aionlogs | [open] some Kenoma come up to Godsblood the other day...

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[open] some Kenoma come up to Godsblood the other day...

WHO: Amos, Gen, Eustace, Childe, any Pleroma
WHAT: Amos wants a gun, Eustace wants to make a portal, and in order to make it happen they go to...
WHERE: Godsblood.
WHEN: Towards the end of Visoseri/start of Soviseri
WARNINGS: None, unless you count bullying of various Pleroma; will add as necessary

The content of this entry is intended to be an OOC explanation of what's going on to keep everyone up to speed; any characters who may be in Godsblood during this time period are free to top level or tag out. This is not an event and simply a unique instance that some characters are kinda sorta technically in enemy territory, which opens itself up to thread opportunities that would not otherwise be possible.

Basically: four Kenoma are journeying up to Godsblood, albeit not all together and through different means.

Amos and Gen will be arriving via a boat directly from Achamoth, and accordingly, will be outed as Kenoma Aions right from the get-go — the populace should know who they are, and word of their arrival would likely get around. Amos is there because he wants to build a higher quality gun than what they have in Achamoth and Godsblood is the place to do it; Gen is there to serve as backup/moral support/because they're friends, okay. Story plotting link here for more details.

Eustace and Childe will be sneaking in via carriage from the Artisan shrine/a portal and will therefore not be known as Kenoma Aions upon entry to Godsblood — unless there are characters there who already know who they are, that is. Eustace is setting up a portal to facilitate travel between Achamoth and Godsblood. This is not public knowledge and non-Kenoma Aions/NPCs are unlikely to know about this. Story plotting link here for more details.

The mods have also provided some guidelines for how interactions could go between characters so that any Pleroma wouldn't necessarily have to out themselves as Aions when it comes to interacting with Amos or Gen, who are publicly declared as such. Highlighting what was said further down in Amos' plotting comment:

It wouldn't be unreasonable for a visiting Aion to be chatting up people within Godsblood so sharing a meal ... wouldn't be a dead give away, but it might tie them to the Aions on the rumor network if they do it in public. Whether they are just strangers Gen and Amos are dining with or whether they are connected to Achamoth won't be clear, but it would definitely have implications ... It's definitely a risk, at any rate.

As for meeting in a busy street or a public park the connection is still possible but a lot less likely, since the odds of them chatting up some rando in the park is a lot more likely than sitting down for dinner with them. It'd also be a lot more obvious if someone was spying on them, unlike a closed environment like a pub or eatery, so that'd probably be the safest option without going somewhere deserted or private.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Sorry, but someone has to keep Dokja alive for Gen to kill.

It truly would be so easy right now to pull out a dagger and plunge it straight into Dokja's unsupecting back. It'd be a nice bonus too: go to Godsblood, set up a portal, come back with a shiny Pleroma shard. Surely the Regent would praise him for a job well done.

Instead of doing the right thing (according to the rules of this ridiculous war), he does the right thing according to his own personal code.

Which is to hunker down in front of Dokja, his back facing the man. ]

Get on.

[ His voice is quiet but insistent. ]

[ It takes a couple of seconds for Dokja to register what it is that's happening and he stares blankly at Eustace's offered back, his thoughts still swirling around inside his head with no definite beginning or end in sight. At the very least, he's so fucked up that he's not thinking about all the things that have led him to this moment, so that's some kind of reprieve.

Too bad that it leaves him feeling physically unwell instead, but also slightly more agreeable as hesitant hands finally reach out to pull himself up on Eustace's back, loosely looping his arms around the other man's neck.

Dokja can't remember the last time he was carried like this. ]

... Thanks.

[ It's mumbled into Eustace's shoulder, a bit of shame coloring his voice. He's never been one to rely on others, but at this point, he can fully admit that there's no way he's getting anywhere on his own. ]

[ Sometimes you just gotta let a strange furry man piggyback you all the way home.

It takes a bit for Dokja to clamber on, and a bit longer after that for Eustace to unfold back into a standing position, his movements slower than usual lest Dokja accidentally slide off halfway through. But the arms around his neck seem to be secure and a test step forward doesn't lead to an uneven sway of the body on his back.

Unlike when he'd carried Misa back after the Kenoma welcoming party, his body is stiffer now, not quite as relaxed as before. He doesn't share the same camaraderie he does with Dokja as he does with Misa, and the fact that they technically qualify as enemies has never left his mind. But Dokja hadn't abandoned him back in Venera, when he easily could have, and the imprint of that kindness still remains on his heart. ]

Which way? [ Or, just in case Dokja is too drunk to narrate the way back to his apartment: ] An address is fine too.

[ He's not so antisocial that he can't stop to ask a stranger for directions. ]

[ Oh, right. He should... go back. To that empty room he calls home.

With a great deal of effort, Dokja lifts his head and is briefly distracted with how close that puts him to Eustace's ears, and after a moment of staring, he frowns. What's up with these things that has so many people obsessed with them...? He'll never get it.

Anyway. Directions. ]

It's not far, [ he says with a squint of his eyes as he tries to make out where they are. Everything is swaying, or is that him? ] Go... go straight. I'll tell you where to turn.

[ If he's still conscious by then. ]

[ This would be a lot more convincing if Dokja hadn't hesitated on the very first direction. It's a good thing he can't see the eyeroll being directed at him right about now. ]

Fine, but if we end up lost because of you I'm calling someone.

[ And by someone he means Abel or Ernesto, because those are the only two Pleroma he knows know Dokja.

But for now, he does as told, slowly ambling down the street with his drunken passenger in tow, turning when directed. Either they will end up in fron of Dokja's place or they will end up in a back alley somewhere, at which point Eustace will be wresting control from Dokja's limp fingers. ]

[ They probably get lost a couple of times, but nothing so egregious that it can't be fixed with a little bit more walking. Dokja fights to stay awake the entire time, and the crisp, cool air along with being forced to use his head to figure out how to get home at least helps him not feel as sick as before.

By the time they make it to Dokja's place, he's mostly just tired, and it takes a while for him to pull himself out of his sullen silence. ]

... This is it.

[ Back into his depression cave he goes. After a bit of fishing around in his pocket, Dokja produces a key and holds it out from over Eustace's shoulder.

Pwease open for him. And do not mind the mess of books and scattered papers that will immediately greet them upon opening that door. ]

[ Cripes, what is he, some sort of nanny?

The thought of dumping Dokja right at his front door and leaving him there for the rest of the night crosses his mind, but instead of acting on impulse, he instead takes the key wobbily held out to him and sticks it into the keyhole, sighing as he does so. Inside is..........well, it's a mess, books and papers and other assorted household debris littering the place. Eustace wrinkles his nose, obvious displeasure clear on his face as he stares at this extremely sad Depression Cave™.

Damn bitch, you live like this?

Instead of saying anything though, he just flicks on the lights and then starts heading towards wherever the bed is, whether it be pushed against one wall or tucked away in a small bedroom branching off from the main living room. Hopefully there's no porn just sitting out on a desk somewhere out for anyone to see.

Dokja gets dumped unceremoniously onto the bed whenever they arrive there and then Eustace is turning right back around and leaving. Bye Dokja. 👋

(Just kidding, he's going to the kitchen to get a glass of water.) ]

[ There is ZERO porn. 😐

But yeah, he does live like this and it's extra sad considering how much he was internally getting on Dextera's case for the same exact thing. Well... it's actually different, isn't it? Because Dokja has never really seen the hypocritical way in which he operates so this is fine. His issues are something else entirely.

He falls into bed (it's just pushed into a corner) with a grunt, head spinning at the sudden movement so he stays as still as possible while he rides it out. He's not sure how long he lies there, vacant eyes staring up at his ceiling, before it starts to dawn on him that Eustace is in his place. That he knows where Dokja lives now.

... Eh. The Kenoma seem to know enough about him. What's one more thing if Eustace blabs?

His apathy has truly grown to several degrees with his drunkenness, but he still manages to slowly sit himself up, grimacing as he does, before he peeks out from under his bangs to where his guest is filling up a glass of water. Ugh... He should say something. ]

... Hey.

[ Zero porn, but at least there's a rock hard dick to make up for it all. (Just kidding, apparently I had to edit that part out. 😔 No more mysteries about the size of Dokja's dick.)

What's not a mystery is what Eustace is doing, which is grabbing the first clean glass (or..... the cleanest glass here can find, because this place is a mess) and filling it up three quarters of the way with water before striding back to Dokja and holding it out in front of him expectantly. ]

Drink this. Slowly.

[ Before he makes a mess all over his shirt. Dokja is not the one taking off his shirt in this thread, after all. ]

[ It's probably average???

Now that he's sitting up, something's not right. It's as if his room starts turning on its own, and his gaze grows more and more unfocused while everything spins. He feels so distantly aware of everything, of the fact that there's no way his room is actually moving, that his heart is beating way too fast and loudly, and it's like he's not in control of his body. It's like he's not even in his own body.

He barely makes out Eustace's words, and when he automatically reaches out, he misjudges the distance, fingers clamping down on the other man's wrist instead.

Then it comes up. Dokja bolts upright on his feet, takes about a single step forward, and then

pukes

all over the front of Eustace's shirt. ]

[ Well. This is disgusting.

There's a long, long moment of silence after The Pukening, punctuated only by the sound of heavy breathing as Dokja tries to pull himself together. Eustace spends most of that silence slowly alternating his gaze between the spilled cup of water held unevenly in his hands, the vomit now slowly dripping down the front of his shirt, and the drunk man responsible for 95% of his immediate problems in life.

Finally, after a long-suffering sigh, Eustace tugs his wrist free just long enough that he can reverse their positions and clamp his hand around Dokja's wrist.

He doesn't go out nearly enough to have A Dummies Guide to Taking Care of Your Drunk Friends memorized into his regular repetoire, but he knows enough after years of having to drag his peers from the bars after a particularly rowdy celebratory night. Thankfully the room is small and it's not much of a trek to the sink, even if it feels like one having to slowly tug Dokja all the way there while trying not to let the man tumble down and die. (He really should have just stabbed Dokja a little distance from the bar and taken his shard back to Achamoth.)

The glass of water gets placed onto the counter on Dokja's right, the hand around his wrist removed in order to relocate to the space between Dokja's shoulderblades in a steadying manner. ]

Breathe. [ Preferably normally and deeply. ] Rinse out your mouth if you think you can tolerate having some water.

[ Why is he doing this again? ]

[ Because Eustace is a good man. 🥺

Also, now that Dokja's thrown up most of the alcohol in his system, he's feeling... better? There's a growing clarity to his gaze as the seconds tick by, and while he still feels like dog shit, he's starting to get his bearings.

But before he can properly register and react to what he's done, he's being pulled along to the sink, stumbling over his own feet the entire way there. Like before, he feels out of sync, mind struggling to align with the rest of his body, and a few seconds of hesitant silence stretch out once they reach the sink before he dumbly nods to the suggestion. Uh, right. Water. Breathing.

He turns on the sink and, despite there being a cup right next to him, Dokja opts to use his hands to collect the water there in order to rinse out his mouth. He's not exactly trusting himself to be coordinated right now, so it's probably better that he doesn't hold anything fragile.

After a few more rinses and a couple of sips of water, Dokja's feeling more like himself. And feeling more like himself means... ]

I'm... I'm so sorry.

[ He can't even face Eustace. He's just hunched over the sink, hands grabbing hold of the edge as the faucet continues to run. Fuck. This is so embarrassing. ]

[ The apology is accepted and then waved off, Eustace far more concerned with the state of his (now puke-covered) shirt than Dokja's endless embarrassment. He has spares of course - he isn't Dextera, to live off one shirt and one pair of underwear for weeks at a time, disgusting - but they're all back in his inn room and not here. And he's not about to walk all the way back looking like this. ]

Don't do it again next time then.

[ Next time? What next time?

Eustace does not elaborate on this mysterious next time, too busy tugging his shirt up and over his head so he can shove the fabric under the still-running faucet and clean off the worst of the puke. Dokja looks to be steady enough on his feet, his voice no longer as slurred as before. Surely he can handle himself for a few minutes while his houseguest washes his clothes.

Congrats, you got what you wanted, I hope you're happy now. ]

[ Okay, but here Dokja is, drowning in how miserable and stupid he feels, when a puke-covered shirt comes into his line of sight and is shoved under the running water. That makes sense. Eustace is just trying to clean it, who'd want to walk around with that mess, and so—

He's shirtless.

Dokja practically dislodges his head from his neck with how fast he turns to look. It's not like he's has never seen Eustace shirtless before? Heck, he's seen the man fully nude when they'd first arrived in Horos, but it's a world of difference when Dokja's drunk like this (sincerely what the fuck is inhibition) and also not newly hatched out of a chrysalis in search of answers.

Instead of moving out of the way, he remains where he is and openly stares at Eustace in all of his shirtless glory. Damn, as if a handsome face wasn't enough, he really had to go ahead and have a nice body too?? There is absolutely nothing fair in life as Dokja continues to gawk without realizing what it is he's doing.

We blame the alcohol. ]

[ Maybe Dokja would also have a nice body if he actually ate normal meals and worked out regularly? There's absolutely nothing unfair about this whole situation, it's not like there's magic involved in gaining muscle.

Hard to miss the way Dokja's head snaps around about five seconds in to his impromptu laundry session, though the first few seconds of staring are easy enough to ignore. He's used to being the center of attention for various reasons - for being the star pupil back in his cadet days, for ending up as the Society's golden child, for being an Aion in service of the Regent back in Achamoth - and on a fundamental level, he's aware of his looks even if he couldn't care less about them.

But the staring continues and continues and continues, and it's not long before Eustace's indifference morphs into annoyance. There's no warning given before he drags his shirt out from underneath the faucet and slaps it into Dokja's wide-eyed face. ]

If you're feeling better enough to stare like that, drink some water and clear your head.

[ You would have him threaten his twink status with exercise,

Ah. Caught in the act. Dokja deserves every bit of that wet slap to his face, but also what the fuck, there was vomit on that... H-his vomit, so he can't really muster up the audacity to be mad about it...

At the very least, he does have the presence of mind to look ashamed for his blatant act of staring, and a small, more sober part of him hopes Eustace doesn't think he's a pervert because hello? What's wrong with a guy admiring another guy's toned body...

Dokja looks away nervously and brings up the sleeve of his shirt to wipe at his face. His red face. It's red because he's still drunk-ish. ]

Yeah, okay. Um, do you want to borrow one of my shirts?

[ Considering that he'd been planning on raiding Dokja's closet without even asking, having Dokja beat him to the chase is probably for the best. But that's his right as the person who'd been puked on, and also the person who'd carried this guy home.

Surely a single shirt is nothing in comparison.

With the weirdo pervert no long staring at him (just kidding, Eustace doesn't think Dokja is a pervert, just a sad pathetic man) he goes back to washing the worst of the vomit off his shirt, hand movements quick and steady under the kitchen faucet. Clearly he's used to this sort of thing. ]

I'll grab one. Go sit down before you fall over again.

[ He's not going to carry Dokja a second time. ]

[ True, but considering how poor Dokja is, he's going to want that shirt back...

Well, maybe not if it's stretched out. His clothes are definitely going to be a size or two smaller than what Eustace usually wears. But that's okay! The skintight look is really popular these days...?

Ahem.

Dokja does as he's told and slinks (more like staggers) back to his bed. He's careful as he sits down, not wanting to jostle anything loose and end up puking a second time. For the most part, he feels okay... He thinks he could pass out without any difficulty if he really wanted to, but he forces himself to stay awake. ]

... How long are you staying in Godsblood?

[ Just get a job??? Or join the Kenoma and get a hefty allowance each month.

The hiss of running water breaks the otherwise awkward silence that fills the room, the slap of cloth against the sides of the sink an uneven percussion. ]

I'm leaving tomorrow. [ He says it simply, offering no more and no less than what he's said already. ] You'll have to find someone else to carry you back if you get drunk again.

[ Like his other dogman friend. Someone actually on his side, with his best interests in mind. Who won't run the risk of betraying him if push comes to shove.

It doesn't take too long to rinse the worst of the gunk off, though he'll have to send it off with the servants at the Citadel if he truly wants the worst of the stain gone.

Or he could just buy another shirt.

The faucet knobs squeak a little as he turns them off, water dripping into the sink as he wrings out his shirt. He's still not looking at Dokja, attention creeping back to the books littering the place. Unlike before, there's a hint of emotion in his voice this time, an undercurrent of idle curiosity threading through his words. ]

Is this how you normally fill your time? By reading?

[ Just how many books does this guy read in a month? Does he even remember to eat? ]

[ No... He's never going to get this drunk again. What a traumatic end to the night.

The view is nice, though, and Dokja's stuck in a bit of a drunken stupor as he watches Eustace wring out his shirt and what that does to his back muscles. Damn... That had definitely been a firm backside now that he thinks on how he'd been carried here.

He's nodding along to his own thoughts until the questions break him out of it, and he sits up a little straighter, one hand immediately reaching over to fumble with his pillow in an attempt to make it look like he was doing anything else other than staring for a second time. Just put Eustace in a shirt already, this is getting ridiculous... ]

Yeah, I like reading. It's...

[ —the single way he knows how to survive. And that's been an especially difficult struggle lately. ]

It's one of the only things I'm good at.

[ The (familiar) words (from a previous conversation) grow softer and more melancholy as they're spoken, and while there's an uncomfortable tightness in Dokja's chest at admitting such a sad thing, he manages a small smile. "Likes" reading... What an understatement. He loves it. ]

[ If Eustace notices Dokja staring a second time he doesn't comment on it, wringing out the last few visible drops of water from his shirt before draping it across the back of a nearby chair to dry. Then it's off to the closet to riffle through the clothes inside, his eyes and hands searching for the simplest shirt in there that might be black and, more importantly, clean. Whatever he picks out and tugs on will inevitably be a size too small and snug-fitting, but as they say, skintight clothes are truly all the rage these days. Better a skintight shirt than a wet shirt, if nothing else.

The sentiment voiced as he digs through the closet does sound familiar, though it takes him awhile to dredge out the exact context he'd heard it originally. Odd how his feelings right now are a similar flavor to back then, confused and uncertain over Dokja's true nature underneath all the pointed jabs and self-deprecating remarks. They're softened at the edges now though, understanding tempering the wary dislike brought about by their positions on opposite sides of this war.

After tugging the shirt on he turns, leaning against the wall with his arms folded loosely across his chest. His gaze is frank as he looks at Dokja, emotions past that unreadable in the dim light. ]

Is that what other people tell you, or what you actually believe?

[ There's something oddly comforting about another person rummaging through his stuff. He's so used to this room being just himself and the suffocating loneliness pressed down against him on all sides that he's surprised by how much he likes having the company, even if it's as mundane as someone searching for a shirt in his closet.

... And if his mouth gets a little dry at seeing Eustace fill out a shirt that has no business being filled out, Dokja pretends not to notice. He really has to cool it with the drinking... He's usually not this distracted by a person's appearance.

At least there's chatter to distract him, even if it's dangerously personal and even if it serves to unnerve him, and as a result, Dokja shifts back on his bed until he feels the wall behind him. Like this, the distance feels so vast between them in an otherwise small, cramped room. But it's much needed when he's so quick to put up defenses. ]

A bit of both? [ He had to have learned it somewhere first before adopting it as his own. ] Are you taking a sudden interest in me, Eustace?

[ Ah, there it is, right on time. The attempt to deflect. ]

[ Sorry, but that deflection ain't gonna work on him, not after how long he's had to put up with Gen's bullshit. ]

I already told you. I'm not interested in being some sort of rebound.

[ Emotionally or physically. Though he's pretty sure Dokja doesn't mean interest in any sort of sexual way, despite the way he'd been ogling earlier.

As for general interest...he can't lie and say his curiosity isn't getting the better of him when it comes to Dokja, though it's more of a passive interest rather than anything overt and friendly. (They can't be friends, shouldn't be if either of them wants to survive this war without losing even more of themselves.) The good thing about the distance that still spans between them though is that he remains unafraid to be blunt as always, not bothering to mince his words for fear of losing sympathy or respect.

Can't lose what was never there, after all. ]

Why do you hate yourself so much?

[ Maybe 'hate' is far too strong of a word to use in a case like this - most of what he knows about the man is just hearsay after all - but there's certainly a stronger sense of self-deprecation coming from this man than from most others he's met. ]

[ It's a question that feels like a punch to the gut, and his entire body tenses in response. ]

... Oh.

[ The word comes out breathless, close to shell-shocked. He hadn't expected Eustace to just cut right to the chase, and it leaves him reeling for a moment, his reaction further slowed down due to his drunken state.

An awkward silence fills the space between them, air thick with it, as he looks away and draws his knees up to his chest. A poorly constructed makeshift wall. ]

Well... It's a long story. [ He doesn't think for a second that Eustace is going to buy into some lie about how Dokja doesn't hate himself. ] But I guess the short version of it would be that I hurt a lot of people.

[ It's surprisingly honest and he wants to blame the alcohol for it, but these days... he's finding that he's not able to care the same way he used to. A certain kind of apathy has taken a hold of him, and more and more he's discovering an unfettered recklessness to himself. Why should he hide it when he already hides it so poorly? What does it even matter anymore? ]

[ He's fully ready to keep pushing if Dokja tries to deflect again, the muscles in his shoulders and arms taut despite his supposed relaxed position in the wall. So when Dokja does cough out another half-assed lie and instead offers up a small portion of the truth, he's caught off-guard, eyes blinking owlishly as his whole body straightens.

Hurt some people is a decidedly succinct way of putting things that leaves a lot to the imagination. How many people? How exactly did he hurt them? It's a single ripple on the surface of a lake far deeper and tumultuous than it looks. He doesn't particularly want to go diving into the depths of it but right now there's really no choice.

Maybe it'll help him understand whatever the fuck is going on between Gen and Dokja too, if nothing else. ]

I have time.

[ He's still waiting for his shirt to dry, after all. ]

[open] some Kenoma come up to Godsblood the other day...

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cw: emeto

i can't believe you actually did it

i have to make up for my cowardice

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stares at that icon

it's my only shirtless icon, also i hate your tag

you should make more

absolutely not

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