Things were falling back into place, the way they had been, always would be. Somehow they found themselves together, time and time again, exchanging words in easy companionship, slipping back into the past, into how things used to be.. and still ought to be. Mauja had been one to joke about death, falling from cliffs, to always contemplate the darkness in the world but never let it weigh him down, so how had it anchored itself to his heart and dragged him beneath the murky waves? How had he let it happen?

Weeks of isolation on a snowy waste, trapped in a land that wasn't yours, prisoner with familiar faces worn by strangers. It does things to you...

It wore away your resolve like a cliff before the onslaught of a wave, until he had longed for death, for a release from the torment. The memory was unpleasant, something shameful; he hadn't told the Doctor, but how would he react, if he'd open his mouth and let those cursed words out? I wanted to die, d'Artagnan. That plunge would be too deep — at first, he had clung to the hope of life, swearing over and over that he was still alive, but as the days stretched on he'd begun to wish for death, a finite end, release from the limbo he'd been trapped in. The words threatened to burst out of his throat, building up like bile in the back of his mouth, but he bit them down. They belonged in the past, and he wouldn't let them taint the future.

"Emotions have a way of doing that," he murmured, flicking one ear. Hadn't Psyche taught him that already? Her stone-cold efficiency kept the machine running when Mauja's rusty gears had spiraled out into space, and to remember the dream — it was awkward, having watched that moment of their past again, seen a future that could be.. but she was made of ice, more than he was, and at the mention of Seiren he winced. Some days he regretted throwing her out — she was talented, that was undeniable — but for what she did.. she'd deserved it, hadn't she? She, a soldier of the Plague, instrument of their dominance, raped by a Pegasus, and giving birth to some hell-spawn... "Seiren. Did I ever tell you she gave birth to a half-blood?" But his soft question was almost drowned in talk of the cave, and unless d'Art caught on to it, he wouldn't bring it up again. There was no point in riling the Doctor up with tales of his wayward sister and her sins against their race.

"I'm glad you agreed to try yourself against the rigors of delusional fodder. That means, if by some accident you do die, it's not actually my fault." He snorted, a sound full of mock disdain though his lips remained in a good-natured grin. "All blame goes to the fool, hail King Mauja the Idiot! I reign supreme in the realm of stupidity.. because, y'know, I think you're pretty secure as the Lord of Madlands." The strange feeling of trust remained — a year ago, the comment would've worried him.. but somehow, he knew that d'Artagnan wouldn't willingly kill him. Maybe give him something that made him crazy for days and all sorts of nauseous, or knock him senseless for a week to put him in his place, but kill him? No. He found that he could not believe it, his paranoia could not rear its ugly head and even whisper the slightest doubt in his ears. d'Artagnan was mad as a hatter, but when it came to Mauja, harmless: in some twisted way clarity washed over him, and he knew that he would be safe. Safe. What a laughable concept in a cave full of drugs and poisons, yet he found himself believing it as they stepped into the Doctor's abode. Secrets and dangers tugged at his senses, nose wrinkling with the battering of unfamiliar scents. Most sent warning tingles down his spine, and as he caught his friend's look he gave him an innocent-looking smile.

Once in the cave Mauja came to a halt in the open space, peering around curiously in every direction as d'Artagnan shuffled around, looking for something. His attention was a bit here and a bit there, thinking about Aramis playing around and his backside taking off before they went into the cave, paying a visit to Irma, who in no uncertain terms told him he was an idiot and that she wouldn't talk to him for a week, thinking about.. gods, death, Seiren, and where the hell was Alan these days..?

Suddenly the Doctor spoke again, and Mauja's attention went back to him. He'd scrounged up some green leaves, and at a glance they seemed harmless enough.. but knowing his friend, they'd not be. "Do you have a secret stash of victims or do you try things at random and hope for the best?" he asked curiously as he ambled over, lowering his muzzle to nip at the leaves. They tasted.. normal? It was unnerving, how normal the plant seemed and tasted, knowing that it had some sort of effects — evidently d'Artagnan had some subconscious memory of them being good, as he promised a good night while claiming to not remember what had happened. Mauja mulled it over as he ground the leaves down between his teeth, wondering how many other toxic or just outright weird plants that grew around here. What if he got something when grazing? A strain of his old fear flared to life, but he fought it down. Surely d'Artagnan would tell him if the Basin was infested with some sort of chameleon nightshade. The glob of psychoactive plant mass slid down his throat, and he worked his jaws soundlessly for a while, trying to figure out the taste, and clear his mouth of the pieces of greenery stuck in his teeth in a rather unflattering manner. "So.. now we just wait for me to keel over and die?" he said in a light voice, his grin giving the joke away.

[ this turned out so massive anyway I just skipped starting to get him high xD ]