The Seeds of Unrest: the Iconoclast Oracle

[beleos]

RUNNING OUT THE CLOCK

The situation is bleak.

The Blight - and the massive labyrinth of roots tearing both cities asunder, spreading deadly flowers wherever they penetrate - have progressed to a point beyond catastrophe. People are dying in rapid numbers. Bearers are having difficulty keeping up with the spread of infection - even among one another. The collapse of Kenos seems inevitable; a cure will not come in time. You can do nothing but watch as each new day brings further disaster, ticking down the seconds until it all falls apart.

And then, you feel something seize your Shard. As if physical fingers have wrapped around it, as if it is being clutched through you by invisible hands, you feel invaded. You feel wronged. But before you can panic, a voice enters your mind through Communion.

“Excuse the dramatics, but there isn’t much time for pleasantries. The Trees are about to hit the point of no return. But there's still work to be done. The Tree of Life will take you where you can find it: the Oracle and the creature causing all this mess. Fix this when you find them. However you'd like.”

Have you heard Aetos’ voice before? Perhaps it is the first time; perhaps it is familiar to you. Either way, the last thing you will remember is a confusing jumble: a spell of immense and incredible power, one utilizing the Tree’s strength to shelter you. The sensation of every cell in your body coming alive, yet seeming to break apart and render you into billions and billions of tiny pieces, all hovering in different times and places across all the different iterations, timelines, and realities in which you have ever existed. A voice that speaks not through words asking your forgiveness, unspeakably sad.

And then, there is nothing.

AWAKENING

Your eyes open, gritty with the feeling of a long, deep slumber.

Perhaps it takes a moment to shake off the heavy veil of exhaustion, to recollect what you were doing before you fell into this state of hibernation - but as soon as you do, you feel an immediate sense of foreboding around you. It is thick in the air, oppressive and pervasive, and you aren’t left long to wonder at its source. You lay beneath the branches of the Tree of Life, but as your bleary eyes focus… you see it. The Tree is all but bereft of life. Its bark has withered down to gnarled wood, the soft lichen dried up, and the grass that should be alive beneath you is long dead and gone. There is not so much as a single leaf on its decaying branches.

It has been this way for a long, long time... you realize this with a feeling of intense dread as you see it - the beautiful expanse of stars, of the cosmos, of universes scattered like starlight above the tree's boughs, gone. In its place hangs a sickly, ominously low-hanging, and dying sun ready to sing the end of everything.

You can't help but wonder how long Kenos has been in this state, but a sense of gratitude fills you as you realize that the Tree expended the last of its energies to protect you, the Bearers, during your state of rest. Had Aetos worked with the tree to see you sent here?

The next question comes quickly: how much time do you have left…? And can you find the Oracle before that time expires?

ABANDON HOPE (DAYS 1 & 2)

The cornerstones are still active and will take you to whichever city you wish to see.

Highstorm and Springstar sit like empty monuments to the cities that were once filled with life - yet the first thing you will notice is they are strangely absent the signs of the Tree’s overgrown roots, the Blight, the catastrophic damage that you can recall all too easily. Instead, each city sits as those they were summarily abandoned overnight, leaving nothing but their shells behind. There is a stillness in the air that is unnatural and unsettling. Despite the lack of any sign of the citizens of either city, you cannot help but feel… watched.

Something terrible happened here. Best you find the Oracle before something terrible finds you, instead.

The burning of a dying sun beats down on you wherever you go, unbearable heat sending waves off the aged cobblestone streets. Perhaps it is your instinct to seek refuge in the shade - but linger too long about the shadows and that feeling of eyes on your back, of being unable to breathe, of your world closing in around you will grow untenable and drive you back into the light. If you hope to explore the ghostly shell of your city in search of the Oracle - or to sate your curiosity, some problem-solving might be in order.

And while you acclimate yourself to your circumstances, you cannot help but note you feel wrong inside, somehow…

EXPLORATION

• If your characters choose to explore previously unreachable areas, please use THIS TOPLEVEL to report when they get there in the thread! We will get back to you with what is discoverable in that location.
• The following areas are off limits for exploration: below Yima’s Manor; below the Church of Heliopolis; Alenroux; Kowloon.
• The Great Trees of both Highstorm and Springstar are in a similar state to the Tree of Life and will not respond to Communion.
• Generally speaking, items will be of poor quality. Most will look as though they’ve aged thousands of years. Others will be in half-decent shape, but sparingly so. Oddly enough, it doesn’t seem like the whole city has aged at the same rate, so especially diligent rummagers can find worthwhile supplies. Please consider this should be rare and don’t go overboard!

NOTES

Here are some prompt reminders - see the full thing at the OOC Summary!

• Characters will have a diluted connection to the Zenith or Meridian.
• There will be periods powers are weakened or non-functional during days 1-2 (up to player discretion).
• The sunlight results in scorching; the shadows cause claustrophobia and fear while outdoors.

THE RITUAL (DAYS 2+)

The place you started your journey to Kenos is also where it seems it will end. As soon as the first Bearer makes contact with the Iconoclast effigy, you are collectively drawn to the roots beneath the Tree - like a pang sent through your Shard. Your objective has been found. The Oracle awaits.

Trusting Aetos seems like a fool's errand, but you must put your hope in the Tree. What choice do you have left? It's time to find what lies at the end of this.

Bearers descend, your steps echoing in the dark, cavernous space. Once brimming with life and vitality, the roots are now dried and brittle like the bones of some ancient leviathan that died long ago. As you make their way deeper into the earth, the deadened roots twist, leading you to a vast chamber deep within it; the air here is thick with the smell of decay, and the faint glow of luminescent fungi and mosses barely illuminates the space.

To your left, the Bearers will notice what has drawn them here - and the object of their search.

An effigy sits on the ground between two darkened tunnels. The effigy is made of gnarled, dead branches woven together in a humanoid shape; its hollow, empty eyes are sightless, yet you cannot help but feel it is watching your every move. Branded on its forehead is the Iconoclast symbol carved into the rough wood.

Once all Bearers are present, the Ritual will begin. Your means of exit have been sealed off, and you are trapped, slowly deteriorating together…

NOTES

• Bearers will have access to the Ritual Chamber which is a very wide, open space with the effigy situated against the far wall from the entrance. Several smaller tunnels off-shoot from the Ritual Chamber. They all run to dead ends; some are very small or narrow. This may afford you meager privacy away from the group.
• Once a Bearer steps into the Chamber, they can no longer head back out the way they came. They’ll find themselves automatically walking back into the Chamber as if of their own volition.
• For brevity’s sake we won’t list them out again here, but the complete description of effects Bearers will experience days 2+ is available in the OOC Summary.
• The effigy is impervious to damage.
• It Is Watching You.
• In a dead-end root tunnel attached to the Iconoclast’s Chamber is the Blighted statue of an Otter that may be familiar to some… Please see THIS TOPLEVEL for more information!

THE PURGE (DAYS 5+)

The sap has festered in your veins for what feels like days. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed; this place has no sunlight. The effigy watches as you remain trapped, huddled together around it, unable to leave as you find yourself sick with the affliction of the Meridian, Zenith - or both.

And then… something finally gives.

Though it does not move and speaks no words, you feel the effigy offering you guidance. Knowledge. Much like the Tree speaks to you in impressions and feelings, you are conveyed wisdom you did not have before: a way to take what you want and rid yourself of what you do not. A way to make your convictions known to all who would hear them. A way to be known. To write your path in blood, be it yours… or theirs.

When all is said and done, only one force - Zenith or Meridian - will gain its favor.

Show it who you are. Show it what resolve looks like to you - and what you are willing to do to attain it.

NOTES

Here are some prompt reminders - see the full thing at the OOC Summary!

• You can Purge your alignment through various methods: Trading, Corrupting, or using the Effigy itself.
• All characters will understand the end goal is for everyone to Harmonize; the alignment with the higher rate of Harmonized Bearers alive when time’s up wins the Oracle’s favor.

NOTES

• A reminder that the Harmonization tally will take place on Friday, the 19th and be open through Monday, the 29th. The results will be released on Wednesday, the 31st OOCly.
• Don’t forget to submit any deaths to the Death Tracker, with a gentle reminder characters will remain dead until the event conclusion!
• Reminder to fill out the SETTING POLL ASAP if you haven't already!
• Have some MUSIC if you'd like. LYRICS here!
• HAVE FUN!!

CODING

Comments

gen | meridian > zenith , exalt | OTA

[epiprocta]

[ It's all so familiar, in a way.

Not their surroundings, not the mounting exhaustion, not the constant feeling of being watched -- no, those are new. But a lot else feels awfully familiar. The periodic, breathtaking wrench of despair squeezing tight around his lungs; the red-hot sear of an aimless rage making it impossible to think about anything else; the way his mind is violently overtaken by his darkest memories, blurring the borders between reality and the quagmire of his own thoughts -- all effects he'd endured to some degree or their other since his younger years. It's all terribly familiar.

But maybe that's worse, in a way. After all, their familiarity makes it that much harder for him to fight against them. Why bother, when he knows full well that those influences will win out, in the end? When has he ever been able to maintain his integrity in the face of his own mind twisting itself into knots? ]

i. - the ritual ( talk / communion )

[ He wanders in those moments where he can maintain some semblance of lucidity. Not that he can even wander far, given the place they've all been trapped in, but still -- he's always been restless, and at least moving around helps keep his thoughts at bay for even a few seconds longer. His footsteps drag as he casts about at his surroundings; half-walking, half-dragging himself as he supports himself against the closest wall, Gen draws a listless, wandering path around the chamber.

And maybe someone -- a familiar face, especially someone who might seem especially distressed -- catches his eye during those times. ]

... you still alive? [ That hoarse question is accompanied by a nudge of his boot against his unfortunate subject's shoe or side. He's hardly making the inquiry out of goodwill, more that he's desperate for something to distract himself with, but still -- how is his unlucky victim faring? ]

ii. the ritual + the purge ( talk / trade / corruption )

[ Those exploring the little dead-end corridors branching off from the main chamber might eventually stumble upon Gen -- literally. Because he's decided to hunker down on the ground just around a corner, sitting hunched over with his face buried against his knees.

Though regardless of if someone manages to catch themselves at the last moment, or if anyone's literally stepping on him, Gen still doesn't respond immediately. He's clearly lost in thought, hands tangled in his hair as he rocks back and forth where he sits, muttering something incomprehensible to himself under his breath. It's only after a few more quiet words murmured to himself that he looks up blearily -- eyes hazy, hair kinked out in odd directions, expression drawn and exhausted -- before very abruptly jerking a hand forth to grab at his unfortunate victim. It doesn't really matter if he manages to grab their hand, or their wrist, or even a stray fold of their clothes. Gen simply tightens his grip and yanks hard to try and drag the person a step closer, before they can flee. ]

Stay here.

[ Is it a plea, or a demand, or an order? Maybe something between all three, spat out guttural and hoarse. It's just that -- he might have sought out this quiet spot himself, but as those visions and flashbacks grow more relentless, he can feel himself starting to unravel. He needs something, anything to ground him more in the moment. And if he needs to tolerate the presence of another person for that purpose, then so be it. He'll take whoever this is. ]

iii. the purge ( trade / corrupting )

[ He's so close, he thinks. Or is he there yet? It's hard to tell. Either way, something within him's buckled, and it honestly feels like a huge weight's lifted off his shoulder now that he's given in and acknowledged -- he belongs with Zenith. There was never any other place for him. All this time, he's made attempts to stray from 'where people expect him to be,' but it was a waste of time. How did he ever think that he belonged anywhere else?

And now he just needs to seal the deal. Properly get himself there, entrenched deep with Zenith. (Wouldn't be a bad idea to take someone with him too, would it? Yeah. Sure, why not.)

His footsteps are a little unsteady, but there's still a sense of grim purpose to his movements as he stalks about the main chamber and down those branching corridors, mind abuzz with too many thoughts as he looks for someone to focus on. And whether it's someone's movements, or their demeanor, or just dumb luck that has his sights landing on someone -- ]

Hey. [ His bootsoles scuff against the ground as he lunges forward to grab at their arm, yanking them close. ] Let's talk for a minute, yeah? [ He is absolutely looking for more than just a 'talk.' ]

iv. the purge ( aggression / corrupting )

[ At some point, words feel pointless. His head hurts, his thoughts are a mess, Zenith's influence sings in his veins, and he's sick and tired of the stifling atmosphere in this place. Staying still becomes impossible, and even his listless wanderings of the chamber don't work to vent his roiling thoughts any more -- and as always, his thoughts cycle back to anger and violence.

After all, maybe they'll get out of this wretched place a little faster if everyone is either with Zenith, or death.

With what slivers of conscious thought he has left, he sticks to the side corridors, away from the too-many watchful eyes of the main chamber. But crouched down low as he rocks on his heels, Gen keeps an eye out for anyone who might come wandering his way. Those belonging to Zenith, he ignores, barely giving them a passing glance before looking away. But anyone else -- the moment he manages to think past the roiling haze of his thoughts to recognize them for what they are, he surges to his feet. There's a surprising, manic energy to his movements as he lunges forward to slam them against the nearest wall, hand tangling into their clothes to crowd them back and corner them. ]

v. wildcard

[ If we made plans but the above prompts don't work, or if you'd just like to do something else (e.g. with the exploration section), please feel free to hit me with anything else! If you'd like to make plans before we do anything, or if you'd like a custom starter, please feel free to hit me up on inktrashing#5307, databomb, or through my plotting comment right over here! ]

iii

[sharmat]

(uneven footsteps reach keen ears, so voryn is aware of gen's approach. this does not inspire him to turn his head to look at him; he'd rather be stabbed in the back than have to face another zenite's attempt to corrupt his values. perhaps if the call for his attention goes unacknowledged, the stranger will exit his wide sphere of personal space. of course, nothing is ever so easy as that.

a hand takes him by the bicep, tight and insistent. he must turn himself into the grasp to do anything about it, and he has raised his elbow to prepare to remove this new parasite; ultimately, the retaliatory, jutting joint freezes.

this close, voryn is easily able to meet sullen eyes.)

I know your voice... I have heard it before. (a chimer's memory is long—voryn's is longer. the elbow lowers but the arm stays between them. his forearm will act as the bar keeping gen away.) You wish to speak with someone you called a villain? I find this difficult to believe, boy.

[epiprocta]

Haa? [ Gen's memory isn't bad for what it is, but with his head full to bursting with too many thoughts and his pulse pounding in his ears, he needs far too long to realize what Voryn is talking about. Given the way he fixes a bleary, wild-eyed stare on Voryn in silence for a solid few seconds, it must be obvious when the slow gears in his head finally click into place and he gives a low scoff. ] Oh. You're that guy.

[ His memories are still hazy, but he does recall enough. The strange, grandiose way this man had spoken, along with his insistence on acting noble. And also -- his seemingly steadfast belief in Meridian.

Sure, he can work with this.

The corners of Gen's lips rise in a lopsided, wolfish smirk as he slowly eases himself forth another half-step to crowd into Voryn's personal space; that grip on the other's arm doesn't relent, even knowing he'd come close to being struck. His voice is low with a note of something conspiratorial when he drawls, ]

Well -- what was it you said back then? You gotta be there to protect the weak Meridian, or something? You're sooo noble and cool. But you're not in any state to do that right now, are you? [ A meaningful pause before he continues. ] I can help you get there, you know.

[sharmat]

You wish to help me? (asks voryn, confusion causing a worried arch in his brow. they are losing again to zenith, he can feel their corruption like sweet oblivion in his veins. it is the call of the void. it is the call of apathy.

nihilism is dangerously attractive.

gen steps closer to him and voryn's arm allows it because he is curious. they have never before spoken in the flesh and now they speak too near to one another. it would strike him as darkly comedic if he were not suffering intense hunger, thirst, and a desire to pass on the sap inside of him. this young human is an outlet as much as he is an ally, but that would cost them.)

Do you not belong to Meridian? (the hand on his arm is flexed against to test its strength. voryn could break free from him but chooses instead to lean into the hold. he examines gen's face in great detail at this proximity, eyes narrow.) If I recall, your name is one that I was provided as a member of the Church of Helios. You are Meridian.

(as he continues, his voice becomes dangerously low.) And you offer me now a trade? ... You are not yourself.

[epiprocta]

[ 'You are not yourself,' Voryn says. And Gen promptly laughs -- just one brief bark of something wolfish and manic, but genuinely pleased. ]

And what do you know about me, huh?

[ He keeps his movements slow and deliberate as he slides his grip on Voryn's arm down, down, towards his wrist. With his other hand, he reaches for the hand that acts as a bar to maintain some distance between them -- talking the whole time, to keep Voryn's focus away from his movements, and instead on his words. ]

Yeah, I was with Meridian, but -- what d'you know about me other than that, hm? Other than that I could've been a useful soldier. Maybe you know I was one more pawn to move around to help protect all the worlds for people who wants to go back home. Not even a good pawn, just a pawn. -- but you don't know me other than that. And that's fine.

[ Those slow, controlled movements abruptly snap into place -- Gen grabs at Voryn's forearm to jerk it out from between them. And with one wrist in each hand, he surges forth, aiming to slam Voryn back against the wall. Not to hurt, but just to make a point as he leans in close. ]

'Cause I'm offering you a nice chance to get me out of your hair. And in return, you'll be one step closer to being back to how you're supposed to be -- the big, strong, noble Meridian leader who doesn't have to put up with bullshit like this. It's a win-win, isn't it? [ If Voryn will just give him what he wants -- that little extra push towards Zenith. ]

ritual wildcard! (You can pick when!)

[zauneyete]

[ Silco is angry. The last of Meridian has been purged from his veins, and he feels it -- shimmer singing just below his skin -- like there's something electrifying and sharp, like the pollution of his precious but now long-destroyed Zaun that ran through it as surely as shimmer did. He's cautious, making his way through the tunnels, he does not vanish from sight yet, though he wishes to. He doesn't want those from Meridian to know that he has his powers back yet, or that he is no longer plagued by Meridian's promise.

A childish laugh behind him forces him to turn his head -- to see nothing there -- nobody else would hear anything, and Silco's single eye narrowed, before he turned back, to make his way down a tunnel, though there's a humanoid there that caught his attention.

Silco tipped his head, as he drew near. ]

Well, well. Look who it is. [ The little traitor. Gen had been with Meridian, he knew, because he'd been "helping", and Set had not been very quiet about Silco's "assistance" to the lot of them. He neared him, facing him, and he leaned forward. ] Having a bad day, Gen?

[ Silco, now that he had finally expelled the last of that dreadful... Meridian looked cocky. Self-assured. ]

let's say fairly early on once the purge starts!

[epiprocta]

[ His head hurts, his thoughts are hazy, his pulse feels like it's echoing through his ribcage and up his throat to ring in his skull. He'd made his way down this tiny corridor in search of someplace quiet and sequestered in hopes of getting some rest, but he's not even sure if he'd gotten any rest there. How much time's even passed since they've ended up here? He hauls himself back to his feet just because he feels restless, but it feels so difficult bringing himself to move; he's just leaning against a wall, shoulders hunched and head resting against the uneven surface when he hears that familiar voice. ]

... Silco.

[ That name leaves his lips at a bleary mumble before his mind catches up.

His first thought is -- you killed Gray, you son of a bitch. His second thought is that he's in no real condition to pursue that line of thought. And his third thought is ... doesn't Silco have that stuff that's feels really good? (Maybe it'd help ward off how he feels like he's about to fall apart?)

Strange how that third thought lingers at the back of his mind. ]

What d'you want. [ Gen needs to clear his throat before he can muster those words, though Silco might note that, despite the caustic wording, they're oddly lacking in true hostility. ] Come to offer me a trade? [ Instead, it's that second bit that comes out grudging. The thought of accepting any more Meridian is now starting to feel wrong. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco hadn't been seeking out Gen, but he knew the boy was... susceptible to Shimmer. He knew that much. There had been more than once that he'd used it on him, either to fight That Thing in Horos, or to strengthen him on the Scorching Isles. It's the first thing he thinks of, when Gen asks if he's up for a trade, but after a moment, he's reminded that there was something else that they were trading.

He laughed, and covered his mouth. ]

Oh no. I already got rid of the filth that tried its damndest to hold onto what it couldn't have.

[ Meridian, he means. ]

Is Zenith's power that detestable to you, Gen? [ He didn't think it could be, could it? ] That you would wish to give it so freely?

i

[passio]

[ dextera has been up and down since all this started. the world breaking down around them had been horribly, hauntingly familiar, and dextera thought at first that he would be uniquely equipped to weather it. that may have been true in the city, but now that they’ve been all pulled down and he’s reminded of the tower all over again, he feels a way he hasn’t in months. maybe nearly a year—he doesn’t know exactly how long it’s been since he last saw the red sky above or god down below, but what this has all proven to him is that it’s never far from his memory.

gen speaks to him, and he shakes his head, mute and miserable. of course, physically, he’s alive. in all other ways, he’s barely keeping his head above water. ]

I can’t stand it here.

[ he communes as always, but with their barriers broken down, the words are accompanied by a gust of desperation. he’s losing himself. ]

[epiprocta]

[ That pang of desperation earns a sharp flinch, followed by a snapped: ] You think any of us are here 'cause we wanna be?

[ That shitty retort comes easy and without hesitation, because being abrasive is basically second nature for him. But his words are almost entirely lacking in venom -- Gen sounds far more tired than he does derisive, and he gives a low exhale afterwards.

His bootsoles scuff against the ground when he steps closer, then wearily plunks himself down to take a seat next to Dextera. Not so close that their shoulders are touching, but close enough that his presence is impossible to ignore. It's not entirely an altruistic gesture -- for Gen, that proximity and physical sensation helps keep him a little grounded, too. ]

... get your shit together. [ His exhaustion is made exponentially clearer through Communion, though along with it comes a chilling undercurrent of grim acceptance. Gen lets his head thump back against the wall behind them, sighing. ] You believe in all that Meridian shit, don't you?

[passio]

[ gen doesn’t take the next step, but dextera does, letting his head fall onto gen’s shoulder with the kind of ease one would have to be stupid to have. they’ve been through enough together—and dextera knows, more slyly, how gen feels—that he thinks he can get away with it. ]

It’s hard.

[ obviously it’s hard, and he knows it’s going to invite more scolding, so he keeps going before gen has the chance to get angry with him. ]

Aren’t you one of us, too?

III

[impiety]

I don't see why we can't have a talk.

[ At this point, his wings have started to become singed in the blistering sun. The beautiful white that they used to be has darkened edges. He looks more like the depiction of a fallen angel -- well, depiction from other worlds, anyway.

Still, he has the usual air: kind, patient, understanding. Even with Meridian corrupting his thoughts, he is still always himself.

With Zenith, it was so that he could acquire the Absolute God's shard - so that he could attempt to pull the power She has to remake everything for everyone. With Meridian, he wants to bring the world back - to have them know they again faced oblivion and continue to strike against the Absolute God.

His plans never change just the means that he is working towards them. Salvation continues to corrupt and drive him mad. But what can he do at this point? ]

How shall we start? [ A beat. ] How have you been, Gen?

[epiprocta]

[ He hates that that patient, soothing tone of voice does make him waver for a moment. And with the power of Communion ramped up so high, the boundaries between their minds rendered so thin, maybe Archangel can feel it too -- the way Gen's usual prickly attitude relents for a split second, foolishly yearning for the peace that those gentle words seem to offer him.

But only for a moment. ]

-- since when've you acted so friendly with me? [ Of course he has no memories of what had transpired during the masquerade; even if his memories hadn't been rendered foggy by booze, he'd never gotten to see Archangel unmasked there. ] But sure. If you're gonna cooperate, then that makes it easier for me.

[ His balance is a little wobbly when he crowds forth a half-step to firmly park himself in the other's personal space. ]

Pull out your shard. [ 'You're going to give me what I want.' ]

[impiety]

I'm always friendly with everyone. [ He replies easily. Archangel humors the idea of talking about what happened during the masquerade but decides against it. It would only ruin the transfer that they both want.

Well, that they both want , for now, . ]

It makes things easy for me, too. [ Archangel decides it's best to make it seem like they're cooperating. He even starts to undo the front of his clothes. The wings shudder before he undoes them so they fall to the ground. ] You're going to see something only a few have. Feel lucky.

[ Yet the tone of voice isn't teasing or seductive. It's bland and empty. Because as he reveals his chest, he shows off the mismatch of scars that are over his chest. It looks less like human skin and is not something a person could survive. He turns around to show his back - which has the same amount of scarring. ]

There it is. My shard.

[ He reaches up to the mess of ruined flesh to pull the shard out. It's between his shoulder blades but not so far up that he would not be able to remove it himself. ]

Here you are. [ He holds it out to Gen. ] Horrible, isn't it? The state of this body. But... it is my real body and for that, I am quite happy.

II, slightly wildcard.

[redsoil]

Gen.

[ — and like that, with but a whisper to herald his identity, the weight of Set's body drapes across the young man's spine. He fits to him, curling his knees up behind Gen's huddled form, chest pressed along the line of his back; his arms fit loosely around Gen's waist, hands slipping up to cradle his chest — to find the aching, thundering thing that is his heart, pounding against his own ribs. Set's body is cooling, Zenith poured throughout him, but his hands are still warm. He feels the brutal grasp of Gen's hand upon his wrist, and does not fight to free himself from it, enveloping the other to the point where he might just crush their bodies to the root-covered ground and drive them into the earth itself.

( With him, he carries it all: one vow, two vows, a garden of choking, red flowers and a single, peaceable bloom. A creature of extremes, of chaos and rejection of dichotomy. Someone who wavers, the same as a human, in the end. Who wants to be accepted, and who — who has thrown himself to where he will burn most acutely, in defiance of peace. ) ]

It is only me. I will not leave you.

[ He speaks to the back of Gen's head, into the dark hairs that gather sweat and grime at the nape of his neck and the line of his throat, breathing warm and hard. Holding him, as if together, they might hold one another from scattering to pieces. Like this, Set is not entirely kind, nor is he entirely cruel. There is no reason for him to be there, no ulterior motive. His mind is open and loose, and is so very glad, so very, very glad, that he has found Minegishi Gen in this place. ]

[epiprocta]

[ He feels skin against his back, hands against his chest, breaths against the back of his neck -- and for a moment his blood runs ice-cold through his veins, his pulse only thundering louder against his ribcage. With the border between their minds rendered so thin by the overdrive of Communion, Set must be able to feel the way Gen's thoughts are dragged into a deep quagmire at first. (Brief flashes of images and feelings. A dark closet. A suffocating heat. A warm body pressed against a small back. The sounds of violence and a child sobbing in terror. An overwhelming surge of self-disgust and rage.)

He'd been frozen in a seeming daze, and it's only after a long moment passes that Gen notices the differences -- hands wound under his arms instead of over, skin rendered cold by illness instead of swelteringly hot, a voice too deep to belong to her. It's just enough to help drag him back to reality. ]

... you. [ Right. This guy. Because they're here, in this wretched place right now. Not back in that horrible, dark, suffocating closet, no matter the similarities. No matter how much his thoughts keep being driven back to those awful moments. Gen swallows thickly before managing to find proper words. ] What're you getting all handsy for. Just 'cause I gave you my time before.

[ So he says. But there's an almost comical disconnect between his words and his actions, because his own grip remains brutally tight against Set's wrist. He'd tensed at first at the feel of breaths against his back, but that tension slowly drains; with his next ragged exhale, Gen even allows himself to sink into it, wearily coming to lean back against Set's body. ]

Just -- stay like that.

[ 'Don't leave,' he reiterates without words, tugging Set's wrist just a little closer. ]

[redsoil]

Just for that.

[ It is not 'just for that'. Not because they had been drunk, lost to some sickly feeling that had poured them into bed together and thrown them open in a haze of emotion and thought, as Set accepted and Gen tested every wall and boundary like a stalking animal far more used to a cage that had long outgrown, than the room to be, and become. It is 'just for that', for now. If that is the excuse Gen needs to use, to have this. To let Set have this, as he leans his head into the back of the young man's shoulders and does not move an inch. Not until he feels him begin to lean back, into his arms.

Then, he squeezes. Light, forearms tucked around Gen's ribs. The type of embrace that is akin to someone seeking to ground another, as he pushes his fingers across the back of the hand that clutches at his wrist so roughly and holds fast, just as tight. Speaking feels like a poor idea, it feels like it will shatter a moment and turn it mournful, inky-black and full of loss. Full of horrible memories of a boy in a closet, with the heat of another body around him like a noose. ( The briefest of sentiments from Set: comprehension, muted understanding. Gratitude, stronger than that. Gratitude, toward Minegishi Gen. ) ]

We can stay like this, for as long as we want. I will also listen to you, if you wish to speak.

ii. but the version with "damn bitch you live like this?" communion?

[consolation]

((lmk if this take on it works or if you want me to tread elsewhere!!))

[He’ll find it’s like pulling a ragdoll to him, as Caren is ripped into Gen’s grip so listlessly that the fervent violence of it seems almost comical.

Bearers quite literally manifest their own souls as they do, and yet she's never felt hers quite so disembodied as it feels now. To be sickly with malaise is nothing new. Even a few months ago, she had stripped of the condition that had given her life meaning while one day promising to kill her, and shamefully wondered if she could live like that perpetually. In this sluggish, sap-poisoned state, however, she has found a strange euphoria. No thing is beyond saving, even if the cost of salvation is consumption.

Caren glances down at his hands netting her skin, almost as if she anticipates they might pass through her or they might merge together entirely. When this doesn't happen, she lifts her flat eyes back to his. Her cold, pale palms stroke the back of his wrists. Everything is very smooth.

With the membrane that guards their Communion as thin as mountain air, he might even be able to feel the weak but driven flutter of her heart, winged and fast, as if it were his own adrenaline.]

You'll hurt me if you continue. [She doesn't pull away.] Just what is it that you think I can give to you?

[epiprocta]

( This works perfectly, thank!!! )

[ If Caren puts up no resistance, then that's all the more reason for Gen not to let go. Her meager protest goes basically ignored; it's only the gentle brush of chilled palms over his skin that earns a breathless huff as his grip claws harder against her clothes. ]

Just shut up and sit your ass down.

[ In truth, there's not much comforting about the tactile sensations she presents. She's too delicately-built and cold to provide him any distraction through lurid indulgence, and the lack of any real resistance means he can't even pretend he's effectively venting his distress through anger, as he always does. But still, she's something that his mind can fixate on, the simple physical feedback of her presence better grounding him in reality.

He huffs another hard exhale before tugging at her again, urging her to settle down like he demands. But at least this time he accompanies that gesture with more than just a shitty, rude command. ]

... you're acting all calm, but you're not feeling normal right now, are you? I can feel it, y'know. The way you're all jittery inside. [ That flutter of her pulse is slightly askew from the more twisting, gut-wrenching pace of his own anxiety, but it's still close enough that he can recognize it for what it is. ] So stay.

[consolation]

[Some people like that she's delicate and cold, Gen.

It's almost a little insulting. Of course, he can tell the way she's feeling. That's often enough to disarm her, and it's true enough this time, too. She would rather not be called out like that, used to the relative protection of being an observer rather than a participant. However she's unraveling, it should be between her and one other alone. Her cheeks round out; she's puffed air into them.]

Order me around like a fellow dog all you'd like. [Her skin is clammy, which become obvious the closer they are. However briefly, there's a light that sparks in her dull golden eyes. Offense, but a paradoxically pleased one, as if how dare you? could be felt with excitement. It's a bone for him to chew on, at least, while she stumbles to the ground beside him.]

You may be a mutt baying at the moon... but I will keep you company nonetheless, so you know you aren't experiencing this alone. [The collar of her dress might as well be choking her. Now that Caren is still on the ground, it's easier to see the erratic was she pulses for air, the way she fidgets with her restrictive clothing. It really does feel like she's being squeezed by something that wants to break and recreate her bones as branches. Her mind, however, is the opposite of thus restrained. The foyer of her communion is always like the empty pews of a disarmingly empty, echoic church, but this one might as well have been torn up by the roots that ripped up the floorboards.]

purge wildcard!

[affal]

( ooc: didn't want to dictate too much for gen on this one, so wildcarding + leaving it vague for you... lmk if you want anything adjusted! )

( as time passes, the severity of their situation escalates; the demands of the Oracle become stronger and heavier. impossible to ignore, threatening them all should even one refuse to relent.

choose or conform. after days swaying on his own personal pendulum between the tides of Meridian and Zenith, makoto knows that that's the shape of it. at his very core, entwined in the very essence of him that is rotten and contrary, he rejects it — he rejects it just as he doesn't even truly remember rejecting the Kenoma, even though there had been so much within its siren's song that he knew resonated with him. whatever peace he might have found in it, whatever purpose or kinship, it didn't matter, not when the only true lasting memory he has of horos is the feeling of being manipulated and used. at least when J had woven him into the tangled plot of his own orchestrated demise, he had done so leveraging makoto's own free will. sure, one day he would come to realize what he had truly wanted from the man all along — that it hadn't been vengeance but recognition — but by that point it would be too late. but at least his miserable existence from there on out would have been crafted of his own action, his own hubris.

it's just so much worse when it's some insidious outside force prodding him along, molding him and maneuvering him by way of subtle influence and gradual change. that is what he fears when confronted by Meridian or Zenith, whenever their forces began to well up within him, pulling every trick they had out of the proverbial hat to try to get him to either bend or break — whatever came first.

Meridian's efforts had largely been an amusement at first, with how off-base they were in the uncertainties and longings they tried to instill in him, but by this point even it's strong enough to make his mind swim and his heart ache in an alien way. Zenith... it's always worse. he has far more nightmares to haunt him than fond memories and good dreams — whenever he can feel the pendulum swing, signaling the retreat of Meridian in return for Zenith, he tries to get away from everyone else, down into one of the darkest side-caverns he can find. he has been trading away some of the energy, but even so, when sunk deepest under Zenith's influence, he's nearly catatonic...

he's interrupted and accosted before he can sneak away, all in a rush of violence and force that he couldn't hope to contest. his breath staggers before catching, then escaping in a hiss of pain and discomfort. he has to twist to even see who the hell it is.

though, as his eerie eyes stare unblinking into gen's, there's no recognition there. not yet, anyway. there's just shock and anger. )

What, ( he manages, tongue feeling thick and unwieldy from the combination of violence and Zenith's pull, his words feeling dull and clumsy in his desperate bid to get away, ) the fuck do you want?

[epiprocta]

[ He thinks he's fucking seeing things at first, when he spots that familiar face across the central chamber. Assumes it's some trick that this place is playing on him, like the way he keeps seeing phantoms back home from out of the corner of his eyes, ghosts of his hometown lurking at the periphery of his field of vision.

It's the only reason he ignores Makoto at first, pretending he simply doesn't exist. But after he's reached a certain tipping point and gained a new clarity of mind, those hallucinations of his hometown growing fewer and further between ... when he still sees that face present, it grates at his nerves. Of course he lashes out with a haphazard kick when he literally stumbles on the fucker while heading down one of the offshoot tunnels for a quiet place to rest.

And when his foot makes contact with solid flesh instead of just whiffing through empty hair like when he'd tried to bat away those other hallucinations, it finally clicks. ]

-- you're actually here, huh. [ It's said low in disbelief at first, but followed promptly by a sharp back of laughter. And this time, it's aimed more pointedly at Makoto's ribcage when he deals out another kick, bearing his entire weight forth into the blow. ] When did you get here, huh? Been sneaking around like the little rat you are?

[ It's not that he's any better physical condition than Makoto, really. Just those two kicks have him feeling ragged, his breaths coming hoarse, but anger and hatred have always been his prime motivators. They give him the strength to grab up Makoto's shirtfront in both hands and shove him into the nearest wall, teeth bared as he leans in with a wolfish smirk. ]

I'd say it's sad you wouldn't even come say hi to me, if I didn't already know that kind of underhanded bullshit is all you're capable of.

[affal]

( there's something about the other young man that nags at his mind, itching like a half-healed wound. he assumes the vague, pressing feeling of familiarity is the exact same that he had originally felt about him upon their first meeting in horos: not necessarily a familiarity for gen personally, but as a representative amalgam of every sharp-eyed, harsh-tongued schoolyard bully that had violently checked him throughout his young life for being so odd, so quiet, so creepy, as if they could scent the vile rot deep within that he tried so hard to bury in his mind even through all of his efforts. when he had seen him, he had told himself that his inborn assertion that their meeting would come to physical blows was simply from those age-old experiences, still carried with him despite the fact that they had belonged to a foolish, self-loathing, contemptible little boy who was long since dead.

so when the first thing the stranger does to greet him is to aim a kick at him, he doesn't even feel all that surprised; there's just a low, pervasive sense of impending dread, one that manages to separate itself from the tide of Zenith which slowly surges through him. this body of his had not been chosen for its ability to sustain damage. it would always have been the assumption that his eternal nature as a demon would simply repair what would be done to it — pain was never taken into account, because it is simply a natural byproduct of living (and a wonderful teacher, or so J might proclaim). so whenever inflicted upon him, makoto always suffers it at its broadest capacity. he manages to stop himself from crying out at the first assault, though he only does so by crushing the sound pitifully into a choking gasp which lodges uncomfortably in his throat. his breath hisses noisily through teeth clenched to combat the radiating pain of bruised flesh and bone; he can barely keep up with what's being said, though he does hear the laugh. it paints the interior of his thoughts a bloody red. he's clutching at his arm in pain, too sluggish to do anything about the second kick which connects with a disquieting thud and sends him staggering back and into the wall. it's just as good that it did — without his shoulder pressed into it, he would have collapsed to the ground. the wind had been knocked out of his lungs, and his chest burns like it's on fire; it's all he can do to keep his feet shored up beneath him.

all of gen's words start lining up for recognition now, after the main damage is done. they begin to trickle into the forefront of his mind as the other young man approaches, looming, reaching out with rough hands to ruck up the front of his shirt into controlling fistfuls. he pins makoto against the earthen wall, and, wheezing for breath, there's precious little he can do about it. he has a pathetic, antiquated knife hidden away in a pocket in his coat, but after that first kick, his arm — fuck, he can barely move it...

he stares into his assailant's face, and still there's nothing that resonates in his mind. not yet, anyway. his too-sharp teeth grit into a grimace of pain, his pale eyes burn into gen's with a fiery hatred, but it's a fresh one, not a familiar one. it's evident in this blankness in his expression that he doesn't recognize him, he doesn't remember him... but, in a way, he doesn't need to. not for this moment, anyway. )

I see... ( the words wheeze out through cracked lips, and one corner of his mouth even dares to hook upwards into a dangerous smile. ) And here I've been waiting for someone with unfinished business from before to find their way to me...

( after gen has leaned in closer, mouth curved in a similarly feral smile, makoto responds suddenly, hoping to catch him off guard. he uses every ounce of strength in his aching body to lurch forward and headbutt his attacker — though the effort probably hurts him just as much (if not more) than it does gen. that much is obvious at the stagger and shudder of hissing breath, the feeble and entirely involuntary sound of pain. it's a starburst of pain which emanates from his crown, threatening to split his skull, and ripples throughout all the rest of him. but it had still been worth it, of course. as much as his reckless counterattack was for him, in the present of this moment, he's sure the version of himself who had known this wretched thug would have appreciated it as well. )

ii!!

[oomfies]

[ He grabs her hand — his hold is so tight that it startles her (really, Lottie in this state being startled is a far too delayed grunt, a haggard exhale). He feels warm in comparison to her clammy skin, and it takes her a moment to actually force her head to turn and look at who is touching her. ]

..Gen?

[ She mumbles out, brows furrowed ever so slightly. There's a beat of silence, and whether it's because she's just now putting two and two together that this is more a cry for help than a demand, or that she's just.. Exhausted, herself, it doesn't matter. Lottie stiffly eases herself beside him, to where he can still comfortably hold onto her hand, even if her own grip is loose.

He'll find that she doesn't look any better, if he studies her long enough. That her nose, even the tips of her ears, are all rimmed red. That her eyes are teetering on bloodshit and she is pale, she is tired, and she is breathing through her mouth for lack of ability to do it through her nose. Even her hair, usually curled perfectly and done up to the heavens, is limp— and trapped in a braid that's falling apart every moment she shifts and 'gets comfortable' beside him. Lamely, she says, ]

I was trying to find a place to sit, anyway..

[ So it works out, either way. He can deny that he needs her here, just as much as she's denying she needs him (somebody, anybody that won't make her feel more insane than she already does), beside her. ]

[epiprocta]

Who else would it be.

[ He offers that retort mostly as reflex, but it's pretty toothless at the moment. Between the way he maintains that insistent grip at her wrist, the look in his eyes that he gives her past the disheveled mess of his bangs, and with those dog-ears of his flattened back against his hair, it really comes across as more sullen and pouty than irate. Especially since he breathes a tiny sigh of relief when Lottie acquiesces and takes a seat next to him. That vice-grip he'd been maintaining on her arm releases slowly, and it's not until she's properly taken a seat that he fully lets go and withdraws his arm.

Clingy? Yes. Undignified? Oh, yes. This is the sort of shit he'd never do under normal circumstances. But right now, he just feels like he's going to unravel entirely if he doesn't have something, or at least someone to focus on. And Lottie -- harmless as she is -- will do just fine.

Gen slumps back against the wall himself as Lottie settles in, though he keeps his head canted so Lottie remains firmly in his field of vision. Just making sure she's there. ]

... 'm so sick of this place's bullshit. [ And since she's here, of course he promptly lays out his gripes. Though it's hardly one she'd disagree with, he imagines. The fantasy folks here might be different, but he knows Lottie is from somewhere normal and modern and civilized, like him. ] Bad enough dealing with the cities trying to roast us alive, and now we get stuck down in this shithole.