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[M is the one who dealt the shattering blow to Estinien during Inoseri. Ciel didn't participate much during Binghe's communion summary, but she did pay attention. Having heard summaries of what happened in Venera from both Silco and Eustace, she's also at least informed of key events. Thus knowing all that...]
We have the pieces in place to lure Estinien, the entity's vessel, to Acamoth, where the Regent will be able to directly action upon them. Given your history with him and your shared Legacy, would you be interested in [...] sending him the invitation?
[M had witnessed firsthand what Estinien and the Innocence are capable of together, what sort of "invitation" this is leaves no room for interpretation. Drawing them to Achamoth is no light matter, but it was initially suggested by the Regent, their mention isn't evoked in vain. The details can come after, once he gives his answer to this surface proposal.]
We have the pieces in place to lure Estinien, the entity's vessel, to Acamoth, where the Regent will be able to directly action upon them. Given your history with him and your shared Legacy, would you be interested in [...] sending him the invitation?
[M had witnessed firsthand what Estinien and the Innocence are capable of together, what sort of "invitation" this is leaves no room for interpretation. Drawing them to Achamoth is no light matter, but it was initially suggested by the Regent, their mention isn't evoked in vain. The details can come after, once he gives his answer to this surface proposal.]
[ it’s that bad. dextera will have to ask what happened when the time comes.
he’s silent for a moment, weighing his own fears against makoto’s health. there’s no point in offering a gift that he might have to withdraw just because he’s afraid. he knows for a fact there were various portals set up to span the continent during the events of the past two weeks, but he’s not so unwise as to reveal the pleroma’s side of things to makoto. simply inviting him to find his own way to godsblood, however, can’t be all that much of a problem.
it’s stupid, though, and so he hedges his bets. ]
Is the Lover Shrine too hard? To get back from?
[ he doesn’t wait for makoto’s answer. ]
I know some of you didn’t use a ship to get to Godsblood… if there’s a way for you to come here… I can…
[ he falters, but at least communion carries the rest of his implication through; dextera will not expect makoto to walk right back into the heart of godsblood, but his months spent in the city means he knows a few secluded spots outside of it, unguarded, that dextera can hide them away in. ]
he’s silent for a moment, weighing his own fears against makoto’s health. there’s no point in offering a gift that he might have to withdraw just because he’s afraid. he knows for a fact there were various portals set up to span the continent during the events of the past two weeks, but he’s not so unwise as to reveal the pleroma’s side of things to makoto. simply inviting him to find his own way to godsblood, however, can’t be all that much of a problem.
it’s stupid, though, and so he hedges his bets. ]
Is the Lover Shrine too hard? To get back from?
[ he doesn’t wait for makoto’s answer. ]
I know some of you didn’t use a ship to get to Godsblood… if there’s a way for you to come here… I can…
[ he falters, but at least communion carries the rest of his implication through; dextera will not expect makoto to walk right back into the heart of godsblood, but his months spent in the city means he knows a few secluded spots outside of it, unguarded, that dextera can hide them away in. ]
( the impression of curiosity curls like wisps of smoke through the sustained connection of their Communion. then they disappear, swept away in the sudden eddying of a buoyant and mirthful wind. he can't help but laugh, the sound warm and lingering. what a delicious opportunity he's been given, and their misadventures in venera and godsblood are scarcely a few days in their wake...
yes, there are very few things that he would like more than to ensnare both that dragoon and that loathsome creature here so that the Regent could tear them to pieces. well, except the hope that he could assist.
playing the messenger is certainly a way he can do that, though his preferences were typically more tactile and bloody. ) Of course. I would be happy to help.
Given how dangerous a trap we are meant to set, I have to assume the bait is suitably tempting.
yes, there are very few things that he would like more than to ensnare both that dragoon and that loathsome creature here so that the Regent could tear them to pieces. well, except the hope that he could assist.
playing the messenger is certainly a way he can do that, though his preferences were typically more tactile and bloody. ) Of course. I would be happy to help.
Given how dangerous a trap we are meant to set, I have to assume the bait is suitably tempting.
Getting back isn't my concern.
( he has his returning stone from several months ago, when it had been given to him to help facilitate in bringing new Aion recruits to achamoth. it has charge. so long as he is alone and undisturbed to use it, secure in similar concerns that he's not inadvertently being a security risk to his sect, it shouldn't be an issue returning to the cold, echoing caverns beneath the citadel.
he can understand the trepidation of simply going back to the lover's shrine. it had served its purpose for their first meeting, but others could teleport there just as easily as they could, and if there were any Aions that were dissipated in these last few days, they would potentially need to be taken back there to recover. makoto is similarly unenthused by the idea of being found, both because he doesn't exactly try to make his highly unusual and taboo proclivities publicly known, but also because he's not in a state to defend himself against a sudden attack.
mention of godsblood prompts a defensive prickle from makoto. still, he gleans the meaning from dextera's request — he doesn't expect him to walk into the lion's den, a place that makoto currently has no idea as to the present state. had the execution been carried out? he would have to hear from someone else. regardless, just as wary as he is of a location with moderately high Pleroma presence, he's just as wary of tipping his hand as to where the portal that eustace had set up was located. even if dextera might not use that information, someone else might — he can't be convinced the Regent is the only creature with the power to pluck out memories of use and interest.
because this is dextera, and because he offers such a fine gift, he compromises: ) Show me where we might meet, and I will tell you if I can make it there. ( it's not as perfect or clever as he would have wanted, but at least it makes it vague enough as to where the portal might be, either within or outside of godsblood proper. )
( he has his returning stone from several months ago, when it had been given to him to help facilitate in bringing new Aion recruits to achamoth. it has charge. so long as he is alone and undisturbed to use it, secure in similar concerns that he's not inadvertently being a security risk to his sect, it shouldn't be an issue returning to the cold, echoing caverns beneath the citadel.
he can understand the trepidation of simply going back to the lover's shrine. it had served its purpose for their first meeting, but others could teleport there just as easily as they could, and if there were any Aions that were dissipated in these last few days, they would potentially need to be taken back there to recover. makoto is similarly unenthused by the idea of being found, both because he doesn't exactly try to make his highly unusual and taboo proclivities publicly known, but also because he's not in a state to defend himself against a sudden attack.
mention of godsblood prompts a defensive prickle from makoto. still, he gleans the meaning from dextera's request — he doesn't expect him to walk into the lion's den, a place that makoto currently has no idea as to the present state. had the execution been carried out? he would have to hear from someone else. regardless, just as wary as he is of a location with moderately high Pleroma presence, he's just as wary of tipping his hand as to where the portal that eustace had set up was located. even if dextera might not use that information, someone else might — he can't be convinced the Regent is the only creature with the power to pluck out memories of use and interest.
because this is dextera, and because he offers such a fine gift, he compromises: ) Show me where we might meet, and I will tell you if I can make it there. ( it's not as perfect or clever as he would have wanted, but at least it makes it vague enough as to where the portal might be, either within or outside of godsblood proper. )
[ it is often dextera’s concern. he’s made a few miserable treks with his own lack of flying ability, and even the lodestone is a pain to use when charged due to his inability to swim. asking makoto to make any similar journey is beyond him for that sympathy, so he’s grateful that makoto offers a potential compromise. though it feels like a given, as all their meetings before, that they won’t discuss the politics of their alignment, the caution isn’t insulting. even the greatest trust in one another could serve as an exploitable vulnerability for someone else. ]
…I took a bath.
[ dextera remembers to relay this information before he distracts himself trying to conduct a mental map of their meeting place.
the place he chooses is a small wooded area on the outskirts of godsblood. it’s not good for lumber compared to the dense forest next to the syraku shipyard, and godsblood itself is much more thoroughly equipped for fishing than anything the small bay could offer. with the knowledge comes dextera’s mild but sincere conviction that they won’t be discovered. ]
…I took a bath.
[ dextera remembers to relay this information before he distracts himself trying to conduct a mental map of their meeting place.
the place he chooses is a small wooded area on the outskirts of godsblood. it’s not good for lumber compared to the dense forest next to the syraku shipyard, and godsblood itself is much more thoroughly equipped for fishing than anything the small bay could offer. with the knowledge comes dextera’s mild but sincere conviction that they won’t be discovered. ]
[It's especially difficult to miss the uplifting current through communion, metaphorical as it may be in how it very much fills his sails and drives his spirit soaring. He agrees; good. Their plan can proceed forward.]
Yes. We have in custody two of the oath-sworn who promised the entity to protect him: Himeka Sui, his companion and confidant hailing from the same world as him, and Abel Nightroad, the priest who reaches out to all. [The reply is accompanied by brief visuals of the two together, wounded and unconscious with the Citadel as the backdrop. Ciel doesn't believe it necessary to elaborate further: as M didn't seem aware until now, all he needs to know is that the Kenomas effectively have those two Pleromas in captivity.]
As two of his closest allies, Estinien will come for them. Knowing the Innocence manifests through his pain and anguish, you're welcome to take any liberty you see fit to further motivate him.
[Giving a demon the devil's work may be a little on the nose, but it should also prove to be the most effective.]
Yes. We have in custody two of the oath-sworn who promised the entity to protect him: Himeka Sui, his companion and confidant hailing from the same world as him, and Abel Nightroad, the priest who reaches out to all. [The reply is accompanied by brief visuals of the two together, wounded and unconscious with the Citadel as the backdrop. Ciel doesn't believe it necessary to elaborate further: as M didn't seem aware until now, all he needs to know is that the Kenomas effectively have those two Pleromas in captivity.]
As two of his closest allies, Estinien will come for them. Knowing the Innocence manifests through his pain and anguish, you're welcome to take any liberty you see fit to further motivate him.
[Giving a demon the devil's work may be a little on the nose, but it should also prove to be the most effective.]
( ah. not just one of the Pleroma that had scrambled to the scene after the dragoon's death, but two? he will have to give his best regards to those that captured them later, when they weren't in the Communion version of a zoom meeting.
there's a feeling of brittle contempt that emanates from makoto as she mentions himeka — hes, he does remember the red-haired woman, and it was hard to forget her considering he'd had a remarkable view of her wroth expression, outlined in flame, as she'd weaved her magics to attempt to burn him to a cinder. kaeya had foiled that attempt, but he didn't let go of grudges that easily.
abel, though... it's not that makoto is foolish enough to betray anything compromising to ciel. but that's just the thing: he's been moderately open to her thus far, allowing the faint impression of emotion to speak for him when he didn't necessarily want words to. but as soon as she mentions the priest, it's like the pane of that open window slides shut. he is curiously reserved for a long moment, viewing the visuals she sends of the two in captivity.
he knows immediately what she means, and he would have arrived to that conclusion even if she hadn't pointed out a path towards it. makoto is not necessarily an accomplished torturer. a sadist, yes, and he has occasionally taken out his frustration on others, but there is a difference between merely venting and...
making what would throw estinien into an uncontrollable rage.
regardless of what he might (or might not) have let on about the two prisoners, after a moment's thought, he gives the vague impression of assent. ) I will arrange for some time alone with them, then. If our goal is to give Estinien no other choice than to come to their rescue, then... I'll make sure to provide him a good show.
there's a feeling of brittle contempt that emanates from makoto as she mentions himeka — hes, he does remember the red-haired woman, and it was hard to forget her considering he'd had a remarkable view of her wroth expression, outlined in flame, as she'd weaved her magics to attempt to burn him to a cinder. kaeya had foiled that attempt, but he didn't let go of grudges that easily.
abel, though... it's not that makoto is foolish enough to betray anything compromising to ciel. but that's just the thing: he's been moderately open to her thus far, allowing the faint impression of emotion to speak for him when he didn't necessarily want words to. but as soon as she mentions the priest, it's like the pane of that open window slides shut. he is curiously reserved for a long moment, viewing the visuals she sends of the two in captivity.
he knows immediately what she means, and he would have arrived to that conclusion even if she hadn't pointed out a path towards it. makoto is not necessarily an accomplished torturer. a sadist, yes, and he has occasionally taken out his frustration on others, but there is a difference between merely venting and...
making what would throw estinien into an uncontrollable rage.
regardless of what he might (or might not) have let on about the two prisoners, after a moment's thought, he gives the vague impression of assent. ) I will arrange for some time alone with them, then. If our goal is to give Estinien no other choice than to come to their rescue, then... I'll make sure to provide him a good show.
( he almost starts to allow himself to think of how things might have gone if there had been someone — anyone — to believe in him as much as abel does now before he had gotten to this point. when he had been human... would it have been enough to break his downward spiral of crippling despair? to make him think that there might be some place for him, somewhere, and that he wouldn't live a full lifetime of being trapped in a room with the wild tiger of his own thoughts and desires, desperate to break loose and satisfy themselves at his own expense? that he wouldn't end up one day killed by the man under whose roof he'd lived, willing to go to the point of murdering his own son just to destroy the possibility of an embarrassment to his family that he would never be able to move past? or perhaps even when he had been a demon, but freshly so, still not yet having lost all the trappings of his humanity and soft-heartedness.
he nearly thinks about it, but then he stops. there's no point. it simply hadn't been the case, and even if it had, would it really have changed anything? nearly twenty years have taught makoto that whatever unseemly and macabre fascination that he has, it's indelible and inextricable from who he is. was there really any good and hopeful end for someone like that? someone who would only ever want to live at the detriment of others, to whom perhaps the greatest kindness that could be extended was a compassionate death?
well. it's not to say abel would never have the chance to offer such a thing to him. the road into the future is long and ever-winding.
as abel had started to speak, makoto rose from the booth though, he pauses there at the man's words. his pale eyes fall to him, nearly hidden beneath the dark fringe of hair, and behind practiced inscrutability... there is something else. something so new to him that he can't really find a good way to prevent it from drifting to the surface. confusion. disbelief. even with all the evidence he's had of the man up until this point, doggedly attempting to carve out a place at makoto's side in an attempt to support him in whatever foolish way he could... he still can't find himself to believe it.
so the main thing that gaze says to him is, why?
abel speaks with conviction, and it robs makoto of his own. his voices seems to wither in his throat, and he buys himself time by reaching into a pocket and placing several jools on the table — enough for both of the drinks and a considerable tip.
and then he turns and moves to leave, only finding his voice enough to reply, ) Until next time, Abel.
he nearly thinks about it, but then he stops. there's no point. it simply hadn't been the case, and even if it had, would it really have changed anything? nearly twenty years have taught makoto that whatever unseemly and macabre fascination that he has, it's indelible and inextricable from who he is. was there really any good and hopeful end for someone like that? someone who would only ever want to live at the detriment of others, to whom perhaps the greatest kindness that could be extended was a compassionate death?
well. it's not to say abel would never have the chance to offer such a thing to him. the road into the future is long and ever-winding.
as abel had started to speak, makoto rose from the booth though, he pauses there at the man's words. his pale eyes fall to him, nearly hidden beneath the dark fringe of hair, and behind practiced inscrutability... there is something else. something so new to him that he can't really find a good way to prevent it from drifting to the surface. confusion. disbelief. even with all the evidence he's had of the man up until this point, doggedly attempting to carve out a place at makoto's side in an attempt to support him in whatever foolish way he could... he still can't find himself to believe it.
so the main thing that gaze says to him is, why?
abel speaks with conviction, and it robs makoto of his own. his voices seems to wither in his throat, and he buys himself time by reaching into a pocket and placing several jools on the table — enough for both of the drinks and a considerable tip.
and then he turns and moves to leave, only finding his voice enough to reply, ) Until next time, Abel.
[Interesting.
And not surprising. So Abel already sank his sticky paws onto M too, huh? Ciel spends a split second wondering why, curious and human that she is. Was it back during their time inside that cave, or the trip there from the shrines? Or some time after that, like Venera perhaps? That M dissipated Estinien is common knowledge among the Kenoma. Knowing Abel's part as one of the Innocence-bound means he's certainly closely associated with Estinien, which she already knew since the Pleromas' escape from the caves as Abel was the one who guided Estinien away from her. (She has yet to pay him back for that mauling... And she is in no hurry to.) Would Abel have reached out to M, Estinien's murderer?
A pointless question with a foregone answer. The abrupt cessation of M's feelings already implies enough. Her professional courtesy mired with a vague sense of interest shifts into something almost derisive and contemptuous, M may very well be the first Kenoma to experience this facet of her none other on their side had ever come close to glimpsing.
It's not directed at him per se, no, but towards that gap she will not leave unaddressed.]
Please do. [A beat.] That self-professed priest isn't giving you second thoughts, is he?
And not surprising. So Abel already sank his sticky paws onto M too, huh? Ciel spends a split second wondering why, curious and human that she is. Was it back during their time inside that cave, or the trip there from the shrines? Or some time after that, like Venera perhaps? That M dissipated Estinien is common knowledge among the Kenoma. Knowing Abel's part as one of the Innocence-bound means he's certainly closely associated with Estinien, which she already knew since the Pleromas' escape from the caves as Abel was the one who guided Estinien away from her. (She has yet to pay him back for that mauling... And she is in no hurry to.) Would Abel have reached out to M, Estinien's murderer?
A pointless question with a foregone answer. The abrupt cessation of M's feelings already implies enough. Her professional courtesy mired with a vague sense of interest shifts into something almost derisive and contemptuous, M may very well be the first Kenoma to experience this facet of her none other on their side had ever come close to glimpsing.
It's not directed at him per se, no, but towards that gap she will not leave unaddressed.]
Please do. [A beat.] That self-professed priest isn't giving you second thoughts, is he?
( he's a prolific little bleeding-heart, that priest, isn't he?
the answer is, of course, a combination of several of those opportunities. theirs was not a relationship pinned in one particular event but spread throughout several. abel had been the first person makoto had spoken to after being forced to ingest the Kenoma liquid in the throne room; he had asked the man how he weathered adversity, only to wither when he realized that the saccharine answer was not one he could properly replicate. they had gravitated towards opposite sects, and though he had reached out to him via Communion shortly after arriving in achamoth, his message was frank: they are amicable, but they are enemies.
after returning from venera the first time, he had gone to meet with the priest to speak about what had happened there — about why exactly he did what he did. memories of that meeting are still a vexing wound to the demon.
he picks up on the slow slide of her emotional timbre, and he responds in kind, bristling in aggravation at her perceived judgment. he responds swiftly and unerringly. )
Do not insult me. Demons don't allow petty things like that to cloud their judgment. ( they aren't bound to concepts like "contradiction" as humans are. on his path to surpass J, makoto had left his former employer, a man he truly felt he owed for how well he treated him, absolutely ruined both in mind and body. it had been no hard feelings; it had simply been necessary to use him as a stepping stone. a brief pause. ) I've already told the man that no conversation we've had will stay my hand when it comes to what I decide to do.
the answer is, of course, a combination of several of those opportunities. theirs was not a relationship pinned in one particular event but spread throughout several. abel had been the first person makoto had spoken to after being forced to ingest the Kenoma liquid in the throne room; he had asked the man how he weathered adversity, only to wither when he realized that the saccharine answer was not one he could properly replicate. they had gravitated towards opposite sects, and though he had reached out to him via Communion shortly after arriving in achamoth, his message was frank: they are amicable, but they are enemies.
after returning from venera the first time, he had gone to meet with the priest to speak about what had happened there — about why exactly he did what he did. memories of that meeting are still a vexing wound to the demon.
he picks up on the slow slide of her emotional timbre, and he responds in kind, bristling in aggravation at her perceived judgment. he responds swiftly and unerringly. )
Do not insult me. Demons don't allow petty things like that to cloud their judgment. ( they aren't bound to concepts like "contradiction" as humans are. on his path to surpass J, makoto had left his former employer, a man he truly felt he owed for how well he treated him, absolutely ruined both in mind and body. it had been no hard feelings; it had simply been necessary to use him as a stepping stone. a brief pause. ) I've already told the man that no conversation we've had will stay my hand when it comes to what I decide to do.
( ...if he had known how much of an abominable pain it was for dextera to get home, he probably would have been amenable the first time to meeting him elsewhere... but, then again, dextera had requested that as their meeting place.
in the receptive openness as he waits for a location, he can't help an obvious lilt of amusement that escapes him at the interjected comment. one colored with abject fondness, and he mostly keeps the faint condescension out of it. )
You remembered. I'm glad.
( though, honestly, given the "gifts" that dextera is bringing, makoto might have made a singular exception in this case.
the location is outside of the city, just as the portal that eustace placed is. it's not that it's close, but it's not egregiously far either. he's certain he could make the walk, but he will likely have to walk an additional distance so he can appear to arrive from a different direction than the one pointing directly to the portal (just in case).
still. it's doable. ) It will take some time, but I should be able to make it there. Perhaps - in two or three hours' time?
in the receptive openness as he waits for a location, he can't help an obvious lilt of amusement that escapes him at the interjected comment. one colored with abject fondness, and he mostly keeps the faint condescension out of it. )
You remembered. I'm glad.
( though, honestly, given the "gifts" that dextera is bringing, makoto might have made a singular exception in this case.
the location is outside of the city, just as the portal that eustace placed is. it's not that it's close, but it's not egregiously far either. he's certain he could make the walk, but he will likely have to walk an additional distance so he can appear to arrive from a different direction than the one pointing directly to the portal (just in case).
still. it's doable. ) It will take some time, but I should be able to make it there. Perhaps - in two or three hours' time?
I’ll be waiting.
[ dextera can maintain the freshness of the meat for a little longer still. they won’t be sticky-hot and steaming from the body anymore, and they haven’t been a couple days now, but they would be more than enough to satisfy dextera on a descent to the bottom floor. it sickens him when he thinks too long about it, how comfortable he’s gotten—how necessary it’s become—with this disgusting aspect of himself, but his body craves it to the point of aching after the way he’s strained himself the past week.
those thoughts do filter through, whether he intends it or not; it’s like catching the background noise of a phone call someone forgot to hang up on. then their connection ends, as dextera places his shard back in its rightful spot.
it doesn’t take him as long as it will take makoto, and as such, he’s comfortably settled in the designated spot by the time that makoto does arrive. true to form, there’s no sense of taste and he didn’t bring anything but the bag he initially smuggled the offal out of venera with. back to a tree, he cradles it like a child, pulsing his purification into it to keep it as fresh and true to itself as he possibly can. ]
…
[ dextera can maintain the freshness of the meat for a little longer still. they won’t be sticky-hot and steaming from the body anymore, and they haven’t been a couple days now, but they would be more than enough to satisfy dextera on a descent to the bottom floor. it sickens him when he thinks too long about it, how comfortable he’s gotten—how necessary it’s become—with this disgusting aspect of himself, but his body craves it to the point of aching after the way he’s strained himself the past week.
those thoughts do filter through, whether he intends it or not; it’s like catching the background noise of a phone call someone forgot to hang up on. then their connection ends, as dextera places his shard back in its rightful spot.
it doesn’t take him as long as it will take makoto, and as such, he’s comfortably settled in the designated spot by the time that makoto does arrive. true to form, there’s no sense of taste and he didn’t bring anything but the bag he initially smuggled the offal out of venera with. back to a tree, he cradles it like a child, pulsing his purification into it to keep it as fresh and true to itself as he possibly can. ]
…
[That Pleroma sure is, and it's all the more reason she has to... make sure. She's under no delusion about how different their allies all are here, from their backgrounds to their philosophical and moral stance to what drives them to the Kenoma and so much more. That priest is a nuisance all the same, though he is useful for one thing: weed out the weak-hearted who shouldn't be on this side to begin with. Those who can't stomach the Kenoma's work will not last, they must either learn to adapt or face the consequences.
Not that she thinks M as particularly susceptible, but if he has a softer spot for that fool, then he should at the very least not let it interfere with his work.]
Think of it as a reminder, then. That bleeding heart fool won't stop at anything, it wouldn't be surprising if some among our ranks are already sympathetic towards him. Then let me simply add that he's far tougher than he looks, hurt the woman and it will hurt him more.
[The borderline provocative prick of her disdain fades. They are both Martyrs, but her distaste remains palpable. Nevertheless, M would most certainly know the art of torture better than her, all she can offer are scraps of insight about the naïve Pleroma who wants to "save" everyone without exception.]
Not that she thinks M as particularly susceptible, but if he has a softer spot for that fool, then he should at the very least not let it interfere with his work.]
Think of it as a reminder, then. That bleeding heart fool won't stop at anything, it wouldn't be surprising if some among our ranks are already sympathetic towards him. Then let me simply add that he's far tougher than he looks, hurt the woman and it will hurt him more.
[The borderline provocative prick of her disdain fades. They are both Martyrs, but her distaste remains palpable. Nevertheless, M would most certainly know the art of torture better than her, all she can offer are scraps of insight about the naïve Pleroma who wants to "save" everyone without exception.]
( they are, of course, of the same mind. there might be no one else among the Kenoma more dedicated to separating out those who could not meet muster than makoto.
to say that he has a soft spot for abel wouldn't be entirely accurate. perhaps there is a part of him that yearns for the acceptance that the man supposedly offers him, but... the rest of him, the part of him that drives him day by day, finds it incredibly aggravating. for him to offer him acceptance and forgiveness, as if he had any idea what he might be accepting and forgiving...
it will be far easier for him in the long run if he can simply break the man of his compassion towards him. )
Oh, I wholeheartedly agree, and on all fronts.
That would have been my plan from the start. He is the type to want to take on pain so that others might be spared it — a common thread to find among Martyrs, I suppose.
( he gives her this small jab as payback for doubting him. )
I shall make arrangements, and I will let you know once I have what I need.
to say that he has a soft spot for abel wouldn't be entirely accurate. perhaps there is a part of him that yearns for the acceptance that the man supposedly offers him, but... the rest of him, the part of him that drives him day by day, finds it incredibly aggravating. for him to offer him acceptance and forgiveness, as if he had any idea what he might be accepting and forgiving...
it will be far easier for him in the long run if he can simply break the man of his compassion towards him. )
Oh, I wholeheartedly agree, and on all fronts.
That would have been my plan from the start. He is the type to want to take on pain so that others might be spared it — a common thread to find among Martyrs, I suppose.
( he gives her this small jab as payback for doubting him. )
I shall make arrangements, and I will let you know once I have what I need.
( makoto surprises himself with his self-restraint — with a clever enough tongue he could likely convince J to surrender to him the occasional pound of flesh to satisfy his desires, and yet he doesn't. even before he'd arrived in horos he hadn't devoured any part of the man since he had demanded his tongue from him in return for the hard work that he had been doing working part-time at datenshou's brothel. this is, of course, on purpose. makoto has seen the slouch that demons fall into, their ambitious drive made dull by the mundanity of luxury. decadence is no whetstone to keep a person's mind, words, and actions sharp. in a way he has denied himself purposefully, manipulating his expectations so to motivate himself by the single great payout at the end of his quest for revenge. something about J is like a drug to him, and so if he ate his fill whenever he wanted, what would that revenge matter to him after a time? wouldn't he just become accustomed to what he had?
so, no. he keeps his attention focused on his ultimate goal. he tries. though it's no guarantee that he hasn't cheated on this, up until this point.
and he is obviously eager to do so again.
so the sensation of craving that dextera passes along is one that makoto understands, but the one that comes along with it, that feeling of shame and disgust... it's fortunate enough that it's all vague, but he still gets the sense where those feelings originate from. that, to him, is irritating. it reminds him of when he was human, warped with self-loathing and so much it often interfered with the contract he had signed — a sort of distracting noise to keep him from indulging in a single heart's desire he wanted fulfilled before the stain of his existence was wiped clean from the world.
for now, he doesn't say anything about it; he simply allows the connection to terminate. but perhaps he will, one day.
it is indeed several hours later when makoto approaches the spot that dextera had indicated. he comes from a direction roughly seventy degrees west of where the portal was situated, just in case, and he moves slowly, carefully, and stiffly, especially when it comes to any bend to his torso.
he pauses when he sees dextera, and his attention sharpens to an electric point as he notices the pulses of energy he sends through the bag. his hackles raise. he recognizes that energy, and it's not a pleasant memory. )
What are you doing to it? ( he can't help the thread of accusation that weaves through the words. he doesn't have the context for how long ago that murder was, and he hadn't gone so far as to consider how dextera might have kept the organs from spoiling. )
so, no. he keeps his attention focused on his ultimate goal. he tries. though it's no guarantee that he hasn't cheated on this, up until this point.
and he is obviously eager to do so again.
so the sensation of craving that dextera passes along is one that makoto understands, but the one that comes along with it, that feeling of shame and disgust... it's fortunate enough that it's all vague, but he still gets the sense where those feelings originate from. that, to him, is irritating. it reminds him of when he was human, warped with self-loathing and so much it often interfered with the contract he had signed — a sort of distracting noise to keep him from indulging in a single heart's desire he wanted fulfilled before the stain of his existence was wiped clean from the world.
for now, he doesn't say anything about it; he simply allows the connection to terminate. but perhaps he will, one day.
it is indeed several hours later when makoto approaches the spot that dextera had indicated. he comes from a direction roughly seventy degrees west of where the portal was situated, just in case, and he moves slowly, carefully, and stiffly, especially when it comes to any bend to his torso.
he pauses when he sees dextera, and his attention sharpens to an electric point as he notices the pulses of energy he sends through the bag. his hackles raise. he recognizes that energy, and it's not a pleasant memory. )
What are you doing to it? ( he can't help the thread of accusation that weaves through the words. he doesn't have the context for how long ago that murder was, and he hadn't gone so far as to consider how dextera might have kept the organs from spoiling. )
It's good that you understand this well. In that case, please feel free to call upon me if you end up doing too good a job. I did make this request of you, so it's only proper that I take responsibility if things go awry, too.
[Is it really a jab when he's right, and she doesn't perceive it as a slight even a little? It's a self-deprecating sort of amusement on her end, though she does put in a bit of effort to not make her offer sound... Intrusive. He has his pride as a demon too, and far from it from her to imply he can't handle himself. But having heard of what Estinien is capable of, and more importantly, having experienced what Abel is capable of, hopefully he understands?
Firebrands for Firebrands, Martyrs for Martyrs. It's almost poetic, really, if it wasn't so twistedly laughable.]
Thank you, M. I look forward to hearing back from you.
[Is it really a jab when he's right, and she doesn't perceive it as a slight even a little? It's a self-deprecating sort of amusement on her end, though she does put in a bit of effort to not make her offer sound... Intrusive. He has his pride as a demon too, and far from it from her to imply he can't handle himself. But having heard of what Estinien is capable of, and more importantly, having experienced what Abel is capable of, hopefully he understands?
Firebrands for Firebrands, Martyrs for Martyrs. It's almost poetic, really, if it wasn't so twistedly laughable.]
Thank you, M. I look forward to hearing back from you.
( for a long moment there is nothing but a long stretch of strained silence after the furious raps at the door to makoto's quarters. then, to the keen ears of a demon, the creaking of wood furniture. soft, slow footsteps. there's a groan in the floor just on the other side of the door, and then the lock unlatches and the door opens two or three inches to reveal the impassive face of of the young demon's retainer — a man who J certainly would have seen and spoken with on several occasions. tall (though certainly not as tall as the demon), severe, and listing towards middle age, one could probably look between the man that makoto had chosen to attend to him and his demon master and possibly make some wild assumptions about him (some of which might well be true). kivander keeps his short, blond hair neatly swept back, and his eyes — one brown and one blue — are impassive and watchful as they study the demon. the achamite has a smart, efficient way of moving and speaking, left-over from many years of service in the military that were cut short by a wound to his left arm that had prevented him from properly holding a weapon.
he pauses, then speaks in his measured, austere tones, ) Master J. My apologies, the young Master Aion is presently indis—
( his attention is momentarily distracted from a sound within the chambers, and then makoto's voice some distance away: ) Let him in.
( the words die in the retainer's mouth; he pauses, then nods, taking a sweeping step back to pull the door the rest of the way open to allow the demon entry. as he does, makoto provides the further order, ) And leave us for now, Kivander.
As you say. Send for me if you have need of me.
( he collects some effects from a small table at the side of the room where he had been attending and leaves, closing the door carefully behind him. )
J.
( the room is dimly lit, but he almost feels as though he could see the man's figure cut through darkness as black as pitch. makoto is propped up in bed; it seems that he might have been sleeping just a few moments ago, but he's hauled himself up enough that he can rest against a veritable curtain wall of pillows assembled behind him. his hair is undone, falling into dark waves wild and messy from sleep, and the shirt he wears is unbuttoned enough to reveal a weave of bandages beneath, encircling practically his entire torso. they are presently unmarred by blood — the first thing he had done upon stumbling to his chambers from the Regent's throne room was summon kivander and get his wounds cleaned and sewn so they could begin to mend — but he has been trying to be cautious not to move so much that they were further aggravated while in the slow process of healing.
as such, he doesn't pull himself out of bed to run across the length of the room and throw himself into J's arms, despite how that always seems to be the first impulse that comes through his head when he sees him after any period of time that they've been apart.
instead, ) Come here, ( said as he reaches out to him, wanting to have his hands on him, to feel that he's truly here and that nothing had managed to befall him, as soon as he could. )
he pauses, then speaks in his measured, austere tones, ) Master J. My apologies, the young Master Aion is presently indis—
( his attention is momentarily distracted from a sound within the chambers, and then makoto's voice some distance away: ) Let him in.
( the words die in the retainer's mouth; he pauses, then nods, taking a sweeping step back to pull the door the rest of the way open to allow the demon entry. as he does, makoto provides the further order, ) And leave us for now, Kivander.
As you say. Send for me if you have need of me.
( he collects some effects from a small table at the side of the room where he had been attending and leaves, closing the door carefully behind him. )
J.
( the room is dimly lit, but he almost feels as though he could see the man's figure cut through darkness as black as pitch. makoto is propped up in bed; it seems that he might have been sleeping just a few moments ago, but he's hauled himself up enough that he can rest against a veritable curtain wall of pillows assembled behind him. his hair is undone, falling into dark waves wild and messy from sleep, and the shirt he wears is unbuttoned enough to reveal a weave of bandages beneath, encircling practically his entire torso. they are presently unmarred by blood — the first thing he had done upon stumbling to his chambers from the Regent's throne room was summon kivander and get his wounds cleaned and sewn so they could begin to mend — but he has been trying to be cautious not to move so much that they were further aggravated while in the slow process of healing.
as such, he doesn't pull himself out of bed to run across the length of the room and throw himself into J's arms, despite how that always seems to be the first impulse that comes through his head when he sees him after any period of time that they've been apart.
instead, ) Come here, ( said as he reaches out to him, wanting to have his hands on him, to feel that he's truly here and that nothing had managed to befall him, as soon as he could. )
[ On better days, running into Makoto's retainer makes for quite the amusing experience. J had caught onto the reasoning behind his choice upon their first encounter with the ease of looking through a pane of glass. No matter how others may perceive his protégé as some incomprehensible fiend that can never be puzzled out, comprised of opaque smoke and mirrors that reflect nothing but deception, the owner of this lair is practically transparent to him. Why wouldn't he be, when J was the one who had taken Makoto by the hand and led him every step of the way to becoming who he is today?
As J's entry is momentarily barred, it's not the first time he weighs the pros and cons of helping Vandy instantly shed some extra weight, by evicting his thick skull from its body. In a moment hedged by questions unanswered and contact severed days ago, the demon is hardly in a magnanimous enough mood to tolerate being restricted access to his own ward. An aggravation worsened by someone who cannot suffer speaking through more than a crack in the door. The fact Makoto is cognizant of the tension and calls off his guard dog possibly spares the interior a quick redecoration.
Crisis averted, J slips into the room without paying his fill-in much ado and instead zeros in on the one he'd been combing the streets of Venera for, to no avail. ]
There you are. [ His master affords Makoto a long leash, with the latter dictating the terms by which J can reach out. Whether it's done out of sportsmanship or for the sake of humoring a child's game, J has refrained from using Communion when it trespasses upon an intimate sense of self his ward balks at inviting him into. So, in playing along, he's been kept in the dark as to the lion's share of what happened to him since they parted ways.
There's no need to ask about Makoto's well-being when his ward's sedate and bandaged state, eerily too bedridden for his traditional greeting, tells J that it resides at the cross streets of wounded and mending. A victory in itself when the traitors and captives from this recent venture may not escape it quite so unscathed. And it's with that thought that an unrealized knot gradually comes loose in some distant corner of J's mind. His exasperated concern is swept under the rug, in favor of a more typical and breezy response. ]
I'd say you're a sight for sore eyes, but- [ With a sweep of his open hand to indicate the noticeable gloom they've been cast within, J points out why that's an ill-suited greeting. ] The whole Ominous Gothic Deathbed mood you've got going on here kind of spoils the chipper sentiment.
[ The benefit of J's extremities is that they don't disrupt whatever atmosphere of quiet respite Makoto has set up for himself. (His mouth, however...) There's no jarring scuff of shoes or heavy thud of boots that might stomp about if any with the Archduke's size were to traipse through the space. All that sounds is the shuffle of feathers. Their rustle announces him with a softer alert than footfalls when J is apt to prowl; weaving liquid-like through the darkness. ]
Yes, what is it? [ J purposefully slots himself in the space where outstretched hands reach for him. Slender fingertips brush by the fabric of his shirt but don't manage to successfully grasp what eludes them; so close yet still so far. With the right of his hands grasping the headboard, J uses it to loom over the bed Makoto's small frame barely fills. It's more than apparent what Makoto wants, but J's conditions for fulfilling his requests have rarely deviated from their original pattern. If Makoto desires something from J, he should know better than to utter anything vague or indirect. Or maybe he's simply being decisively petty in retaliation for the last few days, now that J believes his little troublemaker is safe. ]
As J's entry is momentarily barred, it's not the first time he weighs the pros and cons of helping Vandy instantly shed some extra weight, by evicting his thick skull from its body. In a moment hedged by questions unanswered and contact severed days ago, the demon is hardly in a magnanimous enough mood to tolerate being restricted access to his own ward. An aggravation worsened by someone who cannot suffer speaking through more than a crack in the door. The fact Makoto is cognizant of the tension and calls off his guard dog possibly spares the interior a quick redecoration.
Crisis averted, J slips into the room without paying his fill-in much ado and instead zeros in on the one he'd been combing the streets of Venera for, to no avail. ]
There you are. [ His master affords Makoto a long leash, with the latter dictating the terms by which J can reach out. Whether it's done out of sportsmanship or for the sake of humoring a child's game, J has refrained from using Communion when it trespasses upon an intimate sense of self his ward balks at inviting him into. So, in playing along, he's been kept in the dark as to the lion's share of what happened to him since they parted ways.
There's no need to ask about Makoto's well-being when his ward's sedate and bandaged state, eerily too bedridden for his traditional greeting, tells J that it resides at the cross streets of wounded and mending. A victory in itself when the traitors and captives from this recent venture may not escape it quite so unscathed. And it's with that thought that an unrealized knot gradually comes loose in some distant corner of J's mind. His exasperated concern is swept under the rug, in favor of a more typical and breezy response. ]
I'd say you're a sight for sore eyes, but- [ With a sweep of his open hand to indicate the noticeable gloom they've been cast within, J points out why that's an ill-suited greeting. ] The whole Ominous Gothic Deathbed mood you've got going on here kind of spoils the chipper sentiment.
[ The benefit of J's extremities is that they don't disrupt whatever atmosphere of quiet respite Makoto has set up for himself. (His mouth, however...) There's no jarring scuff of shoes or heavy thud of boots that might stomp about if any with the Archduke's size were to traipse through the space. All that sounds is the shuffle of feathers. Their rustle announces him with a softer alert than footfalls when J is apt to prowl; weaving liquid-like through the darkness. ]
Yes, what is it? [ J purposefully slots himself in the space where outstretched hands reach for him. Slender fingertips brush by the fabric of his shirt but don't manage to successfully grasp what eludes them; so close yet still so far. With the right of his hands grasping the headboard, J uses it to loom over the bed Makoto's small frame barely fills. It's more than apparent what Makoto wants, but J's conditions for fulfilling his requests have rarely deviated from their original pattern. If Makoto desires something from J, he should know better than to utter anything vague or indirect. Or maybe he's simply being decisively petty in retaliation for the last few days, now that J believes his little troublemaker is safe. ]
Edited 2022-08-01 14:18 (UTC)
[ dextera understands makoto’s defensiveness every time it arises, but it’s always hard for him to remember what kind of pain this power has already put makoto through. except in the most dire situations, he refrains from using it in the targeted way he’d attacked makoto what feels like a lifetime ago, but he has so many little things he’s come to rely on his purification for that its true fearsomeness often gets obscured by dextera’s habit of mundanity.
he stops when makoto calls out to him, though to his credit, it’s not with any guilty haste. he’s just distracted by the question, and he doesn’t want makoto to worry. ]
…
[ there’s a long moment where he tries to figure out a good way to pantomime rot, only to come up short of all possibilities. the more obscure the concept, the more difficult it is to convey.
he sets the bag aside and raises his palm, spelling out a word for makoto’s benefit rather than getting out his shard just yet. ]
Fresh.
he stops when makoto calls out to him, though to his credit, it’s not with any guilty haste. he’s just distracted by the question, and he doesn’t want makoto to worry. ]
…
[ there’s a long moment where he tries to figure out a good way to pantomime rot, only to come up short of all possibilities. the more obscure the concept, the more difficult it is to convey.
he sets the bag aside and raises his palm, spelling out a word for makoto’s benefit rather than getting out his shard just yet. ]
Fresh.
( that power had been as corrosive as acid to a creature like makoto, his soul already irrevocably warped as it was from his transformation into a demon (both literally and figuratively), but there now also was the factor of the abyssal quality that had been sunk into its depths as well. simply seeing that strange energy makes him bristle and puts him on the defensive. because dextera is dextera, he allows him to explain, pale eyes following his finger to read the word traced there.
well... yes, he supposes based on the information that dextera had shown him, he didn't have any idea when that had all taken place. if he could use that ability of his to keep the organs from spoiling, he supposes... that's fine. he has earned enough trust to take such an answer at face value. )
...Alright. If you say so.
( his raised hackles slowly lower, and he approaches, pausing a few paces away. there's an animated aura about him, both agitated and excited, nervous and raw. he's developed a sort of codified procedure with J about this sort of thing — it's been a few years, after all, but typically any flesh the demon gave up to makoto was a reward for something he'd done for him or some challenge he had successfully perceived and managed to overcome. but what they had was something altogether different... it manages to peel past all the layers of self-assuredness that makoto had enshrouded himself in when creating this demonic persona of his, piercing down to a more apprehensive, uncertain core that has existed since he was still human.
what... does he even do or say in a scenario like this? he's eager — perhaps too much, so much that he feels like it might rattle its way out of his rib cage — but he forces himself to stand with dextera, somewhat tense, searching for whatever the fuck someone would say at such a time... )
Why... ( he couldn't help be curious, but he can't seem to find the right way to phrase the question, ) Did you just want...?
( it's not as though they've discussed it, let alone at length or in detail. he's felt at the general nature of their kinship, but he doesn't know... what it is to dextera, what it means to him? what kind of world does he come from, and what relationship if any did it have to it? he doesn't need all the answers, especially if dextera is unwilling to give them, but he can't stop from being morbidly curious. )
well... yes, he supposes based on the information that dextera had shown him, he didn't have any idea when that had all taken place. if he could use that ability of his to keep the organs from spoiling, he supposes... that's fine. he has earned enough trust to take such an answer at face value. )
...Alright. If you say so.
( his raised hackles slowly lower, and he approaches, pausing a few paces away. there's an animated aura about him, both agitated and excited, nervous and raw. he's developed a sort of codified procedure with J about this sort of thing — it's been a few years, after all, but typically any flesh the demon gave up to makoto was a reward for something he'd done for him or some challenge he had successfully perceived and managed to overcome. but what they had was something altogether different... it manages to peel past all the layers of self-assuredness that makoto had enshrouded himself in when creating this demonic persona of his, piercing down to a more apprehensive, uncertain core that has existed since he was still human.
what... does he even do or say in a scenario like this? he's eager — perhaps too much, so much that he feels like it might rattle its way out of his rib cage — but he forces himself to stand with dextera, somewhat tense, searching for whatever the fuck someone would say at such a time... )
Why... ( he couldn't help be curious, but he can't seem to find the right way to phrase the question, ) Did you just want...?
( it's not as though they've discussed it, let alone at length or in detail. he's felt at the general nature of their kinship, but he doesn't know... what it is to dextera, what it means to him? what kind of world does he come from, and what relationship if any did it have to it? he doesn't need all the answers, especially if dextera is unwilling to give them, but he can't stop from being morbidly curious. )
…
[ dextera doesn’t usually see makoto like this. he’s learned a few different aspects by now, so the unusual side doesn’t surprise him, but he does note that makoto is capable of a face that is neither twisted in anger or flashing some cold superiority. the edges are softened in what seems to be genuine curiosity.
hesitant to make makoto take out his shard just yet, a request he has for a time after they’ve both satisfied themselves, dextera continues speaking only in the words he can find a way to communicate. he brought his notebook along just in case, but with makoto, it feels more important to him to answer from more than just a list of phrases he’s pre-written. there’s a personal connection in telling makoto letter-by-letter. ]
Hungry.
[ in that small, unassuming word, there are layers. obviously the hunger is of a different kind than dextera might feel daily; he satisfies himself from one meal to the next with normal food, even leaning toward vegetation over the array of meat available from hunting and fishing, but there’s only so long he can last before his body needs this.
conflicted by his own nature, the look in his eyes is fleetingly guilty when he answers like that. it only smooths out when he turns it back on makoto, picking up a thread from one of their earliest meetings. this rare thing they have in common. ]
You, too?
[ dextera doesn’t usually see makoto like this. he’s learned a few different aspects by now, so the unusual side doesn’t surprise him, but he does note that makoto is capable of a face that is neither twisted in anger or flashing some cold superiority. the edges are softened in what seems to be genuine curiosity.
hesitant to make makoto take out his shard just yet, a request he has for a time after they’ve both satisfied themselves, dextera continues speaking only in the words he can find a way to communicate. he brought his notebook along just in case, but with makoto, it feels more important to him to answer from more than just a list of phrases he’s pre-written. there’s a personal connection in telling makoto letter-by-letter. ]
Hungry.
[ in that small, unassuming word, there are layers. obviously the hunger is of a different kind than dextera might feel daily; he satisfies himself from one meal to the next with normal food, even leaning toward vegetation over the array of meat available from hunting and fishing, but there’s only so long he can last before his body needs this.
conflicted by his own nature, the look in his eyes is fleetingly guilty when he answers like that. it only smooths out when he turns it back on makoto, picking up a thread from one of their earliest meetings. this rare thing they have in common. ]
You, too?
( it's probably for the best that at the time his retainer answered the door for J, makoto had been fumbling through the loose gossamer folds of half-sleep, vaguely aware of the sounds at the door but feeling the pressure and weight of exhaustion trying to sink him back down once more. it had been the name "J" that had given him enough of a jolt of adrenaline to shake the worst of the drowsiness away — and, again, for the best of all of them, given that if kivander had continued to prevent J entry, he likely would have suffered greatly for it. the man was likely well aware of that fact, but he had been given the strict order to turn away visitors at the door, and makoto had neglected to make his one exception clear. achamites are no cowards when it comes to taking great risks for the sake of principle, and their soldiers perhaps even more so. it would have been a shame to lose such a useful man in such a way, but... well, fortunately it doesn't come to that.
simply a minor thing to have momentarily slipped his mind, given how in a hurry he'd been to collapse into bed. it wouldn't happen again.
physical injury is a temporary setback for makoto; he might have gotten used to this song and dance routine by now, but it still seems to unsettle J, who might have otherwise been lulled into a sense of security in hell given that the boy would not have the ability to die so long as he still commanded power over his name. in horos, that power dynamic was altogether shifted, and the brazenness that makoto came by naturally and which alternatingly manifested as foolhardy, bullheaded, or stunningly brave (depending on the situation and the lens it was viewed through) now actually ran the risk of landing him into genuine trouble. he doesn't seem to see the problem, either blind or willfully ignorant to the danger. it's always been in his nature, having so little naturally and having to grasp and steal whatever he might need to get by, to endeavor enormously. his unnatural tenacity is the only ability of his that is inherent and innate. given their circumstances, he doesn't think this is the place or the time for half-measures, and so he has often thrown himself into the teeth of conflicts perhaps outside of his ken — it's stupid luck that he hasn't faced more serious consequences for it yet. regardless, his situation doesn't seem to affect his demeanor; he's just as bratty and impetuous with his demonic master as ever.
his expression twists into a pout, nose wrinkling and eyes squeezing closed beneath a furrowed brow, and he grouses, ) I was sleeping, ( as if that explained everything away. at this time of day, it's not really the prime hour for sleeping, but... well, in the hours between his reappearance in the Regent's throne room and the other Aions beginning to return back from venera and godsblood, he's been keeping a rather eclectic sleeping schedule.
when his eyes open, J is there, having approached with all the subtlety of a summer breeze. makoto's eyes go wide; there's something about seeing the man after any time they spend apart that feels like seeing him for the first time again, or like seeing him after three long years. it causes something wild and untamable and impossible to define to swell and billow within his chest, gently tugging the threads of his common sense (and common decency) even further loose than they already are. if J thinks that merely looming just out of reach is going to inhibit him in any way, he's dead wrong. it takes a few moments, but his expression once more contorts in irritation, and he sits up and leans forward to wrap his arms around the demon and try to drag him down into the bed with him, desires made more plain with his actions and his words. )
I said, come here.
( one of his arms wraps around J's back, hand splayed open over his shoulder, and the other encircles his waist, fingers finding their way into the nest of soft, downy feathers that cover the place where his wings conjoin to the small of his back. heedless of J's size and weight — he doesn't care if every wound he sustained rips itself open in tandem in the process (though that was rather unlikely). if he's in a mood to give makoto what he wants, this is what he wants: to hold him in his arms and be held in return, to feel and to smell the warmth of his skin, to lay his head against his chest and to hear the mechanics of life whirring within (thinking about what they must look like when removed from the privacy of their interiority, opened up to his eyes and his hands and his teeth—). )
Just rest with me a while.
( makoto hadn't lied to him when he had said that every minute he spent apart from him was a minute he'd spent thinking about him. when together, it only seems to get worse — an ensorcellment he couldn't unravel even if he wanted to, a fever that never seemed to break, a drug that had become a chemical dependency. when forced beneath a torrent of pain, despair, loss, hopelessness, and malaise, it had taken everything he had not to fall apart and dissolve into much the same. but he had kept himself together by force, and one of the things that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about was him. something more powerful and more pervasive than merely being the object of his quest for revenge. he still doesn't really understand it, and he might not for a while still. )
I wanted to ask you about something.
simply a minor thing to have momentarily slipped his mind, given how in a hurry he'd been to collapse into bed. it wouldn't happen again.
physical injury is a temporary setback for makoto; he might have gotten used to this song and dance routine by now, but it still seems to unsettle J, who might have otherwise been lulled into a sense of security in hell given that the boy would not have the ability to die so long as he still commanded power over his name. in horos, that power dynamic was altogether shifted, and the brazenness that makoto came by naturally and which alternatingly manifested as foolhardy, bullheaded, or stunningly brave (depending on the situation and the lens it was viewed through) now actually ran the risk of landing him into genuine trouble. he doesn't seem to see the problem, either blind or willfully ignorant to the danger. it's always been in his nature, having so little naturally and having to grasp and steal whatever he might need to get by, to endeavor enormously. his unnatural tenacity is the only ability of his that is inherent and innate. given their circumstances, he doesn't think this is the place or the time for half-measures, and so he has often thrown himself into the teeth of conflicts perhaps outside of his ken — it's stupid luck that he hasn't faced more serious consequences for it yet. regardless, his situation doesn't seem to affect his demeanor; he's just as bratty and impetuous with his demonic master as ever.
his expression twists into a pout, nose wrinkling and eyes squeezing closed beneath a furrowed brow, and he grouses, ) I was sleeping, ( as if that explained everything away. at this time of day, it's not really the prime hour for sleeping, but... well, in the hours between his reappearance in the Regent's throne room and the other Aions beginning to return back from venera and godsblood, he's been keeping a rather eclectic sleeping schedule.
when his eyes open, J is there, having approached with all the subtlety of a summer breeze. makoto's eyes go wide; there's something about seeing the man after any time they spend apart that feels like seeing him for the first time again, or like seeing him after three long years. it causes something wild and untamable and impossible to define to swell and billow within his chest, gently tugging the threads of his common sense (and common decency) even further loose than they already are. if J thinks that merely looming just out of reach is going to inhibit him in any way, he's dead wrong. it takes a few moments, but his expression once more contorts in irritation, and he sits up and leans forward to wrap his arms around the demon and try to drag him down into the bed with him, desires made more plain with his actions and his words. )
I said, come here.
( one of his arms wraps around J's back, hand splayed open over his shoulder, and the other encircles his waist, fingers finding their way into the nest of soft, downy feathers that cover the place where his wings conjoin to the small of his back. heedless of J's size and weight — he doesn't care if every wound he sustained rips itself open in tandem in the process (though that was rather unlikely). if he's in a mood to give makoto what he wants, this is what he wants: to hold him in his arms and be held in return, to feel and to smell the warmth of his skin, to lay his head against his chest and to hear the mechanics of life whirring within (thinking about what they must look like when removed from the privacy of their interiority, opened up to his eyes and his hands and his teeth—). )
Just rest with me a while.
( makoto hadn't lied to him when he had said that every minute he spent apart from him was a minute he'd spent thinking about him. when together, it only seems to get worse — an ensorcellment he couldn't unravel even if he wanted to, a fever that never seemed to break, a drug that had become a chemical dependency. when forced beneath a torrent of pain, despair, loss, hopelessness, and malaise, it had taken everything he had not to fall apart and dissolve into much the same. but he had kept himself together by force, and one of the things that he hadn't been able to stop thinking about was him. something more powerful and more pervasive than merely being the object of his quest for revenge. he still doesn't really understand it, and he might not for a while still. )
I wanted to ask you about something.
Shortly after the events of the recent TDM, Makoto will be presented a long case made of dark, polish wood by their retainer. They will be told that it is from the Regent and that it is to be handled with the utmost discretion. Within the box is a void-black crystal spear that is about three feet in length.
Along with that is a note, dictated from the Regent themself. It will warn them against touching the crystal with bare skin, first and foremost, and then go on to make a peculiar request: they are to stake it into the earth at a particular coordinate in Achamoth, with its point angled towards the center of the city. This coordinate will be marked on a map that is included with the letter, and is in the southern-most sector of the city.
They are not to speak of this to their fellow Kenoma. The stake must be planted at the very start of the 5th of Firaseri. If your character would do anything other than plant the spear as asked and keep quiet about it, please let us know!
Along with that is a note, dictated from the Regent themself. It will warn them against touching the crystal with bare skin, first and foremost, and then go on to make a peculiar request: they are to stake it into the earth at a particular coordinate in Achamoth, with its point angled towards the center of the city. This coordinate will be marked on a map that is included with the letter, and is in the southern-most sector of the city.
They are not to speak of this to their fellow Kenoma. The stake must be planted at the very start of the 5th of Firaseri. If your character would do anything other than plant the spear as asked and keep quiet about it, please let us know!
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