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.

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[ 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. ]

[ Right. Anyone would be curious. Dokja stays quiet for a moment before he slides down from where he's leaned against the wall, opting to sprawl out on his bed instead and pointedly fix his gaze on the ceiling above. This isn't a story he wants to tell, but the weariness chips away at him. It's left him with barely a soul, the remnants something fragile and precarious, and so with a small push, there's a give. ]

... I ended the world, [ he confesses softly, grief raw in his voice. ] All the lives destroyed because of me I carry here [ he touches the side of his head ] and here [ then his heart ] forever.

[ It makes sense, doesn't it? Why Dokja hates himself so much. He'd been the sole reason for the destruction of his world and the worlds that had come before and after. Almost two thousand worlds and almost two thousand worlds worth of lives. But most importantly, the people that he loved more than anything else had suffered because of him... And for what? Why? He still doesn't understand. ]

You can see now why I fought so hard against the Kenoma's influence.

[ He turns his head so that he's facing Eustace, and the unbearable weight of the guilt crushing him from the inside out is reflected clearly in his dark eyes. ]

I can't hurt people like that again.

[ The way Dokja says it, quiet and grieving, ought to have left a deep impression on him. The severity of his crime, of ending the entire world, should hit him more. It ought to be a slap to the face, an ice cold bucket of water dumped directly down the back of his shirt....and yet Eustace finds it hard to process. Maybe it's because of the Kenoma's greater hold on him, turning his emotions even more melancholy than usual, or maybe it's simply because the world (to him) has always been a small place, comprised solely of those he loves and no one else.

He doesn't love Dokja, barely even likes Dokja, but he knows Dokja far more than any of the faceless millions of people he's supposedly killed and that alone elevates him far above the rest of this dead world. ]

So you choose to hurt yourself instead?

[ It's not a question, not really, even if the enunciation makes it sound like one. He doesn't give Doka a chance to answer regardless. ]

Did you mean to do it? End the world.

[ Someone should suffer. Someone should be the one to pay the price.

He shakes his head desperately as he quickly turns away, squeezing his eyes shut before his hands come up to press over them. His throat feels tight, it's like his head's been stuffed with scratchy fabric, and his heart aches in such an unbearable fashion that he thinks it might split in two. How much longer does he have to go on like this? His fragile state is only further worsened by how out of touch he feels after drinking in excess, and regrets pile on top of regrets. Even now, he mentally chastises himself for his honesty in the face of Eustace's continued questioning, for revealing what he has. He can't seem to do anything right. It would be better if... if...

He's trembling now, barely in control of his emotions, and his voice cracks when he finally responds. ]

No, of course not. [ Maybe... a long time ago he had. And maybe that was enough to have done it. ] Please don't tell me it's not my fault. I'm still the one who did it.

[ Almost 22,000 years in total isolation to atone for his sins, and not even a fraction of the way there. ]

[ The room is small, designed for someone with a meager paycheck or for someone who simply doesn't care about space. He cross the room back to Dokja within seconds, long strides carrying him most of the way there. But right now it feels like there's an entire ocean between them, its turbulent surface littered with mines ready to explode if he so much as makes one wrong move.

Eustace shifts, standing a little straighter than before. ]

I don't have the right to tell you that.

[ Especially knowing as little as he does. There's too many unknown variables, too many major details he's missing to be able to accurately draw up an explanation of what had happened and to assign blame one way or another. In the end though he's not the type to coddle anyway, to soften or conceal a bitter truth no matter how painful it might be.

He doesn't say anything further than that for another half minute or so, eyes lingering on Dokja's small form curled on the bed. It'd been so easy to carry him back here, Eustace barely cognizant of the additional weight being hoisted around, but it really hits him now just how slight Dokja really is, compared to all the people he's been spending his time with up until now.

Abruptly he starts walking away from the closet and back towards the bed, not stopping until he's looming over Dokja, his shadow stretching across the wall. ]

You fought back then. [ Back at the cave, back at the Firebrand shrine. ] Why aren't you fighting now? You've already let one world end. Are you really going to sit around and let the same thing happen to another one?

[ It's an unfair thing to say, especially in the particular way he says it, judgemental and unyielding. Maybe an unwise thing to say all things considered, given that provoking Dokja might end up in both consequences for him and the Kenoma at large. But better anger than this endless sadness, better to feel something than to succumb to numbness and apathy and the desire to untether himself from the world.

That's what Eustace thinks, at least. ]

Isn't giving in like this the same thing as giving in to the Kenoma?

[ There's no place to go, nothing to do but fight the urge to shrink back as Eustace closes the distance between them to loom over his prone form. Dokja tenses as he blinks his eyes open, not sure what to expect as he nervously stares up at the other man. This is the first time he's revealed what it is he'd done, and the confession sits unpleasantly on his chest. Makes it hard to breathe. He almost wishes for the blame, the judgement, the understanding that Dokja is far beyond help or reason.

But it doesn't come. Instead, he's left staring, wide-eyed, as Eustace tries provoking him. His heart twists in anguish at being told his actions are as good as succumbing to the Kenoma, and he has to swallow down the protest that immediately jumps to his throat. This... isn't at all like that, Dokja frantically thinks. It's true that at the beginning he'd fought, but even back then he'd been so tired of fighting...

And with every day that passes, with every week then month that goes by, Dokja's losing pieces of himself. He had tried to convince himself that by fighting for the Pleroma, he was fighting for the survival of his loved ones left back home, but even that hasn't been enough. The guilt he bears grows heavier and heavier the longer he spends time on his own, and now he's fully submerged in his misery.

Nearly at the very bottom.

Keeping sight of a purpose has fallen to the wayside. He recognizes that now as he's called out on it. But more than that realization comes the shock of what it is that Eustace is saying to him. Even with such pointed, jagged words, even while in such a vulnerable state, Dokja looks right past it all. Or... maybe he forces himself to in order to avoid what he has yet to answer. ]

Eustace... Why are you with the Kenoma?

[ Along with its service as a subject change, it's a question that he's been meaning to ask. They've known each other for some time now, spent a notable amount of time together, and never once had it struck Dokja that Eustace was fully committed to the side he stands on. ]

Is it really that bad? The world you come from.

[ He doesn't expect for the conversation to be turned back on him.

It shows; his head jerks back half a centimeter, his shoulders tense under the stretched fabric of the shirt, and his single visible eye widens ever so slightly before he leashes that brief sputter of emotion and reins it back in. Still, it's obvious Dokja's hit a nerve. ]

That's none of your concern.

[ His voice is back to being curt, unfriendly, the expression on his face closed off once more.

Of course, just because he's back to how he always is on the outside doesn't mean everything is fine and dandy on the inside. Despite his cool exterior, there's a thrum of uncertainty that echoes through him. Why had he joined the Kenoma? It'd been so obvious, once upon a time. To find answers while having time and resources on his side, and if having to turn a blind eye to certain crimes being committed was the price to pay for those resources...well, it's not like he hadn't made the same choice all those years ago. But it's been months now and he's found nothing, only the persistent dig of growing doubt in the pit of his stomach and a growing melancholy over losing everything he'd ever cared for once again.

Had it really been that bad? The world he'd come from?

Of course not. There isn't a day that goes by where he doesn't think about blue skies, the wind across his cheeks, the constant chatter that rings across the deck of the Grandcypher. Loud but strangely not annoying, the rare times he'd managed to be onboard long enough to hear it. For a time, he thought that he might have

It's gone now. He can't protect what's already gone, not his family and not his world. And now the only thing left he still feels obligated to protect is already on the side of the Kenoma.

Abruptly he turns, heading back for the chair where his shirt's been hanging to dry. It's still wet of course, but suddenly the room feels too small, too stifling. He has to leave. ]

Sounds like you're feeling better. I'll be going then.

[ Oh. This isn't the outcome he'd been expecting, but it makes sense now that it unfolds before his eyes.

What was he thinking? That they'd have a heart to heart? That with a stroke of luck, they'd somehow come to understand each other? The pieces that remain with Dokja shutter closed as Eustace does the same. In the end, they're enemies. No matter what kindness or favors they swap with one another, they work in opposition to the other. This is the way it is, this is the way it will continue to be. It's certainly not new—In fact, it's the oldest story in the history of stories.

And Dokja hates it so much in this moment.

He's quietly stunned by how much he regrets having asked what he had, and a brief look of desperation crosses his eyes once Eustace's back is turned to him. This is it, then. The fear of being alone once again grips at him and Dokja has to fight down the rising panic. He's spent too many hours, days, weeks silently suffocating in this room, and he's soon to return to only having his thoughts for company.

It's terrifying. He's so incredibly frightened by the idea of being alone, especially in this state, but rather than say anything, he presses his lips together and keeps quiet.

He's not worth anything and so he'll ask for nothing.

Once Eustace has his shirt in hand, Dokja pushes himself to sit up. He has to take a second to recover from a mild dizzy spell, but then he's blinking back the focus to his eyes. He could apologize, having so clearly unnerved the other man to the point of fleeing like this, or he could try to play it off. See for how much longer he can keep Eustace around.

... Instead, he chooses option C. ]

Thanks.

[ For tonight. For helping. For being around even if it was short-lived. ]

Get back safe.

[ He's next to the chair, fingers reaching out and clasping over his still-wet shirt, when Dokja speaks up again. His hand convulses around the fabric at the words, his whole body stiffening once again, though this time at least his face is turned away.

A white hot spark of anger flares inside of him, burning bright for a split second before it fades again. Anger over the fact that Dokja still manages to show sympathy despite his fragile state, but anger mostly over the fact that this man refuses to see the spark of good that's still in him and chooses instead to drown himself in his guilt and self-pity.

But he doesn't say anything, not yet, as he grabs his shirt off the chair in a single swift motion and stalks towards the exit, not once looking back. It's only when he stops momentarily in the doorframe after pulling the door open, his silhouette outlined by the street lamps outside, that he addresses Dokja one last time. ]

I'll accept your concern when you learn to accept it from others.

[ And then the door is closing behind him, a firm click and receding footsteps signaling his departure. ]

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

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