THE SOOT OF IGNORANCE: RISING ACTION

[beleos]

BETWEEN UNCONTROLLED ESCALATION & UNENDING PASSIVITY

The moonlit city of Highstorm has always been a tranquil location.

Its people, passionate about the steady leadership of Zenith's leader — Lady Yima — begin their movements slowly and deliberately. Following the lead of their most trusted Shard-Bearers and the word of their Lady, activity in Highstorm begins to increase in the vicinity of Yima's Manor. The Court, the town square outside of it, becomes a hotbed of bustle and voices. Personnel and attendants rush around with documentation, stirring others to action. A select few figures gather the full force of their long-standing houses, calling on family bonds and their own castellans to assist the efforts that build over the course of a few days.

For the tranquility of Highstorm is only ever punctuated by its decisiveness, its faith that their path is the correct one — and now, they will prove it.

In a trickle-down effort, from the most loyal Zenites to the newest, the news unfolds for them: Amos Burton has been tasked by Lady Yima herself to turn the tides back in Zenith's favor. He is to end the life of the 34th Tribune, Cyrus Marcius Germanus Kokkinos, alongside the fortune who have found their way into Zenith's graces. In the earliest hours of the invasion, the figure of Yima herself steps out onto the balcony of her quarters — the highest point of the Manor — with her robes soft around her body and hands extended to her people. Her silence is punctuated by glowing feelings of pride that flow through the hearts and minds of every last sworn Zenite, bolstering their resolve and encouraging them with the cool, ever-flowing might of the people who look to Zenith's Shard-Bearers for their victory.

She sees them off with unspoken sentiments of love, confidence in them — the whispered promises that she knows they are ready to see the war through. And perhaps none of them will know that it is the last time they see her.

For in the sun-dappled sprawl of Springstar, their target awaits them.

The bustle of the city has always been without reservation; the bright and airy attitudes of militant citizenry look on with confidence and celebratory warmth as their Shard-Bearers have brought them to a marginal advancement over their enemies. While Tribune Cyrus's popularity has waned, there are alternative avenues they have begun to explore — the figure of Agapitos Voreen has become deeply popular, with savvy statements, an easy confidence and a willingness to deny Zenith any room to breathe, he is a shoe-in for future Tribune, whenever the next elections are held.

Which is why, in between one moment and the next, the city is rocked by the efforts of their opposition. Zenite-aligned Shard-Bearers and the small house armies of Yima's most loyal core families fill the streets with chaotic distractions, ranging from duels with the Helios Legionnaire to direct attacks on civilians. ( Where does your character draw the line, if they care to? Will it matter in the long run, do they believe? ) Appearing from several Cornerstones hidden within the city's confines from missions long past, tracking the movements of Legionnaires and Shard-Bearers alike from the placement of listening gems and tracking spells, even rising from the bowels of Kowloon to trap the city in a pincer movement — Highstorm goes on the offensive.

Springstar puts up a valiant resistance in return; however, within twenty-four hours, Zenite Shard-Bearers will have hunted down, cornered and slain the Tribune. In that moment, Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers will feel a splitting pain: the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Zenith's swell. The last trickle of emotion from Cyrus for them is a gentle warmth, fondness and forgiveness and the purity of his confidence in them. He believes in them, he always has, and he prays and hopes for their victory even though he will not be around to see it become reality, now.

His death is announced the following day by his assistant Cetina, the deer-morph girl choking back angry tears as she — with a furious and tearful General Ayo Zaman and the somber, mournful figure of Hieropoios Natalia at her side — lambasts Highstorm for the act of aggression, attempts to rouse the city and Meridian's hope, and pledges that she will not let her best friend's murderers escape her vengeance.

Hours after Cetina's message, in the far corner of Highstorm — following the people's celebrations and rejoicing in their strike, the delight in the might of their Shard-Bearers and the renewed passions of their people in pursuit of their victory — a brilliant, golden beam of sunlight pierces the eternal night of the city.

In an instant, the balcony upon which Yima had stood and the rooms beyond it — in fact, the entirety of the Manor, is engulfed in fire and light. The Manor falls, crumbling in upon itself as debris cascades into the living quarters of Shard-bearers and partially topples into the Court beyond. While the Tree of Life, the Reflecting Pools and many businesses around the Court escape extensive damage, the Manor itself is in shambles. And in the wake, many Zenite Shard-Bearers will feel the suddenness of having an integral element of their power ripped from them, the sensation akin to being crushed, gasping under the weight of Meridian's swell. In the wake of the strike, there is a deep silence within them.

Any attempts to contact Yima are met with the same silence a Shard-Bearer feels when reaching out to another who has left the world entirely. And with that, both sides are left to pick up the pieces and weigh the consequences of their actions.

ADDITIONAL MATTERS

During ( and in the wake of both assaults ), there is plenty for any Unharmonized Shard-Bearers and more moderate Meris/Zenites to partake in. Damage has been wrought to both cities at differing times, and there is a degree of life lost no matter the best efforts of those who value innocents over the price enacted by acts of war.

In Springstar, the citizenry has been ravaged by attacks stemming from the depths of Kowloon: as monsters in the form of both individuals with unusual appetites (cannibals and vampires, for example) and heavily-drugged, superpowered addicts have been finding their way into the city, slaughtering civilians indiscreetly, picking fights with the Legionary, and engaging in general criminal mischief and violence. Following Zenith's assault and subsequent assassination, the city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Zenith-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Zenith! ). After the day of the attack, the attacks drop off significantly, but do not vanish entirely, for now that some have gotten a taste, it will take time for Yura to reign them in once more.

The people of the city turn to their Shard-Bearers in the wake of their Tribune's murder; even though his popularity had waned, it isn't as though his death doesn't affect them! Deeply concerned and frightened for their future, they demand information about what will be done to protect the city from another assault like this? Some civilians will turn to the church, or perhaps community leaders, but it seems very few turn to the legionary, after they were so focused on the attacks that they missed the forest for the trees. Their trust in their military leaders is waning, and they’re looking for answer. Some community leaders have tried to soften the hurt and anger of Springstar’s people, but they look toward those whom were not a part of the current establishment to answers.

In Highstorm, Yima's Manor lays in shambles, but the rest of the city is unharmed. Shard-Bearers who were living in the Manor will find that their living quarters suffered from the collapse and subsequent fires, but any precious items/belongings they had in their rooms can be recovered after sifting through the rubble. One of Yima’s most trusted, Florence, seems to be taking the reigns of control, and while there are still pockets of the manor that remain on the outskirts of the building itself, she encourages any Zenites who had not moved out to move on quickly, since what is left should be used by any newcomers who need shelter, and not those whom have had the opportunity to make bonds, and have allies that they can rely on.

The main issue now plaguing Zenites is the sudden, overwhelming crowd that begins to gather in the Court, demanding information from them about Yima's safety — they are frantic, and rightfully concerned about further assaults of that incendiary degree from Meridian. The city will be on high alert and be deeply hostile toward Meridian-aligned Shard-Bearers, as well as mistrustful towards any Unharmonized ( for good reason: they might still Harmonize with Meridian! ). The Manor itself is almost entirely destroyed, with only a shell of the outskirts left, and though those who are left are already trying to sift through the rubble, they are often overcome by their sorrow, and it is not uncommon in the wake of Meridian’s destruction to find some of Yima’s most loyal in distress, for the loss of their leader.

A LIGHTHOUSE AGAINST THE ENCROACHING STORM

A few months ago, all current Shard-Bearers experienced a mass dreaming event, full of teeming darkness and a pervasive sense of terror. Following the death of Cyrus and the "presumed loss" of Yima, all Shard-Bearers will receive yet another dream.

This one is a simple, direct thing: rife with a haunting sense of being watched, observed as if from the reeds and brush by a hunter. Whatever your power level, however skilled you are and confident you are in your place, your decisions, your heart will quake before the severe impression of something prowling at your heels. Just out of sight, but never out of mind. Every Shard-Bearer's shard will wrench free of their body upon waking, falling from their physical form as if to flee this sensation of something waiting, patient, for the right moment to pounce.

Echoing in the back of their mind, a wordless, shapeless promise lingers: Forward, or back. Back, or forward. Dart and weave, flit and flutter, scamper and scurry. We are here, now. In the back of every mind, what was in the process of coming before is — it is here, now. Looming right above, waiting for the outcome, watching for which way the last lives at the end of existence will flee.

Upon awakening from the mass dream-become-nightmare, Shard-bearers will slowly become aware of the exacerbation of previous events that have been persisting since October. These events are no longer subtle, and will impact everyone regardless of faction allegiance, with purposefully targeted strikes:

— Darkness has spread within Springstar. Wherever there is shadow cast by person, object or building, it has deepened, darkened, and grown in size. Walking through any shadowed area or touching a darkened shadow will fill a Shard-bearer who enters that area with feelings of dread, of something lingering just out of sight, of danger prickling along their spine, and entice them to run and flee. If they are not quick enough, an unseen entity savages them — aiming directly for wherever their Shard is hidden and held. They are being hunted.

— Light has spread within Highstorm. Starlight and moonlight seem to sear what they touch, leaving patches of bleached-white scars upon person, object or building. Being touched by the light or coming into contact with a white-scarred entity will fill a Shard-bearer with feelings of malaise, like they should simply lay down and accept what comes next. Suffocating hands waiting to pin them down. Even in the safety of the shadows, the scourging glow of any light reaches for them and rakes across their bodies, seeking the place where their Shard is hidden or held. Ravaging them with hot-and-cold burns. They are being sacrificed.

— Shard-bearers readily become lost in familiar places, as if their homes and bastions of safety and security have become strange ( estranged? ) from their minds. The route to that favorite haunt ( perhaps even their own place of business ) eludes them, and searching for it alone becomes an impossibility. It takes another Shard-bearer, at times, to aid them in breaking free of the mild befuddlement. You're just tired. It's just the strain getting to you.

— Citizens of both Springstar and Highstorm continue to speak about neighbors who have 'suddenly moved away', or the disappearance of a favored shop or cafe. Some mention favorite, useful landmarks vanishing, causing them to forget where they are coming from, or where they are going. When directly asked about this circumstance, they shrug and declare that it happens all the time these days. In fact, there's nothing to really be done about it. And if pressed, the citizenry's eyes go glassy and expressions become confused as they ask who, what, where, and why their Shard-Bearer has begun asking them such strange questions. None seem bothered by this strange occurrence, as if all is well and normal.

— Shard-bearers will begin to see familiar faces in crowds, standing on street corners, peering through their private windows, waving them down at their familiar haunts. People from their own worlds, loved and hated alike rush for them — adoring and hostile alike. Family members and friends who seem to attempt to meet their eyes before the crowd swallows them up; loved ones who should be captured in Shards try to flag them down, calling their names and asking them where have you been? what's going on?; enemies and abusers seem to advance upon them, pushing their way forth hungrily. And then they are gone, but not before leaving behind the impression, the strange sensation that, they are real. Really there. If only for a moment.

OOC & (IMMEDIATE) WORLD CHANGES

The full document for this event can be found here!

So, what does the world look like now that this has all gone down?

The world of Kenos ripples from the effects of our players!

Springstar is (mostly) physically unharmed, though the population has been reduced thanks to the number of murders and criminal mischief that has taken place during the attack. Damage seems constrained to things like broken doors and windows, looted property, and murdered civilians, though the severity is up to how many defend Springstar from the concentrated might of Ryad’s regulars, and a practical army of addicts rising from the depths below the city.

The leadership of Springstar is also shaken, though there are procedures in place for this – if one is particularly studious, they will recall that this is not the first Tribune that has been assassinated, though it is the first in a long while – and the Church and the Legionary have stepped in to maintain the peace while elections begin to be arranged.

Cyrus’s body is interred publically at the Church in Heliopolis for a week after his passing, before his body is immolated during a service, his soul returned to the Tree of Life. Those who attend will feel the light of Meridian fill them, and their Discord may be reduced by one level thanks to the warm hope that fills them, even as they despair at the loss of their leadership. Meridian calls to its most loyal, and asks them to do what they do best, show hope and unending resolve, when things look to be their most hopeless.

Highstorm is another story. The destruction wrought is more property, but the number of people who were within the manor is difficult to count until a week or two after the destruction has been evaluated, and cleanup has begun. The loss of life is not devastating compared to what was leveled upon Springstar, but perhaps the most distressing is that Yima is not present. Florence reassures those in Highstorm with her calming, but firm presence.

With few of Yima’s softer adorations to be found, Florence instead pushes the faithful to muster their will and begin the recovery efforts. After all, they have long proven to have faith in Yima’s guidance, and they should believe in it now when it is difficult. It is not the first time their fortitude has been tested, after all.

Her words fill those in Zenith with a sense of calm resolve, and they may feel their distress and discord from this destruction alleviating slightly. Highstorm’s government works smoothly without Yima, and those who are interested in history will be able to see Florence’s name throughout the annals, as one that would guide Yima’s faithful when the matron was in convalescence, or respite. What Zenith does best, after all, is build something new when faced with destruction. Consider this a primer for your new world, to help bring the faithful back from the brink of their despair.

The unharmonized have a choice, as they so often do. This time, however, the stakes appear even higher than before. The cities are not as welcoming as they once were, and those that have not chosen are beseeched by the civilians of both Highstorm and Springstar. ‘Do you not understand what they’ve taken from us, and what they will in days to come? You cannot let this continue, standing on the sidelines. Imagine the ways in which you could help us,’ they beg, and it feels as though your neutrality will become increasingly inconvenient, as time goes on.

What can we expect next?

As the month of Pelu ( aka March ) dawns, you will begin to feel it. Something tugs at you.

Those who have lived through more than one will feel that anticipatory anxiety rise, as the next oracle is coming. Are you ready to fight to claim it, even when it feels so dark, and even when everything feels different, and harder? Do you look to the stars, and dream of your home? Or do you gaze outward, into nothing, and dream of what you will make from the ashes?

Anticipate the oracle in the coming month of Pelu, and to learn more about those that will step into the voids left by Cyrus and Yima.

And as always!

Questions can be directed here!

Individuals less-inclined to busy themselves with either effort, or looking for a way to gain a foothold/explore the world can report here for exploration attempts. We recommend examining the Kenos Wiki's Locations for ideas, if you don't know where to start. Or! Ask someone in the Discord Server for a recommendation, we have long-time players eager to help.

Lastly, remember that Cyrus and Yima will be a little occupied this time around, but anyone who might ICly have reason to contact them regarding the brewing troubles can do so here!

CODING

Comments

[zauneyete]

Down here? Specifically?

[ He asked, his head tipped curiously. It's not, really, but the affect is there, left as a goading question to try and dig information out from Matt when he very clearly had been doing something else.

Snooping, perhaps? Though he doesn't think the boy is knowledgeable enough about his affairs to understand what he was snooping around. ]

The entrance to my club is a bit around the corner. [ Pointedly. ] It seems as though you're more interested in finding trouble than fun, given where you ended up, hm?

[ A twitch of his lips. ] Trouble is very easy to find down here in Kowloon.

[ The beat of his heart was. Hard to ignore. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt's now starting to wonder if there's something down here Silco doesn't want him to uncover. Maybe something to do with his (???) club? He glances back towards the spot in the dark he'd first seen Silco emerge from. ]

Mm, well, I wouldn't read too much into that, [ he says, his eyes returning to Silco's face. ] Trouble usually knows how to find me.

[ The man does not seem inclined to get out of his way. It irks Matt, a little spark that makes his brain feel sharp and narrow, his breathing louder in his ears. Like what, dude, you haven't flexed enough power lately? ]

But hey, I'm happy to patronize a teammate's establishment. [ His voice, at least, is steady. ] It's that way?

[ Matt points, and makes a feint to try and get around Silco. He has no superhuman speed or agility, and his normal human speed isn't too impressive to begin with. What he does have is his awareness of bodies in space, of movement and gravity. Usually he leverages it in the name of closeness rather than distancing, but the principle's the same. ]

[zauneyete]

[ There was something, of course, though Matt wasn't likely to stumble on it without knowing the exact combination of runes and codes that Aetós had put together to make the entrance accessible. That didn't mean that Silco didn't trust it. He was paranoid, after all, and his paranoia was -- perhaps not entirely, but -- reasonably justified. Particularly given... Silco's general demeanor, and actions. He did not dare let that slip, even slightly. Lest he find himself in danger again, like before.

No, Silco's paranoia was perhaps borne from too many years of planning revenge, too many years of having a target on his back, on lacking trust in anyone or anything beyond how much he could pay them. It was perhaps logical that he was careful, brooding, untrusting.

That did not mean that he trusted that Matt was just as he said: "just looking around" or "just happy to patronize Draumahol" as a teammate. Please.

Loyalty went only as far as one could throw, and Silco knew that there were few within Zenith that would call him "teammate", and most would prefer for him to be conveniently missing. More the fool them, given that Silco understood just how much a fixture he was, compared to them.

He didn't allow Matt to pass, a lazy tip of his head, before his hand shot out, to block the way. ]

Odd thing is, I don't know if I'm interested in the business of someone who was clearly spying on me. [ He said tersely. ]

It makes more sense to simply drain you, and leave you to rot. [ Well. Alright. ] Particularly given my reputation cannot decrease any further, it is perhaps in your best interest to convince me otherwise.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt manages to arrest his movement right before he smacks into Silco's outstretched arm. He teeters a moment, as if on the edge of a cliff.

Nobody wants to spy on your stupid alley, he only just doesn't say. There's clearly something back here. It's just that Matt doesn't care what it is, and he wouldn't even have noticed had it not been for Silco himself--calling attention to his entrance from the shadows, asking so many follow-up questions.

All of that evaporates from his mind at those last words. The familiar threat of them. Matt's eyes cut to Silco's face, glittering with disbelief and anger.

The universe must think he looks really good singing for his supper. ]

You're hungry? [ he says. His mouth feels dry. ] Fine. Knock yourself out.

[ Silco's arm is still blocking his path. This time, instead of trying to dart away, Matt makes a grab for Silco's wrist. His thoughts are of doors thrown open in the body, a drumbeat of blood; a channel.

The information that passes between them is embodied. It's as real to Silco as if it's happening (because it is): warmth at his back, a voice saying with intimate promise, You smell so good. I could drain you dry. Fangs hover at his throat--Matt's throat, but right now the two are the same. Bodies twinned, wholly each other and wholly themselves. ]

[zauneyete]

[ The expression of memories and thoughts is targeted, Silco decides, as he's subjected to Matt's... altercations in the past, and it draws an eyeroll from the man, his black and blue mismatched eyes rolling very nearly back into his skull before he took one look up and down at the boy. ]

Your desperation is disgusting.

[ He said simply.

Because to Silco, it's more of what he's experienced from Matt. See, here is the thing, Silco has grown up in a place like Zaun. With every indulgence on the streets, he's grown up seeing and knowing far more than most people probably think he has, given his general... distance from anything that has the word "intimacy" attached. To be fair, few understand Silco's past or understand why he has such deep issues with trust that the prospect forces his hackles to rise or his lips to curl in automatic disgust.

And why else would Matt aim to reach out to him and force him to be subjected to his thoughts.

Silco did not pull away — something he would have done months ago, before he became what he was now — but instead pushed the man with a single hand to his shoulder, a forceful nudge to slam him into the wall. Hard. ]

Your bravado does little to conceal your fear, boy. You would think with such... [ Another curl of his lip. ] Experience, you would be less wary.

Or perhaps more cautious.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt hasn't been in a position to open a channel with many people who didn't enthusiastically consent first (xoxo, Sebastian). But usually, they're more surprised than this.

"Desperation"?!

Matt doesn't have time to wonder where the wires got scrambled here, in an exchange literally on the level of skin. He's slammed into the wall shoulder-first, the impact making him cry out, fuck. His heartbeat hammers in his ears, pain singing down his arm and back; his eyes lock hectically on Silco's face. ]

Why would I be scared of someone so unoriginal? [ he spits. (He is scared. But the crucible of his body and brain tend to transmute fear into something indistinguishable from adrenaline.) Matt sucks in a breath, letting it strike like a match in his lungs--in the well of his belly. Behind Silco, the smell of burning trash cuts through the air. He's aiming to catch Silco's clothes, too--frankly, he doesn't care if he lights up his own.

Fire is a bad way to go. But maybe burning everything in this alley to ash will reveal whatever Silco wants to hide. And maybe, just maybe, the Tree will talk to him while he's sleeping. ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco hissed in annoyance at the quip. Really? Unoriginal? It wasn't like there should be an inherent, creative sensuality to sustenance, now should there? (Silco, unfortunately, had not been subjected to years of steamy vampire fiction, and thought of it as a mere existence. Because he's just like that.)

He closed in, boxing him into the wall, but the scent of burning garbage is such a familiar scent —

It's not really reverie, he doesn't get lost in it, but there's a — part — of his memory that is missing, a stretch of static in his mind that he cannot seem to recover. Something that was taken from him by Birdie Martinson, a loss that is so inherent and deep to himself, a night that had started with torturing his old enemy — large, and imposing, and then — nothing, but he knows something happened, because that night after, his factory had been on fire, and the Help had been forced to carry Sevika's form as they trudged toward the streets, trying to take stock on the damage on the way out.

But...

There had been someone else in the alley, with fire burning to the side, and a little girl crying, and Silco had held a knife, thinking that he would silence the last of Vander's progeny, now that — static — Before she'd thrown herself at him, screaming about being betrayed, by her sister, and hadn't he understood what that was? How could he do anything but hold the child that became daughter close?

Silco was a sharp, cold man. One that did not allow for weakness or compromise. He was aggressive, mean, and hard. And that flash of memory before it is immediately smothered by voracious hunger is something completely different than what Silco projects. He does not pay attention to the fire. It does not singe his clothes, and there is nothing for it to reveal in the alley. He only presses a dark, gray hand to Matt's shoulder, and there is a flash of fang offered. ]

Does it look like I care about being original? [ He sneered. ] I do not appreciate lies, and your heartbeat tells the truth.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt doesn't absorb the whole of the memory. Certainly the broader context slips through his mind like water. But the heart feelings of it, the embodiment of an embrace--that much shines through. He remembers that phrase from the first time Silco spoke to him, back at Yima's manor, the one that's floated to mind every now and again when the man comes up: My world had nothing of value.

In the meantime, Silco's startlingly strong. Matt tries to push him away, to wriggle out of his grip, but it's a complete nonstarter. There is nothing to do but stare furiously into Silco's face. To inhale acrid smoke and will the flames to spread. ]

I won't plead with you. [ At the back of his mind, Matt can hear his voice has grown ragged from the efforts of struggling and spellcasting both. ] I'm not gonna try to convince you. So do whatever the fuck you want with that--

[ Matt feels a flickering heat at his ankle. Too hot. He can't tell if he's caught his trouser leg or if the flames have simply gotten too close for comfort. He makes one more attempt to jerk away. ]

If I'm disgusting, let me leave.

[zauneyete]

[ His eyes roll, and he ignores the fire outright. Silco's hand against Matt's shoulder is cold, and seeps through his clothing. Both of his eyes may not be black yet, but Zenith floods through him, and he is chill as the grave with the force of their faction, and undeath both. He tipped his head to look down at the fire, which was getting hotter, and flooding the alley. It illuminated nothing. There was no trash, no nothing.

The absence of it is probably suspicious too, but Silco would post people at the entrance of the alley after he was done with this.

Mind, he did not have any intention of letting Matt go without punishment for the insult. ]

No. Now stop the fire and hold still. You won't die.

[ He sneered. He was hungry, after all, but he was not that hungry.

Neither did he really want to get that close to Matt's neck. Mostly because he suspected the boy would read into it or something. Instead, he took a free hand with his, and held it up. ]

This will remind you of what the price is, for engaging in espionage with me.

[ Silco: he wasn't. Silco also doesn't care.

He held Matt's wrist up, and bit. Hard. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt would like to be able to say he kept struggling after being told not to. That he didn't follow a single one of Silco's insulting instructions. But the most he can say is he tries--fails--to stop Silco from dragging his hand up. The clutch of his fingers is so cold; his palm too, pinning Matt to the wall. Both feel inexorable. His heart flutters, his brain cut loose from his body.

(The fire smothers itself, smoke roiling through the alley. If an extinguished flame can give off an attitude of sullenness, that's the vibe. But if Matt doesn't stop the fire now, he'll lose control when Silco bites him. People could die.)

Matt watches Silco raise his wrist irresistibly to his mouth. He has just enough time to take a breath, trying too late to do it slow and relax so the bite won't hurt so much. And he watches, the moment passing in a flash but seeming to linger, as fangs sink into his wrist. ]

Ah--!

[ The pain lances bright and hot, so much worse than the bites he remembers from vampires he knew back home. Matt's head smacks against the wall, the impact ringing and throbbing, and fuck Silco for that. Fuck him for getting a sound out of him, for getting compliance out of him. Why does it always go this way? ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco barely acknowledges the sound, which is likely better for Matt, but really, the man is more focused on what his aim is here. There had been too many papers that had released tales of his hunger for blood and non-human biology now. His cold fingers tighten on Matt's arm, holding him in place with a strength that is more than his small, thin frame should allow, and hot blood rushed into his mouth.

One eye is always open, its iris already always orange, but there's a deep flood of red that seeps into it only momentarily as he satisfies the ever-present need. Hunger that is so pervasive, gnaws at his center no matter how much he consumes. He does, even. He is a man who often turned away touch, but since accepting this power, he understands that some is necessary — only normally he does kill his targets. His chill home in Highstorm reeks of that iron-tang of blood, and the bodies often have to be dumped in Ryad or elsewhere in the Below afterward.

Yura's relaxed position on Ryad had come at just the right time for the crimelord.

He doesn't take long to drink his fill, and Matt will probably be left feeling light headed from blood loss. Though like most, when he pulled his fangs away from the wound, it clotted nicely, only some blood loss from the seeping wound before it stopped pulsing and dripping more onto the ground. (( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)) Silco, in true elder fashion, pulled a kerchief out, and mopped the mess from his mouth. ]

You're surprisingly compliant, when you stop complaining, and actually do as you're told.

[ He doesn't even think it sounds Like That. ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt screws his eyes shut, desperate to escape the sight that's seared into his mind of Silco's fangs fastened to his wrist. He's not used to thinking of his body as delicate, but in his hectic, rabbit-skittering imagination, it'd be all too easy for Silco to bite clean through the bone. Snap his hand off like the tab on a soda can. The pain remains shockingly bad compared to what he's used to; the difference, though Matt doesn't realize it, is in a merciful numbing property that vampire bites from his home possess.

Despite all this, he recognizes Silco's hunger with a twinge of fellow-feeling. All desire has the same root, to Matt's mind--whether for sex or sustenance, earthly knowledge or divine enlightenment. The Vedas say it about the origins of the world: In the beginning, desire entered the One. Matt's taught himself for years to honor people's rawest wants, to help them land like arrows to their targets when he can. It'd be really, really neat if he could turn that instinct off right now. Just for tonight.

He can't. He can't help but feel that a hunger so undiluted has to be worthwhile. Even while it takes from him.

Silco lets him go, and Matt slumps dizzily to the wall. His eyes open, dropping first to his wrist--bloody, but not bleeding too hard. Then they lock on Silco.

You're surprisingly compliant. The words throb between his ears like the pain of hitting his head, like the labored pulsing at his wrist. He takes a breath. Lets it out. ]

Am I-- [ Breathe. His eyes gleam with anger, guilt. ] --free to go now.

[zauneyete]

[ He would be a touch less able to get his nose into anything too troublesome, at least, with the lack of blood and the wound. Though it throbs, it's thankfully not bleeding endlessly, and for that Silco is grateful that his bite does not leave that obvious of a trail, or else Yura might come for him next, and that is something he has no interest in dealing with. After all, he didn't do all of this work of dealing with Sebastian's descriptions of what he was planning to do to Yura, to now sell himself short, and get taken out.

He sneered as he looked at him with one unblinking eye, the other one closed, half to let the bloodlust subside, and half to only allow him the sight of his unblinking eye, to understand that Silco was always watching. That even if he tried to sneak up on him, he would not be caught unawares.

Which was an implication that was useless, given that the boy wasn't snooping, but Silco was paranoid, so... ]

Yes.

See that I do not find you here again.

[ It's dismissive, even as he tugged a kerchief from a pocket, to clean up the worst of the blood from his face, mopping most of it off with barely a second thought. A practiced motion, already. ]

[semicharmed]

[ For a moment, Matt suspects his vision is blurring, dimming. Then he realizes his light spell has gone out. The brightest point on the street is the glow from around the next corner, gleaming like the afterlife.

Matt's free hand comes to clutch automatically at his wrist. He keeps breathing for a moment, half to make sure he can. Then he pushes off from the wall, keeping his gaze on the corner so he won't sway or weave. He's not looking at Silco now, though he keeps his shape in his periphery (for all the good that did before). Was it teleportation he'd done, or just motion too fast for Matt's eyes to track? Either way, a shield spell would probably have been smarter ...

He can't think about that now.

Matt doesn't say anything else, unless a huff of annoyance counts. It feels like it takes him an excruciatingly long time to round the corner and leave Silco behind, which is the cost of minimizing woozy false steps. Once he does, he finds to his surprise that for the first time this evening, he knows where he is.

He picks up his pace, ignoring the swimming between his ears. Luckily, if there's one place you can bleed in public without attracting too much attention, it's Kowloon. ]