peripheries | IC Contact

My name's Ezra. I don't think we've met.

Paul said you had an idea to try to reach out to the Leviathan some of us have been having visions about. I had a similar thought. Seemed like we should compare notes.

Paul did?

[An emotion along the lines of "senpai noticed me!!"]

So far I've been sensing it, moving beneath the waters, out in the distance. What have you learned?

Mostly just that, and only really in dreams.

I've got an affinity for making connections to just about any sort of living mind, but usually I do it pretty up close and personal.

And now you can't be. So what are you going to do this time?

I can't be right now, and that's not ideal, no, because I'd prefer to see what I could do before it gets close enough for an actual fight.

But I should be able to do something when it close enough to fight.

Once that happens, we'll share information. We still have time to prepare before it arrives. You also sense this, yes?

It's not going to be here for a while longer. Yes. That feels right.

[Some fine evening early in the month, Iskierka drifts in through the closed window of the room Paul and Kaworu share. She is a creature on a singular mission; fixing eyes on Kaworu's notebook, no matter where it might be, she goes straightway to retrieve it and drag it to the nearest flat surface.

It is only after she's flopped it open to a blank page that she notes there are two Significant Personages here. That stalls her for several seconds as she looks between Kaworu and Paul, Paul and Kaworu, in apparent indecision.]

[There's a fact about the Trench. If someone is gone, really gone, their Omni signal dies. All messages are returned. The ~~Old Man's~~ Omni is still lit up, a glimmer of hope that something lost can be found again. And now here was the bird. Hope was painful and so often false and he knew if he found any he'd dig his fingers into it like claws and never let go until there was nothing left of him.

He digs his nails into arms and only the long sleeved shirt he's wearing saves him from drawing blood. It's like there's not enough air in the room or in the house or in entire world and he has to take all his breaths a little deeper.]

What do you want, Bird?

[It's not the real question he wants to ask, but he's not ready to ask the other.]

[When Merlinus' Omen drifts into the room, it's unexpected. That's why Paul's wrist-knife flickered into his hand as his eyes flared into seething light, coming to his feet in one swift flowing movement.

But it's her. Paul hadn't thought to look. Hadn't imagined it could be possible, doesn't understand what it could mean. He's partway between her and Kaworu, half-shielding, half-lost. It's Kaworu's question that brings him back into motion, reversing his hold on the knife so it points up his forearm when he lowers his hand back to his side.

He lets the question stand for both of them, looking at the winged harbinger expressionlessly.]

[Iskierka stares back with an equal lack of expression--at Kaworu, at Paul. At Paul, at Kaworu, her faceted crimson gaze settling there as he's the last one to have spoken. Whatever menace Paul might've presented to her is apparently less important than that.

What did she want? She clacks her beak, curling a forefoot into a fist with one claw extended. With it she mimes scratching letters on the page at her feet.

She needs something to write with.]

Edited 2022-03-05 04:24 (UTC)

[Kaworu sees the gesture and gets what she means. He emits a strange sound, something between a bitter laugh and a huff.]

You're always less prepared than you think. It's so annoying.

[It's not directed at Bird. Not really. He walks on legs that feel shaking but hit the floor hard with a frustrated gait. There's pens on the other desk. They always have pens right there. Why didn't she just look...?

He grabs one and turns around, for a split second, he considers throwing it across the room towards the bird. His hand almost moves to do it, but then he crosses the room and slaps the pen down beside her before standing next to Paul, arms crossed, looking expectantly at her.]

[If Kaworu still sees her, the chances of her being real are much higher. Paul cycles through his tests of consciousness and reality as Kaworu gathers a writing utensil and scolds the Omen. He notes the boundaries between her and the things she touches, the way shadows fall across her; he bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes thin blood; he reaches out his empty hand to curl over Kaworu's shoulder.

He still doesn't wake up. She doesn't vanish or change.]

Are you all right?

[He asks Kaworu, not her, his eyes finally subsiding to only a faint sheen of blue. His voice is only a handful of different registers, but too many of them tremble under the suppressive calm of the others.

(Are you there? Do you see us? Are you all right?)]

[The first crack in the Omen's usual featureless calm comes when Kaworu slaps the pen down: She starts. The feathers on her neck and shoulders raise; her antennae and pseudocoremata flatten.

The pose lasts a second, maybe two, until Paul speaks. She turns her eyes toward him even as she's groping for the pen to drag it to her.

There's nothing in that gaze to give away whether someone else watches from behind it. Yet, almost in answer, she rears up to take the pen in foreclaw and foreclaw and hindclaw, balanced on three feet and her tail, and begins to write:]

Paul, Duke Atreides,

[She stops, drops the pen and drops off the desk to flit to the other. Selecting a pen of another color, she carries it back with her and resumes her writing pose to add,]

Little bird,

[He can’t look at it. Those words, spoken in his mind’s eye hurt. Like someone took a knife and drove it in between his ribs.

He makes a noise in response to Paul’s question, something pained and denying. But he leans into the hand on his shoulder and reaches up to take it with a clammy grip as he watches the omen work.]

[Between Kaworu's clutching grip on one hand and the hilt of the knife in the other, Paul binds himself down to the moment. He breathes steady and slow, stepping closer to Kaworu as he taps the backs of his knuckles in simple four beat time.

Atreides, heavy as the ring on his left hand. He awaits his instructions with steady-set shoulders.]

I'm here.

[A murmur as much for his own ears as Kaworu's.]

[Iskierka writes with monomaniacal focus, now with one pen, now with the other. What emerges is braided, confused, the Omen's best attempt to process two never-sent letters into a single text for the two young men who weigh heavy on her Sleeper's mind.]

Tabris, Kaworu, welcomed and well-loved, friend, commander, fellow-Disciple of Pthumerians and Old Ones and gods beyond,

Or, to the Paul I imagine I would write this to, if I had a hope of a letter escaping Hell. (Not Navia, but the hell of endless torment desperate monolaters imagine us damned to, rather than the one we got,)

Hail and well met, o thou construct of memory and conjecture. I am sorry I am sorry I'm not there when you return from the ocean. I am sorry, I must (imagine I can) write you this letter proclaiming my own demise, at least so far as the Waking World is concerned. How are you? I imagine, also, I wasn't more watchful in the month before Leviathan arrived. I fear I asked you to be careful without giving an example of what careful meant as a balm to my own grief--being corrupted enough to grieve--that you and Trench survived the beast and it is dead. I imagine it's returned the souls of those it devoured, and the last of them have flopped their way back onto the beach by now. I imagine that Kaworu (Tabris, little bird,) was with them. It's a father's duty to teach his children when to run and how to hide from what hunts them; I failed you in that. If I get back from where I've found myself, I will give you those lessons. They're better demonstrated than explained.

To imagine otherwise, imagine Better explained than demonstrated is Sleepers aren't imperishable after all, is to give myself that many fewer reasons to want to return. If that's possible; [Iskierka starts to write a name and then scribbles over it violently] did escape. It's the return I question--I don't doubt her determination to rescue me but I doubt the possibility. (Don't tell her that. Or I can imagine you not telling her. Easy enough.)

Something I quaver even now to explain to even knowing this is an all an exercise to keep myself sane and won't go beyond my own skull

It comes down to the coin. I must suppose, should I never return to the Waking World, the coin will not make a reappearance. It is a terrible thing to have been part of a god (a Monarch), and to no longer be one. If I do, perhaps it will be waiting there for me, somewhere I put it down and misplaced it, and will never slip my fingers again. It is a lonely thing and an isolating thing. If you are the first to find it, it deserves a better resting place than a pocket or coin purse. It is terrible to see your god die and know all avenues of return are choked off. In hindsight, it did its job well. Not its fault it was sent to warn a blind man. Not its choice to be another victim of the inevitable. And my god did not even want me except as a tool, and I don't want to return (except when I do). (Did you call it? Did you call it? Was it lying? What would it say to survive? What could it?)

Nor yours. I didn't (won't) release you from your promise then even if there was no keeping it and you would break yourself over that. Whatever you feel now: It is natural. It is expected. I say: Don't break yourself over that. How much we are responsible for those feelings or what we should do with them I still don't know. The situation was impossible by the time you got to it, let alone when I arrived. Every world contains as many impossibilities as possibilities--the Waking World, yours, mine--and you will meet many more than this in the future. Two final words of caution:

(What is a pillar of the world but impossibility piled on impossibility? What am I stuck in but an impossibility, a didn't-happen, where St. Sacrifice wasn't as we knew them or never lived to give up the Throne?) There is a black-eyed man who is much larger on the inside than he appears on the outside. He is another black god (like Leviathan). If you have not met him: Good. If you have: Avoid him if you can. If you can't, if he is kind to you, don't refuse his help (you can't refuse a Throne-gift anyway, anymore than you can reject gravity), but think in the back of your mind about the men who raised you. The mercy of Trench, whatever its horrors, is we can make up for every impossibility given enough time.

Besides, you wouldn't have left him even if I had let you go, would you? Don't leave Paul alone with himself. If I know him at all, he may try to be alone in the way the responsible always make ourselves alone, in a crowd but apart from it. (The same thing you're always chastising humans for.)

Look after him. He needs you. Look after him. He needs you.

With love, In faith,
Merlinus Old Man

[She draws a shaky rendition of Illarion's sigil at the bottom to close the letter(s). Laying the pens aside, she turns her eyes back on her audience and warbles softly.

Message received?]

[[ the letters can be read separately here. ]]

Edited (slight continuity correction) 2022-03-05 05:49 (UTC)

[Kaworu returns the soft beats before his hand goes still as he continues to read. His entire body goes so rigid that one could snap him in half with little force. The knife between his ribs pushes harder, deeper, tearing through soft flesh until suddenly it feels like his chest is collapsing, tearing, twisting around that pain wedged so deeply.

He's barely even read more than a few sentences.

There's not enough air in the room. He tries to inhale and the pain constricts his lungs. He desperately tries to breathe in but there's nothing there. Just emptiness and that twisting pain. Or maybe there's too air. The air is too heavy, it clogs his throat and burns when he tries to inhale like smog. He can't breathe this. He can't breathe at all.

The room closes in around him, like there's nothing there but him and those letters on the page. The word "love" haunting like a specter as blackness blurs the edges of his visions. He even forgets Paul is there beside him. The weight of everything the letter stirs is impossible for him to hold. He feels like he's crumbling inwards or maybe just spilling out everywhere until there's nothing left of him at all.

Kaworu drops to his knees like a sinner praying before god, then onto his hands, the wood floor cold where his skin makes contact. He curls up, his forehead resting on his hands balled up together into a single fist.

("I didn't know you could pass out from breathing too hard." He'd once made that off hand remark to Shinji Ikari, as he walked out of the infirmary, put-out by the affair and little else.)]

[Paul couldn't keep his promise once. An impossibility, the letter calls it (it's too much, and you're not enough), absorbed, processed, and decoded in instants, his mind too well-trained to give him the grace of incomprehension. He can't keep it now, as Kaworu crumples to the ground, Paul following him to his knees a fraction of a second later, slower, more controlled.

He can't protect him from this. All he can do is reach for Kaworu across that awful gulf of grief and curl over him, pressing his forehead against a slender shoulderblade as one hand flattens over Kaworu's back, the other bracing against the floor.]

Take a deep breath through your nose. Let it out through your mouth slowly. Like this.

[Words that echo in more than one way; with shuddering ghosts, and the gentle wisdom of another lost friend. Paul demonstrates, close enough to Kaworu that his expanding lungs brush his ribs against the other boy's. He is a rock, he is an anchor, he is a steady, fixed point.

(Stark light arcs under his skin, flitting along the delicate networks of capillaries around his eyes, in the tips of his fingers.)]

[Iskierka cocks her head to one side, watching this reaction to what she's written. She is (too small, not enough) not quick to process without her Sleeper present; she is part of a soul that has been ripped to pieces and gutted of its sensibility of itself.

There is a feeling that should be here. The Omen struggles to wrap herself around it, to fit it inside a chest too narrow for it.

She takes mincing steps to the edge of the desk. She drops off it in a flicker of feather and scale, landing beside the two stricken boys.

Careful, considering, she stretches up, reaching to rest a hand on one pale head and one dark. She is not very much but she is, also, here.]

[While Paul glows brighter, for a few moments Kaworu seems to be fading. It's as though his already pale skin has become translucent and revealed that within him is nothing but glowing and swirling light. Pure light trapped inside a tiny human form and it's all fading into nothing.

Paul's hand on his back and forehead on his shoulder steadies him. Reminds him that he is here, anchors him back to the edge of the land and the sea, not letting him be lost to either one. He twists his fingers in the other boy's shirt as he tries to mimic the breathing instructions like he's never done it before. He can feel the percussion of a heart beat against his ribs when his has almost gone entirely still. Vaguely, he thinks if can anchor himself, he'll hold on tight to Paul, then he can't be pulled away either. If neither lets go, neither can be lost.

A soft featherlight touch on his head nearly sends him back spiraling, drowning, but he keeps breathing along with Paul. Shaky, weak, miserable breathes.]

Is this what love is? Is it supposed to hurt like this? Why do humans seek it out if it turns into this?

Edited 2022-03-05 15:09 (UTC)

[As Kaworu breathes, Paul rubs his back in slow concentric circles, firm containing pressure. The brush of feathers on his hair is a distant sensation, more than nothing and less than enough. Cold fractures in his chest, sends bitter splinters into his blood.]

We can't help ourselves.

[Most of the time, the choir that has stolen Paul's voice is harmonized to imperfectly imitate what it consumed. It's not so now. These are older voices, deeper and rasping, their long-dead languages flowing over his tongue like the frigid, mournful waters of the River of the dead.]

We seek out what we know will destroy us. We know it hurts, it will hurt, and we bare our throats to our conqueror. To be human is an awful thing. I'm sorry that we made you one. I'm sorry we didn't know better.

[The braided current of Paul's words flows over Iskierka as water over a mute and uncomprehending stone. Kaworu's anguish is easier to comprehend but not easy and if the Omen were capable of despair over her own deficits, she would.

She pats them both, light as the beating of a moth's wing. She whistles a note that echoes but doesn't mimic how Kaworu intones hurt and another for Paul's hurts. A sliding three-note trill captures the beat of I'm sorry, and then she withdraws in a flutter to perch on the desk again.

Insofar as she means anything, she didn't mean to hurt anyone.]

[The notes are like alcohol on a wound. They sting, a burning sensation at the core of him that makes him flinch and twist. Then it soothes slightly. The very beginnings of a scab starting to form.

Kaworu realizes his face is wet. Tears. The first time he cried, his sorrow wasn't his own. It was something alien and invasive. Now it all belongs to him. He has to carry it now. Paul has to carry it too. They can't discard it or hide the scars that form. It's the nature of being human.

He exhales shakily into Paul's chest, feeling the heat of his own breath and warmth of Paul's gentle weight. There's something satisfying about Paul's apology for humanity, like someone understands Kaworu's misery for the first time. But also something fundamentally wrong about it coming from the boy who once said he was fine with barriers between hearts because it allowed him to ruffle the hair of an unexpecting victim. He doesn't know what to make of it, a conflict between the part of him that wants to be understood and the parts of him that cares for the essence of what makes another themselves.

He pulls closer.]

Do humans have tears so that others share in their sorrow?

[Paul adjusts himself to curve close around Kaworu, gathering him up in an embrace (not thinking of a blood-slick sea and empty eyes) that settles the shorter boy's head against Paul's shoulder in a ever-more familiar pattern. He draws both of them up from the floor as he does so, sitting back on his heels and resting Kaworu's slight weight against himself.

He looks over Kaworu's head at the alien bird, forlorn and lost as the angel-turned-human whose back he begins to stroke in long, soothing passes. He gives her a slight nod, as solemn as the one he gave Merlinus when he first swore to care for Kaworu. The vow stands.]

Yes.

[Paul says, gently, his own eyes still only shining with light, not moisture. He can smell Kaworu's tears, this close, their faint mimicry of sun-warmed tide pools.]

So that we can see each other's hurts. And they're good for you, too. Like draining infection from a wound.

[Stress-secreted hormones leeched out through the lacrimal glands, the physiological release of heaving lungs and wrung out sorrow. Crying is a vulnerability, but it's also a gift, a blessing to be shared only with those you most trust.

(The rain still doesn't come.)]

But sometimes we don't want to tell others what we feel.

[He mumbles out the protest as if he could demand his body stop the tears right now. They're hot on his face and his skin feels blistered and sore where they've flowed. He tastes salt in his mouth and it stirs unpleasant memories. He moves easily as Paul adjusts, not fighting, but leaning into where Paul settles him.

It occurs to him that perhaps the Old Man asked Paul to look after him. And how that must seem like heavy task to bear in the absence of someone else. Kaworu leans back slightly to rub some of the tears from his eyes and then up to look at Paul with his radiant eyes. They're beautiful but there's something dark behind them and his expression is worn, even as he provides gentle explanations.

Kaworu reaches up gently and places his hand on Paul's face, rubbing a thumb gently outside of the corner of his eye, where tears would fall. "Look after him, he needs you" the Old Man requested and so he shall. His own task from the Old Man. He'll protect Paul, even from Teacher for whatever reason, so that when the time comes Paul can cry too.

Gently, he tugs Paul's head down so he can press their foreheads together. A promise, even though it's one that Paul doesn't know he's made.]

If only we could choose it. When to start healing wounds.

[Iskierka meets Paul's eyes as he looks at her (so small, against an impossibility) and returns the nod. This is an echo of something she witnessed; the continued fulfillment of a promise is easy to comprehend.

So is the change in Kaworu's demeanor. Had she despaired, had she capacity, she would have hope now (an emblem in effigy of the Pthumerian she halfway resembles, the one to whom her Sleeper owed patronage).

She picks up the pen again, turning the page. Waits, until Paul's attention shifts back to the younger boy he supports--then begins to write anew.

This message is shorter.]

This may be the first time I've started dictating this or the second-to-last. I have not numbered my starts. What will matter (matters) is how it's finished.

(So much to observe. So much to memorize if I can. The magnitude of what she's proposed--thirteen targets and the Throne in two days--and the enormity of it-- The dead are made for what's impossible for the living but there were always more of us.

We won't have the time for a proper briefing. Have the luxury. Best I memorize as much as I can. Condense. Concentrate.)

Queen and Throne. (And twelve beside Her.) Thirteen targets and who knows how many rescuers. Easier to leave me for lost. But if they won't--leaving them unprepared is as good as killing them.

(Argonaut, Polaris, do you still hear me? Don't inspire them to foolishness. But if you must, give me clarity to guide them. Give me some way to reach them.)

Then, to begin: The first thing you must understand about Nephele is the Throne----

[She runs out of words in a smear of ink.

Connection lost.]

Edited 2022-03-07 00:09 (UTC)

If only.

[Paul submits to Kaworu's cautious, gentle touch with a smile like a narrow, bloodless wound. The light pressure on the sides of his orbital ridges reminds him of how he soothed Kaworu's allergy-swollen sinuses, and the reflective effort to drain Paul's clogged tear ducts draws a deep, wordless sorrow out of the cold nothing in his chest.

The bird's resumed transcription pulls Paul's focus away from Kaworu, albeit with reluctance. He doesn't want to turn from this soft, futile effort yet, the faint wash of pale hope that maybe, if he lets Kaworu's fingers linger, they'll work the alchemy that Paul can't-

But the continued fact of her presence means that there may be a way to yet heal Kaworu's wounds at a time of his choosing. The words in the abruptly finished letter - that Sophia retrieves, emerging from his sleeve to bound up to the desk, so that Paul doesn't have to leave Kaworu behind - say as much.

Somehow, Paul isn't surprised. What else was Merlinus doing when he was lost, except trying to find his way back to Kaworu? (One way, or another.) He holds the letter up so Kaworu may read it too, shifting slightly to wrap his arm around Kaworu's shoulder.]

...there must be a way to find him. [For the benefit of Kaworu's tear-blurred eyes and thoughts.] That's what this means. A way to find him, and to bring him back. The Old Man wouldn't have sent you a message like that otherwise.

[He wouldn't have given Kaworu false hope, even to give a final farewell.]

[Paul's turn leaves Kaworu feeling rather undone. Like there's more things to say, more things to do, but he simply didn't know them. So all he can do is live with the tugging desire to give more, and do more.

So instead, he uses his thumb and forefinger to firmly wipe the tears from his cheeks and eyes so he can read the letter. This time, he follows the tug.]

Us. He sent us a message. It was addressed to us both.

[Paul is clever. Therefore, it's something he's chosen not to see. So Kaworu will help him see it anyway. It's what Paul would want.

He rubs at his face with his heel of his palm, forcefully, trying to steal himself to endure the very idea of hope.]

He's told me about these things before. These places. And these words. They're from his home... but that can't be...

[How could the Old Man be at home? People who left could not be contacted and their omens vanished. The Old Man's omen was right there...]

[Paul is clever. Kaworu is relentless. The two of them make a good pair, Iskierka's Sleeper thought--thinks--and so the Omen reflects. She clacks her beak for emphasis, for attention, when Kaworu says both. Paul's message mattered as much, she knows that; Paul matters as much.

But exerting as much effort as she has, tiny fragment that she is, is fast wearing her thin. She writes one last shaking word on the fresh sheet Sophia's revealed--help--then drops the pen with a clatter and sticks her head beneath a wing.

The words would come again, pushing and insistent, puddling in her head until she could find places to put them. Til then, let her rest.]

I wouldn't say 'can't' about anything here.

[Every rule this place has set has been arbitrary, prone to exception. The evidence of this rule's exception is inconvertible, at least so far as this: Merlinus' Omen is here, writing messages that supposedly come from him. They contain instructions and sentiments that Merlinus would write.

(It could be another lie, but that's a possibility that Paul doesn't need to burden Kaworu with. And if it is a lie - if this is another game - Paul will

take care of it on his own.)]

He said that there was another person with him, didn't he? One who came back. If we can find her, we can ask her what she saw, and how she managed to return. He seemed to think that she would want to rescue him, so she may be an ally.

[This is a puzzle that can be solved. That's the impression his steady tone and slight, firm nod are meant to give, anyway. Determining the identity of this stranger, then working out the meaning of the thirteen (not the Pthumerians--too convenient, and not a task Merlinus would set his little bird) targets, then retrieving Merlinus from wherever he is reaching out from - these are things within their reach.

It's a simpler riddle than the pressing from Kaworu and the Omen to acknowledge a thing Paul hasn't even denied. He saw the message to him. He understood it. Merlinus knows what Paul did, and he's holding him to his vow. He's giving him an opportunity to make an attempt at repair. It's more mercy than Paul deserves, and of course he's grateful, but it would be selfish to tell that to either boy or bird.

And if he lies long enough about who he's protecting with his silence, maybe he'll start to believe it.]

I'm going to find her. I'm going to bring him back.

["It's not your fault."

That's what Paul had said after another day Kaworu spent waiting for the return of the Old Man at the beach. He'd waited until the chill in the air made his hands hurt and the lockjoint on his arms return. Truthfully, he hadn't felt it.

Yet, he can't shake the feeling that it is his fault. Paul, he thinks, is being delicate, trying to spare him from hard feelings after already enduring suffering. It's thoughtful, but Kaworu feels like the thought is starting to decay him from inside out. Like a wound that was spared salt but never cleaned.

But now, this is something he can do. An opportunity to purge that feeling, to fix what went wrong, and to do something for someone that's done much for him. Even if it was easier to pretend not to notice than to show appreciation. This is his will and he will act on it.]

We will.

[It's Paul's turn to say it, setting aside the letter so he can take Kaworu's hand and squeeze it too-tight, slender bones pressed together through fragile skin.

He knows the cadence of that determination, fierce and grief-stricken. He tells Kaworu it's not his fault because it's true; he tells Kaworu it's not his fault and knows it doesn't matter, because Kaworu accepts Merlinus' disappearance the way Paul has accepted it, which is to say not at all.]

It's going to be all right.

Yes. It will.

[When Paul takes his hand and squeezes it, he leans forward to bump his forehead against the other boy's.

Maybe he can't quite believe Paul when he says that what happened to the Old Man isn't Kaworu's fault, but he can believe this. He can believe there is something he can do to save the only father figure he's ever had and he can believe that, with Paul's help, they'll bring Illarion back. They fit well together. If someone can do it, it's the two of them.

He squeezes Paul's hand back, feeling the firmness of his fingers and the strength of his grip.]

We will.

Kaworu,

I hope this message finds you returned to us, and as well as one could reasonably expect. Yuri has not yet returned, but I am beginning to hear reports of fallen soldiers washing up unturned, and so I hope the same is true for you.

When you have the eyes to read this and the fingers to respond, please let me know that you are well. I owe you much, including an apology.

I should not have let you fall.

Please be well, and return to us soon.

Yours,
Flynn Scifo

[The response is delayed until the third of March. Then it comes, dictated via his omen.]

y̷e̸s̶,̸ ̵i̴'̴m̶ ̸b̴a̷c̷k̷.̶ ̶i̸t̷'̷s̷ ̸o̶k̵a̷y̵

[ That's not alarming AT ALL.

By now, Yuri has at least emerged from the sea, though he is still a dark-limbed thing wrapped mostly around Flynn's chest. Flynn hadn't precisely forgotten that he'd messaged Kaworu, but the days have slipped into a formless, mushroom-crowded haze, and it's hard to know when he sent that.

He stares down at the garbled thing, wondering. ]

Is it okay? Your message isn't coming through clearly. Are you somewhere safe?

[On the other side of the Omni, Kaworu glances around but his eyes struggle to take in the space and place him relative to what he sees. It's hard for him to determine where he is in time and space. He feels so disconnected from it all.]

I'm s̵a̴f̵e̶.̷ P̶a̶u̴l̷ is ̷h̶e̴r̵e̷ too.

Thank you. That's good to know.

[ He types the next part no less than three times. It's the wrong time to tell Kaworu how sorry he is, that he failed to keep this actual child safe. Not while he's like this, not when everything is so raw and new. Flynn will have to make it up some other way. ]

Where, precisely, is "here"?

Big house. Still in the Trench.

There are many big houses in the city. Do you know if you're connected to the lanterns?

I haven't gone outside. I don't know.... I'm sorry.

[What keeps Renfri coming back to the beach in the days and weeks after the Leviathan incident finally draws to a close is ultimately a single word rendered in text: Yes. Not the sort of thing that would seem to have the power to preoccupy a person's thoughts — or at least, not unless you happened to know the question it was answering.

Did you see me die?

Yes.

It's a strange thing to be so hung up on, when she's already died once. When she talks about it in casual conversation because it's a thing that's already said and done, the very reason she's even in Trench to begin with. It's not even the first time she's escaped a moment where she was supposed to die and didn't; she's been doing that, after all, since she was fourteen.

But there's something about this that won't go away, because it's not that someone intended for her to die, it's not that she was supposed to die, it's that but for things unfolding the way they did, she would've been just as dead as the others who were taken in the chaos that gripped this beach just a few short weeks before. She would've been among them because it was a vision that would've come true, but for the influence of someone standing just a little to the left of it.

She would have died here, and she didn't, and she keeps coming back to thoughts of when she'd been running from the beast and it'd cornered her, when it'd had every chance to finish her off, and yet for just one instant —

Did you see me die?

Yes.

There are no answers to be found on this beach, she knows, but that's not enough to keep her from coming back again and again, anyway.]

[There's another lone figure on the beach. It sits atop a bit of rubble, bits of unturned stone and what used to be pieces of the mess hall and tent. The pile is so precariously put together that it seems unlikely the person was able to climb up there and yet there they are, surveying the grave of the camp and the ocean that held the beast that destroyed it.

The sea calls to Kaworu Nagisa and it has for a long time, before he was even aware that he could hear its siren song. Then it consumed his body and now it has laid stake to a piece of his mind. There's always the soft sound of churning water that gets louder when he sleeps, always a gentle tug on his steps, turning his feet towards the Further Shores. He shouldn't heed the call: it lead to his death the last time after all. Yet here he is, giving in yet again.

He hears a sound, somehow, despite the rush of the tide, and glances down to find a familiar face. And it's strangely comforting, even if he doesn't have a name to put to it.]

Ah. It's you.

[There he is, the boy from the Oracular Spectacular. It's uncanny how many people she's met in various stages of "about to throw up on someone", lately; hopefully he's over that by now.

There's an odd psychology inherent to positioning, even in simple and offhand ways. It comes with connotations and implications, and right now he's perched atop an impossible thing and she's down at the foot of it, peering up like some supplicant just arrived at an oracle's mountain.]

You too.

[He stares out at the ocean with the same look on his face that she knows she always wears when she does it, herself. She wonders if he looks for the same things she does, when he does.]

What are you doing up there?

[Well, there was more vomiting the past few days, but he's past that now. Lucky for her.

He glances around at his perch, a thin piece of wood that probably probably collapse if he were any larger. The advantage of being a small bird when you settle some place fragile. Then his eyes move back to the ocean, both to answer her question and because he can't resist turning his gaze back there.]

...Trying to fill some sort of longing, I suppose. Answers to questions that I don't think can be answered.

You and me both.

[Shame there aren't enough perches for everyone; they could be birds of a feather. A little spiteful toward her own compulsion, she keeps her eyes on him instead of indulging the urge to turn and face the water instead.]

It was before all that mess, last I saw you. Back before that thing turned up.

[There's a question implied: how did that play out for you. She leaves it implicit, unwilling to outright ask.]

Yes.

[His voice is soft. He's learned if he keeps his tone soft, it can be harder to read. However, this time, it gives everything away. Whatever happened to him, it wasn't good, and considering the body count, it's easy to guess what happened.]

Did it happen? ...What happened to you in the vision?

...No. It changed, just enough.

[How funny, in a way that isn't funny at all, that he died and she didn't and they both seem to be possessed of the exact same angst about the whole business regardless. She digs the toes of her boots into the sand, mostly for something to do with them, pushing it into little trails and craters as she thinks of worms.]

I was supposed to die. I don't know how — except by that thing, I imagine.

[Almost absently, she rubs at her arm, which used to twinge with bruises every time she moved it, but those have faded now.]

I almost did. But.

I see.

[The technicalities she explain seem to wash over him. She didn't die. As those three words pass through his brain, a strange weakness washes over him. Like he'd been carrying something heavy and finally could sit and recover.

It's relief, he realizes. He's relieved she did not die. Even though he only met her once, the idea of her dying was something that felt painful to conceive of. She'd been kind to him, in her own way, and so in his mind, she deserved some sort kindness in return.

Kaworu reaches up to scratch idly at the corners of one of his eyes and feels wetness slide between his flesh and nail.]

I'm... [He seems unsure of the next word. Like it may not be the right one.] glad you didn't die.

[It's funny how he sounds like her. Funny how it feels to hear the same words she's said herself but in someone else's voice, offered up to her instead of handed out to someone else. I'm glad is so commonplace, so ill-fitted, that it's almost stupid, and yet there's really no better way of putting it, is there?

She chews the edge of her lip. There's a weight she's been carrying on her chest, too, and for all that she's done well to keep it under wraps, it keeps coiling tighter and tighter like an overwound spring. But maybe like this, it's fine. Neither one of them is finding any answers out here; maybe that makes it a good place to ask the questions she's been afraid to voice.]

I think it didn't want to. The beast.

[Even just that much of a confession feels like an absolution.]

I mean...I don't mean that. It did. It was killing all of us, I don't mean that I was anything special, or —

[I'd think, maybe I was special, and even the things that everyone else feared, I wouldn't, because they would like me. Just me and no one else, she'd said once, when she and Paul were playing at whims and fancies. And Paul had said — ]

I mean — it was as though, just for a second...

[Maybe I could have been one of your monster friends, Paul had said.]

...It was like it knew me. Like one bit of it knew me. And it stopped.

[He watches her, curiously, as she works through her thoughts. He tries to imagine the beast with any control in the face of that insatiable desire to consume in attempt to fill a void of those it lost across infinite instances in time and space.

And as he opens his mouth to explain to her that could not be possible that it was against the very nature of the beast, he touches on a memory. Feather light, so thin that it's almost as though he can't reach for it to examine it. A voice, her voice, ringing out above the surface and in that moment it reached his ears through roaring waves of the mess of corruption and deep sea that was the Leviathan. A reminder that he was himself, and he was not this beast. They had not, and would not become one.

He stares at her, so intently and without blinking that it's probably a little unnerving.]

I heard your voice. After... it... After I became part of the beast. I heard it.

You — became part of it?

[That's the problem with madness and chaos on the level of what hit the beach that day; it's impossible to see everything, or even most things, or even really anything except what's immediately in front of you or what you're looking for. But that — well. Now she's got more detailed information than just he died, doesn't she.

And then, gradually, it comes back to her. The day they met, when he was ill. When he wasn't scrying like anyone else was. He was talking to the monster, from far away. And then it came, and he...became part of it.]

You...you heard me, and...?

That's right. It was able to submerge the conscious parts of my soul within its own and gain control.

[There's an involuntary shudder that he tries to suppress. It comes out as a little tremble. Then, he leaps off his perch, landing impossible soft on the ground. His gaze never leaves her. Like if he looks away, she might not actually be there.]

I said I'd keep you safe. I wanted to.

Then that was you.

[He's not the only one not daring to look away; her eyes, with hints of the white showing around each of them, track him from perch to descent until he's landed in front of her, waiting to be regarded — or maybe scrutinized.]

You made it...spare me. Just long enough.

[And she almost says why, because it's the next most natural question, but I wanted to really sort of covers that, or at least as much of an answer as she knows she's likely to get out of Kaworu regardless.]

Do you think it was worth it?

[He cocks his head, still not breaking the gaze that connects them. It's odd to hear that question. A question he knows he would ask. He cannot simply accept an action on its face. He has to understand if the choice was made with full awareness of the consequences or the implications. Too often, humans forgo asking these questions because they fear the answer.

But she didn't fear it.

So all he can do is nod.]

Yes. It was.

You and a lot of people.

[More than she's usually willing to admit. It's one of the things she usually conspicuously omits when she presents her own biased perspective on the witcher who killed her: that he tried to save her too, more than once, because he thought she was worth saving.

The more and more than those people add up, the harder it is to assume that they're all wrong.]

...So. Does that mean I should thank you, or...?

[Oddly, of all the people she knows, Kaworu is probably the only one who'll instantly grasp that it's not the insult a more socially well-adjusted person might think that sounds like. Neither one of them knows the courtesies for this sort of thing, probably. It's a genuine, honest question.]

No. I don't think so. I did it because I wanted to save you but I had no way of knowing if I could. I'm... glad that it worked.

[He understands. He would ask the same question. He gives her a small half-smile, something that borders on the edge of trying to be reassuring.]

Do you know how big fireworks can get?

[Attached: a picture of, ironically, a simple sparkler, sparkling, held in the deeply resigned beak of a large harpy eagle, as Palamedes makes his omen pose for pictures.]

Picture only semi-related.

Hmm, I thought they were bigger.

They can be, but I'm not putting that in my bird's mouth. Hold on.

[Give him some quick minutes and he sends yet another picture, this time of a whole boxed assortment of fireworks in varying sizes from short and round to longer tapers. Several of them helpfully say "DO NOT HOLD IN HAND" on the side, which is nice.]

What do you think?

Those are the ones! I need all of them.

[he does not know how to economy. his family would die.]

All of them? I don't think I've got enough on me to trade for all of them. Pick three.

The three best ones then.

Shot in the dark: does that mean the three biggest ones, to you?

If that is the factor that makes it the best, then yes.

I'd say it contributes. Alright; the biggest three. Have you used fireworks before? I asked Paul for his help, just in case.

No. Never. This is my first time.

Mine too. We should let Paul give an example first.

That's usually how it goes.

[KAWORU... NO.]

With other dangerous party favors...?

[what do teens do.]

Not exactly. But I'm sure he could.

He's eminently capable. Do you want anything else at a fireworks party? We've covered snacks.

The tequila was popular at the birthday party.

[..........]

I'll think about it. With explosives? Maybe in a separate part of the field.

I guess it wouldn't be good if a human blew their hand off.

No, it wouldn't be. Or you, for that matter. I'm not going to drink anything; I'll keep the tequila away from the explosives.

Mine would grow back. But I suppose that's for the best.

Isn't that unpleasant? At least the waiting. I would be furious if I had to wait for my hand to grow back.

Hmm, the process is generally fairly fast but... I suppose it does distress everyone else.

[Kaworu. Homie.]

Just tell me you won't blow your hand off for any reason, please. I want it in writing.

It's not something I've ever done intentionally.

Fine; I want it in writing that you're going to be careful with the fireworks, then.

...I promise?

I'll take it. Don't take it personally; I'm considering having everyone sign a contract to practice fire safety, but I don't know how tedious that would be at the entrance to a party.

Hey twinklebottom.

Three fifteen at the flagpole.

I've got some questions I want to ask you.

[Ugh. He was in the middle of a nap! He rolls over and squints at the video feed of one someone he did not want to see after first waking up.]

Ask them here then.

You failing the first test here, tinker-bell.

When someone challenges you, you rise the fuck up and face it.

How else are you going to prove you’re man enough for my student?

I'm not even human.

[Though, he says it and then realizes, he can say it but it doesn't mean that Johnny will comprehend it. In fact, it seems as though he willingly does not comprehend it.

So he groans, forces himself up, and out the door.

Paul is lucky he's so cute and charming.]

What flagpole?

That shit doesn't matter.
Manliness is way of life.
A state of being.
You hit the peak of manliness and you're on par with godliness.

[Oh look. He's getting up. Johnny relaxes his shoulders but it doesn't show on his face.]

Outside the school.
Be there or be square.

I never have any idea what you're talking about.

[Does he want to? Probably not. Why are so many human males preoccupied with such things? Some days he thinks he understands humans and then he'll realize how little he does.

Still, he shows up sometime later, yawning pointedly and dressed in Paul's Cobra Kai shirt. This is either a peace offering or a challenge.]

So. What is it that you want?

[He's probably better off not knowing about it.

Johnny for his part is actually waiting patiently for Kaworu to arrive. He eyes the shirt and he might have taken it as a challenge if the punk wasn't already so close to Paul. Johnny didn't like it but he was willing to respect his students choices.

...But now was the time to find out why exactly.]

You're going to tell me just what Paul sees in a scrawny little shit like you.

I get the other nerd. Even if I wasn't expecting it. He can kick some ass.

But what is it about you?

He and I were kissing first!

[He clarifies, defensively. Kaworu can see how to Johnny and people like him, he probably looks like he's just tagging along after two boys who already had something in common. Paul and Midoriya fit together when they're in the fighting ring, well matched in skill and spirit. He stands on the sidelines, an extra piece that doesn't fit into that world.

He'd never think of Midoriya or Paul like that but it's somehow easy to place himself in that role. He rubs an arm, looking more uncomfortable than annoyed.]

Isn't that something you should ask him?

Edited 2022-06-07 03:07 (UTC)

Yeah and I was just as confused about it then as I am now.

[Johnny knows the order of events well enough that he doesn't think Kaworu is an after thought in this situation. It's probably the closest bit of emotional maturity he has in the situation.

But he does approve of Deku over Kaworu for absolutely base reasons. He knew if Paul needed something he could count on Midoriya to pull him through a situation. Kaworu for the most part just seemed to bitch and moan at adversity.]

I could but I'm not going to. Instead I'm asking you.

If you're going to stand beside him I want to know that you have his back in any given situation. And that you always have his best interests at heart.

Because if I find out that you ever leave him hanging. I'm going to kick your scrawny little ass so hard that you'll squid yourself, turn back into a human and ink your pants despite that.

I don't know. Ask him if you really want to know what he thinks.

[It's not exactly true. Paul told him exactly why he was fond of Kaworu on the night of the party, curled on the couch together, limbs tangled, lost in a haze of spice and desire. But that's an intimate moment and one he doesn't care to share with Johnny. He likes the memory preserved as is, without any commentary.

So instead, he just glares, a flash of defiance lighting up those inhuman red eyes.]

I'd never leave him hanging. I promised I'd watch over and protect him no matter what. And I'm going to do that. Even if it means getting hurt or suffering or even losing my own life.

And I already told you that isn't how this is going to work.

[Look. He wasn't exactly expecting a straight forward answer. He wanted to see what the kid would do if he was challenged and honestly Johnny had been expecting him to just bitch and moan.

But then he catches that glare and the look in Kaworu's eyes and he thinks that maybe. Just maybe the kid might actually have some fight in him.]

Oh yeah, You promised him that? Well guess what, punk? Talk is cheap.

[And just like that he's going to move in and attempt to shove Kaworu.]

Prove it to me, right now.

Show me that you can stand up and fight when he needs you to.

Unlike humans, I mean my words.

[Kaworu leaps away, instinctively more fearful of a grown human reaching out to grab him than any monster. Beasts are predictable, vicious in mostly simple ways. Humans calculate, they plan, they determine uses for others.

The movement is inhuman, he floats into the air as if propelled by an invisible wind, hovers for a second and then drops back down, a distance away. He feels unusually... angry when confronted like this, to have his feelings and commitments questioned.]

Yeah? And where were you on the beach? Did you protect him back then?

Well I'm not just a human. I'm a man, and I mean everything that I say!

[On the bright side. While Johnny's behavior could be considered unpredictable and violent. There was rarely any sort of hidden plan baked into them, he was straight-forward to the extreme.

He's less surprised when Kaworu starts to float into the air than he would have been a few months ago. He was getting more used to the odd abilities people had here. He picks up his pace, not quite moving to a run but looking to close the distance between them quickly.

His nostrils flare as Kaworu brings up the Leviathan and his hands clench into fists this time.]

I was there with him. I was there training him to be better prepared to fight that son of a bitch. I failed him but I owned to up that shit. I gave my life to avenge him. I fucked up there too.

[If he gets close enough he's going to attempt to sock Kaworu right in the face.]

Everything I do, I do with his best interests at heart.

What are you doing?

That's the same thing!

[Kaworu doesn't know why he's escalating this. It's more like he can't help himself. Perhaps, he's more similar to Johnny than he likes to admit, in that he struggles to get his point across anyway that simply trying to force it.

If Johnny gets in close enough, he'll find himself impacting a barrier instead of Kaworu. It seems to be made of pure light despite being solid to the touch, sending flashing geometric ripples when hit by blows. Still, Kaworu steps away a little.

He knows Johnny cares for Paul. It was foolish to act otherwise.]

I'm looking after him. I promised, after the beach, that I'd protect him. And... I'm trying to make him happy! Isn't that what humans want? Happiness?

They're completely different!

[He doesn't expect Kaworu to understand. He was a little twink, not a man. And apparently he wasn't human either but that didn't much matter to Johnny. He was here to prove a point and at least so far Kaworu was getting a middling grade. He had to admit the kid was showing at least a little more spunk than he was was expecting.

He closes the distance and his fist attempts to connect with Kaworu but instead it's met by the barrier protecting him. It doesn't so much feel like he's punching a brick wall but it's awkward as his arm hadn't extended fully.]

The shi-

[There's frustration and determination in his eyes and he presses forward. Now aiming for the barrier instead of Kaworu himself. He'll keep on punching even if his knuckles start to bleed.]

Yeah- But this place. Life in general is going to pull out all the stops to make you both miserable. You have to be willing to fight it at every turn. Use your fucking teeth if you have to.

So let's see it, kid. Let's see you fight.

No, they're not!

And what? Are you going to beat down a God of this place with your fists? Is that the sort of fighting you think works here?

[Okay. But fine. He's actually getting annoyed. And while he generally expresses disinterest in fighting, he and Paul have been doing training of their own.

The barrier drops and as Johnny approaches, Kaworu vanishes; his Darkblood powers warping the space around him so he moves, as though through an unseen door, behind Johnny. Then he kicks himself into the air and activates his AT Field once more, this time using it to exert force down beneath him towards Johnny instead of defensively.

It's not enough to kill him or even hurt him (yet), but it's enough to indicate there's significant power that Kaworu hasn't even begun to utilize yet.]

I already told you- Manliness is next to godliness-

And you're no fucking god!

[Kaworu's sudden disappearance does catch Johnny off guard. But he hears the leap from behind him and he turns just in time to catch what Kaworu is doing. He can't stop it- But he can at least make an attempt. He raises both his hands up and at least catches the barrier as it pushes down on him.

It doesn't hurt. Not yet at least. But he has no idea what he's actually up against. Johnny's blood will begin to boil and while he doesn't have any particular powers to help him out of this. His pale blood will start to charge the emotion in the area, making himself and those caught up in it more aggressive.

He looks up at Kaworu and doesn't seem bothered by his predicament.]

About fucking time you started fighting back! Now come on, kid! Come at me like you mean it.

Humans back on my earth did consider my kind to be something like gods. Something more than you could ever be.

[The emotion in the area infects him like a disease. He's never felt this sort of rage, like he's being disrespected and he has to make this fool understand. That he needs to fight and spill blood to prove that point.

It's strange, he's vaguely aware of being hijacked by an emotion that doesn't belong to him, yet he can't shake it. Instead, he lets himself be dragged down. So he pushes harder with his AT Field, the ground beneath him starting to shift and crack, the pressure whipping the limbs of trees like an ominous wind.

Because they're in an open space, Johnny can simply back away to escape the crushing force. But it's clear that it could splatter him across the grass if Kaworu desired.]

Says a lot about you're people if they worship lazy little pricks-

[There is a part of Johnny that does want to push through this, despite the fact that he's quite aware would probably get his ass kicked or die if he did. He wasn't the type to back down from a fight and he had pushed for this one.

But there is another part of him that realizes he's just got the answer he was looking for. Kaworu had to be pushed to get there but he had a killer instinct in there that could defend his student if needed.

More just to show that he can he makes one final assault on the pressure of Kaworu's AT field before he does actually back off. He's still ready to fight if Kaworu pushes on the attack from here but it's a step Johnny doesn't usually take.]

Guess you aren't as much of a pussy as I thought.

You passed the test, kid.

That's not...

[He should be relieved. This is over. It's done. He doesn't have to smash this idiot that Paul cares for into a bloody smear on the ground. Instead he just feels frustrated. Another test in a life full of tests that he didn't consent to. And this time it was just to be able to care for someone that means so much to him.]

I didn't ask to be tested! What gave you the right!

[Johnny wasn’t surprised that Kaworu started to bitch about his methods and question whether it was his place to do it. He was always complaining about something, but Johnny could appreciate the energy he was putting into it now.]

Because I’m his sensei.
It’s my job to make sure he’s got all the support he needs to succeed.

[And he’ll raise a hand and point a finger right at Kaworu.]

And life isn’t going to ask you if you’re ready to face a challenge. It’s going to come at you swinging and you have to be ready to face it.

Just like you showed me right here.

I'll always protect him. No matter what.

[He's breathing hard. His hands are balled into fists, body taut like a wire liable to snap at any moment. Why is this man like this? Why does Paul like him? Questions Kaworu always asks himself and knows he'll never get an answer for.]

I've faced things before.

Well I haven't seen you face shit here. So sue me for wanting to be sure you could for myself.

[Johnny's actually managing to calm down more himself, but he also sees how tense Kaworu is right now and keeps himself ready incase another little tussle were to break out between them. Not that he thought he could win considering what Kaworu had proven capable of doing but because he wouldn't back down from a challenge.]

But that's all I'm asking you to do. And I'll do the same thing, deal?

[And just to prove he's good to his word. He'll spit on his palm and extend a hand for Kaworu to shake.]

Edited 2022-06-19 16:32 (UTC)

Hello Kaworu. I was thinking about your advice.

I'm sorry that I didn't end up following it.

Edited 2022-06-04 19:33 (UTC)

So I thought I'd try to make it up to you.

🌺🌺🌺

You're lucky you're cute.

You don't like them? What about these? 💮💮💮

I have allergies.

[Wow, let him sulk over all his great usernames being ignored. (Don't let him).]

My apologies. Here. I know you're not allergic to these.

🧁🥧🍩

I still need a taste tester. I promise I'll listen to your advice about that.

Fine.

You're so lucky to have me.

I know.

[ This being the second time he's doing this, Midoriya is a little more coherent starting off. He uses text due to the amount of information he has to give. He always gathers his thoughts better in writing anyway. ]

Hi Kaworu-kun. If it's all right with you, I need to talk to you about something important. Do you remember a few months ago when I told you that my work as a hero meant someone could come after the people I care about? Nothing's happened, don't worry. I just wanted to tell you more about that.

There's this old enemy of mine from home in Trench. He may have seen us at the tournament. I fell asleep in one of those Sleeper cocoons and was home for a bit, so I learned new information about him. He's more powerful now than I thought.

I see. So. What should we do? Kill him? He'll only return as a squid but it would stop him for a bit.

Still, he can't hurt me. And I'll protect Paul.

No I don't want to kill him. I'm really trying not to kill him. I wanted to warn you because I intend to protect both of you.

[ He forgets to say they promised to protect each other. He forgets himself, again. ]

I think we could give him a good fight if it came to it, but he could definitely hurt any of us. You've trained for combat. You know the risks. For now it's better to avoid him.

What about you? Who is going to protect you if you're always protecting us?

[ He remembers having a similar conversation with Kaworu before, in hypotheticals. He remembers being close to tears. He remembers the more powerful he gets, the more people he can protect--and the more he can get hurt doing so. He remembers the words Bakugou said to him. Midoriya is trying to put those into practice, but he slips up sometimes. He's so used to talking in a way that doesn't take himself into account. ]

Thank you Kaworu-kun. Thank you for saying things like that whenever Paul-kun and I are being stupid.

Even though I just learned Shigaraki is more dangerous than I thought, I am trying to rely on others more.

That's why I'm telling you about this. Hang on a second while I get a list together.

[ Yes, a list. Because even when nursing the unease of a threat to their lives, Midoriya is a nerd. The good news is that he's more organized and concise in writing. Otherwise, he tends to ramble. Then they'd really be here all day. ]

His name is Shigaraki Tomura. He's in his twenties probably and about Paul-kun's height. White wavy hair. Red eyes, but not like yours. [ He can't think of two more different people. ] Some small scars on his face. Very dry skin, kind of sickly looking. He's missing his thumb and the first two fingers on his left hand.

He knows my name and description too.

You know how most people in my world are born with one Quirk? Sometimes it can look like two things, like mine or Todoroki-kun's, but it's still just one Quirk.
Shigaraki has several, I don't know how many, but I'll list some.

The one I saw him use first destroys anything he touches with his hands. He can take out an entire hill's worth of buildings in moments. If the debris touches something or someone, that gets disintegrated too.
Search. It sees up to 100 people like radar and their individual weaknesses, which can be used to identify people after the information is stored. Shigaraki has the ability to locate me.
Air blasts. He can fire those from his palms.
He can shoot tendrils like spears sharp enough to stab someone.
Fast regeneration.
Super strength. These last two Quirks make him really durable in a fight.

[ For better or worse, he doesn't mention one Quirk, the one that has sent Shigaraki after him before to take what he wants. Midoriya needs Kaworu to concentrate on protecting himself. ]

I wasn't able to beat him with my full power the last time we met.

I have heard some of what happened from Palamedes, enough to want to check in on how you are doing.

Edited 2022-07-03 19:35 (UTC)

Recovering from beasthood seems to leave no lasting physical damage.

[ah the grimace. worse than he was expecting but not as bad as it could have been]No, it's usually the mental that is the issue in the aftermath, and at the moment that is my primary concern.

My memory is intact though I don't remember many details. My emotions seem to be suppressed. But this perhaps it's more of a result of corruption than beasthood itself.

That does seem in line with the aftermath, though also with heightened corruption. How are your levels there?

It was a traumatic experience so the toll it will take is quite high.

Corruption I can at least help with. I still have the orbs from April, if you need some.

I don't think you should come near me. And it's best I stay where I am.

Why? I am sure you know by now isolation is a terrible idea in this place, if that is what you are doing.

I am not isolated but it's not safe.

[oh boy. he really hopes he's wrong her but-]

You're still in the house in Gaze, aren't you?

It is my home.

Are Midoriya and Paul there with you?

They... are not.

Are they not your home more than that place is?

I do not know their whereabouts. I was left behind on the beach and so returned to where was familiar. Familiarity is comforting.

[a grimace as he can't help but wonder if paul and deku are dead. thank god for text covering that, huh.]

It is sensible I admit, but if it is a place you must warn others away from I am not certain it is a place to stay at.

Regardless of that I would like to help you locate them, if I can. I assume messaging has not been successful?

Kaworu? It's Lazarus. I hope you've been well. I was hoping we could talk about something, when you've a moment.

What did you want to talk about?

It's about the coming undertaking. I'm not permitted near your home, and certainly not on the boat. Please look after Paul; I can't, until you're all back ashore.

Of course I will. I'll always look after him.

...Is it because you get seasick?

It's because the measures I've taken to protect Paul do not always agree with the head of your house. I wouldn't have been invited, no matter who had vouched for me, or how fervently. I'm deeply concerned about him. And you; you must try to stay safe until you reach shore again.

I won't let anything happen to him. I'll always protect him. With everything I have. Perhaps we have different views on things but we agree on that.

Yes; in fact we do. I know he cares about you deeply. Anyone with eyes would, to be honest.

Oh.

So he didn't say anything about it?

I don't pry into those kinds of private matters; I just observe what's less private. It's not a way you're careful, so I don't suppose you mind having it known.

Of course I want everyone to know. That's the point.

It's great that you're proud of your relationship. Keeping those things secret would be a lot of work, and probably not even worth it.

[ With the sound of the beach and the storm, ]

Kaworu-kun, where are you? Please come in. I had you safe. Are you hurt?

I looked and you were gone. There were no signs of a fight. In the sand, whose footprints were those next to yours?

Edited 2022-07-06 08:41 (UTC)

Omni, speech-to-text mode.
Kaworu-kun, please answer.
In text for privacy just in case.

I can't find you anywhere please answer me.

Did you leave of your own will?

I still have a lot of things I need to say to you. I am angry at you for killing those people. But I need to know you're safe more.

[ His voice breaks on a sob like the waves on the sea cliffs. ]

Please just tell me if you're OK.

[ His sobs continue to roll in over the sound of the tide. ]

I'm sorry I couldn't save Gideon-san. Everything I had still wasn't enough. I'm sorry.

[ Much later, after several seconds of shoes crunching on sand: ]

...That must be why it hurts so much, [ he says quietly, picking up the surfacing string to a series of thoughts out loud. ]

I love you. If I didn't, then I wouldn't be sad or angry or feel like part of me is lost.

I love you.

( It may seem like a random encounter, that Peter's Omen finds its way to Kaworu's spirit by chance. It isn't, because maybe they only spoke once or twice and maybe it was a long time ago, but connection was still made between Peter and Paimon and this mysterious being that looks like a young man on the surface.

Susurrus (a name that means a hum, a hiss, a whisper of wind through endless trees) is reaching out these days. Cautious but curious, shy but alien, some mixture of the two souls that the Omen belongs to. His mental voice is a soft hiss that gently calls out to Kaworu's spirit, tries to find the Omen tethered to it, wherever the other entity may be now. )

Are you there? Isss ssssomeone there?

I am here.

The reply is light, almost lyrical, with an undercurrent of self-assurance that radiates in even the simple words spoken. The omen, called Shinji-kun though perhaps not named as such, also sounds like an adolescent boy in pitch but something else in cadence. The mixture gives away his distinct nature as an omen.

What is it that you're reaching for?

( Susurrus wasn't sure what shape he might find, but this one has a youthfulness, something sweet to it. Yet also something ancient, as with all Omens. His tongue flicks curiously as he absorbs the awareness that he has found what he was looking for, and how to convey why he's sought them out. )

You. Reaching for you. For otherssss like me.

Have you alwayssss been able to sssspeak?

I think so. Though, I don't often speak out loud. I've found there's benefits to communication without words.

Is the easy reply. He's a quiet omen, rarely speaking to anyone, even Kaworu. But that doesn't mean he doesn't speak in his own way. He's found that the boy often gets muddled by words. It's easier to be direct.

Is speech something new for you?

I undersssstand. And much can be learned by obssserving.

( There's a certain wisdom to be found in staying quiet and watching. It isn't necessarily an absence; he's been right there with Peter this whole time. )

It issss. My boy isss..... fragile. He hassss been nervousss of me. I think he did not wishhhh for me to sssspeak to him.

Issss yoursss comforted by you?

( He's curious of other Omens' relationships to their Sleepers. )

I try. But he's still learning what it's like to get comfort and be comforted.

In the distant dark, the cat omen curls around himself.

I think comfort can exist beyond words.

I undersssstand. Mine issss, too. Comfort can feel..... frightening for him.

( Whether it's to give or receive it, Peter still so often flinches back from the concept like it hurts. )

I believe ssssso. Sssssilence can be a comfort, if it isssss ssssafe.

....My Sssssleeper is alsssso comforted by food. Doessss yourssss like to eat?

( Because he knows not everyone here does.. )

[ uh oh........... look who is doing some late-night search engine activity ]

how to talk to lizards

Did you forget?

~~fuck off~~
~~i didnt ask you~~
~~i just miss him ok~~

no
its just been
a while

he's still here.

prove it
show him

[That is distinctly a young Duke in a low slung towel around his hips standing in front of a familiar mirror, water still dripping from his wet hair as he holds up his Omni and takes a series of photos of himself at different angles, flexing hard-earned, slight new muscle with a look of furrowed concentration.]

[Kaworu nods appreciatively. Paul has been trying hard and he appreciates that. It also helps him ignore that, even as an angel, he knows deep in his inhuman soul that this is cringe.]

Not bad.

[Doing nothing to dispel the cringe accusations, Paul blanches at the words that crop up on his screen and attempts to cover his chest with one slender arm.]

W- what?

[He'll turn the camera on to pout.]

You weren't trying to send me a show?

No, I-

[Colour returns to his cheeks in blotchy patches of embarrassment, but he does drop his arm, so there's that.]

I was - it's important to document your progress in training. I didn't mean to send you anything.

[But, embarrassed or not, he manages a tilted smile:] Not bad?

It would have been better if you were doing it for me.

[He smiles at how he drops his arm and appreciates those rosy flushed cheeks. Cringe is okay if it's in service of one, Kaworu Nagisa, apparently.]

[Being able to adapt and seek victory in an unexpected crisis is a hallmark of Bene Gesserit training. At Kaworu's appreciation, Paul relaxes further, shoulders settling.]

Like...?

[He glances down, bringing his hand back up to his pectorals, but just to touch the edge of one lightly before he flexes.]

That?

[Kaworu rolls over on the bed, like a cat relaxing as it casts a judgemental gaze over whoever decides to approach.]

Yes but... put more energy into it.

Quit complaining. I brought you a fucking muffin.

I don't see it and I didn't want one anyway.

that's cause it ain't there.
ARE YOU SURE? :(
this message wasn't for you.
My muffin is DELICIOUS
fucking misfire.

I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL THIS THING

I AM THE MUFFIN MAN

...What?

Hey, this is Robby.

Wanted to say sorry for what happened between me and your boyfriend. We talked about it and things are good between us.

If I thought things would turn out that way with the fight I wouldn't have bothered asking for one

Anyway, just keeping my word about not pissing off a guy's boyfriend. (or however I said it on the post)

You don't need to apologize. It's on Paul. I'm sorry for my cringefail boyfriend.

[ ...well. ]

We were both being cringe. He's fine though. He knows how to punch good, and all the other stuff.

I prefer all the other stuff.

...Thank you for speaking to him.

If it gets him in your good books, he reached out to me first.

I'm glad he did. I was angry at my dad anyway and not him. He told Paul to pull a bad first move and my dad knew it.

But that's for him and my dad to talk about. Paul can come to the dojo whenever he wants. He said Midoriya would still come. You can too if you want to. I can show you the moves without the chores.

Or you can come just to visit your boyfriend.

Paul is...honorable like that. Yet Johnny Lawrence gets him to behave in ways he never would otherwise. It sparks something deep in him that he can't contain. They always talk but nothing ever changes.

Something about parents makes humans act so strangely.

...

I want come back. For myself. Paul can come watch if he wants.

Just parents?

But cool to hear re you coming back. It'll be good to see you around.

Fine. One of many things. But especially parents.

You'd be happy to see me?

Edited 2022-12-05 01:31 (UTC)

Sure. I want people to come back and our talk was interesting. And you don't seem the type to come back if you aren't interested.

Since Midoriya is spending Christmas with Paul and Kaworu, he has the opportunity to present his gifts in person. There are enough Sleepers who miss things from Earth that they've adapted many devices to run on the kind of Moon Orb that comes with every household.

Midoriya was able to get his hands on a record player. Music can be played on the Omnis well enough, but a record player provides an entirely different sound. Midoriya had the proprietor demonstrate for him, and even his untrained ear could tell that Mozart sounded warmer. He bought the record too, to start off Kaworu's collection.

There's dinner and Christmas cake. And for New Year's, he's gotten them all Japanese sweets, satsumas, and green tea to have together.

IC Contact

text; un: Lothrat

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a Visitation; early March

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cw: panic attack

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text; un:scifo; a few days after leviathanfall

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post-leviathan, as promised

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and now that i am back from vacation, sorry about the delay!

no worries! welcome back!

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debacle pending, un: warden

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