expiationlogs | [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

yammdere for plotting/ideas! Thank you! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ "I'm not going to hurt you" is something someone who wants to hurt her would say. That's what she thinks, however briefly, though perhaps the small lucid part of her that is left can recognize that paranoia as unwarranted. Mizuki looks back at Marc, and doesn't peg him as a rider just by looks alone; but then, most wouldn't peg her as one either.

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. ]

( she continues to say nothing and instead withdraws in on herself, seemingly trying to pull all her limbs together to become nothing. marc knows how that feels, though his response these days is often to do the opposite, to make himself as unmissable as he possibly can, to present himself as an enticing target.

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.

[ In truth, he's correct. It is very much that she doesn't want to, which means she wouldn't necessarily go out of her way to do something like write, either. If she'd had her phone on her, things might be different, or if these golden charms had a keyboard function, but here she is, just a husk of the ABIS special agent she once was.

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. ]

( he catches the slight shift in her expression as he moves and he lingers, caught in hesitancy.

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.

[ Mizuki continues to watch him. There should be a lot that you can about a person, just based on their body language, though even in tandem with his spoken words, she's not exactly in a position to say what. Perhaps he's looking to fill the silence that she's created... She doesn't know how to feel about that.

For someone who claims not to be good at talking, he sure is saying plenty for both of them. ]

[ After a silence during which she does none of what he offered, be it nod, shake her head, or raise her hand, she finally speaks.

This time, her she manages to do so coherently. ]

Who are you?

( marc's self-perception is based on the premise that he's broken, a man with a weak mind that he's had to tool to purpose, to become useful. a self-perception built on the idea that he's better at destroying than he is at anything else, and ultimately, it's less talking as a whole that marc is bad at, but communication. emotional honesty. acknowledging the depth of his own feelings.

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.

[ She remains quiet, though the look of surprise does make her feel a touch self-conscious. It only cements the fact that she shouldn't have said anything; perhaps it would have been easier to keep up her appearances as a mute. Less expectation, less disappointment. She can definitely picture him roughing it in a jungle or desert, in any case, so that tracks.

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.

[02] [open] nemesis identified

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imagine a world where you don't manage to totally miss notifs

haha, no worries! i'm sorry she's being so difficult sobs

hahahaha no it's absolutely fine and delightful

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