Toxic Love: The Exalt Oracle

[beleos]

NOTHING GOES OFF WITHOUT A HITCH

You feel it, the moment that the Exalt oracle opens its eyes, like something that rips through your body from head to toe, something that feel like fire, wild. It sears into your veins, like acid and fire, something that triggers something that makes you want to run, or perhaps turn and face something head on. Before you can find what sets you off – if you could find it. Bearers know what this sensation is, it is different but the same at its core. The emotions, the feelings it sparks are different – but in the end, you know it for what it is: An Oracle.

Kenos groans from the awakening, like a part of a whole sparks to life, and though you do not know what it is that they want yet, you understand and know their existence down to your core. That feeling to attack or defend, perhaps even flee, does not leave you, but instead it fills your veins, you feel it thrumming, pulsing, like the beat of a heart – if one has one. With the sense of awakening, bearers know the shape of what comes next, they will be asked to act, to do. You do not know how it will happen, or what the Exalt will ask of you, but the knowledge that it will happen is borne from experience, not from the Oracle itself.

As you begin to move, to… look, you are not long for this day, it clouds your mind, a hazy, drowsy feeling takes over, the encroaching dark that threatens to swarm, crowding from the sides, taking over your vision – until… it fully takes over, and Bearers are put into a deep slumber.

---

When bearers awaken, it’s difficult to make sense of what your sleepy eyes see. Structures begin to swim into view, and they like tall figures looking down upon you. It’s difficult to tell what they are at first, but as you wake up, you begin to see, they are not people, or creatures, but long spore-like stalks. Some have ribbed overgrowths that you can see, and some end in growths that ripple and hang over, but have no “cap”. They tower over the bearers, like towering spires and buildings, on all sides, as if they were trapped in a ring of them. As bearers look around them they will notice tall green spires around them as well, and it takes a moment for things to really settle in. Mushrooms. Blades of grass. The springy moss about them is almost as tall as they are, low to the ground. There are pebbles that appear as boulders, and the thunderous steps nearby indicate an insect or arachnid walking by, far larger than you. There is a stillness to this space, like a held breath, and as the bearers awake, and regard one another, and then to the center of the circle is – a small effigy in the center.

It is here, the Exalt Oracle, and you feel compelled to regard it, before you are given a pang down to your core. It compels you – pleads, asks, begs, and demands, all in one – for what it wishes for. Precious mementos and precious items that they are missing. They have been lost, and they are somewhere within the Liosachán. It beseeches the bearers to return its items, and begs they be returned here to the circle. There are no words, but there is a pleading sensation, a feeling that these items are treasured by this Oracle.

You feel at your sides, your pockets, and find one item on your person, a weapon, a companion, whatever it is you would bring with you to the conflict, shrunk down to a tiny size with you.

Stay steadfast, bearers, and capture the flag Oracle!

SURVIVAL OF THE SMALLEST ( DAYS 1 - 5 )

Unlike the still, stale apocalypse that had been the setting of the Iconoclast Oracle, the greenhouse is lush and vibrant with activity.

The Effigy present within yearns to be reunited with what belongs to it, fixated upon the five items lost within the greenhouse. The swell of its longing fills all Shardbearers, urging them to take action, claim the items and present all five to it to attain victory for that Faction.

Over a period of ten days, Shardbearers of both factions will have to navigate environmental dangers, and the normal procession of time, as the greenhouse is going about its daily routine. Workers plod around like towering goliaths, weeding and watering and pruning the greenhouse's contents. The Liosachán's native population of fae begin to take notice of the newcomers in their midst, emerging from grassy mounds hidden in the natural landscape to spy and pry about the newness surrounding them.

Naturally curious, and equally dangerous, the fae of the Liosachán are Highstorm natives. They range in cool coloration, from soft violet-greys to deep stormy blues, and wear clothes fashioned from of goods pilfered from the pockets of workers, dropped on the ground or handcrafted from the environment itself. Wielding bits of copper tightly wound into blades and spears, they are a ferocious and cunning little people who seek to trick, trap and toy with Shardbearers. Direct violence is anathema to them, but violence that happens as a result of falling to one of their ploys is a badge of honor.

DAY ONE - THREE. The Effigy initially urges Shardbearers to build bases of operation for defense and practicality, as surviving ten days without supporting one another is a surefire way to meet a grisly, tiny little end. Resources must be gathered: gather food and water, prepare shelter, establish unity and organization and prepare to set off into the wilds soon.

For Shardbearers demonstrating particular selflessness, favoring the protection and defense of another, the Effigy responds warmly from the third day onward — rewarding them with a sign of their dutiful nature towards others in the form of fairy wings, the form of which are unique to the Shardbearer themselves.

DAY FOUR. The sudden thunderous sound of a storm begins. No, not a storm, the tumble and crash of water pouring down upon the greenhouse — the workers of the Liosachán perform their routines faithfully, after all. In watering the garden, the danger of the environment threatens to overtake Shardbearers and their work alike. Drops of water fall, their size equal or larger than even the tallest of characters, and trickles of water muddy the ground in the form of raging rapids.

The security of Meridian and Zenith's camps is even called into question, because as simple as the act of watering a garden is, it is a nightmarish situation for such itty bitty Bearers to be in!

DAY FIVE. By day five, the fae of the Liosachán no longer lurk and linger in the corner of one's eye. They make themselves known, having prepared a banquet below one of the mushrooms, within sight of the Effigy. A table draped in spider-silk lace awaits any Bearer who comes near enough, the sagging piece of driftwood polished to a gleam with golden sap, leaving it waterproofed and pretty to behold. A handful of corks serve as seating, with most of the fae draping themselves across scraps of cotton as though they are simply at a picnic.

They invitingly wave to Shardbearers, chattering brightly in their foreign, lilting tongue, waving tiny sandwiches and little clay pots full of jams and honeys, brandishing sugared berries that they bite into with gusto, staining their arms and faces in swathes of blue and red. They clearly are welcoming to whomever comes upon them, urging them to avail themselves to the bounty they have prepared. Perhaps some characters know better than to eat the food of the fae, recalling legends and lore about the mystical properties and implicit bargains made in becoming a guest. Perhaps some have no idea, and are simply hungry enough to dig in!

UNWILLING TEN-ANTS ( DAYS SIX - EIGHT )

The scuttling, scrabbling feet of ants crawling over surfaces, winding their way through this grassy playground, has become normal. Their feet thunder as they go about their business, and it seems to be a normal cadence to life here in the underbrush, in the greenhouse. It is normal, and it is has become nothing to really concern oneself with. They are ants, after all, what do they do, but work? Endlessly, continuously.

That is, until the heavy, loud sounds of their feet draw closer to whatever place that the bearers have found to camp in. Whether solitary or as a group, these workers are no longer content to simply ignore the bearers, but they are a curiosity, perhaps even a bother. You have disrupted their lifestyle. The sleepy pattern of obtain food, return ot the hive, and back out again now has obstacles. Now there are not simply the fairies, who live their own lives and existences, a part of the ecosystem, but now there are these tiny bearers. Fighting, working together, arguing and disagreeing.

You are disruptive to their way of life.

The ants have come to collect on this due, and some bearers that are vulnerable, or perhaps merely caught, are taken away, your weight so light compared to the rest of their burdens that they carry. The strength of these ants is overwhelming, incredible at this size, and try as you might, if you are caught in their strong mandibles, you cannot escape. An ant, after all, carries 1000 times their weight with those powerful jaws. You, bearer, are nothing to them.

They squirrel away the bearers within their hill, a complicated network of tunnels, junctions, and large spaces. Down within, where the air becomes stifling, and stale. The ants guard their pray, and you get the distinct sense that they see you not as people, not even as enemies, but as prey. You will be food – perhaps to the eggs that are gathered within this room, where you can see the stirring of new life, just beneath the surface. You may not have very long to live, if these little larvae get their mouths on you.

Or perhaps, your friends will save you? Once it is discovered that bearers are missing, the trail of ant prints on the ground is apparent – they are not stealthy creatures – and the feet lead from the locations of several kidnapped bearers toward the grainy ant hill that lies not far away. The hill itself swarms with life, with worker ants all over the surface, scuttling about, looking for the next meal for te colony. Or perhaps for more bearers to bring back for their young.

It will be dangerous, bearers, to save your friends. Should you choose to do so, you will be kicking the anthill, and the ants will protect what is theirs. Even if they just took it. Those bearers belong to them, now! Rescuers will find not only your average worker ant, ready to defend, but winged male ants will attack from above, and deeper, within the nest, near where the bearers are kept, lies the strongest ant in the colony: The Queen. Staggeringly large, strong, and vicious, when her subjects begin dying. She will do everything in her power to protect her colony, and that includes killing bearers, if need be. Or trying, at least.

Good luck rescuing your friends, bearers!

IN SMALL PACKAGES ( DAYS NINE - TEN )

The day after the ant-pocalypse brings with it the brush of recognition — the Effigy has foreseen the likely victors, and calls to them to approach it once they have suitably recovered. It judges them the ones whom are most devoted to what binds them, loyal to memory and remembrance, and begins to clamor for them to restore to it what belongs rightfully. Thus begins a full day of resting, locating last-minute items, shoring up defenses and preparing for the sprint to the finish line.

Certainly your rivals will not allow you to simply walk to the Effigy unassailed and unchallenged.

Eat, rest, ensure your fellows are close and bolstered, for tomorrow begins the final rally.

On the morning of the tenth day, Meridian Shardbearers approach the Effigy with its five items in hand. In the midst of the mushroom ring, the Effigy stands as it had in the beginning — arms outstretched and back bowed skyward, gnarled fingers seeking contact with that which has been lost to it. It awaits, it strains, and even as it does, it requires one last test of ability. From the shadows of the towering mushrooms, the rasp of scale and soft hiss of a great beast descends upon the fae ring.

A gleaming garden snake, with glossy black and green stripes, blocks the way between approaching Shardbearers and the Effigy.

Between its bright eyes, pressed upon its brow is a scattering of brighter scales that appear to be in the shape of a delicate, three-leafed plant with spiraling patterns for leaves. It braces itself against the approach, and there is no doubt that to claim victory, the serpent must be subdued. Though Meridian approaches with victory in hand, they have not yet attained it — their rival faction and this beast remain in their way.

MISSING LINKS ( THROUGHOUT )

As the Effigy desires to be reunited with what belongs to it, the swell of its longing stirs something more within all present Shardbearers.

With that foreign longing arrives knowledge: beyond the five items prized by the Effigy itself, there are other lost things within the greenhouse. Like a compass, each Shardbearer's mind points them in direction after direction, urging them to seek and explore. Implicitly, the thrum of comprehension fills your mind: these are things that do not belong to you, per se, but seek to have your hands ferry them home.

Amidst tangled brush, hidden under doffed acorn cap, tucked away in the belly of a fae's glittering den, lost in the depths of a puddle of spilled water that seems an insurmountable lake now, folded secretly into the petals of a towering, skyscraper-like flower, there are three additional items hidden within the tumultuous landscape that each Shardbearer feels a draw towards. Things that belong to someone else, eager to be reunited with them, but subject to whim.

Upon locating and retrieving one, the Shardbearer is filled with a sense of information — they know who this item belongs to, and they will know that they have a choice. Bonds are fragile things after all, and they exist to be enforced or abused, in order to advance a goal or to deepen a connection. How will you treat someone's precious bond? How will they treat yours?

NOTES

Here are some prompts to set the scene and foundation of the Exalt Oracle! — The theme of this Oracle is a loose edition of capture the flag, where the Effigy's items can pass through multiple hands within the ten day allotment.

— For additional ideas and fun, it is known that several Shardbearers have concluded their efforts to fulfill the Greenwood Yards' sidequest request.

— All details of the Exalt Oracle can be found here, and questions for the mods can be submitted here.

CODING

Comments

[epiprocta]

[ Maybe in another time, another situation, he would have been more rattled by that tidal wave of rage and pain. It's a solid wall of emotion that slams into him with almost breath-taking impact, and he does physically recoil -- but just a fraction. In another time, another situation, he probably would have been a little more sympathetic towards Set's howled demand.

But right here and right now, his own stakes are too high for him to give that demand even the slightest bit of consideration.

('Liem, you rotten son of a bitch,' he thinks vaguely to himself. 'So this is what you felt like talking to me, and you brushed it all off, for what?) ]

No.

[ His responds comes flat and steely, spat out quick and guttural past gritted teeth. Though Set might find some meager comfort in the fact that Gen doesn't just end his answer there. There's a hardened, grim patina to his words, and across the intimate connection of Communion, a lucid mind might be able to sense the way they're just barely holding back Gen's own overwhelming emotions. Is Set even rational enough to make that observation right now, though? ]

I hid them somewhere safe. You'll never find'em on your own. And you're gonna listen to what I tell you to do if you want'em back.

[redsoil]

[ The immediacy in which Set falls beyond ration and reason ought to be alarming, to anyone who comprehends that he prides himself not on his strength of arm, but his raw intellect. Set is smart, clever, and right now, he is simply one raw nerve that Gen has pierced through without even really knowing why. ( Does he even care? Does this young man Set has prized so much even know what he is doing, in taking this action, in making this choice? ) ]

No.

[ Spiteful, vengeful, clawing at the limits of his own leash. Some part of him might feel the stirring of Gen's own wild emotions, but if Gen wanted to be pitied and sided with, supported, he should not have approached Set with such a short-sighted, miserable command. ]

No, you will GIVE THEM TO ME. If you wanted something from me, you should have just asked me for it!

[ A storm within his mind opens, yielding a cry — that he would have, for Gen, he would have listened and worked with him, if only he had just... come to him. And now, he can only push that ( affection / bias / love? / pride ) into a dark hole and try to plunge himself into Gen's mind, stalking around the edges, rattling at the dark corners to try and dig up a weakness, a spot within Gen's mind where he can peel back the edge and expose where he's hidden those jars. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Try as he might, Set won't get far in his attempts to pry into Gen's mind before being warded off -- violently. There's no warning before the landscape of Gen's psyche, the sliver that Set can see through Communion, explodes with the jagged heat of his own rage. ]

SHUT IT!

[ His words bristle, all sharp edges and coils of barbed wire, white-hot with anger even when he continues at a lower snarl. ]

You think you're the only one with something important at stake?!

[ And there lies the crux of the matter, doesn't it? (Yes, Gen would normally care about prodding at the sleeping beast with a branding iron like this. Yes, this is an action he wouldn't take lightly. But also -- none of that matters. Nothing else matters until he's once more secured that single object he cares about magnitudes more than his own life.)

There's the briefest pause before he gives an ugly laugh, the noise harsh and edged with derision. It's of a sharper, more bitter flavor than his usual attitude; Set isn't the only one whose nerves have been grated at. ]

And the hell's wrong with you. I should have just asked you? As if I could trust that! [ His anger spikes once more, though this time it bristles with an equal amount of hurt. He'd trusted Liem, after all. Had thought Liem one of the more decent adults he'd ever met -- turns out adults are all the same, after all. Selfish, self-serving, deceptive. A bitter, resentful huff before he continues, his voice lower; his anger ebbs and flows, volatile, but never subsiding to any substantial degree. ] I have what you care about, so you're gonna listen to me if you don't want me to smash'em to bits. Understand?

[redsoil]

[ It has to be a shard. This has to be about a shard.

Gen is at fault here. Gen chose to accept Yima's offer. He could have just been satisfied dying, satisfied working toward the destruction of his world, whatever the hell it was he wanted from Zenith — where he had gone, because he belonged there. Well, what if his precious little someone didn't belong there? What kind of responsibility was Minegishi Gen going to take for that? He's the one who made the choice that now has him acting like this, going wild for something that he made into a target.

Contained behind red-flowering bramble, Set's rage and pain that begins to collapse around him, dragged down by force and madness and a deep, deep sense that it has happened again, resignation. He darkens, blackens, and becomes smooth and glassy and yielding. Within their minds, it is obvious that Set, proud and clever, can be brought to heel by this threat.

There is the impression of him folding to his knees, his teeth savaging his own mouth as he works at it, biting himself because he cannot put his fangs into the throat of the one who is issuing this ultimatum. ( And he begins to think to himself, what he is going to do after this, as he prepares to tally how much flesh he will take for this crime. ) ]

Yes. I would have helped you, just like before. You could have come to me, always.

[ Hollowly, he floats the memory: holding him in the roots, accepting him, pushing him to the place he wanted and needed to be. And then he shoves it into the dirt, and bows his head before Minegishi Gen. ]

— I understand.

[epiprocta]

[ Maybe later, he'll regret this. Not because of any violence or punishment that Set will enact upon him, but because he, too, remembers that moment they'd shared, tangled together beneath the tree's roots. Maybe later, Gen will regret having brought Set -- proud, wild, bright as the desert's sands and just as scorching -- to heel like some mutt. (Like himself, always throttled by Yuko's leash.) Maybe later, he'll wonder if there was another path he could have taken.

But in this moment, that nebulous 'maybe later' simply doesn't matter; it exists far beyond the tiny point that his field of vision has been honed into. His entire life has been sustained by the presence of a single other boy, the singular anchor he could tether his pretense at sanity to, and Gen is incapable of considering anything else. All that matters is that Kurose Reiji is returned to him, is his once more, as soon as possible.

No matter what it takes.

Set buries that memory in the dirt, and Gen trods upon it without hesitation as he steps forth to lord over Set. ]

... it's Liem. [ The vicious flare of his anger quiets in volume, though not in intensity; a bonfire shrinking down to a single white-hot piece of steel, warping the very air around it with its heat. There's the bitter bite of betrayal, too, acrid as smoke as he mutters, ] Son of a bitch. I trusted him.

[ Liem will pay for this. He'll make sure of it -- through Set. ]

He has a shard that belongs to me. Says he hid him somewhere safe. [ 'Him,' he calls the shard, in the same breath that he declares it his. There's no hiding the manic, desperate, possessive quality to his words when he speaks of that shard. ] You're going to do whatever it takes to get him to cough up where he is, then bring that shard back to me.

[redsoil]

[ There will be no 'maybe'. Gen will regret this moment, because within Set is the brittle, harsh, ugly thing that knows he will ensure that he does. ]

I see.

[ Set refuses to look into Gen's mind further. He turns from the feelings that are harbored for Kurose Reiji, as if they matter not at all to him in this moment ( they do not, they will not until the quartet of canopic jars and their contents are held in his hands once more ). The things he has done for the boy who's viscera fills each of those jars — oh please, he thinks, please let them be empty. Let this just be a fool who cannot shake the memory of that night, the weight of those jars.

Behind Gen, someone whispers — You know what you have to do — patient and deep. A glossy memory, thin as fine silk, that flickers across their shared space. Whatever might be within Set's own mind, thoughts or feelings, he has closed off from Gen. From this moment, until he has those jars in his hands, he will give Gen nothing but obedience. Not a fight, not a retort, not even the numerous things he could say about the situation. He just wants the jars back, and he wants to feel again. ]

I'll tell you when I have him, then.

[ And firmly, he shoves Gen out of his mind and slams the door in his face. ]

[redsoil]

[ Later. After.

Set opens the door between them, without fanfare or flirtation. There are no fingers carding into the small hairs at the nape of Gen's neck, no arms that encircle his waist or playful, nigh-psychotic edge to his voice. There is no sunny warmth to stretch out within, no scent of sand and the innate something about Set that tends to smell like what others enjoy. He is simply a hollow shape, focused like a thinly-strung hound on only one thought, one end to this situation.

Anything that he has to do, he will do it. ]

Where are you.

[epiprocta]

[ The door opens between them without fanfare or flirtation, and Gen barely even notices that difference.

Just because he'd dispatched Set on his grim mission doesn't mean he'd been sitting idle himself; the entire time, he'd been desperately scouring as much of the surrounding wilderness as he could, clawing for anything that might help him -- some hint of where Liem had hidden the shard, one of the objects in case he might need to bargain once more, anything. So distracted covering as much ground as he could, Gen snaps to his senses so abruptly at Set's contact that he's physically launched out of the earth and sent crashing into the gravel-sized sand.

That, too, is barely noticed. The fresh scrapes he's earned with his carelessness also go ignored. Instead, the only thing Gen can bring himself to focus on is -- ]

Do you have him?! [ There's the sensation of hands grasping around Set's wrists, yanking him close. Gen crowds in Set's space, but even that isn't enough. Set must feel the way his skin crawls, the back of his eyeballs itching as Gen demands without words to feel through his fingers, and see through his eyes. ] Show me!

[ Having dirtied his own hands by holding Set's precious objects hostage, Gen isn't immune to the fear that Set might attempt some trickery of his own. But he also knows -- as soon as he can see, can feel that shard through Set's senses, he'll know it's Reiji. There's no way he would fail to recognize the smoky pale of Reiji's shard; he would stake his very life on being able to pinpoint the deep, quiet, hollow sadness that shard exudes, so empty that the shard almost feels weightless, yet so heart-wrenching that it chills the very nerves. ]

[redsoil]

[ Some sub-compartment of Set's mind will look back on the events that occured and begin to catalog all that he has seen — the information he learns about others, the styles of combat they engage in. That Minegishi Gen can burrow through the earth itself, and that must be accounted for when they come to blows. ( All he'd wanted was to come to blows, to hear the young man's savage laugh. The mocking way he'd smirk if he got in a strong hit, the sneer crumpling his nose when Set would disarm him. Or disarm him. ) Right now, he hardly responds when Gen emerges and seizes him between their minds. Not a flinch, not a sound.

It's only the mind, after all. ] Where are you.

[ He says it again, and his tone is so glassy that it seems he is on autopilot. ]

I will bring him to you, Gen.

[epiprocta]

That's not an answer!

[ Gen's response is snapped back whip-quick but unsteady, each word crackling at the edges with mingled anger and anxiety. Even if Set seems obedient at the moment, his mind buzzes with worries and possibilities -- because things can go wrong. Things always go wrong. Why do things always go wrong when all he's ever wanted was to keep one thing in his life? Why isn't he allowed even that one thing? The very connection between them is prickly to touch; for Set, every extra second it's maintained must be like holding a double handful of rusty nails.

So perhaps it's for the best that there's no way Gen can reject that offer. 'I will bring him to you.' ]

... but fine. [ It's not that the landscape of Gen's mind grows any less hostile. It's simply that his caution and worries are smothered by a thick layer of greed, want, and more than anything, desperation. He needs to ensure that Reiji is back with him, hidden under his terms once more. And if this is some sort of trap Set is guiding him towards, then so be it -- at least he'll have done everything he can to ensure Reiji's return. ] By the big tree, with all the red mushrooms growing near it.

[ A more exact location is transmitted through Communion, pinpointing where Set should head. ]

Hurry up.

[ Gen cuts the connection without any further delay. And should Set arrive at that designated spot, he'll find it -- quiet. There's no sign of Gen, let alone anyone else, at first. (He gets there first, of course. Waits there, hidden in the earth, every cell in his body on alert for Set's arrival. Burnt too many times to wait out in the open, but also too desperate to watch from a further distance.) ]

[redsoil]

[ The image of Gen's location and the direction that Set needs to travel in are transmitted to him, and it is in that direction that he goes. Unhurried, for that matter. Perhaps it is the urge to rebel within him, even for such a dire situation as this, that he takes his time. Walks at a pace that cannot be mistaken as one taking him to Gen, but is otherwise not devoted to getting there any quicker than at a languid pace. It means Gen has to wait, with naught but the knowledge that Set is on his way.

And when he arrives, it is without entourage or hesitation. Looking up toward the towering tree, and down to the red mushrooms growing. And he reaches down, to press his hand to the earth at his feet and say: ] Get out here, now.

[ There is but the faintest snarl in his words. A flicker of deep insult and danger. This is the second time that Gen has failed him, the second time Gen has shown his unwillingness to account for Set as a separate person from all his other dealings. A third time will only escalate the situation irreparably — for in the end, it is Reiji's shard on the line. Set has already survived his son being in jars. All he does now, is courtesy and obedience to a memory. Albeit an important one, that he wishes to terminate. ]

I have him. I want mine back, let us be done with this.

[epiprocta]

[ He emerges from behind Set, silent as a ghost save the softest sounds of dirt shifting under his bootsoles as his weight solidifies and settles. And he doesn't hesitate one moment in grabbing at Set's forearm from behind, fingers digging in bruise-tight as he gutters, practically into Set's ear: ]

You're fucking late.

[ If Set considers it an insult that Gen did not wait out in the open, then that same indignity if reciprocated -- for Gen, the few extra minutes where Set had spitefully taken his time had been agonizing. Minutes spent restlessly shifting in circles in the dirt, feeling his blood rush past his ears and his pulse rattle, his head filled with the waspish buzzing of too many thoughts. (What if something happened to him. What if Set lied. What if Set is conspiring with Liem. With if Liem did something. What if Reiji is gone.)

It has his nerves on edge all that much more, and Gen's nails dig crescent moons into Set's arm. Gen's weight looms close over Set, crowding directly into his personal space and barely allowing any room to breathe. An unsubtle, additional pressure to the way he hisses, ]

Where is he?

[redsoil]

[ Gen can snarl all he wants about Set being late, but he gave no deadline. That the war god had arrived slowly was malicious compliance, at best. He feels the weight of the young man against his back, the hands on his wrists, and he just feels something sick and darkly patient simmer in his gut. Without wavering, he wrenches himself free of that hold — even if his skin tears, it will knit back up over time.

Like nothing ever happened.

But, it allows him to face Gen. With blood under his nails, a splash of it high on his cheek. His throat clearly bitten by sharp teeth, and his expression somewhere between calm and thoughtful as he looks up at Gen's face.

There is no where on his body he could easily carry a shard, as he has no pockets and no satchels. His hands empty. But, it is there — for he reaches his hands up and into the red fall of his hair, to the dark streak hidden behind his ear and the soft, warm glow of the sunbeam he has woven into a lock. He uncurls some of the metal and string he uses to keep it in place, and extracts Reiji's shard from where he had placed it alongside his sunbeam. A safe space. Clearly the safest one, for the circumstances they're in.

Without a word, he slips the shard into Gen's palm and closes his fingers around it. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Set turns to face him, and Gen looks at him while barely seeing him. Or rather -- Gen sees Set, but only so much as he ferociously searches Set for some sign of where he's hidden Reiji's shard. The crimson track of blood on Set's cheek and the lingering marks of a fierce bite give no indication of where Reiji has been hidden, so they barely register in his mind, slipping through his thoughts like sand through a sieve. Even once Set begins weaving fingers through the long spill of his hair, Gen shifts impatiently at first, weight rolling to the balls of his feet like he's ready to lunge -- and it's not until he spots the familiar, pale glimmer of Reiji's shard in Set's fingers that finally, finally, some of that wretched tension filling his every cell to bursting starts to abate.

Reiji. Reiji is intact. He's okay.

The shard is a small, cold weight pressed into his palm, and Gen finally lets out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. A soft, shuddering, wounded noise. And while his eyes are firmly fixed on that translucent gem in his palm, there's an oddly distant quality to his gaze; he wobbles on his feet, knee coming close enough to buckling that he stumbles back one, two paces, but it's not just out of relief. His voice is barely above a whisper, coming close to cracking as he whispers, ]

... Reiji.

[ Even lacking the intimacy of a shared Aspect's bond, Set must be able to feel the emotions roiling off of Gen with how intense they are. There's relief, certainly, and a sick sort of comfort in having that precious object returned to him, where it belongs. But at the same time, guilt spills from him, acrid as smoke and just as suffocating, evident even in the tight squeeze of his eyes and grit of teeth. Guilt, self-loathing, anxiety, dread, grief, heartache -- the sickly cocktail of emotions he drowns himself in each and every day he thinks of how much he loves the boy who lies asleep in this shard. (The boy who probably only thinks of him with disgust at best, and apathy at worst. The boy who will never love him back.)

His hand is shaking as he reflexively clutches the shard close to his chest, spine curling as he doubles over protectively, shoulders rising and falling with each halting breath he forces past the tight squeeze of his throat. And Gen doesn't even look at Set; he can barely even handle the deluge of too-many thoughts cascading through his head, and granting Set any of his attention is a task that he simply cannot manage in this moment. The best he can do is point his free hand off to the side --

where, nestled against a further cluster of mushrooms, the top of a jar pokes out of the dirt. Set's precious object. Set is free to retrieve it, in other words. He'll find that the jars have been kept safe, as promised, with nary a scratch on them. Kept wrapped in long blades of grass and cushioned by soft dirt, their seals intact and contents untouched. Although ...

there are only two there. ]

[redsoil]

[ He leaves Gen's side, the moment that the emotions begin to pour from him. The wounded sound that Gen makes is familiar, the storm of sentiment he feels for the shard ( for the boy, named Reiji ) that erupts within him is something he can only distantly catalog. He'll examine it later, he'll look over it later, he'll decide how to punish Gen based on the information later, how to use it and even the imbalance between them because Minegishi Gen just did not ask him. Treated him like he was every other person in his life, not the one who —

He walks to the side, as Gen curls around Reiji's shard, and begins to sift through the terrain for his own precious item. The jars. First, he cards apart the grasses as if the other two are further hidden. Second, he digs at the earth a little, quietly frantic — and then third, he gathers the two jars into his arms with eerie calm and begins to approach Gen again. Eyes dark, pupils thin. The storm of his own mind erupting like a volcano, like a hurricane buffeting the fragile walls of a coastal town; a screaming, keening wind upon which a name can be heard. ( Anubis. Anubis, Anubis. )

It's not Reiji's fault that he's here, helpless and dependent. It's Gen's.

He reaches down, cradling his two jars in his arm, and touches the top of Gen's head. Stroking his hair softly. Sifting through the agony within his mind, as he forcefully compartmentalizes his own — keeps it far away, under lock and key and away from further exploitation. Instead, he slips his fingers into that love-guilt and pries it up a little more, saying softly: ] You should never have wanted him.

[ Hollow. Soft. ]

But, you did, and because of you — he will suffer. Innocents always suffer the most for our greed.

[ It's the same way he feels about Anubis. The words aren't a threat, they're just,

understanding. ]

[epiprocta]

[ He'd meant to depart the scene immediately after procuring Reiji and leaving Set with those two jars -- he'd had a plan, and he'd meant to carry it out. But as always, things never go the way he want them to when it comes to Reiji. After all, how could he even think about moving once he felt that terrible, hollow, cold emptiness clutched in his hands, ever familiar and ever painful? He'd sunk to his knees without even knowing it, and it's not until he feels the touch of fingers through his hair that Gen twitches and glances up past the tangle of his bangs.

He only blinks, heavy and resentful, in the face of Set's words. And though the tense of his lower eyelid and the clench of his jaw make his displeasure evident, it's telling that his anger in this moment is quiet, as deep and nigh-still as dark waters. A far cry from the usual explosive heat of his rage, directed so violently inward that it nears the silent gravity of a black hole. ]

Don't go talking like you know anything about him.

[ They both know that Set is right. Set must know that they both know he's right. (Maybe if it had been someone else, anyone else, that was there to protect Reiji all those years back, he'd be happy by now. Yes. Almost certainly. Gen has no delusions about having ever made Reiji's suffering less.)

There's no further warning before Gen abruptly melts into the earth, vanishing from sight and leaving Set with only half of his treasure, and low parting words through Communion: ]

The other two are just as safe. Stay out of my way and I'll give'em back after this is all over.

[ Just as Set had taken his time in arriving with Reiji's shard, exploiting the fact that Gen hadn't established a deadline, Gen is equally capable of being petty and maliciously compliant -- after all, he'd only ever promised that the jars would be safe. And they are. If Set wants the remaining two back any time soon, he just has to shut up and not cause a fuss, just until this mess is over. Easy, right? ]

[redsoil]

[ Don't go talking like you know anything about him.

It gives him a little pleasure, to hear such a stupid thing pass from Gen's lips. Nothing that Set had said had anything to do with knowing some depressed little shard Gen was so desperate to hold onto. It was all about Gen, all because Set had begun to know him. Could know him, and embrace all that rot. He is not angry, because he is resigned and intends to focus more on how to deal with Gen afterwards.

The warning falls upon Set, and before Gen closes the connection between them — there will come the sense that Gen has walked himself into a small, dark space from which he cannot escape, all on his own. That maybe, he should have just given the jars back, instead of trying to continue to hold whatever he thinks he has over Set's head. ]

See you soon, Gen.