⬬ still trapped in the pain of the past | quiet promise [The dreamer is spending the night in Altius's penthouse for one reason or another—its central location in downtown Alta, an international hub of a city, makes it a reasonable spot regardless of whether they're passing through or planning to stay. It's late—past midnight as the clocks will tell them—when they hear a muffled conversation between the man himself and a separate, airy but sullen voice. Glancing out of the guestroom's door will show the dark living room, a brown-haired teen silhouetted against the distant city lights behind the glass patio doors. He's turned halfway away from Altius, who's seated on a couch.]
I've seen the scrapes you've come back with, Ferran, [the man says, voice soft with concern.] I don't know what you're doing these late nights... I've been hoping you'd tell me if I were patient.
[The young man's shoulders stiffen, a hand crossed over his chest, holding his upper arm. Altius gets to his feet, a sigh passing through him at the lack of answer.]
I can still wait. But I need you to promise me you'll come home safe.
[Ferran, as Altius called him, blinks and turns to look up at his guardian with his emotions written clearly on his face: surprise, hesitance, guilt. There's a bright sheen in his eyes as he replies.]
Rion— [his voice momentarily catches in his throat.] I... I will.
[Altius reaches forward and pulls the young man close with an arm around his shoulder, the latter leaning into the embrace—but his dark eyes catch the other dreamer out of his periphery, and as he turns, so does Altius. Apologetically, he addresses them:]
Did we wake you? ⬬ holding infinities in the palm of your hand | a deal [At first it's hard to tell there's a dream here at all—there's a sense of nothingness, dark and empty. That changes quickly, the dreamer's senses suddenly struck with the feeling of being pulled by a whirling force, buzzing in their ears and an occasional flash of static-like energy that somehow emits only the idea of light while illuminating nothing. The idea of wrongness pervades the space and threatens to make them nauseous at best.
Somewhere in this process they'll become aware of another figure. Are they nearby or far away? Male, female, adult, child? The only thing discernible is the utter sense of defeat within them, as they address the energy within this void in a whisper:]
I've had enough.
[The figure is answered by a thousand voices at once, some in separate languages, some in sounds no human can make. No matter how smooth the tone, it's like nails on a chalkboard, just as unpleasant to hear as the rest of the dream is to experience.]
Then free me, and we will end it.
[The dreamer will suddenly realize that this entity's attention has turned to them.]
And you... what power do you seek? ⬬ this ain't no time for doubting your power | held hostage; cw: gun violence [It's almost something out of a movie: a group of robbers armed heavily, taking the patrons of a large bank hostage, police surrounding the building outside clearly visible through the glass doors. The dreamer sits next to the dark-haired man whose memories they've entered, his appearance not quite as refined as his present-day self—wavy hair not quite as tame, suit not as well-tailored, his eyes brighter.
He's been talking down one of the pistol-wielding captors, and while the tension in the air is palpable, you get the sense he might be getting through somehow, even earning a nervous nod between glances at the authorities outside. He wields sympathy and commiseration carefully, appealing to the man while not straying so far from reality to provoke a reaction.
But a woman with an automatic rifle slung over her shoulder calls out a warning that the cops have set up a sniper and it falls apart. Desperate, the man Altius was addressing mutters as he tightens his grip on his weapon.]
We're not gonna get out of here.
[Altius holds up a hand as he rises to a kneeling position.]
Wait. You don't h—
[He cuts himself off when he sees the pistol aimed at him with clear intent to shoot, and in the split second before that he throws an arm out to protect the dreamer next to him. The gun goes off, striking him in the side; his head hits something hard on the way down, and he falls, dazed, onto the one beside him. Chaos erupts as that shot elicits more, from both inside and out of the bank. Very few in the building will remain unscathed.] ⬬ see the ripples vanish in the distance | false peace [It's a bright day in the spring, and while it's impossible to get far enough in these woods to avoid the sounds of the city entirely, it's as peaceful as it can get. A young girl's voice calls out:]
Rion!
[If the dreamer turns, they'll see a ten-year-old redhead drop a loop of flowers onto the head of a napping teenager under a tree, his wavy hair past the shoulders of the denim jacket too small for his broad shoulders. He startles slightly from his doze, peeking through the leaves at the girl before sitting up and taking the thing into his large hands.]
Do you like it?
[He considers it for a moment before carefully setting it on his head.]
Yeah. Thanks.
[Satisfied, the girl turns to the dreamer with a bounce in her pigtails, offering a similar crown of wildflowers in various colors, a little sloppy but braided together enough to stay in shape.]
Here. You take this one.
[The look they're getting from the teenager might tell them there are consequences for saying no.] ⬬ you're climbing down from an ivory tower | wildcard
[Interested in something else? Want to plot more specifically? Hit me up via PM or lumieresdedragon and let me know!]
[The empty darkness feels strange even before it really gets strange; Octavian does not dream himself dead and spectral after all, and why should a completely normal, living man find himself in a place that is just nothing? Absurd. So the sudden onset of wrongness is, for a split second, a relief - a reminder of one's senses - before it becomes uncomfortable and upsetting.
He puts his hands over his ears, like that will help block out the buzzing from nowhere. It certainly doesn't make that voice-of-all-things sound any better, and when he's addressed he's considering maybe pivoting on his heel and seeing if he can walk in a direction, any direction, and just go. It takes him another second to realize what was even said, god, terrible noise,]
Oh. I am not here to interrupt. Carry on.
[.......Well,] Although I would hear the terms. For the sake of being thorough.
[Octavian looks towards the other figure, if only to have something to look at. They don't keep his attention for very long though, given the, hm, gentle manhandling from the thing that is bad to listen to.
He looks up? Maybe up is an appropriate direction for polite eye contact.]
Not particularly. I have no problem with death itself. The barrier does not bother me. I intend only to cross it.
[The figure, such as it is, lifts its head somewhat, as if to turn its own attention towards the phantom through its haze of misery. The entity pays it no mind, fully focusing its multi-aspected interest on Octavian as it seeks answers.]
And yet, by crossing it... you open the door for others. Or do you intend to hoard such knowledge for yourself alone...?
[Echo had just wanted to observe the tea party. She happened to be there, and it seemed interesting to her. She had not wanted to be seen, however. Especially not by Xerxes Break after his recent encounter with them...
But Oz Vessalius just had to notice her standing behind that tree. Now he has a firm grip on her wrist and a ridiculous grin on his face. He's pulling her toward––
Wait, where are they?
Before they get a chance to properly question this in their heads, the little girl's voice catches their attention. They then see her, her friend, and the flowers she's been crafting with. There's also a fully set picnic table nearby. Had that been there the whole time? Oz points toward them with his free hand.]
Let's see what's going on over there, Eko-chan!
It's "Echo".
[Her response is immediate and obviously irritated.
Unperturbed, Oz smiles and leads her all the way to the tree and the other duo.]
[The girl blinks and exchanges a look with her tall friend as he pushes himself to his feet—hers of curiosity, his of skepticism—but she turns back to Oz and Echo with a friendly smile.]
I don't think you can have a party with two people. But now that you're here we can make it one?
[She sets down her creation on the picnic table that she doesn't seem to acknowledge as sudden or strange at all and opens the basket, peering inside as the young man follows after and brushes the back of his hair free from leaf litter, watching the strangers quietly.]
Looks like Haru made us some extra sandwiches so there should be enough. Oh—I'm Akane, and this is Rion. [He shrugs one shoulder by way of greeting.]
[She decides to cut him off at the pass, apparently. She doesn't continue, though, because she's feeling pretty confused and isn't totally sure why. Echo felt like she should know Rion from somewhere. There's also a bit of a struggle going on in her mind about how she should be referring to herself. The memory of her is still convinced she's just a reverberation, but the version of her having the dream knows that she doesn't believe that anymore.
Oz is taken aback and looks at Echo uncomfortably, but it's not long before he's back to chatting with this new duo. He still hasn't let go of her wrist, either.]
I don't know where everybody else went. But we can definitely join you!
[That's another confusing thing to Echo. She knows deep down that Oz would not be okay if all of the people he cared about suddenly and inexplicably vanished. This feels more like the tea party is just continuing while still being completely different.
Oz tugs her the rest of the way to the table, then finally frees her from his grip.]
[The girl seems happy to have the company, nodding at Oz's offer as Zekarion eyes that grip he's got on his companion's wrist.]
Sure! Wow, there are some other snacks in here, too...
[His brow furrows for a moment. It makes no sense to Zekarion—didn't they have plans to meet her brother for lunch?—but watching Akane simply sets his mind at ease, even if he doesn't quite know what to make of the strangers just yet. The brighter of the pairs work on setting the food out, and the dark-haired young man sits on the table, turning to address Echo in a low voice.]
This is a lot. Thankfully Ange has been in situations like these before - has been around gunfire like this before - so she's not as likely to freak out as much as your average person, or as much as some people in the bank - or whatever this is - currently are. She does wince, but it's more an instinctive physical reaction at the loud shots than fear.
Instead she tries to keep herself calm on purpose. Especially when Altius goes down. There's no time to panic when she isn't sure what state he's in, or what state she is going to be in if she stays out here in the open. The girl tries to get a handle on him the best she can to try and drag his body across the ground just a little bit further, just to a place with a slight bit more cover - though she realizes she isn't going to get far like this. She just isn't strong enough to move him by herself.
Her eyes nervously dart over to the people with guns, unsure how much time she has here. She tries to summon her magic, but it isn't working - nothing happens. ]
Hey. [ She calls out to Altius - her voice insistent, but hushed, like she doesn't want to draw attention to the two of them right now. If one of these people turns their gun on them again, it'll be big trouble and she knows it. ] Hey, are you conscious?!
[The screaming starts, glass shattering as the authorities outside react to the violence with yet more, and the captors alternate between panicked retaliation against those outside and spiteful execution of those inside. Ange isn't wrong to be concerned, though the nearby man with the pistol has focused his desperate efforts on avoiding the incoming fire.
Altius's amber eyes are unfocused, staring half-lidded at the ceiling with no awareness, but there's a struggle there, breath coming in shallow and one hand trembling as it barely reaches for—something, but ends up on Ange's elbow. He's bleeding at a concerning rate, the shot having gone straight through and shattering a rib along the way, which no doubt isn't helping the haze he has to work through.
Police shout another warning to the armed robbers, but it's only followed by more shots, more screaming, more injured. The pistol-wielding man catches Ange's red hair out of the corner of his eye, and turns. A young woman: a perfect hostage if there ever was one, or at least a decent shield, his last chance to get out of this—
But before he can do anything but reach towards her, a spray of blood bursts out of the side of his head and he falls dead only a few feet away, another body among dozens. Armored officers start to push into the building, rifles at the ready. It's only then that the origin of the memory makes a sound.]
... stop...
[It's a whispered plea, too little, too late, only drawn out of him because somehow, even so far from awareness, he knows how this goes—it's a failure that's clung to him for ten years, ingrained so deeply that nothing can ever erase it.]
[ Ange's attention moved away from the bleeding man again - if not just because there's so much else to pay attention to here, to make sure that they don't just both plainly end up dying in the middle of all this chaos.
It's the word, no matter how small, that draws her attention again. She looks down at Altius, noting how he's starting to look worse by the moment, and tries to suppress the blind panic she can feel coming up inside of her.
What does she do about this? About any of this? ]
How do I stop it?!
[ It's probably not the right question to ask him. He's an obviously dying man.
But Ange doesn't know what else to do. What else is anyone supposed to do to stop what's going on here, especially just a single person? If she'd trust the police a little more, she'd call out to them for help, to try and take Altius to a hospital, but she knows how the police work.
They've never saved anyone whatsoever. Not in her experience. ]
[Altius has no answer for her; though he's always thought himself capable of stopping this, it's too late, just like it always is. No chance to use his commanding magic to stop it, no chance to heal anyone when so many lie dead by the time he becomes aware.
Her experience is the sort he shares; careless or overeager officers were no small part of this day and its tragedy. There's nothing either of them can do but watch it play out, but even half-conscious as he is—he can't stand it. He struggles back to awareness, grip tightening on her arm.
Despite his waning strength, color draining from his face as seconds pass, he still can manage to pull her down next to him. If they both look dead, there's no reason for anyone to aim in her direction.
If nothing else, the shots won't last much longer. There aren't many left to shoot or be shot. Ambulances wail as they approach.]
[Most dreamers would panic and get carried away with being dragged into darkness. Ryoji is not most dreamers.
In fact, he feels quite at home in here. These moments of nightly peace are what he used to know for such a long long time. Not being anything concrete or material, just a being that exists for all space and time. So no. Ryoji merely floats in the darkness, staring unfailingly at an entity he currently does not see.
The way he speaks back is almost identical to the echo of a thousand voices.]
I do not seek power. I am here to do my job, and nothing more.
[Like recognizes like; Chaos takes only a moment before it understands just what sort of being it speaks with. The realization emerges in something of a purr of horrible static, not displeased in any sense to meet a being of Death. Though this one is not the Spirit it knows, all death is nevertheless akin to a cousin in the mind of the ancient void.]
You.
[It's a greeting, an acknowledgement. As if cupping hands around a cherished toy, its formless energy encircles the figure—which gasps at the sensation, just barely audible under the whirling noise.]
This one is now mine... and his time has not yet come.
[Eyes narrow against the darkness, the familiar unfamiliarity sinking deep in his bones. Like recognizes like after all, and mutual primodial forces are not so different from one another.
Chaos might greet him like an old friend, but the amicability is by no means returned.]
And he is not yours, either.
[His presence reaches out against the formless energy, not a gesture from Death but from a friend, as if trying to comfort them.]
Do not be so hasty, [the being teases with its many voices, the static of its attention brushing over the girl's ears.] Mine is the power of possibility... of change... of breaking down the strong, and bringing up the weak...
[The fire of Fauna's soul casts just enough of a light that the shadow of the other figure, crumpled in its failure, can be perceived—though the dark energy that makes up the space still prevent it from being truly seen.]
Are such things not vital to the justice you desire?
[It's true... She did. When she wished to the Goddess for a just world. And, in fact, part of her still does. She wants to destroy the strong, to help the weak. Create a world where no children are abandoned. Where everyone can be happy.
She can't see the other figure... But she has to help them. But maybe, the only way to help them... is to dispel this darkness.
She raises her arms in a fighting stance.]
But I've learned. No matter what you do, justice can't be built on injustice. True justice has to come from the heart.
[ the floor is cold and hard underneath his palm. it is the only thing that feels real — viktor watches as the man speaks to one of the robbers, the air around them thick with something like anticipation, like dread, mingling into tension so thick it would not be cut but with the sharpest of knives.
his crutch is more like a staff, now, elongated and ornate, and it lies next to him on the floor as he sits there; and as the barrel aims at them, he thinks, an ill man makes for an ill hostage, only the bullet doesn't connect with him but the man protecting him. he winces only slightly as altius falls on him.
he spares little thought to the gunshots going off around them, instead looking down at the man. ]
That was foolish, [ he says, a little sharp, made more so with worry, ] Are you — eh, I suppose alright is pushing it, isn't it?
[The scene almost blurs around them. The screaming, shots, crashing of glass and wood as bodies are struck and fall—all become unclear noise that's no less loud or distressing as they echo in Zekarion's memory.
His arm moves clumsily, reaching up briefly before the back of his hand thuds against Viktor's chest.]
Ghh down, [is the only thing he can manage to wheeze, slurred through the haze of shock and pain.
The warning comes from a combination of instinct and unfocused memory, knowing just how terribly this all ended. Someone collapses over the opposite side of the desk they're against, firearm clattering to the floor.]
[ for a moment, viktor wonders whether the blurring is his vision or the entire world around him — the sounds are almost uncomfortably loud, the kind of noise that makes his blood spike with anxiety, his very bones vibrate as panic grips his heart for a moment.
and so, the hand thudding against him is more than enough to make him crouch down, just in case, breaths sharp and controlled. and yet, he still manages to fiddle with his tie enough to loosen it, bundle it in his hand as he tries to hold it for the man still collapsed on him. ]
Press this against the wound, [ he says, because he may not be in any way proficient in medicine, but he does know basic first aid, at least. ]
[ The darkness is all-encompassing here Shigeru knows it well. After he merged with the god of light and darkness he was stuck in a place much like this one. It sets him on edge even more so than usual. But once the entity's attentions turn towards him an equally black shadow blooms out from behind Shigeru, who gasps, and moves backward a bit. Red eyes spring forth from the shadows cast by him and they stare down the entity with an intensity that even Shigeru isn't aware of.
This is bad and he looks away. ] I-I don't...I don't want any power.
[ He's already had enough of that for a lifetime. ]
[As the being swirls and crackles closer to the blond, the voices coo in interest at this newcomer—a human, yet not. The other shrouded figure stiffens at some of that energy remaining behind to hover close to it, despite the shift in attention. It seems to peer at Shigeru for several moments, a sensation that can be felt even though it has no physical features to perceive.]
You would have to be terribly greedy, wouldn't you? And yet the power of one immortal wasn't enough, hmm?
[The energy's many voices cackle, unbothered by the dark eyes of the god watching him. Chaos never was afraid of other Spirits, always confident it would get what it wanted at the end—even when trapped behind the light Spirit's seal in its tiny little prison as it is now.]
Welcome to my humble domain. Surely there is something I can offer you, since you've come to spare me from my boredom.
[ Shigeru flinches ever so slightly, the eyes behind him glaring. He might rub at his arm with hands that are gloved even in his dreams, unable to bear or accept their changed appearance for what they were now. ] It's not-not as if I had a choice. It-it was to save everyone...so.
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expiationlogs2025-01-13 12:39 pm
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⬬ still trapped in the pain of the past | quiet promise
[The dreamer is spending the night in Altius's penthouse for one reason or another—its central location in downtown Alta, an international hub of a city, makes it a reasonable spot regardless of whether they're passing through or planning to stay. It's late—past midnight as the clocks will tell them—when they hear a muffled conversation between the man himself and a separate, airy but sullen voice. Glancing out of the guestroom's door will show the dark living room, a brown-haired teen silhouetted against the distant city lights behind the glass patio doors. He's turned halfway away from Altius, who's seated on a couch.]
I've seen the scrapes you've come back with, Ferran, [the man says, voice soft with concern.] I don't know what you're doing these late nights... I've been hoping you'd tell me if I were patient.
[The young man's shoulders stiffen, a hand crossed over his chest, holding his upper arm. Altius gets to his feet, a sigh passing through him at the lack of answer.]
I can still wait. But I need you to promise me you'll come home safe.
[Ferran, as Altius called him, blinks and turns to look up at his guardian with his emotions written clearly on his face: surprise, hesitance, guilt. There's a bright sheen in his eyes as he replies.]
Rion— [his voice momentarily catches in his throat.] I... I will.
[Altius reaches forward and pulls the young man close with an arm around his shoulder, the latter leaning into the embrace—but his dark eyes catch the other dreamer out of his periphery, and as he turns, so does Altius. Apologetically, he addresses them:]
Did we wake you?
⬬ holding infinities in the palm of your hand | a deal
[At first it's hard to tell there's a dream here at all—there's a sense of nothingness, dark and empty. That changes quickly, the dreamer's senses suddenly struck with the feeling of being pulled by a whirling force, buzzing in their ears and an occasional flash of static-like energy that somehow emits only the idea of light while illuminating nothing. The idea of wrongness pervades the space and threatens to make them nauseous at best.
Somewhere in this process they'll become aware of another figure. Are they nearby or far away? Male, female, adult, child? The only thing discernible is the utter sense of defeat within them, as they address the energy within this void in a whisper:]
I've had enough.
[The figure is answered by a thousand voices at once, some in separate languages, some in sounds no human can make. No matter how smooth the tone, it's like nails on a chalkboard, just as unpleasant to hear as the rest of the dream is to experience.]
Then free me, and we will end it.
[The dreamer will suddenly realize that this entity's attention has turned to them.]
And you... what power do you seek?
⬬ this ain't no time for doubting your power | held hostage; cw: gun violence
[It's almost something out of a movie: a group of robbers armed heavily, taking the patrons of a large bank hostage, police surrounding the building outside clearly visible through the glass doors. The dreamer sits next to the dark-haired man whose memories they've entered, his appearance not quite as refined as his present-day self—wavy hair not quite as tame, suit not as well-tailored, his eyes brighter.
He's been talking down one of the pistol-wielding captors, and while the tension in the air is palpable, you get the sense he might be getting through somehow, even earning a nervous nod between glances at the authorities outside. He wields sympathy and commiseration carefully, appealing to the man while not straying so far from reality to provoke a reaction.
But a woman with an automatic rifle slung over her shoulder calls out a warning that the cops have set up a sniper and it falls apart. Desperate, the man Altius was addressing mutters as he tightens his grip on his weapon.]
We're not gonna get out of here.
[Altius holds up a hand as he rises to a kneeling position.]
Wait. You don't h—
[He cuts himself off when he sees the pistol aimed at him with clear intent to shoot, and in the split second before that he throws an arm out to protect the dreamer next to him. The gun goes off, striking him in the side; his head hits something hard on the way down, and he falls, dazed, onto the one beside him. Chaos erupts as that shot elicits more, from both inside and out of the bank. Very few in the building will remain unscathed.]
⬬ see the ripples vanish in the distance | false peace
[It's a bright day in the spring, and while it's impossible to get far enough in these woods to avoid the sounds of the city entirely, it's as peaceful as it can get. A young girl's voice calls out:]
Rion!
[If the dreamer turns, they'll see a ten-year-old redhead drop a loop of flowers onto the head of a napping teenager under a tree, his wavy hair past the shoulders of the denim jacket too small for his broad shoulders. He startles slightly from his doze, peeking through the leaves at the girl before sitting up and taking the thing into his large hands.]
Do you like it?
[He considers it for a moment before carefully setting it on his head.]
Yeah. Thanks.
[Satisfied, the girl turns to the dreamer with a bounce in her pigtails, offering a similar crown of wildflowers in various colors, a little sloppy but braided together enough to stay in shape.]
Here. You take this one.
[The look they're getting from the teenager might tell them there are consequences for saying no.]
⬬ you're climbing down from an ivory tower | wildcard
[Interested in something else? Want to plot more specifically? Hit me up via PM or
here to gaze into the abyss
He puts his hands over his ears, like that will help block out the buzzing from nowhere. It certainly doesn't make that voice-of-all-things sound any better, and when he's addressed he's considering maybe pivoting on his heel and seeing if he can walk in a direction, any direction, and just go. It takes him another second to realize what was even said, god, terrible noise,]
Oh. I am not here to interrupt. Carry on.
[.......Well,] Although I would hear the terms. For the sake of being thorough.
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A lost soul...
[Octavian will get the sense of that energy brushing against him, around him, as if examining an insect in its hands.]
Do you not seek to break down the barriers between life and death? Such restrictions, I find... tragic.
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He looks up? Maybe up is an appropriate direction for polite eye contact.]
Not particularly. I have no problem with death itself. The barrier does not bother me. I intend only to cross it.
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And yet, by crossing it... you open the door for others. Or do you intend to hoard such knowledge for yourself alone...?
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false peace
But Oz Vessalius just had to notice her standing behind that tree. Now he has a firm grip on her wrist and a ridiculous grin on his face. He's pulling her toward––
Wait, where are they?
Before they get a chance to properly question this in their heads, the little girl's voice catches their attention. They then see her, her friend, and the flowers she's been crafting with. There's also a fully set picnic table nearby. Had that been there the whole time? Oz points toward them with his free hand.]
Let's see what's going on over there, Eko-chan!
It's "Echo".
[Her response is immediate and obviously irritated.
Unperturbed, Oz smiles and leads her all the way to the tree and the other duo.]
Hey! Are you guys having a party, too?
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[The girl blinks and exchanges a look with her tall friend as he pushes himself to his feet—hers of curiosity, his of skepticism—but she turns back to Oz and Echo with a friendly smile.]
I don't think you can have a party with two people. But now that you're here we can make it one?
[She sets down her creation on the picnic table that she doesn't seem to acknowledge as sudden or strange at all and opens the basket, peering inside as the young man follows after and brushes the back of his hair free from leaf litter, watching the strangers quietly.]
Looks like Haru made us some extra sandwiches so there should be enough. Oh—I'm Akane, and this is Rion. [He shrugs one shoulder by way of greeting.]
What's your names?
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I'm Oz! And this is Eko-ch–
Echo.
[She decides to cut him off at the pass, apparently. She doesn't continue, though, because she's feeling pretty confused and isn't totally sure why. Echo felt like she should know Rion from somewhere. There's also a bit of a struggle going on in her mind about how she should be referring to herself. The memory of her is still convinced she's just a reverberation, but the version of her having the dream knows that she doesn't believe that anymore.
Oz is taken aback and looks at Echo uncomfortably, but it's not long before he's back to chatting with this new duo. He still hasn't let go of her wrist, either.]
I don't know where everybody else went. But we can definitely join you!
[That's another confusing thing to Echo. She knows deep down that Oz would not be okay if all of the people he cared about suddenly and inexplicably vanished. This feels more like the tea party is just continuing while still being completely different.
Oz tugs her the rest of the way to the table, then finally frees her from his grip.]
You need any help unpacking?
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Sure! Wow, there are some other snacks in here, too...
[His brow furrows for a moment. It makes no sense to Zekarion—didn't they have plans to meet her brother for lunch?—but watching Akane simply sets his mind at ease, even if he doesn't quite know what to make of the strangers just yet. The brighter of the pairs work on setting the food out, and the dark-haired young man sits on the table, turning to address Echo in a low voice.]
He's dragging you around, huh.
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*don't HAVE time... self, please don't forget words next time :T
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Kaito stop writing so much/2
never!!!
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held hostage
This is a lot. Thankfully Ange has been in situations like these before - has been around gunfire like this before - so she's not as likely to freak out as much as your average person, or as much as some people in the bank - or whatever this is - currently are. She does wince, but it's more an instinctive physical reaction at the loud shots than fear.
Instead she tries to keep herself calm on purpose. Especially when Altius goes down. There's no time to panic when she isn't sure what state he's in, or what state she is going to be in if she stays out here in the open. The girl tries to get a handle on him the best she can to try and drag his body across the ground just a little bit further, just to a place with a slight bit more cover - though she realizes she isn't going to get far like this. She just isn't strong enough to move him by herself.
Her eyes nervously dart over to the people with guns, unsure how much time she has here. She tries to summon her magic, but it isn't working - nothing happens. ]
Hey. [ She calls out to Altius - her voice insistent, but hushed, like she doesn't want to draw attention to the two of them right now. If one of these people turns their gun on them again, it'll be big trouble and she knows it. ] Hey, are you conscious?!
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Altius's amber eyes are unfocused, staring half-lidded at the ceiling with no awareness, but there's a struggle there, breath coming in shallow and one hand trembling as it barely reaches for—something, but ends up on Ange's elbow. He's bleeding at a concerning rate, the shot having gone straight through and shattering a rib along the way, which no doubt isn't helping the haze he has to work through.
Police shout another warning to the armed robbers, but it's only followed by more shots, more screaming, more injured. The pistol-wielding man catches Ange's red hair out of the corner of his eye, and turns. A young woman: a perfect hostage if there ever was one, or at least a decent shield, his last chance to get out of this—
But before he can do anything but reach towards her, a spray of blood bursts out of the side of his head and he falls dead only a few feet away, another body among dozens. Armored officers start to push into the building, rifles at the ready. It's only then that the origin of the memory makes a sound.]
... stop...
[It's a whispered plea, too little, too late, only drawn out of him because somehow, even so far from awareness, he knows how this goes—it's a failure that's clung to him for ten years, ingrained so deeply that nothing can ever erase it.]
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It's the word, no matter how small, that draws her attention again. She looks down at Altius, noting how he's starting to look worse by the moment, and tries to suppress the blind panic she can feel coming up inside of her.
What does she do about this? About any of this? ]
How do I stop it?!
[ It's probably not the right question to ask him. He's an obviously dying man.
But Ange doesn't know what else to do. What else is anyone supposed to do to stop what's going on here, especially just a single person? If she'd trust the police a little more, she'd call out to them for help, to try and take Altius to a hospital, but she knows how the police work.
They've never saved anyone whatsoever. Not in her experience. ]
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Her experience is the sort he shares; careless or overeager officers were no small part of this day and its tragedy. There's nothing either of them can do but watch it play out, but even half-conscious as he is—he can't stand it. He struggles back to awareness, grip tightening on her arm.
Despite his waning strength, color draining from his face as seconds pass, he still can manage to pull her down next to him. If they both look dead, there's no reason for anyone to aim in her direction.
If nothing else, the shots won't last much longer. There aren't many left to shoot or be shot. Ambulances wail as they approach.]
cw: (vague) suicidal ideation or at least a lack of self care
there's going to be some more of that on this end in the near future probably
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1/2
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a deal.
In fact, he feels quite at home in here. These moments of nightly peace are what he used to know for such a long long time. Not being anything concrete or material, just a being that exists for all space and time. So no. Ryoji merely floats in the darkness, staring unfailingly at an entity he currently does not see.
The way he speaks back is almost identical to the echo of a thousand voices.]
I do not seek power. I am here to do my job, and nothing more.
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You.
[It's a greeting, an acknowledgement. As if cupping hands around a cherished toy, its formless energy encircles the figure—which gasps at the sensation, just barely audible under the whirling noise.]
This one is now mine... and his time has not yet come.
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Chaos might greet him like an old friend, but the amicability is by no means returned.]
And he is not yours, either.
[His presence reaches out against the formless energy, not a gesture from Death but from a friend, as if trying to comfort them.]
He has yet to formally close the deal.
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holding infinities
"What power do you seek"...?
What is it that you wish for?
Her wish has never changed. Her soul blazes brightly, no fear in her eyes, as she fearlessly stares down the entity in front of her.]
The power I seek is the same as always: The power of justice. And I don't feel like there's any of that to be had from you.
[Her eyes dart around. Where was the other figure? She has to stop this. Before their wish is granted. Before they become a monster.]
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[The fire of Fauna's soul casts just enough of a light that the shadow of the other figure, crumpled in its failure, can be perceived—though the dark energy that makes up the space still prevent it from being truly seen.]
Are such things not vital to the justice you desire?
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[It's true... She did. When she wished to the Goddess for a just world. And, in fact, part of her still does. She wants to destroy the strong, to help the weak. Create a world where no children are abandoned. Where everyone can be happy.
She can't see the other figure... But she has to help them. But maybe, the only way to help them... is to dispel this darkness.
She raises her arms in a fighting stance.]
But I've learned. No matter what you do, justice can't be built on injustice. True justice has to come from the heart.
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hostages;
his crutch is more like a staff, now, elongated and ornate, and it lies next to him on the floor as he sits there; and as the barrel aims at them, he thinks, an ill man makes for an ill hostage, only the bullet doesn't connect with him but the man protecting him. he winces only slightly as altius falls on him.
he spares little thought to the gunshots going off around them, instead looking down at the man. ]
That was foolish, [ he says, a little sharp, made more so with worry, ] Are you — eh, I suppose alright is pushing it, isn't it?
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His arm moves clumsily, reaching up briefly before the back of his hand thuds against Viktor's chest.]
Ghh down, [is the only thing he can manage to wheeze, slurred through the haze of shock and pain.
The warning comes from a combination of instinct and unfocused memory, knowing just how terribly this all ended. Someone collapses over the opposite side of the desk they're against, firearm clattering to the floor.]
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and so, the hand thudding against him is more than enough to make him crouch down, just in case, breaths sharp and controlled. and yet, he still manages to fiddle with his tie enough to loosen it, bundle it in his hand as he tries to hold it for the man still collapsed on him. ]
Press this against the wound, [ he says, because he may not be in any way proficient in medicine, but he does know basic first aid, at least. ]
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cw: suicidality mentions, this is a cheerful thread,
it sure is! that cw will remain relevant.
yep yep yep
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A deal!
This is bad and he looks away. ] I-I don't...I don't want any power.
[ He's already had enough of that for a lifetime. ]
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You would have to be terribly greedy, wouldn't you? And yet the power of one immortal wasn't enough, hmm?
[The energy's many voices cackle, unbothered by the dark eyes of the god watching him. Chaos never was afraid of other Spirits, always confident it would get what it wanted at the end—even when trapped behind the light Spirit's seal in its tiny little prison as it is now.]
Welcome to my humble domain. Surely there is something I can offer you, since you've come to spare me from my boredom.
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[ Shigeru looks away. ] No. I. What are you?
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