[ PERMANENT. ] a (k)atch-all log for kenos

[dawnlord]

WHO: Set ( redsoil ), Bondrewd ( dawnlord ), Drizzt ( twohand ), et. al
WHAT: i actually can't stand month-by-month logs so i'm gonna crush my boys into one perma-log for anything outside of events
WHERE & WHEN: Listed in comment headers, or under the cut.
WARNINGS: General warnings for violence, vulgarity and unethical science. Will update/comment with warnings!


I struggle so hard w/ month-by-month logs, so y'all have to deal with my weird organization...

— [MARCH | SET] GOT NO SHAME, GOT NO PRIDE

Comments

[redsoil]

[ Atonement is the path he had said he would walk, and the rest of the Ennead — for all their hatred of him, for all their desire to see him erased like a blemish from the face of history — had agreed to allow him to serve that penance. Nephthys had wanted him to connect with humanity, to find a way to feel unity in his heart towards them... and he cannot deny that he has begun to feel it. There are some people in Kenos who he feels deeper within him than others, and some who he finds himself circling — drawn in by gravity.

Cassian is one of the people with a unique gravity, whom will either suffer or be saved. There is not much that Set can do, beyond support him towards one of those ends and know that in the end, it is the human who has the right to choose their fate. Quetzalcoatl hoped for their happiness, and Set? Set simply hoped to witness their conviction, and where it would lead. If in the process he could rattle their minds and hearts, for better or worse, he would ensure he was content merely with that.

After all, he was an evil god. Stripped of old honor, old service, faithfully-kept duty and protectiveness until naught was left to his name but followers who enslaved and killed and abused, madness in the hearts of men was his lot now. To prick Cassian with his warmth and know he might be instilling such madness, too? Well. Perhaps it is how they will keep one another from falling, no matter if their happiness or misery is writ into stone.

Cassian yields against him, stone given to the patient battering of wind that will carry it away piece by piece and transform it into sand. The dark waves of his hair tickling the underside of his chin as he turns his face into the scent of him, into the scent of gunfire and blood and the lemon verbena in his hands. He is mindful of the plant, as he curls his knees under himself and settles his weight into the line of Cassian's own form. Their position similar to the one he found himself in below the Tree, where his head was on Cassian's shoulder.

And he pushes the fingers of his soul into the ice, until he can take a handful of it and snap it up in a fist, warming chunks in his own palms until cold, fresh water pours between his fingers to join the sea again. Even as he works, there is the sense that he can only do so much, because his own body is an ache, his attention fragmented when he no longer has to hone it so intently. Even the god is tired, wrung out in the wake of his revival. ]

Good boy.

[ Maybe the kindness of a war god is madness in and of itself.

After all, Set does not operate outside of his domains ( and thus is not risking his erasure ), if he is inspiring a man ready to kill his heart to survive to yield to a disorder of the soul in lieu of personal peace. ]

[diversionist]

[ cassian is quiet — cassian is so often quiet — and that's a good habit for a spy, isn't it? blend in a crowd, fade into the background, don't say more than needs to be said, allow other people to press their assumptions onto you. skills that have served him all his life, the need to hide and go unseen. but he isn't hiding now, nor could he be said to be anything but seen, under the pitiless gaze of a war god.

pitiless, perhaps, but kind. and maybe it's easy, in some ways, for a man like cassian andor to accept this gentle care. war, conflict, chaos — the oldest friends he's ever had, the only thing he's ever known, companions who have been truer and realer than anyone in his life. hadn't he said to vash the stampede, we aren't all so lucky as to be born in peaceful times? had he met an embodiment of peace, he wouldn't know the first thing about how to speak to them. how to understand them.

so he's quiet, and he's still, as set does his work. shudders out a breath as the dissonance starts to melt away, warmth leaching back into his fingertips, igniting in his shard. the purification is a kind of pain, but it's one he finds himself welcoming. punishment is so much easier than atonement, isn't it. the difference between the two is the presence of hope, and that's a difficult thing to hold onto. ridiculous that he has real faith in set's ability to atone, knowing what he does of the tyrant's past, and none in his own. but neither of them are unfamiliar with contradictions.

he's still, and he's quiet, but he does speak up, as set works. soft, but audible to the god at this range. ]

I'd appreciate a warning, the next time you plan on doing something like that.

[ speaking of contradictions. his grip on the plant remains steady, for all that he's half-collapsed onto set, and he doesn't look up when he says that. he can feel the strain in set; and he hasn't forgotten the explanation for why he's unwell. it's not fair, to refuse to explain himself and then demand set give him forewarning in the future. but neither of them are fair people. ]

I won't stop you, [ he explains, or clarifies. ] from doing what you have to. But. [ he breathes out again, maybe a little easier than the first time. it's not impossible for him to lie under these conditions; he can always find it in him to speak a necessary lie. he chooses not to. ] It matters to me.

[redsoil]

[ Contradictions were natural, in an complex entity; in a human, in a god. Hypocrisy was born of a refusal to acknowledge one's own warring nature, being willfully ignorant of those opposing things within oneself, and pretending like they were better for one, than the other. A human had so much more room to be anything, do anything, become anything, that witnessing one setting aside their right to choose in favor of being ruled on a soul-level by the desires of another was anathema to an entity that had no such freedom; it is a fate he does not want for Cassian.

He'd rather force the man to struggle and suffer until he dies, than become another blank pawn. ]

No promises. [ He murmurs, voice the soft rasp of loose eddies caught in the wind, whipping past the eternal spine of reality, tearing microscopic pieces of it free. Little by little, patiently wearing it down to nothing, until all that was left of fortitude and passion was the unknowable, invisible remains of it all. A desert, the last thing that would ever exist in a world, at its ending. ]

But, I will try. I believed in what I did, I was not — wrong.

[ A noise of faint frustration escapes him. Why could no one simply look at his gaze, the set of his jaw and know — he was not being foolish and stupid, but doing what he had the right and responsibility to do? It feels like a festering wound, an exhausting burden — even for a god, to not be acknowledged. To not be able to look into the eyes of someone and witness their admiration, their yearning adoration or subservience or fear without having to scrape for it.

Set's strength slips a little, his hand kicking out to support the list of his body as the exhaustion continues to creep on him. His own discord is startlingly low, despite that he had turned upon his own body and perished — and below the thin veil of linen he's wrapped around himself, the dark striations ( the mark of the Oracle? ) are long and broad, stretching the length of his spine. Extending along his ribs and curving toward his breastbone. Signs of self-harm, in the highest degree. ]

Besides, I have to punish you a little, for being so free with your secrets that I thought we were co-conspirators — only to withhold them now. You can stay a while, if you like. Take the plant when you go, it makes good tea.

[ All said lightly, with something tired and reaching its limits as he lifts his eyes and smirks. Right before he guides his weight down to the sun-warms lounge and curls into himself a little, diligently working at unknotting Cassian's Discord even as he drifts out hazily. ]

You know how to care for it. You never forgot how, you savior of children's toys.

[diversionist]

[ no promises earns a flicker of humor, here and gone. like: that's fair. but the frustration catches cassian by surprise. he opens his eyes and begins to lift his head even before set's exhaustion makes itself manifest. but set goes on, before he can answer, and is met, when he looks up, with a rueful little smile. he'd be tempted to assuage potential hurt feelings over the secret-keeping, if set didn't move past that so easily with the casual gifting of this precious little plant. didn't anticipate the first protest that rises to his lips, and swat it away like it's nothing. cassian can't imagine that this little plant won't be dead in a month, but it's set's to give and his to watch over, now. he'll make an honest effort. of course he will.

set lays down on the lounge, now looking more the invalid he'd claimed to be, and cassian doesn't stir. you can stay a while, was the offer, and he can feel his discord draining even for set's apparent exhaustion. tempting, too, to protest the god spending strength like this; but that's more likely to cause offense than do any good. and so,

instead, cassian lifts his eyes to the suns-bright sky, and it hurts less than it had an hour ago. the truth is that there are more things he never forgot how to do, old memories and mannerisms that have slowly resurfaced in kenos. he leans his weight back, carefully balances the pot one-handed against his lap, and reaches for set with his free hand. his hand cups to the god's head, and he strokes his hair with circular, soothing motions. as if set were more child awakened by a nightmare than an unknowably vast creature, god of places cassian has never seen. his palms are rough, hands calloused by years of fights, but his touch is gentle. ]

I know you weren't wrong, [ he finally answers. ] You would know, if I thought you were.

[ that flicker-flash of humor, again. cassian andor doesn't struggle with expressing himself when he thinks something is idiotic, they both know this. ]

If you say it was worth it, I trust you. [ and he does. he still trusts john gaius, for his initial anger at hearing about this. conspirators, indeed. ] But there is nothing I would trade your life for.

[ the zenith said to the meridian: contradictions. but even as he says those words, he finds them some of the truest he's ever spoken. that's why he's upset to hear what happened to set. that's one reason he chose the person he did, from that godforsaken list. that's why he can't tell set anything now. but maybe, here on this sunlit terrace, they can leave aside contradictions for the time being. they can take some comfort, some rest, that they both so desperately need. ]

[redsoil]

[ Dangerous as it is, to begin to return to his needed rest in the company of someone who belongs to a faction that opposes his goal — Cassian is a protector, who vowed to heed his anxieties and defend him from someone who might even be undeserving of his mistrust. There is an ache deep inside of him, old phantom pains that emulate the violent death he had caused himself in the hopes of reaching deep into the soul of the world to make a connection impossible to any other save for himself and John Gaius in tandem.

So, when he feels Cassian's hand begin to stroke through his hair, and hears those words accompanying them — the sigh he breathes is one of relief. Because he can tell him now: ] I sent you and Jyn, and Gen, to Zenith. I gave you what you needed, and I lost — we lost because of me.

[ It has been a weight upon him, since that time. Three bodies and hearts to the count. Three who turned the tide against Meridian, and won Zenith the Oracle. No matter those who were Corrupted and forced to Zenith, no matter that he betrayed his own word and tore two Zenites to the side of light. He was why they lost, he knows. Set looks up, through bruise-darkening eyes and winds his hand around Cassian's knee. Claws pricking briefly at the muscle bunching there. ]

To know, I still have a hold on your heart... helps, with the shame. And the failure.

[

A lighting-fast smile, before his brow wrinkles under the strain of being awake. Before he tucks his face against Cassian's hip and wars with his need to rest. Why? Why must he be so tired, he will miss out on so many things like this. ]

You trust me, as I believe in you. Whether you cannot say or will not say what you did, you must know I do.

[ And if he tires quickly after that, falling still and feverish into a needed nap — well, the faint animal-rumble ( the purr ) that betrays him at the touch of Cassian's hand will be unknown to him. ]

🎀

[diversionist]

[ cassian keeps his hand moving, even at that surprising confession. it had never occurred to him to think that set would blame himself for meridian's loss. he'd realized, of course, that his harmonization — and jyn's — contributed to zenith's win. but "winning" had factored so little into why either of them did it. they'd had no choice, under the roots, but to pick a side. zenith had made sense — he'd needed zenith — and, just as important, it'd helped people. he'd taken that silvered, moonlit corruption tormenting set, and vash, and quetzacoatl, and had drowned himself in it. he'd been able to send the three of them back to meridian, where they belonged. cassian, please. that it had earned zenith the oracle had been incidental, accidental.

and why would he dwell on it? what was done was done. jyn had never given a damn about the factions at all. and gen...cassian only knows bits of gen, encountered an awful turning point in his unhappy childhood, but enough to worry him. enough to leave him unsurprised that the boy had wanted zenith, instead of a restoration of the world that had failed him so profoundly. and it is not a surprise, that set had sent a few of them on their way to the other side, despite everything. but it is confirmation: following his own convictions just as surely as he urges them to do.

he could say, it wasn't your fault. he could say, don't blame yourself. he could take the promise of faith in him, that he believes despite all the reasons he shouldn't, and confess. he could, but he does none of those things. ]

I owe you one.

[ he murmurs, finally, as sleep claims the god. cassian keeps stroking set's hair long after his breath evens out, and his own hand tires. he stays, and keeps a vigil over set's slumber.

and when set wakes — he will be alone. but he'll also be swathed in yet another light blanket, fetched from inside. the plant he'd gifted cassian is nowhere in sight; and in arm's reach is a covered, still-warm bowl of soup. ]