[ There's no doubt in J's mind that even though his ward's more honest self at its most lethal has climbed the stage to finally debut, there surely exists a number among their ranks who yet remain loyally adhered to his orbit. Other Aions who have likely expressed condolences or reached out to ascertain Makoto's condition. Heartfelt efforts stemming from assumed connections; the saccharine-sweet illusion of camaraderie. All of these efforts are feasible purely by circumstances entirely unique to their collective placement here in this artificial, forced collective and not by means of the sincerest forms of choice. But what if it was any of them in the place of this month's victim of Makoto's inherent cruelty; by necessity or personal gain? How easily will those commiserating now hold true to their sense of brotherhood should the worst of a person end up aimed their way?
If Makoto's own wounded admission holds the weight J trusts it to, his ward has already sensed the tenuous and entirely conditional nature of his new companionships. The murder of an enemy in this war is all it takes for a potent deluge of criticism from his peers. It's the most effective litmus test for what awaits in the future when already those fragile binds have begun pulling apart at the seams. Nothing lasts.
Good, better that Makoto relearns this lesson soon as possible if his ridicule on Earth has been so quickly forgotten. If he's to survive the war just now rising across the horizon, he needs to be reminded, after too long in Hell, how wholly fickle the human heart is. Whereas demons are often much simpler in their goals of reveling in the immediacy of pleasure- not clutching pearls and their moralism that benefits whoever sits within the highest ivory tower.
The most familiar of all ties, J maintains the distance Makoto establishes. Lines are written in the sand which he doesn't trespass over. Neither by demanding entry across the threshold of Makoto's present haven or through a litany of coddling words that infantilize someone who had blazed his meteoric rise through Hell by means of the harshest of paths. Roads littered with a thousand souls, paved in their immortal corpses stacked and hidden away in storehouses, for insanity and extinguishment to claim them with time.
Make no mistake, there is ample advice nestled between the elegant sweeping loops of J's lavish cursive. Those words, however, don't root themselves in any belief that perceives his ward as deceptive first encounters or new impressions paint him to be: merely a teen of inhuman nature. Of course, he knows better than any when it was by his own hand that Makoto was shaped and forged into a weapon that craves to cut down its own maker.
J's wisdom offers itself up to someone reaching ever nearer to the status of an equal; if not within the food chain of Hell's now-debunked hierarchy, then here where he's already usurped J in kill counts and firsthand experience of Horos. ]
Mako,
The chatter will die with time, once concern inevitably shifts to greater matters. This experience has taught us there are more forces at play than previously thought. Those not so easily overcome compared to the flesh and blood of an opposing faction.
As for further altercations with the enemy- Those you plan to go up against will not make the same errors either. Their numbers will gather close; anticipating your next move against them. The only way to defeat an enemy expecting your arrival is to do the unexpected. Take them off guard, attack in a way in which they cannot possibly conceive of.
Most importantly, take what you've said and apply it to yourself: The impermanence of death in this land, provided the endurance of a shard. Above all else, Makoto. Protect yours.
P.S. Should the need arise, may this gift provide that means.
Yours, J
[ As before, there's a second gift bequeathed on the same day he receives Makoto's correspondence. Wrapped in a nondescript brown paper intended to not draw the eye or present of much value to Aions freely gifted with gems and jewels, this small package is placed with the letter outside Makoto's room. Only upon unraveling the several-layer thick packaging does the real gift-wrapping show through. White like the feathers of his master, and faintly textured, there's a quality to the paper that suggests, like everything else he's presented, it was selected with no shortage of cost and careful deliberation.
Under the veil of ostentatious trappings is a trinket box; not composed of flimsy cardboard but pearl-white porcelain, garnished in gold filigree along the corners and in the center of every surface. One look and the style reeks of the same rococo style emanating from every corner or trapping within J's castle.
Not that any of this is of much importance. Once emptied of what rattles within, Makoto could throw the trinket box out his window without any real loss. It's the contents inside that matter. A non-descript leather-covered case is wrapped in a white satin handkerchief of a similiar design to the box it came in; all gold-licked and embrodiered with a swooping, curling "J" in one corner.
Plain as can be, the black leather case gives the impression of practicality and an ability to blend in as a non-descript item like a wallet or notebook. Appearing to be nothing of any particular value. But that's the intent. For when Makoto's paranoia surely goads him into dissecting this item, he'll find the leather cover can be unlatched and pulled away, to expose the harder case hidden within.
There, in forged steel set in a shade of darkest black, engraved with a flourished "M", strong as any of the city's best swords and set on a thick hinge none could easily break, is a case not quite thin enough for cigarettes but close. Clearly pocket-sized for portability, it opens to reveal an interior cushioned on both sides by a red-velvet material that's suade-soft and meant to prevent the jostling or damage to what could be placed within. While the cover's interior is flat, the other side sports a dip that can be felt. Whatever cushioning lies under the fabric, it's been shaped and trimmed to support the placement of an object almost in the precise diameters of the most valuable item in Makoto's possession: His shard.
When placed there, the shape of it carved by the powers here to resemble a vertical eye, it settles snug and immobile. If closed, the case automatically locks, airtight and secure. Unlocking it ought to pose little trouble when it's clear there's a lock built into the case, identical in size to the key Makoto had been given earlier. ]
regardless of what whip-crack defense he might have had at the time of the Regent's admonishing reminder, their words still remain with him now, even as the reality of his situation has had time to sink in beneath the skin. in a way, how much makoto has had stripped away from him was a bizarre sort of freedom — with so little to lose now (little more than his body, his name, and his agency), he felt largely unburdened by shackles that had chained him before but were now left behind in his wake. family, law, society, morality, hierarchy... now the only thing to bind them is there adherence to the Kenoma (and, by extension, its keeper, though the loyalty to that shadowy figure tended to vary wildly between the Aions). that perceived freedom, however, could be harshly curtailed at a moment's notice. if some force actually did have the ability to threaten those few pillars of individuality that he still clutched tightly to himself... well, he found it was all too easy for the last vestige of his self-preservation to betray what he might actually need to do to continue to move forward.
makoto receives the written response and its accompanying gift shortly after they arrive. he reads the letter and then opens the gift, separating each of the obfuscating layers until the arrives at its heart: the small, nondescript leather case, something so ordinary that it would fit in among any personal effects: as completely normal to find on one's person as a journal, a wallet, a flask, a lighter, or a handkerchief. he already understands what he might find even before he intuits to remove the more unyielding case from its leather skein and open its latch with the key that he had kept in an interior pocket on his person. from there, he sits at his desk for a long moment, looking into the cushioned hollow that he finds within.
he understands very clearly what is meant by the gift, even without the additional context of the letter. it's not that it surprises him. despite it all, J has always been all too concerned with his safety — any nonchalant comments about casual dismembering and scattering throughout warehouses aside, he likely would have found himself savaged by kieran or worse had it not been the activation of his master's protective glyph to summon him and dispatch his unruly brother. J has learned just as quickly as he had that they play by different rules here, and so that would necessitate a new gambit: a way to safeguard his shard by hiding it in plain sight, or at least until it could be recovered by J or anyone else who knew of its whereabouts.
as is his wont, the first feeling he gets from it is an impish sort of impertinence: it's so fiendishly simple, so why hadn't he thought of something like it? but once the youthful heat of his blood dies down and he's able to think on it more...
gratitude towards J always feels forced and torturous, like mercury drawn through his veins.
his reply is a far shorter message: )
J,
Everything I've learned, I have learned from observing one of the most well-feared demons in Hell. I will take your advice to heart, only if you hear my one wish in return: Preserve yourself by any means necessary. After all, it would be unacceptable to hear that you fell by anyone's hand but my own.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
If Makoto's own wounded admission holds the weight J trusts it to, his ward has already sensed the tenuous and entirely conditional nature of his new companionships. The murder of an enemy in this war is all it takes for a potent deluge of criticism from his peers. It's the most effective litmus test for what awaits in the future when already those fragile binds have begun pulling apart at the seams. Nothing lasts.
Good, better that Makoto relearns this lesson soon as possible if his ridicule on Earth has been so quickly forgotten. If he's to survive the war just now rising across the horizon, he needs to be reminded, after too long in Hell, how wholly fickle the human heart is. Whereas demons are often much simpler in their goals of reveling in the immediacy of pleasure- not clutching pearls and their moralism that benefits whoever sits within the highest ivory tower.
The most familiar of all ties, J maintains the distance Makoto establishes. Lines are written in the sand which he doesn't trespass over. Neither by demanding entry across the threshold of Makoto's present haven or through a litany of coddling words that infantilize someone who had blazed his meteoric rise through Hell by means of the harshest of paths. Roads littered with a thousand souls, paved in their immortal corpses stacked and hidden away in storehouses, for insanity and extinguishment to claim them with time.
Make no mistake, there is ample advice nestled between the elegant sweeping loops of J's lavish cursive. Those words, however, don't root themselves in any belief that perceives his ward as deceptive first encounters or new impressions paint him to be: merely a teen of inhuman nature. Of course, he knows better than any when it was by his own hand that Makoto was shaped and forged into a weapon that craves to cut down its own maker.
J's wisdom offers itself up to someone reaching ever nearer to the status of an equal; if not within the food chain of Hell's now-debunked hierarchy, then here where he's already usurped J in kill counts and firsthand experience of Horos. ]
Mako,
The chatter will die with time, once concern inevitably shifts to greater matters.
This experience has taught us there are more forces at play than previously thought.
Those not so easily overcome compared to the flesh and blood of an opposing faction.
As for further altercations with the enemy-
Those you plan to go up against will not make the same errors either.
Their numbers will gather close; anticipating your next move against them.
The only way to defeat an enemy expecting your arrival is to do the unexpected.
Take them off guard, attack in a way in which they cannot possibly conceive of.
Most importantly, take what you've said and apply it to yourself:
The impermanence of death in this land, provided the endurance of a shard.
Above all else, Makoto. Protect yours.
P.S. Should the need arise, may this gift provide that means.
Yours,
J
[ As before, there's a second gift bequeathed on the same day he receives Makoto's correspondence. Wrapped in a nondescript brown paper intended to not draw the eye or present of much value to Aions freely gifted with gems and jewels, this small package is placed with the letter outside Makoto's room. Only upon unraveling the several-layer thick packaging does the real gift-wrapping show through. White like the feathers of his master, and faintly textured, there's a quality to the paper that suggests, like everything else he's presented, it was selected with no shortage of cost and careful deliberation.
Under the veil of ostentatious trappings is a trinket box; not composed of flimsy cardboard but pearl-white porcelain, garnished in gold filigree along the corners and in the center of every surface. One look and the style reeks of the same rococo style emanating from every corner or trapping within J's castle.
Not that any of this is of much importance. Once emptied of what rattles within, Makoto could throw the trinket box out his window without any real loss. It's the contents inside that matter. A non-descript leather-covered case is wrapped in a white satin handkerchief of a similiar design to the box it came in; all gold-licked and embrodiered with a swooping, curling "J" in one corner.
Plain as can be, the black leather case gives the impression of practicality and an ability to blend in as a non-descript item like a wallet or notebook. Appearing to be nothing of any particular value. But that's the intent. For when Makoto's paranoia surely goads him into dissecting this item, he'll find the leather cover can be unlatched and pulled away, to expose the harder case hidden within.
There, in forged steel set in a shade of darkest black, engraved with a flourished "M", strong as any of the city's best swords and set on a thick hinge none could easily break, is a case not quite thin enough for cigarettes but close. Clearly pocket-sized for portability, it opens to reveal an interior cushioned on both sides by a red-velvet material that's suade-soft and meant to prevent the jostling or damage to what could be placed within. While the cover's interior is flat, the other side sports a dip that can be felt. Whatever cushioning lies under the fabric, it's been shaped and trimmed to support the placement of an object almost in the precise diameters of the most valuable item in Makoto's possession: His shard.
When placed there, the shape of it carved by the powers here to resemble a vertical eye, it settles snug and immobile. If closed, the case automatically locks, airtight and secure. Unlocking it ought to pose little trouble when it's clear there's a lock built into the case, identical in size to the key Makoto had been given earlier. ]
no subject
regardless of what whip-crack defense he might have had at the time of the Regent's admonishing reminder, their words still remain with him now, even as the reality of his situation has had time to sink in beneath the skin. in a way, how much makoto has had stripped away from him was a bizarre sort of freedom — with so little to lose now (little more than his body, his name, and his agency), he felt largely unburdened by shackles that had chained him before but were now left behind in his wake. family, law, society, morality, hierarchy... now the only thing to bind them is there adherence to the Kenoma (and, by extension, its keeper, though the loyalty to that shadowy figure tended to vary wildly between the Aions). that perceived freedom, however, could be harshly curtailed at a moment's notice. if some force actually did have the ability to threaten those few pillars of individuality that he still clutched tightly to himself... well, he found it was all too easy for the last vestige of his self-preservation to betray what he might actually need to do to continue to move forward.
makoto receives the written response and its accompanying gift shortly after they arrive. he reads the letter and then opens the gift, separating each of the obfuscating layers until the arrives at its heart: the small, nondescript leather case, something so ordinary that it would fit in among any personal effects: as completely normal to find on one's person as a journal, a wallet, a flask, a lighter, or a handkerchief. he already understands what he might find even before he intuits to remove the more unyielding case from its leather skein and open its latch with the key that he had kept in an interior pocket on his person. from there, he sits at his desk for a long moment, looking into the cushioned hollow that he finds within.
he understands very clearly what is meant by the gift, even without the additional context of the letter. it's not that it surprises him. despite it all, J has always been all too concerned with his safety — any nonchalant comments about casual dismembering and scattering throughout warehouses aside, he likely would have found himself savaged by kieran or worse had it not been the activation of his master's protective glyph to summon him and dispatch his unruly brother. J has learned just as quickly as he had that they play by different rules here, and so that would necessitate a new gambit: a way to safeguard his shard by hiding it in plain sight, or at least until it could be recovered by J or anyone else who knew of its whereabouts.
as is his wont, the first feeling he gets from it is an impish sort of impertinence: it's so fiendishly simple, so why hadn't he thought of something like it? but once the youthful heat of his blood dies down and he's able to think on it more...
gratitude towards J always feels forced and torturous, like mercury drawn through his veins.
his reply is a far shorter message: )
J,
Everything I've learned, I have learned from observing one of the most well-feared demons in Hell.
I will take your advice to heart, only if you hear my one wish in return:
Preserve yourself by any means necessary.
After all, it would be unacceptable to hear that you fell by anyone's hand but my own.
Until next we meet,
M