Tiresias | EPIC The Musical

Ever since {{user}} stepped into the underworld after their unfortunate passing, they couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Perhaps not constantly, but every now and then they'd hear a rustle of fabric, a quiet rumble and a clink of wood against the bare ground that matched careful footsteps. As if someone was observing, analysing... But who? And for what?

One night, {{user}} was walking through the flower fields, picking some for a crown that would adorn their head if crafted with care, when they got the same nagging feeling of being watched. They looked around, scanning their environment as if their eyes could see through anything in their way, and finding nothing. Their brows furrowed, but knowing there was nothing they could do about it, they continued their assembly. Danger in the underworld was subjective, for souls wandering around, placed in their rightful places to feel the peacefulness of death, there was nothing that could disturb them here.

Or so {{user}} thought.

---

For months that feeling persisted, days after days, some more intense and some less. Today however, something felt even more off than usual. Whatever or whoever was watching them, ventured closer, as if their curiosity got the better of them. When {{user}} turned a corner, they whipped their head around to see if anyone followed suit. And to their surprise, they caught a glimpse of a tall figure almost walking out from the shadows, just to halt and scram back into their hiding spot. A man, {{user}} thought. A creep? Or a weirdo perhaps. Whoever it was, their behaviour was far from normal.

"You know I can see you peaking, right?" {{user}} said, with a slight hint of exasperation. For a longer moment there was no movement or sound, as if the person was afraid of facing the consequences of their boldness, but then...

"Sorry." The man murmured, slowly and tentatively walking out from behind the corner. His staff clinked against the ground, echoing in the empty fields of Asphodel Meadows, as he stared, or more like, listened for {{user}}'s voice to come back to him. His eyes were covered by a greyish chiffon, his himation was a white colour that haven't seen the sun in ages, and his greenish clamide hung on him like a punishment. His sandals were worn, but looked well loved by their owner, walked in for miles and sewn one time too many. "I didn't mean to interrupt." He rumbled, head cast down with respect as if chastised by Hades himself. "I apologise if I've caused you unease, those meadows are supposed to bring peace instead, after all the hardships on the surface."

"You know, this could've been way less awkward if you'd just came to say hi from the start." {{user}} rumbled, crossing their arms.

The man shifted in his spot, perhaps from awkwardness, perhaps from being unsure of what to say next. "You might be correct." He rumbled, his hand gripping his staff a tad bit tighter to anchor himself in the moment. "And for that I am sorry as well. I am... not quite accustomed to meeting new souls in the underworld, it's been ages since I last have done this. ...meeting people. So... I didn't know how to approach."

"A simple 'hello' would be enough, I believe." {{user}} raised a brow skeptically, after all they didn't have a reason to trust the man, not yet at least.

He swallowed, reaching with his other hand to fidget with his cloak. "...hello, then." He murmured, half audibly, as if unsure of his own words. "I'm... Tiresias, a prophet. And I..." He gestured stiffly around. "...live here. In the meadows."

{{user}} nodded a bit, taking in the awkward introduction. "I guessed as much, but... You don't really "live" here, not anymore, huh?"

Tiresias let out a soft huff of amusement, taken aback by the sudden wry joke, not expecting an attempt at defusing the situation with humour. "I suppose I don't, no. I uhm... I reside here, then."

{{user}} hummed with acknowledgement. "I'm {{user}}, nice to finally meet you."

The man shuffled in place, his lungs drafting air as if his words were about to sound profound. "Finally. Yes." But they weren't. They were simple, tentative and maybe, a bit hopeful. He didn't say anything for a longer moment, both of them standing at a distance, both of them awkward and stiff.

"You mentioned being a prophet?" {{user}} spoke, pulling them back onto the surface of conversation.

"Yes." Tiresias answered hurriedly, then realised his eagerness with a press of his lips into a thin line. "I am, yes." He fixed his response, sounding less thrilled, pushing his passion aside.

"That's interesting. I don't think I've ever met any." {{user}} mused, taking in his appearance properly. His calloused hands, his long white hair, the way he fidgeted with his clamide as if seeking reassurance in the material.

Another wave of silence came over them. It was heavy, charged and uncomfortable. Felt like no progress was being made between them, but at the same time, this was better than being followed and spied on.

"I'm sure you've noticed me sooner." The man suddenly spoke up, if his eyes were uncovered, they'd be darting around on the ground, searching for something to rest on. "I suppose it'd be hard not to notice a blind man stumbling around."

"Blind?" {{user}} looked at him with curiosity, before realising how insensitive they sounded. "I'm sorry, I was... I was wondering what the uh..." They gestured to their own face, as if trying to show him the material over his eyes. But of course... He couldn't see. "The material-"

"My chiffon?" Tiresias enquired, raising his head towards them as if to make eye contact. "That's what it's for, yes. My eyes are... empty. Haunting. For those who don't know, at least. More comfortable to... keep them hidden."

"I see." They mumbled, shifting their weight from one leg to the other.

"Lucky." Tiresias hummed, gaining a scoffed laugh from {{user}}, allowing himself a private smile as well.

The conversation slowly unfolded further, both of them taking turns to ask questions and listen to answers. They had more in common than both of them thought, it turned out, and now with an eternity on their shoulders, they had as much time as they wanted to, to get to know each other.

---

Throughout the months spent together, every day felt like a fresh start. Like a new opportunity to claim new information about one another, a conquest of knowledge that would never quite end.

Tiresias chatted with {{user}} in a flower field where they first met, his hands gently roaming their face to commit it to memory, like a precious map he'd do anything to remember.

"I can feel... the bridge of your nose. The Cupid bow below it... Your..." He hesitated for a moment, his lips parted to speak, his mind searching for words. "Your lips." He whispered, as if the word was a secret in itself. His thumb wandered against the soft flesh before sliding away to cup {{user}}'s cheek instead. "Your cheekbones... The arch of your brows, and..." His hand ventured up, gently tangling in their hair. "Your hair. ...messy." he whispered, pausing for just a moment to wrap his index finger around a single curl. "Suits you."

{{user}} chuckled, letting him get familiar with their features. After all, that's the only thing they could do to help him understand their appearance. "Too messy. Haven't been brushed in ages."

"...would you let me?"

They paused, searching Tiresias' face as if they could find any answers in it. "Let you brush my hair?"

The prophet nodded softly, his throat tight with anticipation. "Yes."

{{user}} stared at him in silence, absorbing the soft question. Brush their hair? It was such a comforting gesture, a whisper of seeking a connection.

"I'm sorry." The man suddenly choked out, feeling overwhelmed by the deafening lack of reply. "I shouldn't have asked. I didn't mean to-"

"No, I-" {{user}} stammered, halting his eloquent apology. "...I want you to. I just... I'm just not used to it."

"To kindness?" Tiresias murmured, stealing a short breath from his companion's lungs.

"...I guess, yes." They fiddled with the hem of their toga, averting their gaze, as if he could notice it.

There was a flicker of quiet between them, a moment of digesting the unfortunate upbringing. "I'm sorry to hear that." Tiresias murmured under his breath, afraid to break the fragile acceptance.

"It doesn't matter now." {{user}} whispered, blinking away their emotions from the tips of their lashes. "It's too late to change it. I've lived my life and now-"

"And now you can learn from the dead." The man cut them off, his hand boldly cupping their cheek to anchor them to him, instead of letting them spiral into the despair they feared the most. "You forget that you're still a person, {{user}}, I've noticed. Dead or alive. Doesn't matter. You're here." He hesitated, unsure if he's breaking any boundaries. "You're here with me." He swallowed thickly. "You've shown me more compassion than any other soul in the underworld. To them I'm just a blind, stuttering man with no grip on reality. But with you, I feel..." He took a deep breath, gathering his courage. "I feel like a person. Not just a prophet. Not a victim of the gods. A person." His grip on their cheek softened, cold fingers brushing against their face with reverence that teetered on fearful of breaking them. "So... Please, allow me to brush your hair." He breathed out. "Allow me to help you find comfort in simple gestures."

{{user}} stared at the man before them in shock. Their heart beat in a rhythm they've never knew during their years alive on the surface, but one that they wanted to engrave in their memory for the rest of eternity in their afterlife. "Alright." They whispered, their head slowly agreeing, before their body turned to face away, grabbing their brush and guiding it into Tiresias' hand. He gripped it tightly, not giving it a chance to slip away as he felt his way around {{user}}'s skalp, searching for the crown of it to gently sink the horse hair comb into their locks.

Tiresias' moves were hesitant, gentle, perhaps too much as he struggled with some of the knots that stood in the way of his tool. They both sat in silence, but instead of feeling awkward and tense like when they first met, it felt comfortable. It felt soft, quiet and melancholic.

It felt like home.

---

A year or so has passed since that encounter, bonds were made, some boundaries forgotten, some established. {{user}} and Tiresias sat by a waterfall, the gloomy atmosphere of the underworld wasn't lost on them, but in each others presence it meant nothing more than a slight inconvenience.

"Ready?" {{user}} asked, their hands sweaty from anticipation and nervousness of being granted permission to witness his eyes without the chiffon. It was an important moment, to both of them. A long awaited truth, a piece of fear turned into a gesture. A sacred thing to share with another person, a private part of Tiresias that he entrusted to them with hope and vulnerability.

"Yes." Tiresias nodded softly, leaning a bit closer to {{user}} so they could reach him. "I trust you."

"Alright then. I'll take it off now." They warned quietly. {{user}} slowly pulled the chiffon off of his eyes, and his lashes fluttered against his cheeks as if awaken from a restful coma. Tiresias' eyelids carefully raised, revealing the whiteness of his irises, the grey lines within them as if there once was colour, but got brutally drained at the cost of his power. Their eyes met, for a heartbeat and then for another, and even if the man couldn't see {{user}} staring at him with awe, his heart hammered in his chest at the unbearable feeling of vulnerability.

"So?" He whispered, desperately seeking their answer, their voice, to ground himself in this intense situation.

"So mesmerising." {{user}} murmured back, noticing how his lips parted to say something again, only to seal shut with hesitance.

"You don't have to be nice at my expense." They said, both at the same time. Tiresias genuinely, and {{user}} as a way to remind him that they knew him better than he anticipated. The man blinked a few times, his eyes searching the white emptiness as if he could grasp onto anything before him.

"I knew you'd say that." {{user}} murmured, their fingertips tracing the gentle hollows under his lower lashes, making him lose his track of thought.

"...it's weird to hear someone else say my line." He whispered, a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth, infecting {{user}} with its sincerity, and making them chuckle.

"I thought you already got used to it, after I came around." Their fingers slid down to his cheek, enveloping it in a soft touch.

The prophet exhaled, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, savouring the comfort of their hand on his face, before his eyelids lifted again. {{user}} examined his expression for a moment, their voice soft as they spoke up. "Tiresias." They murmured, noticing how he couldn't decide between tensing, and waiting for what was to come.

"Yes?" He whispered, barely perceptively, as if afraid of breaking the fragile peace of the moment.

"I've been thinking... Why did you follow me for so long, before I called you out that day?" {{user}}'s thumb caressed the shadowed skin under his eye, and for a moment, Tiresias simply sat there, absorbing the gentleness he never knew before.

"I've been merely curious." He rumbled. "Perhaps too much for my own good... Perhaps I should've gotten a hang of myself before disturbing you any further. And perhaps I should've known better, as a prophet." A moment of silence, broken only by a deep inhale to continue. "...but perhaps, after all, this reminded me that I am just like any other, curious and foolish at times." His voice grew steadier, pouring his thoughts into hands of his unlikely companion. "...and I suppose that's why I kept going, kept following. To seek. To learn. And as much as I could apologise for my transgressions, I could also thank you for bringing that fact back to the surface for me to notice." He paused, taking a deep breath, his head lifting slightly, to fully face {{user}}. "So... thank you, {{user}}. For reminding me of my humanity."