april event, phase one: seeds of unrest 🌱

[beleos]

THE BEGINNING

Summertime in Springstar has been on its way out, heralding the arrival of fall; winter has likewise given way to spring in Highstorm - at least, according to the calendar. Yet there is an unseasonable bite on the breeze - one growing as frigid as the mood among Meris and Zenites in their cities. Between Alenroux’s occupation and talk of ‘the Blight,’ worries have been on the lips of the citizens with increasing frequency - and with good reason. The reports of plant life dying, of objects crumbling, of people whose bodies are deteriorating are dominating the rumor mills and local papers.

Everything comes to a head early in the second half of Pelu.

After an unusual pocket of commotion in the Seat of the Tribune and the courtyard of Yima’s manor, an urgent announcement is made on behalf of both cities: both Great Trees have been quarantined, and no one is permitted in either location without clearance. New rumors spread of an ‘incident’ that saw those in the immediate vicinity of the Trees rapidly demonstrating symptoms of an illness that was becoming all too easy to identify. It had stricken with frightening speed; not long afterward…

The unrest had spread into the streets, and it wasn’t just about the Blight anymore.

Cetina and Kathova wasted no time in reaching out to the Bearers via Communion to offer them guidance from their leaders and incite them to action.

SPRINGSTAR: THE ROOT OF THE ISSUE

Day by day, changes unfold that render the city increasingly dangerous...

ROOTS:

Vine-like roots have begun to thread the streets, creeping upon and over buildings, spreading outward from the Tree in Heliopolis. Over the next two weeks, they will continue to grow in size and become more troublesome, slowly blooming ice-like leaves that radiate a sickly glow.

• GROWTH: Contrary to the Blight’s normal behaviors, some people and things around clusters of vines or leaves can experience a burst of vitality, growth, and splendor as if transforming to beyond peak condition. In a normal citizen, this may result in an almost manic level of energy, reckless behaviors, and aggression. In objects, they become more durable and efficient, but dangerously so - for example, a stovetop cooks faster but burns uncontrollably hot. In plant life, this results in overgrowth that can overwhelm and choke nearby flora, objects, or even people. Then, they burn out an hour after exposure and immediately succumb to a dire state of Blighted.


• CHILL: The temperatures will continue to drop throughout the next two weeks. It will be coldest where vines have clustered and outright dangerously so near where flowers have budded or bloomed in great numbers. This will force some people from their homes.

TIME POCKETS:

In seemingly random parts of the city, areas referred to as ‘time pockets’ have populated. There is no way to identify a time pocket but to stumble into one.

• REGRESSION: NPC’s in these areas will appear to freeze in time once a Bearer has breached the pocket’s radius but appear normal from the outside. Time within has halted at the point the pocket manifested ( typically covering an area like a city street or inside a single large building that sees regular use ). Objects can be freely manipulated but will not fall if thrown, etc.
  • The pocket cannot be left until the Bearer has achieved their objective. Attempting to exit the way they entered, they’ll run into an unseen barrier that is painful to the touch, a sensation of frigidity that travels to their Shard.
  • Their goal will be to locate a past version of themselves hidden from immediate view. This past version of themselves can be from any point in their lives but must be from a moment when they felt extremely vulnerable, isolated, wounded, or fearful.
  • Once finding this past version, they will feel the compulsion to either find a way to reassure their past selves somehow or kill them. Whether it is the Bearer themselves who performs these acts or another Bearer in their company does it for them, as long as their past selves are pacified enough ( to player satisfaction ) or dead, they will gain immunity to the pocket and may leave. The immediate area will remain frozen, however, and the past version will be revealed to be made of roots that will shrivel and die.
  • Note: Bearers will be able to see other Bearer’s past selves, even after they have been freed. Whether the past reflections are capable of speech while functional is up to player discretion.

HIGHSTORM: THE ROOTS OF CHANGE

The snows continue to fall over the city, feeling brittle against your skin...

ROOTS:

Vine-like roots have begun to thread the streets, creeping upon and over buildings, spreading outward from the Great Tree in Yima’s manor. Over the next two weeks, they will continue to grow in size and become more troublesome, slowly blooming ice-like leaves that radiate a sickly glow.

• SACRIFICIAL: [ CW: self-harm ] Where the roots snake and gather throughout the city, NPC’s in several locations are falling victim to the quiet, slow pulse of the flowers and their buds. They will sit and stare at the flowers for hours, unblinkingly, as their body begins to succumb to the Blight. If they are disturbed in any way - a loud noise, an attempt to move their person, etc - they will calmly look up from their worship and crack off a piece of their brittle body before returning to their reverie.
• In order to save them, a pair (or more) of Bearers must sneak up on the NPC - one using a pacifying spell given by one of the faction leaders while the other crushes the flower. If the NPC is not pacified before the flower is crushed, they will become hysterical and the Blight will rapidly consume them, causing them to perish. If they are pacified and the flower is not crushed, the spell will wear off within ten seconds with the same result.

• CHILL: The temperatures will continue to drop throughout the next two weeks. It will be coldest where vines have clustered and outright dangerously so near where flowers have budded or bloomed in great numbers. This will force some people from their homes.

TIME POCKETS:

In seemingly random parts of the city, areas referred to as ‘time pockets’ have populated. There is no way to identify a time pocket but to stumble into one.

• REFLECTIONS: NPC’s in these pockets are moving in surreal blurs, pieces of them moving forward as others move backward, some changing as if time were rapidly passing as others remain frozen still. The Bearers’ surroundings are distorted as if reflecting multiple realities simultaneously.
  • Their goal will be to locate a tall standing mirror situated alone in the center of the time pocket’s radius. The Bearer who first touches their reflection ( henceforth called “mirror-Bearer” ) will cause the world inside the pocket to suddenly stop, reflecting a comforting environment they have fond or pleasant associations with. The mirror will be gone.
• Something or someone the mirror-Bearer highly values, deeply misses, or sees as imperative to their character, goals, or desires will be present. If they make contact with this object or person, the Time Pocket loops and sends them back to searching for the mirror - but they will have no memory of this occurring. Their partner, however, will recall everything.
• Both Bearers will be released if five loops occur without the mirror-Bearer being stopped from causing the loop or if the mirror-Bearer is stopped from reaching their goal for five minutes ( willingly or otherwise ). The longer they refuse to make contact with this object or person, the more tempting and dire the need becomes inside of them.
• Once the Bearers are released, the Time Pocket disappears. If they manage to avoid contact with the temptation inside the Pocket, the roots and flowers in this area will be withered and dying, buying the NPC’s and buildings in this location some time. Otherwise, they will be thriving and dangerously blooming.
• Note: the mirror will not respond to the non-mirror-Bearer once it has been touched the first time.

ENTREE-TING HELP

The Tree of Life is in danger, and you know it. Both Yima and Cyrus have directed all Bearers who might listen to increase visitation to the Tree and monitor it for signs of the Blight - of its leaves changing color, of any frostbitten bark, of its roots withering.

And then, during a moment in which you find your mind at ease, at rest... you dream, even if dreaming is unnatural for you. You dream of yourself sitting beneath the massive bows of the Tree's breadth, at peace. The perpetual dawn's glow warms your skin in a way that seeps into your bones, leaving you certain you are safe from harm. The Tree reaches out, and though it cannot speak to you in words, you feel it is trying to convey a message: one of urgency. One of plea.

But you cannot understand...

Soon, the branches of the Tree are reaching out to others. You cannot see them, but you know they're there; a spiritual tether connects your Shards together, bringing you all into a place of wordless unity. And once your fellows have been summoned, you know what you are here for.

You feel it rather than see it: some meager, barely-there brush of something cold in the warmth of the island's comfort. The Tree is already infected, and the clock is running down for all of you.

When you wake to yourself, a feeling of dread not entirely your own will chase you, and you will find a single violet leaf in your hand.

MISC NOTES

• Bearers start with immunity to the Blight. They will not succumb to the effects of the Blight even if they handle the vines and flowers directly without precautions or care.
• The above effects will occur in small clusters and are not yet spread city-wide during phase one. The escalation of frequency characters will come across problematic clusters or Time Pockets will be slow building.
• For context, it takes about a month from infection to death or dissolution for the average person or object to succumb to the Blight. By the 21st, it will be three days to a week.
• Bearers will be directed by Cetina or Kathova to make efforts to protect the civilians and investigate the manifesting changes around both cities. Both factions are working on their own methods to attempt to counteract the Blight, but neither has produced a failsafe solution.
• The roots will remain mostly outdoors, for the most part, these first two weeks.
• Tensions will slowly ramp up in Alenroux, and there are checkpoints for any non-PC visitors to screen for signs of infection.
• Player characters who die inside the Time Pockets are dead and need their Shards brought to the Tree of Life for revival.
• HAVE FUN!! ♥

CODING

Comments

[epiprocta]

[ ... ah.

Things click a little, when Amos says that. 'He's me.' But not in a way that lends any real relief -- the clarity given by those words just makes him feel like he's standing at the edge of a cliff, a terrible ache sitting heavy in his guts. Gen knows that something warped Amos when he was very young, after all. And that child, the version of Amos still hunched over watery-eyed and pale before them is so young, and so terribly scared.

His instincts scream that he doesn't want to know what caused that fear.

But simply looking away and turning a blind eye isn't an option right now, is it? Because they need to figure out what's going on here in order to get out of this predicament. But even more importantly -- because he's all too aware of how ragged Amos' breaths sound from behind him. (He gets it. He does. He can't even imagine how he'd feel if he were to run into a younger version of himself.) He needs to be the one to deal with this situation, doesn't he? ]

... hey. [ Being kind, being gentle -- those aren't things that come easily to him. His father had made sure to shake any such 'softness' out of him from as far back as he can remember. But at least he can try -- his tone of voice is just a little lower, softer when he speaks towards that young version of Amos once more. ] Look here.

[ Gen waits until he's sure the kid's attention is on him, then taps his shoe against the line of bricks right before him. ]

See this line? I won't cross it unless you ask me to. [ And from right where he's standing, the kid's well out of his reach. A pause before he sighs -- remembering an ashtray -- and raises his hand to show his empty palms. ] And I don't have anything to throw at you. ... I'm not looking to hurt you.

[ To further emphasize his point, he huffs a quiet exhale, then slowly takes a seat on the ground, cross-legged with his hands resting against his knees. His gaze remains hard and focused, but at least he poses less of a physical threat this way, he's sure; he tries, too, to keep his voice calmer when he asks, ]

What happened here. [ To you. ]

[baltimores]

[ Both versions of Amos look up at Gen, have their eyes on him when he tells the kid to look here — the kid because he knows he's at these people's mercy; Amos because he needs to see what Gen is doing, how he's handling him. The kid's eyes track Gen's hands as he raises them, showing nothing; track Gen's body as he sits down, too.

After a minute, he starts to unfurl himself. He's still small, still hunched over, but no longer trying to disappear into himself; the tears have stopped, too. His cheeks are still stained, he's still disheveled and shivering, but he isn't hysterical anymore.

Even if he does flinch again at Gen's flat tone, but. He's not coming after him, he isn't taking anything from him.

Yet, whispers the voice in the back of his mind that's started to become a constant companion, and he takes another second to rub at his eyes. ]

I don't know. I don't know why I'm here, I...

[ He stops rubbing at his eyes. Looks up at Gen in full again, seeing him still having not moved. Behind him to Amos, a large, bearded man who apparently knows him, is him, quiet and doing a better job of hiding how shaken he is. ]

Please don't make me go back. Please don't. You're not going to hurt me so you can keep me here, right?

[ Sure, he's eyeing the two of them cautiously, but there's something almost hopeful in his voice. In his eyes. Hopeful and painfully, painfully desperate.

From behind Gen Amos chokes out an audible sob, because he knows that's not how this works. Like he hadn't begged before; like he wasn't always sent back anyway. ]

[epiprocta]

What did I just --

[ Unfortunately, Amos' obvious distress does nothing to assist in this situation. Gen's nerves are already on-edge, and hearing the sob from behind him just has him bristling for a moment, fingers clawing into the fabric of his pants as he starts snapping that irritable retort. After all, the only real way he knows how to solve any problem -- to try and resolve the distress of the people he cares about -- is through force and violence.

At least he catches himself before he can finish that sentence, ducking his gaze as he takes a hoarse breath, then forcing himself to exhale slowly. When he loosens his fingers from around that handful of fabric, it remains crinkled. But he doesn't move from where he's sitting. ]

... I don't want to hurt you. I ... don't wanna do anything to you. [ It's not a lie, technically. Even if he might have to kill this version of Amos -- because he hasn't forgotten some of the bullshit this place will pull, like with that dryad -- it won't be because he wants to. Gen frowns, a pointy ear flicking in thought as he considers his words. ] ... I just want to talk. I think.

[ He still has his gaze averted when he thinks in silence for a moment. Maybe it'll help; he knows he has a scary look to his face even when he's not trying to be intimidating. 'Gentle,' he reminds himself. He has to try to be gentle, even if it has his nerves twinging uneasily. And it's through that reminder that he manages to temper the edge to his voice at least a little. ]

If something shows up wanting to hurt you, I'll stop'em. I won't let'em get to you. So. You can calm down, alright?

cw allusion to child prostitution

[baltimores]

[ The kid flinches as Gen starts to snap at him, recoiling back slightly at that motion from his hands, fierce and aggressive. Irritable. Potentially violent, his eyes documenting everything he can as his mind scrambles to figure out what to do—

But Gen stops moving, and so does he. Gen's keeping his word so far, and he knows his best bet is to hope that continues. To not do anything else to make him mad. He looks up at the ear that flicks, expression shifting from cautious to a little awed — it moved, what is that — before settling back down.

Sitting back down, like normal. A little more comfortable, a little more confident. Because Gen is big, and scary, and hasn't shown interest in him the way he's getting accustomed to. And that last one is starting to count for way more than the first two. ]

... Okay. [ His voice is small, uncertain, hopeful. ] If any of the men come here you can kill them, right? So they won't touch me again?

[ Because Gen is doing everything he's said he would so far. And he's big. And he looks strong, and so does Amos right by him. So maybe he can kill johns for him after all. Maybe that's why he's mean, but a good kind of mean.

That's also when Amos sucks in his breath, lifting his head and meeting his younger self's eyes. And, in lieu of his younger self being able to do it on his own, because he's still keeping his distance, Amos instinctually reaches for Gen's knee. Anything to ground him, because why is this so hard to keep track of now.

He also manages to grate out a hoarse, ] Yeah. We can kill them.

[ He'd wanted to be able to do that so bad. And now he can, when it should be too late for him... when there isn't going to be anybody like that to kill here, but maybe it's nice just to think about being able to promise that much, and mean it. ]

[epiprocta]

[ No child should need to ask someone else to kill for them. Let alone one so young. (But that's how it goes, isn't it? There's no other solution.) The thought sends a bitter pang through his chest -- one that Amos must surely feel as well -- even if Gen doesn't respond with much more than a grit of teeth at first, his fingers silently tangling into the fabric of his pants once more.

And while he does flinch when he notices the hand reaching for his knee, he doesn't dare look up at Amos, at either version of him. Somehow, the prospect of meeting either of those blue, blue eyes and connecting it to what he's hearing right now scares him. Gen is uncharacteristically quiet for a moment before finally responding. ]

... okay. [ So he keeps his eyes averted, gaze fixed on some indistinct point on the ground when he answers quietly. ] If that's what you want -- ... if that's what you need, then I'll do it for you.

[ He can do it, he thinks. He can do it if it's for Amos.

(But you've never killed anyone for another person's sake,' a voice chides at the back of his mind. 'You're just a selfish brute to the core.') ]

-- but you know. [ It's a little brusque when he speaks again, an attempt to drown out his own thoughts. His ears cant back as Gen shoots that younger version of Amos a sideways glance. ] Most people wouldn't ask for something like that from a stranger. You just met me. [ Because even if Amos has identified himself as 'another version' of this child, Gen knows that doesn't count for himself. He has no connection to this child, and he's hardly the type that most would look to for protection. So -- ] Did you not have anyone else you can ask for that? Back where you're from.

[ Even before he finishes that sentences, he knows what the answer probably is. ]

[baltimores]

[ He hadn't even been thinking about Gen's previous experience with killing, how he knows it had hurt him, warped him, because Amos is so caught up in his own past — and he would have been relieved for the chance to kill someone at the age Gen had. Younger than that. He'd dreamed of it; it had only been natural. And now here he is, a part of him that's regressed willing to use him the exact same way.

There's a pang of guilt in response amid the slowly cooling distress, and not a whole lot more he can provide.

The kid, meanwhile, sits up further at Gen's affirmation, that hope within him growing, even if Gen won't look at him. Because he keeps doing what he says he'll do, so now he's got two people willing to kill for him, and it might be the safest he's felt in some time.

His eyes are once again drawn to those ears as they move, more of a childlike fascination coming through, even if Gen is still being terse with him. He isn't doing anything, so it's okay. Maybe he's just like that. He takes in that question openly, and once it's asked, shakes his head in response. ]

No. Lydia tries to keep me safe, but she isn't strong enough to do that. And the men who are are the ones hurting me, so they won't do it. [ But even with the negative answer, he still seems better than before. Maybe even approaching something that could be considered happiness. ] But you're not like them, so it's better, even if you are a stranger.

[ The kid's gaze shifts from Gen to Amos, to how close he's positioned himself to him. ]

And he looks like he likes you, so if he's me, then you're someone who would help me too. Right?

[ It's a question asked as though he's expecting the affirmative, because why wouldn't he? The logic is sound from his mind. Amos likes Gen, and he's Amos, so therefore Gen would help him if he needed it.

For his part, Amos takes a steady breath, finding his footing again now that his younger self seems to be in less distress, and nods — he does like Gen, so the logic works. And it's okay because they aren't going to have to kill anyone here at all.

Still, he gives Gen's knee a gentle squeeze in silent apology. He doesn't want to, can't, burst the bubble his younger self has created for himself, but now that his head is starting to come back to him he is sorry it's already come this far. ]

[epiprocta]

[ That's what gets him to look up and meet the child's eyes once more, face pale and shoulders tense. Because he gets it, he truly does. 'She isn't strong enough to do that,' the younger version of Amos says, and Gen's thoughts are ripped back to a dark closet and stifling heat, the sound of screams muffled past a closet door as an older female voice whispers right in his ear, trembling and teary: 'I'm sorry, Gen. I'm not strong enough to do anything.' An image vivid enough that maybe even Amos will see it in that tense moment before Gen gives a stiff nod, ducking his head once more. ]

... yeah, okay.

[ He doesn't know this 'Lydia'. Somewhere at the very back of his mind, he knows that what he's hearing doesn't feel right -- that no caretaker should simply accept their young charge being hurt, no matter how weak they might be. Isn't that the duty of an adult? To protect their children? -- but at the same time ... 'Lydia' isn't Yuko. And maybe she had simply been weak. And if that's the case, then.

Then it's only fair that someone like him do the killing instead, right?

If Amos had had someone to help him back at this age, even someone like him, only capable of offering that kind of help, then he might have turned out differently.

The thought comes dangerously close to sending him spiraling into a dark maelstrom of emotions, prickles of disgust and anger and indignity crackling hot at the friges of his mind, and it's only the touch to his knee that snaps him back to reality. He'd been breathing harder without even realizing it, jaw clenched and expression hardened, but seeing that look on Amos' face helps ground him once more.

Right. There's no people to kill here, and what that younger version of Amos is talking about is all in the past, right? So he just has to say what feels right, is all. It's not like he actually has to protect Amos. (He knows that all on a rational level. But ... why does it feel so hard to accept that?) ]

You're right. [ He swallows thickly once more, but the tension does slowly drain from his shoulders, his voice flat once more. And while Gen returns to staring at the pavement, he slowly loosens the death-grip he'd held at the fabric at his knees, instead letting his hands drop into his lap. ] If anyone tried -- ... tries to hurt you, I'll kill'em. However many there are. ... I'd want you to be safe.

[ He wants Amos to be safe. He's been through enough. ]

[baltimores]

[ The kid watches Gen for a moment longer, but seeing his hands relax, hearing him give that affirmative... ]

Thanks.

[ He offers up a small smile, his face brightening as he tilts his head thoughtfully before pushing himself up and off the ground, slowly making his way over to the two of them. His hair is still dishevelled, evidence of his earlier sobbing still on display through puffy eyes and reddened cheeks, but he isn't crying anymore.

Amos, meanwhile, doesn't remove his hand from Gen's knee. Can't. That flash of an image he got from Gen stays in his mind, a glimpse of understanding. It's not the same situation as him, he knows that, but the echoes are still strong. And Gen's still powering through this for him.

Or for his younger self.

Or for him. He can't really tell.

He watches as the kid starts to make his way over, something in him still torn up because. He knows it couldn't have been this easy back when it was him, his childhood. He knows this is a lie. A harmless one, because it's not like the kid's in any danger here, but his desire to comfort him — where he's failed, where Gen has taken on the brunt of that — is still feuding with his knowledge that it's impossible, that a real solution will never come. That the kid still has years of this head of him. That there's no actual saving him. ]

Timmy—

[ It comes unbidden from his lips, and Timmy pauses a second to look at him, so hopeful it makes Amos' heart hurt, before he finishes up his journey over to the two of them. Stops in front of Gen, his hand reaching out to his head. To those ears. ]

Can I...?

[ And if he's given permission — and only then — will he finish reaching out to pet them. ]

[epiprocta]

[ It's for Amos. He'd hate saying as much, but he's only doing this because it's for Amos.

Gen doesn't particularly like dealing with kids -- holds no real malice towards them, but also doesn't like having to be around them. Because when they're miserable, it reminds him too much of the worst moments of his life; when they're happy and stupid and innocent, it makes him think too much of what he should have had, but never really got the chance to experience. So he knows that it's best for everyone involved that he simply exit the premises whenever a child is present. He doesn't really like kids.

The main reason why he tolerates this, why he puts actual effort in trying to calm this kid down, and why he breathes a quiet sigh of relief in hearing the kid's voice lighten up, is because he's all too aware of the way the distress radiating off of Amos from behind him eases off bit by bit.

He'd been giving the kid a dubious glance up past the shadow of his brow as he approached, but Gen doesn't back away. And even when he hears Amos utter that unfamiliar name -- Timmy? -- he only gives a curious flick of the ear. Then he heaves a quiet sigh before ducking his head to better angle into the curious cup of a small palm. ]

Fine. [ A pointy ear twitches, quivering slightly at the tip. ] Just don't yank on'em. It'll hurt like normal.

[ The fur there is short and a little coarse to touch, but stroking those ears along with the grain feels silky and smooth. Gen keeps his head ducked and still, resisting the urge to flick his ears whenever he feels the touch of small fingertips. ]

... s'good to focus on stuff like this. Little things. Stuff you find fun. [ Gen closes his eyes before continuing quietly. ] When things get hard, try to think about stuff like this. -- I'll kill anyone you need, but ... [ he can't, because this is all in the past ] ... it'll still be good to keep that in mind.

[ It's terrible advice, he knows. Not the sort of thing any responsible adult would condone. But if this version of Amos was under the care of an adult who simply let 'things' happen to him, then -- there probably are no responsible adults around him. What else is there, then? Hedonism and vices were the only things that had kept him sane during his younger years. Maybe they might have helped for Amos, too. ]

[baltimores]

[ Timmy's gentle when he reaches out to pet the ears, going against the course of fur at first before smoothing them back out. It's a simple, repetitive motion, soothing in its own way. Something soft and willing attached to someone who has promised to help him, who isn't going to do anything to him — because if Gen was, he would have by now.

He keeps it up as Gen talks to him, smile slowly blooming across his face, a soft mm of agreement. ]

I'll try. I like you. [ The petting slows down before Timmy removes his hand entirely, bringing it back to himself as he sits down. Shifts to lie down on the ground, tired from the aftermath of the moment he came from, from the crying, from dispelling his state of terror. Directly in front of Gen he starts to curl up into a ball, eyes slipping shut, safe enough to be vulnerable, to sleep. ] Thank you...

[ The last words are mumbled as he drifts off. As the body shrivels into dead roots, vaguely in the shape of a kid curled up.

And Amos abruptly gets up and turns around, refusing to look at the scene. At what was supposed to be his younger self, at Gen, at all of it. Without a word he heads back to the bench, back to his toolbox, feeling nothing—

Except for the part where Gen is a fellow Exalt, and underneath the layers and layers of nothing is a concentrated grief, faint and pulsing like an unsteady heartbeat — because even if Amos isn't letting himself feel it that doesn't mean it isn't still there. ]

[epiprocta]

[ He'd be loathe to admit it out loud, but -- it does feel nice, those gentle pats at his ear, especially when he feels small fingertips brushing closer to the base. His eyes shutter close with his next slow exhale, and he only makes a low, indistinct noise in approval in response what to Timmy says. Content enough to let the moment play out. Until, of course, the sudden rustle of dry tree roots, accompanied by those fingers slipping away from his ears, has him sitting forward with a jolt. ]

-- hey!

[ But even that rushed interjection of his is too late. In the blink of an eye, that younger version of Amos is gone, leaving behind only a tangle of dead roots.

His thoughts immediately go back to that dryad, first. Seeking some sort of scapegoat he could blame for this. But -- no. This feels different. It's probably something to do with the Blight, isn't it. Maybe in conjunction with its infection of the Great Tree? But in either case ... Timmy was here. And now he's gone.

Gen ends up waiting in that alley for a while before emerging, mostly to give Amos some time to himself. After all, he feels that gut-wrenching chill of grief all too clearly, as muffled as it is by those too-many layers of nothing. And while it's in part just him abiding by that unspoken code that all men share -- because surely no man wants to be seen feeling something as unsightly as grief, and it's only right for him to turn a blind eye to that weakness -- it's also in part so he can breathe a quiet sigh of relief to himself.

See? He'd always known it, but it's always good to be proven right once more. Beneath all of that damage, some part of Amos is still normal, at least in part. He's just ... fucked up. That's all.

When Gen does finally emerge from the cluster of trees to approach the bench, his donned his usual surly expression once more, hands tucked in pockets and shoulders squared. He says nothing as he takes a seat on that bench next to the toolbox, and he stares off to the side for a moment before shooting Amos a cautious sideways glance. Gauging how well he's faring after ... all that. Despite how hard he tries to maintain a stony demeanor, their Aspect-borne connection means gentle waves of concern lap at the very edges of Amos' thoughts, as well. ]

[baltimores]

[ They're in agreement on at least one thing: this doesn't feel like it did with the dryad. That had been a chaotic, desperate environment; them being played with, at the mercy of some other force until they'd had the chance to fight back. This? This was downright serene. A pocket of peace that his five-year-old self no doubt loved for the moment when he was here, when he had it.

Because Amos can't accept that that wasn't some version of him. Can't accept that it was just plant fuckery again. It doesn't change anything about him, but he needs — needs — that kid to have had that moment.

He's staring out at nothing when he hears Gen come up from behind him. Turns his head slowly to look over his shoulder, confirm it is indeed him as he moves to sit down on the bench. As he tries to figure out where Amos is at, as if Amos even knows for himself. And that concern is... he can't tell if it's so foreign to be disconcerting, or if he wants to fall into it.

After a moment, Amos turns to sit on the bench, his toolbox between them. As he opens it up, gestures for Gen to hold his arm out to him. They're both here so they might as well do this, right?

And with his head still down, looking through his box's contents, voice dull, quiet, but clear, ] You can ask me anything you want. I'll tell you.

[ He trusts him. He's numb, confused, upset, but he has a lifeline right next to him — so yeah, Gen can ask him whatever's on his mind, and he'll answer. ]

[epiprocta]

[ It doesn't quite feel right to be tending to something as relatively trivial as his arm when the weight of what just happened is still looming over them. But at the same time, he gets it -- distractions always work. He'd found his own thoughts unbearable back when that had happened in his younger days; he can only imagine how much worse it must have been for Amos, back then and even now.

So he only breathes a quiet exhale before holding his prosthetic arm forward, pointing out the screws that hold in the panel at his inner elbow. With that out of the way, he can point out where it feels 'off,' it shouldn't be hard for a practiced eye to figure out where some components have come a little loose, nothing difficult to fix once spotted.

And while he watches Amos tighten those screws and oil a few tiny joints, Gen thinks. A vague, static-y cloud of concern laps at the very edges of their Aspect-borne connection, and the furrow of his brow makes it clear Gen is actually trying to figure out the correct thing to say.

Not that he knows. What would be the correct answer here? ]

... there's nothing I need to ask. You don't gotta talk about anything if you don't want to.

[ Because what the hell is he supposed to ask? 'How did that happen?' 'Who hurt you?' 'Are you okay?' They all feel ridiculous to ask, and he's not sure he wants to know any of the answers. But after a moment of biting nervously at his lip, Gen fixes a careful stare on Amos. ]

But -- is there anything you wanted to say? [ He's not sure if that's the right thing to say, either. But at least for him, that was what had eaten him the worst after what had happened to him. The need for secrecy, the inability to talk about anything. He'd often felt like his chest would explode from the pressure of keeping everything contained. And while it doesn't look like Amos' situation is anything at all like his own ... it's all he can think to say. (The only way he knows to try and help.) ] Even if it's something small, or ... anything.

cw references to child prostitution

[baltimores]

[ Amos buries himself in his work, slow and methodical — and doing his best to ignore Gen's own feelings. Not because he doesn't appreciate them, but because he doesn't want to get his wires crossed. Time still feels far too fluid for him to be comfortable with, considering how he was just looking his child self in the eye only minutes ago, and Gen is... not someone who had been around then.

So he maybe takes longer with his arm than he needs to, giving it a full inspection, far more thorough than it actually needs. Because yeah, it's simply easier to deal with.

He's still looking down into it when he answers Gen, tone of voice still the same. Quiet, but not mincing words. Because some shit is private, until it isn't anymore — but that still doesn't mean you go around broadcasting it. ]

Thanks. For what you did for him. [ The kid was real. He was real, and Amos isn't going to stop talking about him that way. ] I wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, I tried, but...

[ He'd faltered. Gen had had to take over completely, Amos rendered useless and struck mostly dumb.

He withdraws his hand from the arm's interior, but keeps his eyes on it. Like he's looking it over for anything else he might have missed, even as he keeps talking. ]

Look, you didn't know what I do, so you could give him hope. I knew that all he had to look forward to was years of that shit. He'll be broken within one, and there won't be any stopping it. System's too well-oiled to be fought. The fuck is a five-year-old going to do against grown men? The fuck is a caretaker who's still a hooker herself going to do against the people who own them? I looked at him and knew exactly what he was going through, and that was maybe one of the better parts, because he could still fucking feel something.

[ There's a rising creep of anger in his voice as he goes on, starting to lose himself in it, before it's abruptly shut off. Amos closes his eyes, inhales deeply. Opens them again and, after a beat, finds the one last spot he missed in Gen's arm, one last thing to tighten so it doesn't come lose. Doesn't fuck with his friend again, and hopefully this'll be the last of it.

He moves to close up the panel he'd been working on, screw it shut proper, too. His voice is back to being quiet, dull — but he can't help the way his feeling soften at the edges, gratitude slipping in. ]

Goes without saying, but I'd've killed back then for what you just gave him. Fantasized about it a lot. So at least he got it for a moment.

[ He's done with the arm. Out of excuses, Amos looks up into Gen's eyes again. There's a sheen to his own, but that dam isn't going to burst. He's had his emotional meltdown; now he's done with it.

Just. ]

Thank you for giving him that.

[ Because if Gen hadn't then things would be going a whole lot worse for Amos instead. ]

cw continued

[epiprocta]

[ Gen’s also silent at first, and dedicates a portion of his focus to watching what Amos does — studying the little movements, taking note of what he tightens and what he tweaks, committing those things to memory. Mostly because it’s habit; he’s always been a bit more observant than people give him credit for, and it’s helped him learn through observation, so he has to ask people for help as little as possible. It’ll be useful for the future if he commits what he’s seeing to memory, so he focuses on it.

But also … he’s not sure he could handle having to focus solely on what Amos is saying. His stomach churns when Amos so plainly talks about what he’s been through, and though Gen tries not to think about it in those concrete terms, he can’t unhear what he’s heard. (Five years old. His caretaker was a prostitute. Grown men.) ]

I didn’t —

[ Gen starts speaking quietly before catching himself, brow furrowing deeper as he bites at his lip. ‘I didn’t do it for that kid,’ he starts to say. Because as much as Amos insists that that child was him, Gen knows it wasn’t. They both saw it. That child was just some thing reflecting Amos’ memories, it wasn’t actually him. Ergo, Gen couldn’t give less of a shit about it.

But Amos still thanks him, and it all feels off. Something about what Amos is saying doesn’t sit well with him. It takes Gen a moment to realize why irritation and anxiety simmers at the back of his mind when Amos says thank you for giving him that.

Amos talks about himself like a broken object. Like that hurt child is something completely divorced himself. And while Gen certainly understands that sentiment … ]

— you still feel stuff. [ He can’t meet Amos’ gaze for more than a split second before looking away, gritting his teeth. Being genuine, being honest, trying to be sensitive about these things is hard and runs counter to everything he’s been taught about how to behave. But this feels too important to back off from — even as his voice comes taut with discomfort, Gen continues at a rush. ] I feel all of it. You talk like you don’t feel anything any more, but if you didn’t, then you wouldn’t be thanking me. If you didn’t, then you wouldn’t care what I did. But you do care. … you’re fucked up by what happened to you, and I get it. Anyone’d get messed up by that kind of sick — …

[ He has to swallow thickly and drive his thoughts elsewhere; anger flares hot at the fringes of his thoughts if he imagines that happening to someone he considers a trusted friend. But as much as he leans on anger most of the time, he knows it’s useless at the moment. Gen closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Narrows his eyes as he stares off at some indistinct point on the ground, then continues hoarsely, quietly. ]

… what happened, happened. But that’s all gone now, isn’t it? Where it happened, the people who did it. So … it didn’t beat you. I meant what I said to that kid, and I can say that kinda shit as many times as you want, but — more than that, you’re still here, and that shit’s gone. Isn’t that what’s important? You’re here, you can still feel things. You won out.

[ ‘That’s what I care about,’ goes unspoken. But maybe Amos can feel it in the waves of concern and protective indignity lapping at the edges of his thoughts. ]

[baltimores]

[ In contrast, Amos doesn't take his eyes off of Gen. Or maybe it's in similarity, because he's watching Gen the way Gen had watched him repair his arm. Amos doesn't really need to do a whole lot of observing with machines or technology here; people, though? Even if they're people he knows well, even if they're someone he shares an aspect with — it's still good to observe. Especially for someone like him, who's never going to be whole. Never got the chance, his growth stunted before it could even really begin. He gets to see, to feel Gen try, and that's more than enough for him.

Though his eyes do flutter shut for a moment as he feels Gen's anger, wants to take it in for himself. That's the natural response. That's the one he knows best. Of everything that's been cut off from him, rage was never one of them, like it made up for everything else.

And then it dulls, fades, and he opens his eyes to take in the change. Shifts his head to look at the same nothing on the ground that Gen is when he speaks again. Clasps his hands between his knees, one thumb rubbing in agitation over his other hand. ]

Yeah, I did. Won out a couple of times, actually. Managed to kill the boss, managed to build a life for myself before the universe died. I hear what you're saying, I do. It's just...

[ And he can feel that almost possessive concern brushing against his own feelings, where the lines blur between them, and it's. It's so familiar in a way he wouldn't have expected from Gen, in a way that he isn't sure if he's still stuck in the wrong mindset or what, but it doesn't change how soothing it is. To have someone else care about him like that, whether he's five or thirty-five. ]

... It's hollow. You tell me I still feel stuff, and I believe you, because you wouldn't lie about that to me. But there's no real satisfaction in winning. I just... moved on to the next thing. And the next, and the next, and the next, and now I'm here. But if I'd died it wouldn't have really mattered, same as how it didn't when they all did.

[ Because for as much as he may still have emotions, they're buried under layers of nothing. For as much as he cares, as he wants to try, he always needs that little bit of extra help — and isn't it odd that Gen's been someone who's done that for him before, might be doing it again now.

Staring at his hands, Amos finally unclasps them. Tentatively moves one to Gen's knee, broad and callused and a tool of murder, to gently rest it there. And then seeks his eyes again.

Where his voice had been hollow before, there's a rawness that creeps into it now. Quiet, but rough, and maybe a little too sincere. ]

You should come home.

[ To Highstorm. To Zenith. Because Gen looks better than he has in a while. Because Gen probably asked him to come to Springstar for a reason. Because Gen probably has a life here, and that's... not where Amos wants him. That's not where he'll be safe, that's not where they can look after one another, it's not... it's not right.

And maybe it's selfish of him to ask Gen to drop everything he's built for himself to come back to him, but fuck it, he's allowed to be selfish sometimes. Now, after all this, would qualify. ]

[epiprocta]

[ 'It's hollow,' Amos says, and it's not like he doesn't get it. He'll never fully understand the magnitude to which Amos has been damaged, but he has some inkling of how meaningless a lot of things can feel in the wake of monumental pain. He can at least start to see how Amos might struggle to understand his own emotions, but still ... has it really been meaningless? Surely not. It would have mattered, had Amos died alongside everyone else in his world. It would have mattered if he hadn't ended up catapulted into this strange other world so they could cross paths, right?

His expression had slowly growing tighter with traces of discomfort, struggling to find a way to put his thoughts into words; the connection between them, too, had been growing prickly with something hot and confrontational, a desire to argue that hadn't yet found a form to take. Hand clenched to a fist hard enough for his nails to dig into his palm, he hesitates for a moment too long before managing to mutter, ]

It would've mattered ...

[ Only to lose that train of thought entirely at what Amos says next.

The way he gives a wide-eyed blink, brow furrowed and pointy ears canted back, makes it clear he's taken aback by that request, both by its content and the way it's delivered. Ergo, it's completely honest when he responds, flatly: ]

Zenith isn't my home. [ But there's only the briefest pause before he looks aside, adding more quietly, ] Not that this place is my home, either. Meridian.

[ 'Home.' It's a weird concept for him. Sure, he'd had a 'home' back in his hometown, but he can't really remember a time where he'd felt fully comfortable there. Even before his stepmother had come into the picture, followed by his half-sister -- two people who'd barely tolerated his presence -- he'd always felt a disconnect between himself and his home. He'd always known that he'd been made wrong in the first place, and no matter how well he camouflaged himself, the expectant stares from his father and the rest of the townsfolk would always feel like needles in his back.

He's not sure if that platonic ideal of a 'home' is even attainable for him.

As if the gentle waves of something morose pulsing through their thoughts isn't indication enough, Gen's ears are flattened back when he looks down into his hands, then at the hand resting at his knee. He knows the gravity of it, knows that Amos wouldn't say something like that to him lightly. And it's not like he's rejecting that request, either. When he speaks again, it's soft and resigned. ]

I thought things would be different this time, if I didn't just go where people expect me to be. I'm sick of it, of just doing what I'm expected to, and things never seem to go right. So I'm here right now, but -- ... [ 'I thought,' he says. So he's already accepted the contrary. ] ... I know I don't belong on this side.

[baltimores]

[ There is a flutter at the notion that his death — a hypothetical permanent one that has yet to come to pass — would matter. Something shaky, uncertain, surprised; a too-sudden exhale, the sensation of feeling someone else's heart skip a beat, jitter. Odd, and out of place, and maybe not bad, but...

Not real. All hypotheticals. So everything smooths out, because it still doesn't really matter. And maybe the only times any of his deaths have mattered were when he hurt Gen, Misa, Kaeya, but nothing more.

They have more important shit to see to now, anyway. For as much as Amos won't shy away from comfort, it still feels too raw to do much of anything other than curl up into a ball and rest his head on someone's lap, let them stroke his hair and physically sooth him, and Gen is... not the person he would be seeking that from. No; with him it's easier to turn his focus to him. Because he may not be a kid anymore, but he went through some shit when he was one that left him damaged, stunted, and Amos knows exactly what that's like. Knows it's his job to help someone there. Wants to, maybe more than anything else.

He doesn't take his eyes off of him. Doesn't move his hand. Just waits, and listens, and it's... a different kind of hollow. Two ships passing in the night on what they missed out on, shattered in different ways.

Maybe together they could make a whole person. Oh well. ]

Where do you think you'd be happier? [ His voice is soft; his thumb is tracing light circles on Gen's knee. ] Fuck the expectations or what people want from you, me included. Where would you feel most right? Because that's where you should go. Drop everything else and just go there, because nobody's ever gonna look out for you as much as you are for yourself.

[ He falls silent, thumb still circling. Because for as much as he could profess altruism here, there's still that selfish component to his words, his actions. They're both Exalts, so Gen probably gets it. That need to be with your people, to look out for them, to protect them. They have this moment to themselves right now, sure, but that's all it is: a moment. It isn't anything longer term the way it would be if they were on the same side, in the same city, working towards the same thing, and there is a longing for that again. Because as shit as where they came from was, it did bring them together, and keep them together, and if Amos' death would have mattered then that has to have meant something, too.

His thumb slows. Stops. ]

And if it happens to be with me, you know I'll have your back. Nothing else'll matter.

[ And if it isn't with Amos, with Zenith, with Yima, then he... doesn't want to think about it.

But he knows Gen, he's pretty sure. So it should all work out, one way or another. ]

[epiprocta]

[ 'Where do you think you'd be happier?' Amos asks, and Gen meets his gaze in silence. And though it only lasts for a moment before he looks aside once more, even that one moment is telling. His expression is hollow and weary, the corner of his lip quirked up in a humorless smile, like he's just been told a terrible joke. It's so hard to imagine himself finding happiness, regardless of where he goes. As long as he's himself, he can't imagine his future being anything more than a mediocre gray haze, simply tolerable at best. ]

... you know it's not that simple. [ He doesn't bother saying that, though, simply moving onto Amos' next point. The bit about dropping everything and leaving. As if ] If it were up to me, I wouldn't be a part of this whole mess. Wouldn't bother dealing with either side. ... might've been nice if I could just pretend to be a normal person here and live like that.

[ But they both know that isn't viable. Even the short time he'd spent unharmonized had been tough, and his eventual entanglement back into matters involving the Shard Bearers had gone poorly. He has to choose a side, one way or another. So.

He'd been watching the slow circle of Amos's thumb against his knee, and he gives a soft exhale when it stops. Simply looks at it for a moment longer before raising his hand -- the one that's still his, skin warm and tactile feedback intact -- to pat the back of Amos' hand. A gesture that might have been condescending if aimed at anyone else, in any other context. But here and now, there's no such ulterior motive. ]

I know, though.

[ A faint sensation warms at the edge of the connection between them. Fondness, maybe. Or rather -- trust. Unlike the more volatile flare of his negative emotions, this one runs steady and quiet; his trust in others is hard-won, but in exchange, it sits deep-rooted and firm. ]

I know you have my back. You think I would've called anyone else for help like this? Even if they knew their way around machines the same way you did? [ The thought is laughable. ] ... s'why I asked you to take care of him, too. The shard. I wouldn't have left it with anyone else.

[ In a way, saying that out loud helps something click into place. It's not like he'd ever forgotten he'd left Reiji with Amos -- how could he, when that Shard is the object he holds most dear in this entire shitty world -- but thinking about it in such concrete terms is a potent reminder of just how much he's entrusted to Amos. Maybe it's selfish to have strayed for so long after leaving Amos with that duty. Maybe trying to seek freedom for himself alone was pointless. Maybe he really is just better off returning to that side, where he at least knows he'll belong.

It's probably not the answer Amos hoped for, but at least there's a quiet gravity when Gen finally adds, quiet and somber: ]

... I'll think about it. Properly. I promise.

[ About going back 'home.' ]

[baltimores]

[ His eyes flick down as Gen covers his hand with his own, his gaze staying there as he feels that warmth trust provides seeping in and under the cracks of his own emotions. There isn't much there on his end, faint and buried; what Gen provides him, though, he understands instantly. Would let the floodgates open, if a flood was going to come at all.

But he knows one won't, because that's just the way they are. The both of them. Which is fine, because he can still welcome what he's getting. Let it fall into the cracks where his own buried feelings lie, keep it there and hold it there, as permanent a fixture as emotions for him can be.

He won't move his hand, won't so much as twitch a finger, as long as Gen's is on top of his. It's a small way to turn himself over completely to him, to let him retain his agency after everything he's done for Amos; after the way he'd helped Timmy. Because he'd cared enough to try, and had cared enough to succeed. Because Amos owes him in more ways than one, from kicking his ass so he'd stop wallowing in self-pity to taking on one of the more impossible challenges for him mere moments ago.

And because there is a faint fear, a creeping dread moving at a glacial pace, that for as long as Gen isn't with Zenith, Amos might not be able to repay him in kind. He would never want to hurt him, but he's good at swallowing shit he doesn't want to do in order to accomplish shit that needs to be done. And for as long as Gen is technically the enemy — not his, never his, but his people's — then that remains a possibility.

But he can't say shit like if you don't come home, I can't protect you. It's the truth, but he knows enough to know it's what a piece of shit would say. Someone who manipulates and gaslights others into a shitty situation, and yeah, he'll do that too, but he won't do that to Gen. Kill him if he absolutely needs to, yes. Abuse him? Never.

So his hand doesn't move. His eyes stay on it, on Gen's. That warmth of trust meets the slow and cold oozing of a trepidation of a possible future. And Amos parts his lips slightly, ready to say something and not sure what, before his fingers tighten slightly to give Gen's knee a light squeeze, maintain a proper grip, before looking up into his eyes again, searching them for an honesty he damn well already knows is there. ]

I know you will. And I'll... whatever happens, I'll never hurt him. Ever. [ Reiji, and that's one element he can mean wholeheartedly, because only a sick fuck would ever do anything to that shard — and for everything that's broken about Amos, he is not that. ] I just... there'll be an end. One way or another, everything ends. [ Zenite, Zenite, Zenite. ] You'll get there. If I can, I'll help you. But until then...

[ Until then what? He doesn't fucking know. Amos leans over to cover Gen's hand with his free one, hold it there for a couple of seconds before pulling it back. It was an awkward way to twist his body. He doesn't want to be too weird about shit, come on too strong. Whatever. His hand still on Gen's knee slackens, could easily be pushed away whenever. ]

Look, just don't forget who you're here for. You and I are the same, so I know that's how we both operate. You hold on to that, and you'll make it through just fine.

[ Because that's exactly what he's doing, and he has all the confidence in the world that he'll come out of everything okay — so of course it would be the same for Gen.

It could not possibly be any other way. ]