[ The mass Communion which all Kenoma were able to tune into had been very informative. If not for the looser lips of his kindred Aions, there's no guarantee Makoto would have disclosed much if anything to J pertaining to the events which transpired after they parted ways in Venera. He'd not given an account of the details revolving around the stretches of time they'd been apart in times past, whatever other shades of unsavory (besides Kieran) that he'd come across during his tour of Hell's slums and, assuredly, places beyond where his nose had picked up traces of J's scent. And things haven't changed enough since his arrival to suddenly make Makoto more forthcoming- not with J, in any case.
Contrary to his ward's beliefs, J is and has always been respectful of choices made of his ward's own volition, such as his six-month excursion into his past or even those long years under Datenshou's employ. Provided those decisions don't interfere with his own plans. For now, Makoto's choice to remain sparse while others congregate in the plague's aftermath, coming together more closely after their traumatic excursion, is apparent but left momentarily uninterrupted by his master. The only exception is a letter on artisan parchment, with flecks of tiny pressed flower petals in muted pastel pinks and purples and rippled edges left untrimmed, that designate it as something handmade. The envelope it's nested within is neatly sealed with red wax atop two tails of gold ribbon that dangle below; its texture soft to the touch. ]
Makoto-dono,
I hear congratulations are in order on account of your most recent achievement. How does it feel to kill a man not by means of signed contracts and sated desires-
But with your own hand?
In lieu of immediately commemorating this event, allow me to send you a small token to make use of as you will. Consider it a temporary proxy, until at which time you find yourself in a more celebratory mood.
Sincerely Yours, J
[ Ever cautious when the situation calls for it, J doesn't draw attention to this exchange or risk its examination by permitting his retainer to submit the missive directly. Hypothetically speaking, if J were the Regent, he'd make sure those assigned to care for the Aions were actually spies planted to monitor their every move. Not unlike how Fjord and Datenshou quietly ferreted information to him about Makoto, making it as though J himself were there to keep an eye on his wellbeing and orchestrate whatever needed to be done to maintain it while he was out of his physical scope.
Assuming the worst, taking into account the ease at which history has shown letters can be opened, read, and re-sealed without raising suspicion, he personally delivers the item, leaving it in front of Makoto's door as he happens to stroll by.
Tucked within the envelope, causing its unusual weight, is a single ornate key set on a chain of the same metal; both solid gold and forged with impeccable workmanship. Curiously enough, the key itself is too small for normal locks. While the delicate chain, with links practically light and uncumbersome as a spiderweb's thread, is surprisingly durable. It appears to be both the chain of a necklace or worn at the wrist once the length is looped around and latched to itself. The reason behind such versatility is not yet apparent, when it's only half of the final product. ]
( paradoxically, makoto least wants to see and speak about what happened with those closest to him. if things had gone differently, perhaps that would have been different. if he had killed estinien and managed to recover his shard or at the very least kill him and get away unscathed, he might have been emboldened enough to report his victory with crowing success to the other Kenoma (and none so much as J), but that hadn't been the end of the story, had it? it's public knowledge at this point that his small act of murder had upset some sort of greater entity, and it had punished him for it. it's only a temporary exile he imposes upon himself. he wants to gather his own thoughts, to come to terms with what he did and what happened and what happened to him completely before he presented himself before the judgment of the rest of their fellow Aions.
because they would. judge, that is. already he's seen and sensed his actions and intentions picked apart, and it brings with it a hideous and cloying sense of déjà vu. it's all too reminiscent of the worst parts of Earth, the parts that had driven him to trade his life away to a demon instead of continue to live it there. he hates the idea of others forcing him through their own pathetically narrow lenses of morality and decency. if he faced it now, it might push him over the edge and into doing or saying something that might be a little too incendiary a little too prematurely, so instead he tries to focus himself, possessed of the thought that if he's found that center he will be unshakable and unassailable even when falling beneath their prying gazes.
having temporarily dismissed his retainer, makoto comes across the letter left at his door when leaving to get food. having received no end to them when working for datenshou, he recognizes its sender by sight. side-tracked, he takes the letter inside, reads it and examines its contents, and spends several hours locked in thought.
it's not until a day or two has passed until a reply arrives much the same, left at J's door — a first, considering he had never sent a reply to any of his letters before. inside, written in makoto's extravagant hand: )
J,
Your congratulations are appreciated, considering they are largely absent in the cloud of noise hanging above the events that occurred toward the end of our stay in Venera.
I've spent some time thinking about your question, and I have decided that it's a difficult one to answer at this time. Whatever thrill I might have felt at the manual dismantling of another's life was tarnished by two outside factors: The first, of course, being what happened directly afterward. The second in that no death in this place is a lasting one without the destruction or control of one's shard.
Despite these detractors, I aim to emerge from this set-back emboldened rather than cowed, so that I do not repeat these unfortunate mistakes.
Thank you for your gift. I look forward to the day in which its purpose is revealed.
Yours sincerely, M
( he had spent just as much time if not more trying to winnow from the words and the token J's intent both present and future, always driven near to mad to try to figure out the demon's ends and where he factored into them. as it is, however, there is relatively little he can do here and now. he ponders over his master's gift, turning the key and its chain over and over again in his hands, at war with himself for whether or not he wanted to spurn any gift out of past bitterness or cling to it for dear life, still starved for the love that he felt he had been falsely promised.
in the end, he keeps it on his person, just not where visible or expected. )
[ 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}
In Achamoth: A handwritten letter delivered to Makoto's door while he's self-isolating.
Contrary to his ward's beliefs, J is and has always been respectful of choices made of his ward's own volition, such as his six-month excursion into his past or even those long years under Datenshou's employ. Provided those decisions don't interfere with his own plans. For now, Makoto's choice to remain sparse while others congregate in the plague's aftermath, coming together more closely after their traumatic excursion, is apparent but left momentarily uninterrupted by his master. The only exception is a letter on artisan parchment, with flecks of tiny pressed flower petals in muted pastel pinks and purples and rippled edges left untrimmed, that designate it as something handmade. The envelope it's nested within is neatly sealed with red wax atop two tails of gold ribbon that dangle below; its texture soft to the touch. ]
Makoto-dono,
I hear congratulations are in order on account of your most recent achievement.
How does it feel to kill a man not by means of signed contracts and sated desires-
But with your own hand?
In lieu of immediately commemorating this event, allow me to send you a small token to make use of as you will.
Consider it a temporary proxy, until at which time you find yourself in a more celebratory mood.
Sincerely Yours,
J
[ Ever cautious when the situation calls for it, J doesn't draw attention to this exchange or risk its examination by permitting his retainer to submit the missive directly. Hypothetically speaking, if J were the Regent, he'd make sure those assigned to care for the Aions were actually spies planted to monitor their every move. Not unlike how Fjord and Datenshou quietly ferreted information to him about Makoto, making it as though J himself were there to keep an eye on his wellbeing and orchestrate whatever needed to be done to maintain it while he was out of his physical scope.
Assuming the worst, taking into account the ease at which history has shown letters can be opened, read, and re-sealed without raising suspicion, he personally delivers the item, leaving it in front of Makoto's door as he happens to stroll by.
Tucked within the envelope, causing its unusual weight, is a single ornate key set on a chain of the same metal; both solid gold and forged with impeccable workmanship. Curiously enough, the key itself is too small for normal locks. While the delicate chain, with links practically light and uncumbersome as a spiderweb's thread, is surprisingly durable. It appears to be both the chain of a necklace or worn at the wrist once the length is looped around and latched to itself. The reason behind such versatility is not yet apparent, when it's only half of the final product. ]
no subject
because they would. judge, that is. already he's seen and sensed his actions and intentions picked apart, and it brings with it a hideous and cloying sense of déjà vu. it's all too reminiscent of the worst parts of Earth, the parts that had driven him to trade his life away to a demon instead of continue to live it there. he hates the idea of others forcing him through their own pathetically narrow lenses of morality and decency. if he faced it now, it might push him over the edge and into doing or saying something that might be a little too incendiary a little too prematurely, so instead he tries to focus himself, possessed of the thought that if he's found that center he will be unshakable and unassailable even when falling beneath their prying gazes.
having temporarily dismissed his retainer, makoto comes across the letter left at his door when leaving to get food. having received no end to them when working for datenshou, he recognizes its sender by sight. side-tracked, he takes the letter inside, reads it and examines its contents, and spends several hours locked in thought.
it's not until a day or two has passed until a reply arrives much the same, left at J's door — a first, considering he had never sent a reply to any of his letters before. inside, written in makoto's extravagant hand: )
J,
Your congratulations are appreciated, considering they are largely absent in the cloud of noise hanging above the events that occurred toward the end of our stay in Venera.
I've spent some time thinking about your question, and I have decided that it's a difficult one to answer at this time.
Whatever thrill I might have felt at the manual dismantling of another's life was tarnished by two outside factors:
The first, of course, being what happened directly afterward.
The second in that no death in this place is a lasting one without the destruction or control of one's shard.
Despite these detractors, I aim to emerge from this set-back emboldened rather than cowed, so that I do not repeat these unfortunate mistakes.
Thank you for your gift.
I look forward to the day in which its purpose is revealed.
Yours sincerely,
M
( he had spent just as much time if not more trying to winnow from the words and the token J's intent both present and future, always driven near to mad to try to figure out the demon's ends and where he factored into them. as it is, however, there is relatively little he can do here and now. he ponders over his master's gift, turning the key and its chain over and over again in his hands, at war with himself for whether or not he wanted to spurn any gift out of past bitterness or cling to it for dear life, still starved for the love that he felt he had been falsely promised.
in the end, he keeps it on his person, just not where visible or expected. )
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