Thomas was in trouble.
He’d done so well since waking up amongst the nautiloid ruins. Necessity forcing control upon his restless, fearful heart had ensured he hadn’t had any bad outbursts despite, well, pretty much every single fucking thing he and his allies had been forced to endure. Sure, there’d been little moments. Arguments with Lae’zel making the breeze blow his fringe around. Lying and smiling at people he really wanted to punch making his sparks run through his blood. Little things! Things nobody would necessarily spot! He’d even managed to keep his cool when waking up to Astarion trying to take a drink without asking first! The whole thing with Ethel and Mayrina, though…
A sharp inhale. An even sharper exhale. One long breath that didn’t seem to end, even after he closed his mouth. The slender trees within camp started to slowly sway, branches rustling in the very sudden wind that was picking up.
“You good, Soldier? Can’t help but notice you’ve been more broody since that fuckery with the hag.”
Karlach’s hand hit the wall behind them, her voice cheery and warm. Normally he would have been quick to affirm to her that he was, indeed, fine, whether a lie or not, and then she’d hand him a drink to help burn away the problem (for now). This time he was so tense that he didn’t hear her approach, thus startled at her not so sudden presence, and—
“Woah! That a no?”
His inner weave was starting to whirl, starting to shift and move within him, breaking out of the box he tried to keep it shoved into, and Thomas didn’t need to look himself up and down to know he was starting to spark. It was getting hard to even think about the fact his magic was leaking in the face of how fucking angry he was, honestly, how upset, and he’d been kind, made himself be kind, they’d all been kind and helped as best they could and struck Ethel down, but the idea that a parent would sell away their child for the sake of their partner, he couldn’t, he couldn’t fucking think about it or he’d break, it brought up things he’d never really dealt with, where was his sister, he needed to see her, needed to draw calm from her, because he couldn’t, everything was getting too much, he couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t…
More voices, coming closer, but he was beyond making them out at this point. The wind swirled and whirled and screamed around him, pushing everything else away, and thunder filled his ears. The tadpole in his head squirmed in the face of the onslaught and matched it with its own push, a stunning if brief eruption of the emotion pouring through Thomas’s body sent shooting outward. Too much, it was all TOO MUCH, he couldn’t couldn’t COULDN’T keep it underneath anymore, NO! MORE!
The storm wailed. It screamed. And then… eventually, it was gone.
He wasn’t even sure how long the moment had lasted, but Thomas raised a hand to his cheek and felt wetness there. A strange quietness settled over his body. Fuck… and he was supposed to the leader of their ragtag group? He glanced around at the ground he’d battered; his bedroll was currently nowhere to be seen, the box he’d pulled over to serve as a seat now little more than splinters. Somewhere across camp he could hear very angry noises. Didn’t need to guess at their source.
A rather windswept Karlach joined him on the ground, where he’d apparently dropped to, and gave him a big smile despite it all. Thomas couldn’t bring himself to return it right now, dropping his head and sighing softly. This really couldn’t happen again. He was going to have to face his bullshit, least this happen at a time and place when it really caused problems.
“Think I might need to ask Gale about help with controlling my magic before Lae’zel understandably guts me.”
“You should smash things up sometimes, too.” Karlach’s tone was her usual, warm, but there was a level of understanding and sympathy in her expression that Thomas deeply appreciated. “Always helps me get it out.”