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

[baltimores]

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.

Comments

[salvageable]

[ Ah, it's a familiar stare, and Dokja meets it with a steady gaze. It feels almost foreign to hear his name come out of that mouth, and it reminds Dokja that he also knows the name of this kid thanks to the memories that now belong to the both of them. ]

You're going to start a fight, Gen.

[ There's no urgency or threat in his tone, just an observation. As if Dokja isn't going to be in control of his actions which, frankly speaking, he most likely won't be. Still, in contrast to his casual posture and relaxed expression, a thrum of anxiety ripples through him at the memory of the last time Gen had dug into his psychological wounds and the way Dokja's mind had split down the middle as a result. He doesn't have the mental fortitude to withstand whatever might be said and he knows this, especially when the past few weeks have been some of his worst since his arrival to this strange new land.

The smart thing to do would be to disengage. Back off.

Instead, Dokja mirrors Gen by leaning forward as well. ]

Can you afford to fight right now?

[epiprocta]

What do you know about what I can and can't do right now? [ That challenge is shot back with zero hesitation, and Gen's eyes narrow, one corner of his lip quirking upwards in the start of a smirk. ] And -- you think I'm picking a fight with you? Aren't I just doing the same thing that you did to me? Talking about what kind of person I think you are?

[ 'Lonely,' Dokja had called him. 'Unlovable.' What, he can't even take it as good as he gives? Gen's voice lowers to a softer murmur, something that's almost intimate -- kept between the two of them. Even the people sitting at their neighboring table won't be able to make out what he's saying, but Dokja certainlny will with how close they're sitting, and with how pointed Gen renders each word. Like a cold needle meant to sink into flesh. ]

Bet I know the type of person you were when you were younger -- bullied, always whining and crying and cowering. Not fighting for yourself. Wishing someone else would come to your rescue. Bet you just spent years like that, festering away like an animal with a broken leg. And even if someone did come help you -- bet you turned'em away, because you like being pathetic. You're comfortable being a miserable little rat waiting to get trampled on, feeling sorry for yourself, 'cause it's easier than fighting for yourself.

[ He'd spat that all out in a single, breathless tirade, but Gen abruptly jerks forward a fraction of an inch, just enough to jostle the table beneath them. The way he takes his next breath is almost a contemptuous laugh. ]

Am I wrong?

[salvageable]

[ A long stretch of silence follows, punctuated only by the unnaturally slow sounds of Dokja breathing. Like he's trying to keep it together. Like if he inhales a little too quickly or exhales a little too shakily, he'll fall apart.

No, Gen isn't wrong. In fact, he's exactly right. This is a trauma he's carried with him throughout his school years and then some. He'd always thought it was behind him, but hearing it like this, spoken to him like this, dredges up old memories that had long been buried. He's supposed to be an adult now, long past those years of torment, but who is he fooling? He'll carry that trauma with him for the rest of his long, long life.

And what a long life it's been.

Maybe that's what has him blinking the focus back to his eyes. Maybe that's why, when he thinks about it in the grand scheme of how much fucked up shit he's experienced, his troubled past feels like a speck of dust in comparison. Yes, he was bullied. Yes, he whined, cried, and cowered. And so what if it's easier to feel sorry for himself than accept help? So what if that had resulted in abandoning all the people he loves and cares about, leaving him to spend thousands of years on his own in an attempt to selfishly keep them alive? He had saved them. He had used his meaningless life to fight for everyone but himself, because they were worth every single drop of blood he'd personally dug into his skin for. Every tear that he'd cried, every death that he'd beckoned to him.

He had saved them.

A burst of anger ignites in his chest, his poised exterior threatening to melt away as his expression twists with indignation. He wants so badly to hurt Gen the way the boy has done to him, and he grips the table under him so hard that it fractures, a thin crack running almost halfway across. Not enough to snap the table in two, but nearly there, and turning heads in the process. ]

No. [ Breathe. ] You're not wrong.

[goldendeceiver]

[ The sound of that snap sure does turn some heads, and some of those might be attached to some very familiar faces.

Ernesto was already well aware of the fact that there were Kenoma in Godsblood long before this. He'd run into Eustace some time back, and had his own encounters with Amos and Gen, both of which had gone infinitely better than this apparently lunch date Dokja is having with the kid right now. He hasn't the foggiest how it ended up this way, but he's quick to take in the cleaned up plates of food in front of Gen, and the single drink that Dokja is working on.

It's not hard to draw some conclusions from that, and his face goes from shocked to blank in a matter of seconds as he watches the two "enjoying" their meal, ears perked up and shoulders tense as he tries to decide what to do.

Kind of painful how right he was to be suspicious of Dokja's promise to avoid Gen. ]

[epiprocta]

[ He wonders at first if maybe Dokja's bolstered his fragile mental fortitude in the time they haven't seen each other. After all, those ragged breaths aren't that much to go off, and he'll be a little disappointed if that's the only reaction he merits -- disappointed both out of sheer petty cruelty, and due to the knowledge that that's one tool he'll need to remove from the arsenal he's preparing for the day he kills Dokja. But no. Any improvements Dokja have made are only surface-level at best, as the fracture suddenly bisecting the tabletop can attest.

Gen's shoulders do jump at the harsh sound of wood snapping, followed by the creak of that damaged tapletop settling into place, but that wolfish smirk on his face doesn't falter at all. If anything, it only gains a sharper, manic edge as he sees the glint of anger in Dokja's eyes. ]

You're going to start a fight, Dokja.

[ Gen echoes Dokja's words from just a few moments ago at a low croon, words laced with malicious glee. And while he can feel many pairs of eyes directed at them, in this moment, he knows that they're not staring at him -- not when he only has his hand resting against the tabletop, fingers loosely curled against his palm. No, those eyes are boring into Dokja and that pale-knuckled grip he maintains on the table's edge, the huge fracture radiating outwards from his hand.

Haha. Serves him right, the dumbass. First inviting himself over here, then drawing all this attention to himself. Let him dig himself deeper into his own grave.

There's the creak of a chair as Gen shifts where he's sitting, keeping his posture lax even as he leans in a little closer. With the entirety of his focus on the man before him, he doesn't even think to look for any familiar faces in his surroundings -- he only looks into the dark light in Dokja's eyes, wanting to sink his claws in deeper. He can't his head in almost playful fashion as he speaks, words kept to a confidential murmur. ]

... you wanna know why I know your type so well? It's 'cause I spent years protecting some people like you. I always did what I had to do. And look at you now -- at your age, still taking advantage of the people here nice enough to keep an eye out for you. Wasting their time and energy. Only ever making things worse for'em, while you play the sad, pathetic, weak little victim feeling sorry for yourself. [ Gen exhales, sharp and hoarse. Jusy shy of being a cruel laugh. ] You'd know a thing or two about being unlovable, wouldn't you?

1/2

[salvageable]

[ There's a loud roaring in his head, a ringing in his ears, the telltale signs that he's slipping into one of his crippling panic attacks. Breathing grows harder, each breath a rasp as if he can't get enough, like there's something in his throat blocking the way. He tries to keep afloat but every word uttered out of that poisonous mouth of Gen's only serves to weigh him down, sinking him even further into the depths of his darkest thoughts. All of it hits too close to home, every reminder of how much of a burden he is striking dead center into an already poorly pieced together heart.

There it is. Dokja's single greatest weakness is the guilt he wears of the countless lives he's ruined. Entire worlds he's destroyed, loved ones who had suffered, perished, for his sake and his sake only. For his entertainment, for his wretched survival. The cost had been too great and not at all equivalent to what he was worth.

He will never be able to atone for everything that he's done, and the painful reminder that comes now serves as a devastating blow to a man already clinging to the last shreds of his sanity. He needs to shut this boy up. He needs to pull that tongue from his mouth, tear out his throat, anything to make it stop.

Without warning, he lurches forward and grabs the front of Gen's shirt to yank him forward, jostling the table to the point where silverware, plates, and cups topple off the sides and clatter and crash to the floor below. Dokja is only distantly aware of the other patrons shouting and yelling in surprise, insignificant pieces of a background that they are, all of his focus narrowed down to the boy held in front of him, and he draws back his other hand now covered entirely in white fur with claws replacing nails. ]

[salvageable]

[ —And then he stops.

Just past Gen's shoulder, he sees him. Ernesto. Staring inside the restaurant. Dokja stares back, his bright yellow eyes widened in surprise, hand still held in the air, and it's then that the noises around him start to filter back in. People panicking, hurried footsteps as they try to leave, voices calling for him to stop. For someone to stop him.

Ah...

Shit.

He releases his hold on Gen and takes a step back. Then another. The white fur recedes, yellow eyes returning to black. It wasn't... supposed to get this far. ]

[epiprocta]

[ The damaged tabletop groans under the sudden impact, spilling silverware and sending a plate shattering on the floortiles; Gen's sandwich, still-untouched, almost lands on their neighboring table with how roughly it's flung aside. And as Gen feels the fabric of his shirt dig into his shoulders and the back of his throat, cloth fibers fraying beneath the taut pull of Dokja's fingers, adrenaline surges hot through his veins.

Some corner of his mind crackles with worry -- how will it affect Amos' discussions with the Machining Guild if he ends up in a fight with Dokja here, he wonders. But it's so hard to heed that whisper of caution when he's faced by Dokja's arm reeled back, claws gleaming in the lighting, aimed right for his face. His shoulders tense as he steels himself for a blow, even as his own hand jerks back, prepared to rip the ground out from under Dokja and topple him off his feet; he has to hope that whatever slash Dokja manages to land on him doesn't blind or kill him outright. His mind races as he tries to think of the best course of action, how to fight back, how Eustace had taught him to defend himself, how to quickly end this confrontation.



-- so it's almost a little disappointing when Dokja suddenly freezes.

His posture's still ratcheted tight with tension even as Dokja lets go and staggers back; the crumpled fabric of his shirt slowly sinks back into place against his chest. And though Gen's breath comes just a little faster from how quickly his pulse is pounding in his chest ... somehow, he manages to retain some semblance of calm.

It helps that Dokja's wearing that stupid look of shock as his eyes lose their gold gleam. A clear sign that Gen still has the upper hand in this confrontation. And he's not about to blow it, not when the stakes are so high. ]

... hey. Calm down now, will you. [ Gen's voice is still a little tight when he finally offers that empty comment, and he clears his throat before continuing. ] What's gotten you all worked up? ... sorry about that. I'll cover the costs of all the damage.

[ That last bit's directed at the waiter who'd nervously drawn a few steps closer; Gen stands and digs through his pockets to pull out a pouch of jools, withdrawing a generous handful without looking and placing them on the damaged tabletop. It should be more than enough to cover the costs, with a generous tip on top. And Gen waits to make sure the waiter gives a small nod in acknowledgement before looking to Dokja.

There's a dark, knowing gleam in his eyes. The look of smug superiority, even as he feigns amicability with his next words: ] Come on, don't go causing trouble for these people.

[ He's speaking louder, now. Nothing grating or violent, but just loud enough for the tables around them to overhear. Because he knows very well that gossip and public perception are factors that can never be ignored. If Dokja is so determined to start shit with him, well ... then he'll make sure Dokja can't ever be comfortable in Godsblood, either, not with how obviously unsettled he is by the eyes of others falling upon him. Casual as anything, he steps around the table, just close enough to give Dokja a 'friendly' clap to the shoulder. ]

I know you don't like me much, but -- we're working for the same cause, here. Let's get along as fellow Aions, yeah?

[goldendeceiver]

[ The game was already up the minute Dokja lost his cool like that and showed off his powers. While there are a number of people in Horos who have animal features like what Ernesto is rocking, those are steady features that don't just pop in and out of existence as the person wills it. At least, everyone that Ernesto has met hasn't shown that particular ability, and the fact that Dokja decided to showcase this skill while sitting with a known Kenoma.

... It's over.

And then to drive the nail home, Gen lands a pretty devastating blow. If there was any chance of Dokja denying being an Aion, it's up in smoke now. The two of them were eating together, and while Ernesto doesn't know for how long, there's already a danger in associating with a Kenoma and not playing stupid like you don't know them.

He closes his eyes for a second, ears and tail hanging low as he tries to decide what his best move is here. If he tries to step in now then he just outs himself as an Aion too, and people have already been a little suspicious since he started peddling spice. When he first arrived he was rooming with Dokja for awhile too, and during the festival they'd even "teamed up" to make a little cash off of people's fondness for Ernesto's ears.

People didn't know either of them then though, and while Ernesto stands out, if he's being really ungenerous but honest, Dokja doesn't. There's easy plausible deniability in knowing this man if he decides. People probably won't even trace Dokja back to him, because this is probably the first big move Dokja made to really make himself stand out in Godsblood.

It doesn't feel good, but Dokja fucked himself over with this one.

Opening his eyes again, Ernesto gives Dokja one pitying look, before he lets the frantically fleeing crowd drag him along out of view. He won't go far. He doesn't want this to get bloody, and if he absolutely has to he'll step back in. He's not going to let Dokja die, no matter how stupid Dokja is being right now.

But it's for his best interest, and honestly all of Pleroma's best interest, if he doesn't get involved in this one. ]

[salvageable]

[ It's pathetic how Dokja just stands there, motionless, arms limp by his sides as he continues staring at Ernesto, waiting to see what the other man will do. Gen, the patrons of the restaurant, the exchange happening with the waiter, all of it fades away into the background for one horrible moment as the static in his ears becomes deafening. Dokja's been caught in a lie, but more than that, he's shown how much of a liability he is.

"—still taking advantage of the people here nice enough to keep an eye out for you. Wasting their time and energy. Only ever making things worse for'em..."

He's proven every single bit of it true.

It's the clap on his shoulder that yanks him out of his daze, and Dokja turns his head to slowly face Gen, barely registering the words coming out of the boy's mouth, an eerie darkness in his distant gaze before they shift to meet the faces of the people staring at him. Too many eyes. On him. Just like from when they'd haunted him from his earlier days, hands reaching out to grab his frail, bruised arms, pushing cameras into his face, asking him what it was like to have a murderer as a mother and if he missed his wretched father. Instinctively, Dokja tries to curl in on himself, tries to block out the fearful looks, the way people speak in hushed tones and point their fingers at him. But it's too much.

He could kill them all.

It's a thought jostled loose by a mind teetering on the edge, and he thinks about it for longer than he should. He's been revealed as an Aion, and with the way Gen phrases it, these people will think they're on the same side. Would it really be that bad to wipe this restaurant out, then? It'll have a cataclysmic effect on the Kenoma at least, from witnesses looking in from the outside.

... And it would worsen things for the Pleroma who aren't prepared... When Dokja turns back to see if Ernesto is still there and finds the familiar face gone, he makes up his mind. He's done enough damage.

Without a word, without so much of an acknowledgement or indication that he's heard Gen, Dokja shrugs the hand off his shoulder and makes his way out, stumbling as he does so. There's a disturbing quiet surrounding him, like he's shut himself down to prevent this disaster from reaching new heights, and he needs to make himself scarce. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Again, that look. That blank look, staring past him at nothing in particular, like he's lost to the world. A look that makes fury burn cold in the pit of his stomach. Gen's gaze does harden when he sees that stupid, detached expression Dokja wears, he lets his hand be shrugged off without any protest. He slowly withdraws it to hang loose at his side, and even if Dokja doesn't notice it, Gen's stare fixes hard and sharp on the slumped line of his shoulders.

It stays fixed, frigid and focused, even as Dokja beats a pathetic retreat like a dog scampering off with its tail hanging limp, too worn-down to even tuck it between its legs.

Was it a wise decision, declaring Dokja as a Kenoma-aligned Aion in a place like this, potentially drawing attention to himself and risking staining the Kenoma's reputation if Dokja does something stupid? Probably not. But he can't bring himself to think that far ahead at the moment. All Gen wants in this moment is for Dokja -- with all his apparent fear of being talked about by others, of being stared at and seen -- to feel the same unease and fear that he's had directed his way during his entire stay in this city. See how Dokja, with his paper-thin mental fortitude, feels with the entire city's eyes directed his way.

Kim Dokja will never understand what he's been through. Would have never been able to endure what he has since as far back as he can remember. And while Gen knows he's already gone further than he probably should have ... this, he cannot resist. Forcing Dokja to endure even the tiniest fraction of what he's always had to tolerate.

His contemptuous stare remains nailed on Dokja's back for a few moments longer before he drags it away so he can turn to the waiter and offer another apology. A few more jools will smooth this all over for himself, he thinks.

But Kim Dokja can rot and cower before Godsblood contempt for as long as he lives, for all he cares. ]