Mizuki "I'm gonna change my last name" Date 👁️ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
usarinpa) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
expiationlogs2023-03-05 02:11 am
usarinpa) wrote in expiationlogs2023-03-05 02:11 am
[02] [open] nemesis identified
Who: Mizuki and YOU [open]
Where: The wilderness, a ways from Aldrip in an out-of-the-way little cave (Not Lorentia)
What: In which Mizuki finds out she's been alone all along.
Warnings: Spoilers for AI, IDK—will add if any become relevant.
[ There are thin tire tracks starting at the inn that head out and away from Aldrip today. Curious, isn't it? Were they there before? Have you even seen a motorbike here in Aldrip since you woke up here?
If you're keen to find out, you will follow a trail that is just long enough to make you wonder whether you should turn back. Keep with it, however, and you will find yourself at a small cave nestled in the mountains, the opening of which is surrounded by trees. ]
👁️ i. He was the Universe
[ Perhaps you'll see the bike first. It sticks out like a sore thumb. But walk a little further and inside the cave, there's Mizuki, asleep on the cave's dirt floor.
Her hair is messy with sleep. There is a hair piece that sticks out against her cyan locks, standing out almost as much as her bike does in the wilderness. In her hand is an empty, decorated box with a note attached that wouldn't look out of place in a trash can, as it is. Meager remnants of the few good things that have happened to her here, now that she can't go back.
A subtle, unpleasant odor lingers in the air, reminiscent of a wet dog or wild animal that's no longer there. Somewhere beside her sits her pipe, and at her waist, there is her holstered Evolver. ]
👁️ ii. Ought to Know
[ Alternatively, the trail is still going. Eventually, footprints start to appear in the dirt next to the tire track, suggesting that Mizuki has started walking. Catch up to her, you'll find that her back is to you and she is dragging her bike alongside her.
Why? ...Well, technology continues to be fickle, apparently.
Watch her for long enough and you'll see her stop and try to start it again. Instead, there's that all too familiar, insufferable buzz that makes her cover her ears. Her mouth opens, like she's groaning, but the noise that escapes, if there had been any, is easily swallowed up by the rustling of leaves and the buzzing of insects.
Once that passes, she can be seen pulling out a piece of parchment from her pocket—a map. ]
▶ ooc/wildcard
[ Due to trauma, Mizuki will be aphonic/unable to speak temporarily! Sorry about that. She will still be writing things in the dirt or on the back of her map, probably, and if I feel it's appropriate, I may give her back her voice midthread.
Enjoy the introduction of her shiny new bike, and please feel free to reach out via PM, on the Discord, or![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
yammdere for plotting/ideas! Thank you! ]
Where: The wilderness, a ways from Aldrip in an out-of-the-way little cave (Not Lorentia)
What: In which Mizuki finds out she's been alone all along.
Warnings: Spoilers for AI, IDK—will add if any become relevant.
[ There are thin tire tracks starting at the inn that head out and away from Aldrip today. Curious, isn't it? Were they there before? Have you even seen a motorbike here in Aldrip since you woke up here?
If you're keen to find out, you will follow a trail that is just long enough to make you wonder whether you should turn back. Keep with it, however, and you will find yourself at a small cave nestled in the mountains, the opening of which is surrounded by trees. ]
👁️ i. He was the Universe
Her hair is messy with sleep. There is a hair piece that sticks out against her cyan locks, standing out almost as much as her bike does in the wilderness. In her hand is an empty, decorated box with a note attached that wouldn't look out of place in a trash can, as it is. Meager remnants of the few good things that have happened to her here, now that she can't go back.
A subtle, unpleasant odor lingers in the air, reminiscent of a wet dog or wild animal that's no longer there. Somewhere beside her sits her pipe, and at her waist, there is her holstered Evolver. ]
👁️ ii. Ought to Know
Why? ...Well, technology continues to be fickle, apparently.
Watch her for long enough and you'll see her stop and try to start it again. Instead, there's that all too familiar, insufferable buzz that makes her cover her ears. Her mouth opens, like she's groaning, but the noise that escapes, if there had been any, is easily swallowed up by the rustling of leaves and the buzzing of insects.
Once that passes, she can be seen pulling out a piece of parchment from her pocket—a map. ]
▶ ooc/wildcard
Enjoy the introduction of her shiny new bike, and please feel free to reach out via PM, on the Discord, or
i
(or: he does, but it's interspersed with bouts of wearing other clothes whilst he dutifully washes the suit. today is a marc spector day, not a mr. knight day, and he's in the closest approximation of 'khakis and tshirt' aldrip has to offer.
he's not very comfortable in it, if he's honest.)
the tyre tracks catch his attention: he hasn't seen anything close to a motorised vehicle in aldrip yet, and he knows what motorbike tracks look like — he's owned motorbikes before, back when steven and marlene were together and happier, and marc was mostly — not there, only a reminder of a life he tried to leave behind (marc had died, after all). then, marc had owned motorbikes, custom models he'd made frenchie work on, had made frenchie optimise for moon knight.
he'd always done a very good job of driving them into buildings and people.
compared to his life in new york, aldrip is quiet. there are fewer chances and opportunities for marc to focus his thoughts and energies on something that isn't himself, and he hates it — though, given the parchment, he supposes that might be the point.
the tyre tracks are easy to follow and, though the walk isn't short, marc's been on longer, more meandering, more absolutely fucking pointless journeys through less interesting terrain in the marines. when he eventually finds himself in the clearing with the bike and the entrance to the cave, marc is — not exactly relieved, but it adds a sort of finality to the trek.
the bike's nothing like what he would own. where his had always been built for speed and agility, this is more for utility and comfort, but he pauses, just for a moment, before heading into the cave and spotting mizuki.
he stops, attention sliding from the bike to mizuki and back again, to the empty box and the weapon. if she was awake, she'd be gifted the sight of marc's features flitting between hesitance and indecisiveness, before finally, eventually, he takes a seat on a rock a reasonable distance away from her.
it smells like wet animal and though the girl looks okay, that's not to say that it'd stay that way if something less well-meaning followed the tracks to the cave.
he waits until she starts to stir, then— )
There are more comfortable places to sleep. ( it's more soft-spoken than marc looks: his nose is slightly crooked as if it's been broken (once, or twice, or more times), his left eyebrow has a scar separating it in two, and the dark circles beneath his eyes speak of a habitual lack of sleep. he holds a hand up — empty, palm facing out towards mizuki. ) —Sorry, ( he adds, before gesturing towards the entrance. ) The bike's easy to follow.
no subject
Her gaze follows his gesture towards the entrance. Her bike.
She could make a run for it. Maybe her bike would start this time, maybe it wouldn't. But her head is still foggy with sleep, and though the paranoia remains, so does she.
She opens her mouth to speak. Who is he? Why did he follow her? When no sound comes out, however, she simply closes it again, averting her eyes. Why bother. ]
no subject
(it's not really his business, though.)
there's a lingering pause when she opens her mouth and, if he's honest, he's surprised she doesn't yell. doesn't scream. it's there in her expression — bewilderment, fear, the sort of forced comprehension and piecing together of puzzle pieces that comes with being forced awake.
mizuki looks away, and marc thinks fuck. he should've left her to it.
he doesn't move though, he doesn't want to startle her any further. instead, he keeps deliberately still and exhales, gaze focused on the top of her head. his mouth twitches downwards, curving into a thin line of consideration. he's never been good at talking. he's never been good at comfort, or empathy. )
I'm not going to hurt you. ( he's unarmed — or at least, he's not visibly carrying any weapons, and his gaze shifts from her to the cave's ceiling. he doesn't know what to say. ) I used to have motorbikes, ( he eventually settles on, a sort of explanation for why he'd followed the tracks.
a part of him says that's really not very fucking helpful. ) —Good for getting away.
no subject
Good for getting away. Good to feel free.
She wonders if that's why he liked having motorbikes, even though she's not exactly in the headspace to ask. He looks tired himself, too. ...He should get back to Aldrip, to the others.
Mizuki appears to shrink, attempting herself as small as she feels, wrapping her arms around her knees. ]
imagine a world where you don't manage to totally miss notifs
there's a momentary thought, a question — would it be better if he was the sort of person to speak mindlessly, who was able to fill the palpable silence and distance between them with assuring words that'd ultimately mean nothing? he doesn't know. maybe, maybe not, and instead of immediately trying, he pinches the bridge of his nose.
she's not diatrice. there's no intrinsic connection between the two of them that means he owes it to her to say anything more, or for her to say anything at all, do anything, or even listen. she doesn't know him from the next person in aldrip, he's just some guy that's followed her to a place of peace and quiet which, if he really thinks about it, is a bit shitty. so, instead of speaking, he drags his shoes along the ground back towards his body. the noise is deliberate, a statement towards his impending move to stand. he's taller than her — he would be, even if she wasn't seated on the ground, and physically far larger. given that surprise isn't something that ever goes down well, he wants to give her chance to prepare herself.
once standing, he looks back (again) towards the entrance of the cave. it still doesn't occur to him that she can't speak, only that she doesn't want to. his gaze lingers for a moment, eyebrows knitting together for a count of three, then—. )
I'll leave you alone, but before I do — have you done this before? ( by this he means the cave, not the running-away-on-a-motorbike. ) You're going to get cold if this is how you're planning on spending the night.
haha, no worries! i'm sorry she's being so difficult sobs
It's like she is a 12-year-old in hiding again. Though she does not move, when she looks up at him after he stands, there is something like longing. Perhaps a part of her actually wants the company.
She opens her mouth. She can feel every fiber of her being protesting. Already, there is a static that fizzles in her head as a noise escapes her mouth. ]
I ha...
I ẖ̵̿ȃ̴̢v̸͖̕e̶̛͇n̴̹͂'̸̟͆ṯ̴̐—
[ There is a mumble that might sound something like "I haven't." But pretty soon she's closing her mouth again and shaking her head. ]
hahahaha no it's absolutely fine and delightful
marc had been in and out, back and forth between putnam and the 'real' world as a child and as a teenager. you're sick, his father had told him, and marc had been sent away, though sometimes it had been steven and sometimes it had been jake. your mother and I can't help you alone, elias had added whilst khonshu had stood in the distance, skull and suit, dark expanse of nothingness where eyes should have been.
come, my son, he'd said. or — marc remembers him saying and it's strange, because marc hadn't met khonshu then.
there had been others his age, others younger and others older, though none of them had seemed the same as him. he hadn't been very good at making friends back then, his volatility and penchant for violence a looming threat across interactions. wariness, a cause of being watched and a ceaseless, endless source of frustration for elias. fights at school, fights at home. as if, if he fought enough, he'd be able to punch away the part of him that's so wrong.
marc barely understands his own condition, let alone anyone else's. there's a spark of loose, vague recognition and a click of something familiar — a pull of hazy, half-formed memories, and he waves a hand, dismissive but not unkind, when she tries to speak, struggles and stops, then starts again. ) Don't worry about it. If you want to stay here for a while, I can give you some tips for keeping safe and warm and dry, ( he adds, squatting to bring himself back down to her level, but otherwise staying where he is. ) Or if not now, for another time, if you need to— ( he gestures at the cave, at her.
marc had always been good at running away. he'd run away from his father's funeral, ducked out of interacting with his mother because it'd been too hard and he hadn't wanted — couldn't — form the words. he'd run away from the marines rather than deal with what an other than honorable discharge had truly meant. ) If you want, I can talk and you can listen. Nod. Shake your head. Hold your hand up if you don't understand something.
( an inhale of breath and a ghost of a smile. ) And if you don't want, that's fine too. I've never been much good at talking.
1/2
For someone who claims not to be good at talking, he sure is saying plenty for both of them. ]
no subject
This time, her she manages to do so coherently. ]
Who are you?
no subject
crucially, their (one-sided, not exactly-) conversation has been wholly devoid of that.
he's startled by her speaking again, the words this time the words fully formed and seemingly without struggle and he wonders if he'd been wrong.
then he wonders how to answer the question. to most, he's introduced himself as mr. knight, but he'd been in the suit. once, as spector, an acknowledgement that he wasn't mr. knight in either dress nor function, but not feeling any particular to desire for the implied familiarity a first name brings, and yet— )
I used to travel a lot for work. Jungles. Deserts. Sleeping on a cold, hard surface's nothing new to me. ( she didn't, strictly, ask his name, and a name isn't who a person is. it doesn't tell her what his work was or why he travelled, and he doesn't know what associations her mind might make.
his answer doesn't really answer the question. ) My name's Marc.
no subject
She's just thinking about how he hasn't really answered the question, but once he has, she really has no reason to press further. She remains quiet for another notable pause, before finally offering— ]
Mizuki.