her. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if there had been vervain in the water she drank. But no—it had been sealed.


“Panic? Attack?” she repeated softly, her tone distant as August’s words settled over her. She frowned, her brows knitting as she turned her focus toward him. Yet even as she listened, it was a battle not to let her senses zero in on him completely. Every sound, every movement threatened to pull her attention to him in ways he couldn’t begin to understand. When August turned his gaze forward, she mirrored the action, forcing herself to quiet the chaos in her mind. The soft creak of leather brushing skin broke the silence—his hand had settled between them, steady and calm, just like his words. 


She felt utterly wretched. He offered her comfort she didn’t deserve—or at least, that’s what she told herself. Maybe her body, ancient as it was, was finally reaching its breaking point. Immortality had its limits, after all. Perhaps this was hers: not a battle, not a dramatic end, but a humiliating collapse under the weight of a simple panic attack. What a pathetic way to go—again. Her original death, she thought bitterly, had been far less cruel. Helena glanced at August as he spoke, promising they’d breathe together, guiding her through the steps. When their eyes met, she forced a smile, though it felt weak and hollow. She despised the vulnerability in it. “Breathing. Right,” she whispered, her voice barely audible and frayed with unease.

Helena's usually soundless, unnecessary breaths now came embarrassingly loud, and she silently thanked the heavens that blushing was no longer a possibility. Her mother’s words echoed faintly in her mind: Thou turns red as a poppy whenever caught, Lena. That trait, thankfully, had vanished after her transformation, sparing her the scarlet humiliation she would’ve otherwise endured. The thought almost made her smile. Almost. Yet, as she focused on August’s instructions, her breathing evened out. The tangled chaos in her head began to loosen, leaving her with a single thought.

Somehow, he must have sensed the shift, for he called her name, snapping her attention back to him. She hadn’t realized her eyes had closed until they opened, locking onto his. Cool and composed once more, her brown eyes studied him silently. “Yes, August?” Helena murmured, tilting her head as she spoke. Her voice was calm, no longer masking unease beneath. While the questions still lingered, he couldn’t know the real reason for her panic—that she feared she’d hurt him. Even now, she wasn’t sure she hadn’t. His fragmented memory haunted her, each gap a nagging question she couldn’t answer. What more could she do but hope the blood had worked? The restless flutter returned slightly, clawing its way to her throat as she placed a hand there.

August offered to talk, his assumption that her distress stemmed from something mundane almost laughable. If only her problems were human. Maybe she was carrying too much—of course she was—but she had no one she trusted enough to tell. Wren and Morgan were her only options, and even they came with complications. Wren’s eventual absence was inevitable, a painful truth she tried to ignore. Morgan… was unpredictable at best. Someday, Helena might find herself as alone as she had been during those first two centuries of existence. It was a mystery to her why she still cared for humans at all. Yet, August was proving again, he was different. He made everything feel more tangled, more significant. As he leaned closer, his subtle attempt to meet her gaze pulled her from the spiral of her thoughts. When their eyes finally met, she allowed him to glimpse only what she chose, guarding the rest. He’d seen enough already. But in his eyes, she saw everything—every ounce of concern, every silent question lingering there. That quiet, unwavering worry wouldn’t fade until she gave him something, even the smallest truth, to ease his mind.

“August, you’ve done more for me than you should,” Helena said softly, her voice fragile and barely above a whisper. “Especially after falling from a ladder.” Her breath hitched, and the weight of her words hung between them. She blinked slowly, her teeth grazing her bottom lip as she decided to offer him that small truth. “Not being outside has made me a bit… edgy,” she admitted after a pause. “The tours help. I need the fresh air. It’s like trying to keep a dog that’s been outside its whole life trapped indoors.” A soft laugh escaped her as a genuine smile curved her lips. “Oh god, I’m comparing myself to a dog,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “For the record, I’m much cleaner than a dog.” A chuckle bubbled out of Helena as she shook her head, finally breaking eye contact. She buried her face in her cold hands, rubbing her cheeks gently before glancing around the now-empty room.

When she spoke again, her voice was quieter, tinged with vulnerability. “The Festival puts me on edge,” she admitted. “I’m not… fond of the memories it brings back. Bitter ones, mostly.” Her gaze lingered on the empty space, her expression darkening slightly. When Helena spoke again, her voice dipped into something colder, something sharper. “Ghosts belong in the graveyard where they can’t haunt the living.” She said no more.

with: Unpaid Therapist Pyroclast