The Seeds of Unrest, Phase Two 🌱

[beleos]

UPROOTED

Time has not been kind thus far, and the future will be no kinder.

The slow passage of days to weeks has seen both cities increasingly ravaged by the untamed growth of the enlarging roots. Their size is enough to uproot buildings by their foundations, if not bisect them entirely where they push through unfettered. In the worst-hit areas, entire blocks are left abandoned - if even standing at all, displacing families and leaving businesses in ruins.

Cetina and Kathova have been in near constant contact with Bearers via Communion, feeding them information about which areas to focus their lifesaving efforts. Yima’s Manor and the Seat of the Tribune - despite their closeness to the Trees - have been fortified by your leaders and act as a base of operations for each respective faction. You will be able to return to either to find sanctuary from the chaos beyond, but the innumerable civilians are not so lucky.

Bearers are tasked with rescue and recovery efforts and requested to assist hands on the ground with taking refugees to temporary shelters. Survivors must be dug out of the debris. Those who are capable of healing will be enlisted to assist at hospitals and triage centers. Supplies must be gathered and harvested from areas that are collapsed and too dangerous for civilians to navigate. If you are feeling generous, you can go on search and rescue missions, as many people are considered missing in both Highstorm and Springstar. Some areas are completely cut off to regular foot traffic by the massive, winding roots bearing countless Blight-blooms. Citizens are succumbing to the Blight flower’s effects persistent from phase one with more and more frequency.

While both cities slowly succumb to a deepening catastrophe, the situation worsens.

STIRRING STORMS

As the days pass, inexplicable and unnatural weather occurrences will randomly plague both cities. They can last as long as a full day or as little as an hour before dissolving entirely.

• Flurries: this snow is tainted by the Blight, making the snowfall look like ash. Any organic matter it touches will be affected by reopening wounds, re-infection of illnesses, or re-experiencing injuries that may have healed over years ago.
• Thunderstorms: these storms carry a frigid rainfall and heavy cloud cover, making already difficult-to-navigate disaster zones harder to clear. As each thunder bellow crashes overhead, you might swear you hear a familiar voice reaching out to you in the fading rumble… one that sends a message - either from the future or past.
• Fog: dense clouds of thick, freezing fog will roll in randomly, making visibility even more precarious. In your search for survivors - or your companions, you may find yourself coming face to face with someone else, instead: a version of yourself (or a companion) from another timeline. You may also hear your own voice calling out to you from within the fog, attempting to beckon you further into the mist.
• General Note: Exposure to any of the above weather patterns will increase your Blight infection.

THE BLIGHT COMES FOR ALL

As if it were not enough to see the cities that have become your salvation at the end of the Timestream falling to collapse and ruin, the Bearers will slowly begin to realize their previous immunity to the Blight is eroding. They will begin to show symptoms of infection that increase into May’s event. ( For more information on the effects of the Blight and purification methods, please see the OOC Summary. )

Now that their last bastion - the Bearers - are just as much in harm’s way as everyone else, the populous’s efforts to formulate a temporary stop-gap solution are being rushed to completion. Time is not on anyone’s side. They will continue to work with those who have been kind enough to volunteer their resources and brilliant minds - collecting materials and attempting to figure out a way to avert their otherwise inevitable destiny.

ORDERS

Orders from your leaders will come as soon as infections among the Bearers have been confirmed.

🌙 YIMA will stress for all Zenite Bearers to prioritize their well-being and to avoid unnecessary exposure, to manage their symptoms as much as possible. They must fight for their own survival to bring in the birth of a new universe - and their lives are too precious to risk. Beyond that, she asks them to save what they can of their people and their most critical structures with the understanding that hard choices may be necessary.

🌞 CYRUS will implore all Meridian Bearers to prioritize the general population's lives and turn their efforts to save as much of Springstar as they can. He will note that Bearers have ways to help keep one another from suffering too much contagion and to coordinate their usages appropriately, to keep one another safe, and watch their backs.

ANOTHER EN-TREE-TY

The Tree of Life continues to sicken, yet - thankfully - the progression of the Blight is slow. Still, Bearers will find themselves occasionally compelled to take a moment to sit beneath its boughs and vibrant leaves, even as some begin to show signs of discoloration and rot. Any characters who sit with the Tree with the purple leaf they found on their person after phase one will find it warming to the touch, its veins laced with gold. This effect will be even more effective if taken into the cavernous roots beneath the Tree! While this may fill you with a temporary sense of calm, it doesn't seem to have any other effects... yet still, you are compelled, if not curious.

The Tree has offered you this gift for a reason. Perhaps you will find its use before long.

...As long as you - and Kenos - survive long enough to discover it.

CODING

Comments

[bakedapple]

[ Had Link met this man on the first day he was in Kenos, he would be taken aback by his unnerving appearance. But one cannot live in Springstar for very long without coming across people of all shapes and sizes. Too many of the people he's met with bizarre or even fearsome presentations end up being painfully normal in personality and perspective. And, similarly, there are more than enough "normal" looking people who have turned out to be dishonest or rude, if not worse.

But, even knowing that, he still wasn't expecting so harsh of a response. It had been a very simple, straightforward question, posed politely to a stranger... to the extent that Shard-Bearers can consider each other strangers, at least. There's no way to avoid the innate connection that being born beneath the Tree bestows on all of them, for better or for worse. ]

I'm... I'm sorry. I meant no offense.

[ He frowns slightly. The soft-spoken knight does what he can to avoid verbal arguments. In situations of conflict, he prefers to let his sword do the talking, and only when things have escalated to that point. Though he has to wonder... if this man is not here looking for anyone, and isn't here to help with rescue efforts as that acerbic response suggests, then what is he doing here? ]

...If they're dead, I need to know. Are you saying you haven't seen them?

[affal]

( makoto is able to move among the crowds of springstar without much notice because he doesn't seem to be noteworthy at first glance. first glance provides traits of his that he shares with a large amount of others: short stature, slender frame, long and dark hair that he carefully tends and pulls back with silk ribbon. he dresses well, but not so well that he would stand out among the infinite variety of strangers that flow like lifeblood through the arteries of the city's streets. but it's when one looks a little closer to take note of the pale, corpse-like tone to his skin, the strange eyes, and the horrific scar around his neck that they might come to realize just how strange this creature is.

among demons, he does not project very loudly that he is one, and especially not without the few powers that he does have. but he certainly stands out even among citizens of springstar, as they are still denizens of the living.

a smile twitches at makoto's lips; it causes one corner to hitch up over an oversized canine. ) You're sorry? ( he gives a single laugh, warm, though difficult to tell whether it's genuine delight or concealed mockery. ) Please. Don't be.

( why would he owe makoto such a thing?

the demon approaches now. he listens to link's question, regards the door, and huffs a short sigh. ) Have I seen whoever inhabits this particular building? No. But that means little. There are plenty of citizens moving through the streets, trying to find safety. Many others have been evacuated by the Meridian that have already come through. ( he turns back to set link in his unnerving gaze, irises like silver coins floating in pools of blood. ) How much does the answer matter to you? Will you search this place for them now, or will you try to find them once the dust begins to clear?

[bakedapple]

[ The stranger is coming towards him. Link does not move, almost stubbornly so; his feet remain so firmly rooted in place that they might be nailed to the ground. As he gets closer, the pallor to his skin becomes more apparent. That, itself, does not strike Link as so strange, nor are his unusual eyes, as unnerving as they are. But the scar encircling the circumference of his neck, on the other hand — is that even the right word for it, with what looks like sutures still criss-crossing the thick divet in his skin? — that is odd.

He doesn't like this man, or his strange questions, or the vague mockery in the tone of his voice, which Link seems to have done nothing to earn. But Link is too focused to take offense. He's here for a reason, with a particular goal in mind. If this guy is trying to pick a fight with him or something... he really isn't interested. ]

It matters enough for me to come here and check on them.

[ Curt, firm, and matter-of-fact. And maybe, buried at the bottom, a faint accusation that the stranger is asking his own stupid questions now. ]

What are you doing here? [ and, you know? while it's occurring to him: ] Are you with the Meridian?

[affal]

( one thing that makoto learned in all of his tireless efforts fulfilling contracts to collect human souls is that mortals are not often as aware as they might believe themselves to be of their wants, their desires, their predilections. or perhaps they are aware of them, but do they grasp the interstitial tissue, the sources and impetuses, the overall conclusion that they strive for? it's somewhat like not being able to see the forest for the trees. back then, it had always been a useful tool of his to pry at that which he was asked, peeling back layers of assumed understanding, contrived justification, or blatant ignorance until they came face-to-face with the cold truth of why they sank to such desperation, to contract with a demon for something they felt they could get nowhere else.

in a way, J had done the same thing to him. he had suffered his infrequent and bloody cannibalism for weeks before growing impatient with makoto's slowing pace, antsy to complete his contract and return home. so he had reached past the cruelty, morbidity, and intense self-loathing to pull at the strings of why, what exactly had made this soul so desperately ill that it was ready to remove itself from the world.

link might be frustrated with him, unwilling to contend with his mercurial gaze and somewhat mocking words, but to makoto... he's just making sure the stranger knows full well what he is asking and why. that should light his path for what to do next.

to illustrate this, the demon leans against the wall next to the window, shrugging with head and shoulder towards it. )

If that's the case, then, perhaps you should go inside and see for yourself.

( whether they are gone from this place, either alive in the city or otherwise, or whether he might find their cold bodies... it's a decision he will have to consider. sometimes Schrödinger's box is better left untouched.

well. how forward it is to just up and ask. but it's not something makoto intends on hiding. ) I am not aligned with the Meridian. Though I have been staying here, in the Heliopolis. ( though he will keep dextera's name out of it, just in case harboring him somehow came back to harm him or his reputation. he will not allow that. ) I'm here because I grew tired of being cooped up there. ( he gives a small, light shrug. ) No other reason.

[bakedapple]

I see.

[ A tourist, then. He'd almost prefer it if he were a Zenite, because then he'd at least be more likely to have a legitimate reason to be here. Scoping out how Spingstar is doing, trying to get Meris off guard, whatever it might be. An action taken in service of an allegiance. But, no, this unnerving man is here to entertain himself. ]

I don't have time to chat with the Unharmonized. Move aside.

[ Link is already turning away as he speaks, his eyes sweeping around their surroundings for something. His attention lands on a gardening shovel, leaning up against the brick outer wall of the building, beside a flower bed. He remembers this. The mother who stayed in this house was planting fresh flowers for spring the last time he was here. Those flowers are now wilted and browning, either from a lack of being watered recently, or the Blight, or both.

Wordlessly, Link takes a few paces over to the shovel, picks it up, and returns to the window. He gives the stranger one more dry look, and whether he has heeded his request to move away from the window or not, he lifts the shovel and swings it, hard, against the glass. It shatters, sending a spray of broken shards to the floor inside the home. ]

[affal]

( link turns away swiftly enough that he probably doesn't see the expression of cold flatness that covers makoto's face like a porcelain mask, the razor's edge of violence that glints in his oddly metallic eyes. but, even though it rankles his sensitive ego to be treated this way... he knows he's in no position to argue with it. the stranger is right. those Harmonized to a cause have little reason to deal with those who have refused (unless they are attempting to evangelize). and beyond that, not being Harmonized means that he doesn't have any of his innate abilities — without his memories, he doesn't even know what he might have been capable in all of those months he'd been on horos. makoto's understanding of strength and power is that of his Hell: it only exists when others can see it in you, can fear you using it against them.

he has nothing that others could see because it is not there, and he can't even make a decent enough bluff, considering how well-known it is that those who remain Unharmonized can't use their powers. so, by that token, he is also nothing.

it's a stinging reminder. he's always felt that for every few rungs of the ladder he manages to scratch and claw his way up, he's physically shoved many more back down.

when link returns with the shovel, makoto has moved a short distance away from the window, but he hasn't left entirely. he leans against the wall, watching sidelong as the Hylian swings the shovel and breaks the glass. the sound of the shards landing on the ground inside is almost musical. )

Be sure you clear the remaining pieces away from the frame. ( advice neither asked for nor wanted, likely. he smiles, blithe. ) It would be terrible for you to cut yourself on them while climbing inside.

[bakedapple]

[ The stranger's irritating words are ignored, although they do earn a sour look from Link. He isn't going to tell this guy to go away — he has the feeling that getting angry would only serve to provide the entertainment he's looking for, and really, Link would prefer not to distract himself with him. But after he silently climbs through the window, he spares a moment to look back out of the opening at the man. There's a vague well? are you coming? sort of look on his face during that moment, and then he turns back around to survey the inside of the building.

It's dark. Light from the window illuminates the dust drifting in the stuffy, old air. And, there's... a smell. A very, very unmistakable smell. Immediately, Link knows what has happened to the people who live here. His heart sinks. Perhaps out of desperation, or perhaps out of hope, he takes a deep breath and calls out into the darkness — ]

Hello? Is anyone here?

[ Maybe one of the children survived? Could they be somewhere in here, huddled in the back of a closet? He takes a step and something crunches softly under his foot. It's one of the Blight vines. Squinting in the darkness, he sees dozens of them now, criss-crossing the wooden floor. This is bad. ]

[affal]

( yes, link, unfortunately makoto has been starved for enrichment lately, and your plight has just so fallen into the crosshairs of his temporary interest. his smile persists in the face of the hylian's withering stare, and when the stranger gives him another pointed look after climbing through the window, he just makes a sort of, go on ahead, gesture.

perhaps it would have been better for the other young man to turn away, to choose the safety of ignorance over the grim reality of certainty. if he never saw the inhabitants of this home again, he could tell himself that they perhaps found another home under the auspices of the good will of other springstar natives. or perhaps they had managed to escape the city entirely, fleeing somewhere else in kenos where they might find some form of succor or another.

instead, the interior of the home is silent as a tomb, pervasive with a scent that makoto is at least tactful enough not to comment on.

as link steps forward and discovers the lattice of vines covering the floor, makoto speaks to him from where he is sitting on the windowsill. )

It's not too late to turn back.

( the mocking edge of his voice is gone, leaving it oddly still and serious. his eyes, near-luminescent and colorless, are much the same. spoken with all of the self-assurance of a demon who has sewn just as many tragedies among those who contracted with him as he had experienced himself: you will likely not like what you find, should you proceed. )

[bakedapple]

[ Slowly, Link turns to look back at the demon in the window, his overgrown bangs falling over his handsome features. Much like the advice that had been offered to him, the begrudging tolerance in his eyes is gone, having turned muted and serious. He's right, of course. But it isn't that easy. Link does not have the freedom to turn away from tragedies — he's never had that freedom, not even before he came to Kenos, not within the very brief confines of his own living memory.

But he looks back at the stranger now, pausing, for how unexpected his shift in attitude is. For a few long seconds, he gazes at him from over his shoulder, and if he is trying to say anything with his gaze like before, it is far more subtle. Surprise, maybe, from the slight raise of his eyebrows, and maybe some inquiry, as he spares a moment to puzzle over the change in tone.

But then he turns forward again. He has no intention of turning back. ]

It's me, Link. I had to break in. I'm sorry. [ calling out again into the musty darkness, he continues inside, his boots crunching on the shining cyan vines. ] If... if there's anyone in here, can —

[ and then, a noise. something that sounds like an object falling to the floor, farther inside the house. Link startles, but once the sound registers in his brain, he is bolting through the main living room and down a back hallway, into the rest of the house. Through the dim light from the windows near the front door, Makoto will be able to just make out his form stopped in an open doorway, frozen as he stares inside, his back turned to him. ]

[affal]

( makoto merely responds with a long, level gaze.

link turns back towards the house and continues forward, making his choice.

after a long moment, listening to the young man's earnest call dying off in the oppressive still and quiet of the empty home, makoto quietly slides from his perch on the windowsill and joins him in its interior. his shoes make soft crunching sounds from the broken pieces of glass he treads underfoot. he carefully avoids the lattice of roots that spread their gnarled fingers throughout the rooms, as if grasping them possessively, violently.

he hears the sound as well, and he watches link beeline for it. makoto pauses, curious but also cautious. he watches his brief sprint come to a dead halt, and then, just like the house itself: still. silent. makoto feels the faint brush of apprehension against his heart, tense from the potential of what could and couldn't be, but he doesn't feel fear or dread as others might. instead he approaches quietly, carefully, arriving to look over link's shoulder at just what has arrested him so. )

[bakedapple]

[ The scene within the room is simple and quiet. Against the far wall is a corpse, almost entirely covered by a large wool blanket. Two shriveled feet stick out from under the edge, already in a state of mummification thanks to the time-sapping effects of the Blight. But the lump beneath the blanket is too large to be a single body. The shape around the corpse's torso suggests that something was being clutched in its arms when the person died. And beside the corpse, beneath the spread blanket, is another large mass. This one is covered by the blanket entirely, but it's easy to conclude that this is a second body.

The room itself is in a state of disarray. Whatever made that thunking noise could have been anything — something falling off a rotting bookcase, a rat scurrying through the debris. Anything except a living person, of which there are none in this room except Link and Makoto.

Link is silent. He stares at the bodies with a completely flat, almost robotic expression. Nor does he look back at the demon witnessing the tragic scene with him. After a few seconds, he steps forward with feet that feel heavy as stone. He lifts up the corner of the blanket to look down at the corpse. After a few seconds, he puts it down again. ]

Only three. Her oldest daughter isn't here.

[affal]

( it isn't the first time that makoto has stood witness to such a tragic domestic scene. it likely wouldn't be the last.

people contract demons in desperation. it's not something a normal or sane person would do — the cost is their very life, their essence claimed as gold dust to serve as the currency of immortals, so to call upon something so fearsome and so strange to do one final request for them before the curtains closed on their life is typically something done by one driven mad with grief, anger, betrayal, or bitterness. sometimes, upon being called, he had found such a miserable scene to greet him — someone horrified at what their own sorrow or anger could carry them to do, willing to call upon a demon to try to either cover it up or make what few amends they could before their soul was claimed.

there were other times that a scene like this was what was requested outright. makoto preferred to keep his hands clean in contracts such as those. after all, it wore down the soul so that it was that much easier to claim if he provoked the human he was contracted with to do it themself.

so he's oddly numb and distant to it, too-pale face like a porcelain mask as he observes what he can see of the desiccated corpses from the doorway. link confirms their states, and he confirms that it's not the entire family that suffered such a fate.

it's just as much of a curse as it is a blessing. makoto's lips form a thin line. )

She's likely the one that covered their bodies.

( while he supposes it's not impossible they could have been under the blanket when they died, it is unlikely. it can be an act of guilt or shame, to cover the bodies of the dead, though it might have also been the best she could do to lay them to rest. or perhaps she just couldn't stand the sight of them anymore... )

If she's still alive... It would be a perilously heavy burden that she bears.

[bakedapple]

[ Link's arms hang limply at his sides. For as eager as he was to get inside and check on the family that lived here, he is paradoxically calm in discovering their fate. Almost unemotional. Not even the demon's conjecture about the missing daughter being the one who covered the bodies — something very likely to be the case, and which Link himself had not realized until he pointed it out — barely registers in Link's demeanor. There's nothing more that a twitch, the curling of his fingers, but even then, they do not clench into fists. Not even loosely. ]

A survivor's burden.

[ That's all he says in response. The words are spoken softly, but with all the weight of someone who identifies far too deeply with what he's seen. ]

Let's leave them be. Come on.

[ His work here, inside the home, is done. Whatever more there is to do for this family and its sole remaining member, it isn't to be done here.

Link turns and walks out of the room. His footsteps thunk on the wooden floors and dry vines as he heads back into the main living area. Instead of exiting, Link walks to writing desk pushed beneath one of the shrouded windows. Once again, it is the stranger's responsibility to follow, but this time, Link speaks to him as he goes. ]

It's dangerous here. We're immune to the Blight, but other citizens aren't.

[ Having retrieved a fountain pen from one of the desk's drawers, he starts to write something on a piece of scrap paper. Maybe it seems odd for Link to be explaining himself to this stranger, after their tense interaction outside, but the Hylian is not one to hold onto judgment or offense for long. The task at hand is what matters now. ]

I'll put a warning to stay away on the door. The soldiers will know not to check inside.

[affal]

( this was the risk he had assumed in insisting on entering the building to try to find them. he could have remained blissful in his ignorance, convinced at least until an undetermined point in the future of their demise — but now Schrödinger's box is open, and they have learned that the cat is indeed dead. makoto senses the emotional dullness with which the Meridian Shard-Bearer receives this news, internally processing it. he is interested, but only in the most distant manner that professional curiosity could afford. though he feels divided several times over from that life that had once dominated his time and his thoughts, it is always in his realm of expertise to puzzle over the nature of the mortal soul, of its strengths and its weaknesses, and which ways it might be tempted towards the point of feeble exhaustion, stricken through with either satisfaction or despair, when it would give with the faintest touch.

though world-weary, link is not so fragile. or, at least, that's the sense that makoto gets. he is silent, weighing the stranger's words to see if they were further encumbered with the emotional baggage of one who identified with such a struggle. he would say his observation is inconclusive, but his gut instinct tells him otherwise. )

As you say.

( makoto shadows him to where he once again stops at the desk; again, he's puzzled by this, but once link explains his thought process, it makes sense enough. )

Though they will need to be dealt with eventually... Yes, that's a good idea.

( makoto leans over link's shoulder surreptitiously to watch as he writes...

remembering his handwriting from his statement to john... on a scale of 1 to 10, how generally legible does it look to the average passerby, or at least to makoto's eye... )

[bakedapple]

[ Well... at first, Link's handwriting will be totally illegible, but it's because he appears to be writing in a script that is entirely separate from the glyphs used to write Yima's common tongue. This is Hylian, the same script from his homeworld that he used to write his statement to John — who is undoubtedly sneezing somewhere in Highstorm at the same time Link suddenly stops writing, crumples that paper, and starts anew on another one. His lack of practice writing forces him to have to think harder about it whenever he does, and this extra focus is the same required to shift back to one's native language; inadvertently it combines to cause Link to write in the first alphabet he can't remember learning instead of the second alphabet he can't remember learning.

That is all to say that his handwriting, when he does get to something Makoto can read, is poor. The letters are skewed to the left, despite writing with his right hand, and he has to stop and cross out a few words after mixing up mirrored letters. It's a bit like watching a schoolboy awkwardly attempting to practice his penmanship, except Link is clearly too old to be writing his poorly, signaling his lack of practice of this skill.

But he finishes writing a message quickly enough. The paper reads, in large block letters, Bʟɪɢʜᴛ ɪɴғᴇsᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ. Dᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀ. Below that, in smaller print, is written Rᴇsᴄᴜᴇ Tᴇᴀᴍ - 3 ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍs ɪɴ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ɪɴ ʙᴜʀɪᴀʟ. ]

What was... her name...? The eldest...

[ Muttering softly to himself, Link stands up straight and turns away from the desk — not to face the stranger directly, but to look out at the dark and dusty living area with a distant look in his eyes. ]

Moria... Gloria? No... [ He trails off. As muted as his emotional response has been, a hint of sadness is leaking onto his features. He could've spent more time getting to know this family. He should know the surviving child's name, and it shames him to realize he can't remember it. ] I wonder... should I write her a note, too?

[affal]

( makoto is, of course, dubious as soon as he sees the indecipherable script. but perhaps link picks up on the subtle, awkward shift in the demon's demeanor (or perhaps his realization how useless this sign would be to any springstar native arrives to him perfectly independently), because he scraps the first draft he had been writing out and starts on a new one. he starts again once more, writing in the common script used in kenos, though... by God, makoto suspects even kieran would be able to write his letters better than this. he's not really sure if the feeling he gets from watching link slowly, painfully write out his message is that of being appalled or falling deeply into pity, but... hell. it might be both. )

You must not do this very often.

( to makoto's credit (???), there's no severity or implied judgment in his carefully-neutral words.

he studies the completed sign with a critical eye. it's amateurish to the point of seeming absolutely puerile, but he deigns that it's at the very least legible and readable. there's no need for him to offer undue effort to try to improve on something that's at least functional; he would claim it's just because he didn't want to, though perhaps it's more that it would mean more coming from one who truly cared to contribute to this effort.

he remains by the desk as link walks away, leaning against the wall as the young hylian turns away to look into the empty, echoing living space. makoto's emotions have over the last few years been bent into such a bizarre and inhuman shape that it's not really sorrow or sympathy that he feels for him, but... there is something that motivates him to speak. )

"To whom it may concern."

( if link looks back to makoto, he will merely shrug lightly under his coat, gesturing to the desk. )

If there's a message you wish to leave her, do so. Address it that way, and, should she find it, it's likely she will know it was intended for her.

( so long as its contents indicated as much contextually, but... it's the best letter-writing advice makoto could give, if link really was so unsure of her name. )

[bakedapple]

[ No, he does not do this very often. In the few months between waking up in the Shrine of Resurrection and finding himself in Kenos, he only ever had to sign his name on a handful of occasions. The fact that he's capable of reading and writing in the first place is proof that he received some amount of schooling, but it clearly wasn't very much. Or was it, and his inability is some strange side effect of his amnesia? There's no way to tell, and he'll probably never know. Those personal details of his life are lost to time.

Link can sense the scrutiny coming from the demon. It isn't normally the sort of thing to make him feel insecure, but combined with his strange attitude throughout all of this, Link finds himself feeling a bit defensive. He's just trying to do his best... for this family, for the surviving girl, for Springstar generally. ]

...Are you good at writing, then? Maybe you could write it down for me. Or are you really just here to watch?

[ Pressing his lips into a thin line, he studies Makoto. The question is not posed for the sake of confrontation, but it carries the same thread of polite tolerance that has colored their entire encounter thus far. ]

What's your name?

[affal]

( makoto clicks his tongue, shifting into a shrug of his shoulders. )

There's no need to get defensive. ( he cants his head slightly to one side. ) Perhaps my fickle heart has been won over by the tragic story I've seen play itself out before me. If you wish for me to write the letter for you, I will. I am quite accustomed to it.

( sure, he had never replied to any of the letters that J had sent him when working for datenshou, but he had at least continued to pursue his friendship with fjord by exchanging correspondence with him in that way.

he extends one hand, expectant for what link has been using to write. )

You may call me M.

( giving the obvious impression it's not his actual name, but it's as good as you're going to get out of him, link. )

[bakedapple]

[ With that agreement, the hint of defensiveness in Link's expression disappears. He is just as happy to let it go as he is to step aside from the desk and allow Makoto to take the quill pen, which he holds out to him in his left hand. The triangular Shard embedded on the back of his hand seems to catch more light than it should, lending its gold polished surface a noticeable brilliance in the darkness of the abandoned apartment. ]

Thank you. My name is Link.

[ He's grateful for the assistance. "M" didn't have to follow him inside, nor did he have to agree to write anything. He might find his reasons for being here in the first place to be objectionable, but help is help. Once the note is written, Link accepts it from the demon with a nod. Their parting outside is a little awkward — Link is in somewhat of a hurry, with many other homes to check on — but the handwritten sign placed on the door, written from the knowledge gained after checking inside, will help protect lives. ]