EVENT #5: SOVEREIGN CITIZENS (VENERA)

[aionmods]

Sovereign Citizens

VENERA

In contrast the Aion's last visit, they now arrive in Venera on a completely average day... or so it seems. Unlike Godsblood, Venera has been given no warning as to what's about to befall it; the Kenoma are simply authorized to arrive and begin their bloody work without fanfare. Even their entourage of Achamite soldier don't stick out that much; in the time since the plague left, the city has refilled with occupying forces. Notably, the Hylician ones seem to be keeping out of the way, almost as if they've heard some things and would rather not be involved too closely in what's to come.

As opposed to the ghost town it was during the plague, Venera is now reasonably active, with most attending to their usual business. Shops are open, and its people are withdrawn but superficially friendly when meeting strangers. Initially, the targets of the Kenoma hit list will have no way of knowing what's coming for them, but after the first couple attacks word will begin to spread. Those that have recently been engaging in seditious behavior will become harder to find, leaving their usual homes and workplaces to stay elsewhere, and making other attempts to escape the Regent's attention.

Once those alerts have been raised, the Kenoma will have to engage in more detective work to find their targets, questioning other Venerans and seeking out fugitives in the homes of their family and friends. In the meantime, some of those who believe they are in danger may become desperately enough to seek out the Pleroma directly, imploring them for aid. Unfortunately, seeking out one sect may just as easily draw the attention of the other. Most uninvolved Venerans will be too terrified to intervene one way or another, reluctant to aid in the persecution of their neighbors but fearful of consequences. If your Aion travels openly, it will take some effort to pin them down long enough to hold a conversation.

SEEDS OF DESPAIR

Several days into the culling of Venera, the Aions will have witnessed the city gradually withdraw into itself. The streets become vacant as more and more people decide it isn't worth the risk to be seen outside, abandoning work and play alike to hide out in their homes, refusing to answer their doors to all except the most desperate pleading. Those that can't avoid their daily obligations are quiet and morose, trying their best to remain unseen and unremarked upon.

If your character has been observed as a Kenoma, either now or in their previous visits to the city, the citizens will look upon them as if they are the messengers of death. If you are seen as a Pleroma, they will resist your gaze, as if fearing your presence alone might leave them marked. In rarer cases, you will see those with stronger spirits, with glares of hatred or determination. They are powerless now, but seeds have been sewn, and whether they are the seeds of despair or of action are yet unclear.

By the time the Kenoma's hit list has been fully addressed, several have been killed and several more have been rushed from their homes to flee the city entirely. There have been holes left in the tapestry of the community they were once part of. One way or another, their absence will be felt keenly by those they left behind.

QUESTIONS

What is the best way for Aions to travel to Venera?
Estinien has plans to get an early start for the Pleroma by teleporting to the Lover's shrine and flying somewhere closer to set up a portal from the ocean caves near the Godsblood Lodestone to a spot of farmland closer to Venera. Paul will be setting up a portal directly from Achamoth to one of the Achamite outposts in Venera.

How much force can the Kenoma use while interrogating Venerans?
While they are generally not permitted to kill Venerans who haven't tried to physically fight them, they will be permitted to apply both physical and mental pressure upon those that refuse to provide them with information regarding the whereabouts of their targets. This duress should be proportional to the resistance the Veneran is offering. The Regent is not inviting them to terrorize Venera on a level to a level they cannot reasonably blaim themselves for.

Comments

matt jamison | kenoma | visionary

[semicharmed]

[ NOTES: As of this thread (cw: gore, amputation), Matt is missing his left hand and has gained corresponding creepy powers. Some starters will be added below this comment, so if you don't see one for you/thought I was doing it, let me know!

If you have questions or want to plan a thread we didn't talk about, PM this journal or message/add artistformerlyknownas. Brackets or prose both fine! ]

i. prelude (cw: limb loss and accompanying emotional distress)
[ Things Matt thought about before sacrificing his hand in the cavern included:

The pain involved

How much it would hurt him to only touch people half as well for the rest of his life

The fact that the rest of his life, if all goes well, won't be long

The devastation the Innocence entity caused

The taste of casting that scrying spell with Xishen: the heavens splitting open above them, a roiling eternity below. Its lightning bolt of purpose, of clarity--piercing vision like the plunge below a frozen lake.

The chance, however faint, of having that again

What he didn't think about includes cutting food, putting on clothes, how to wash his remaining hand. What it would feel like to wake up in the middle of the night convinced his hand is still there, and that it hurts.

So this has been a period of adjustment. It helps that Matt has powers of levitation (and, like, a personal servant), but he's never had to rely on either before. Using so much magic makes him tired; his pockets are always stuffed with herbs and chalk now, to amp up his casting and relieve some of the stress on his body. Having somebody around to physically assist him with things like getting dressed brings its own exhaustion: a constant swirl of embarrassment, guilt, and paradoxical resentment.

His fellow residents of the Citadel haven't seen much of him this Soviseri. ]

ii. first days
[ A bullshit secret policing mission is the last thing Matt needs right now. It doesn't help that the Regent is being stunningly cavalier about the whole thing. Their address was heavy on fealty and fighting, light on even sideways mentions of their ultimate purpose.

Matt leaves his retainer at the Citadel–"I'll be fine for a few days"--and stuffs his satchel with spell components, a change of clothes, and a few bottles of liquor with a flask. He wears extra-long sleeves in an attempt to disguise the stump at the end of his left arm, and tries to pass through Paul's portal without being noticed. ]

a. stakeout (liem)
[ The first name on the list he's given is, evidently, a local merchant. Matt doesn't know how he ends up with Liem for this misadventure–it may be that everyone else mobilized more quickly, and they were the last ones left stumbling and unsure.

But he does know that he's not prepared to spend time with another person without drinking. So as he approaches Liem, it's flask-first, the silver shining in his upraised right hand. His internal balance of pride to secrecy is honed such that he doesn't hide his stump behind his back or anything, but he's definitely hoping Liem gets distracted by the flask. ]

Don't worry, I brought enough for everybody. [ A pause. ] And ah, actually, I know a spell that can turn us invisible, if we think we need it.

b. teenage dirtbag (gen)
[ A few days into their Veneran adventure, Matt has determined that this one is actually worse than last time. Not because of his personal role in any fascism (yet), but because of how locals react to his lack-of-hand. Some do a double take or stare. Some start to treat him with solicitous over-kindness. A few even pull back, as if they're afraid what he's lost is contagious. He can see the words what happened in the mouths of everyone he meets. Add unpredictable surges of phantom pain, and it'd be hard to carry out the tasks he's been assigned even if he wanted to.

Around noon, he pauses below a faded mural to juggle his list with a map of the city, the latter of which is floating in front of him as he hangs onto the list with his right hand. Past the side of the map, he spots a familiar face. It's another Kenoma, a guy Matt's seen but never talked to.

Matt isn't sure what level of enthusiasm for secret policing he should try to project here. But since he's pretty sure the guy has seen him, he can't not do anything.

After way too long a pause, he offers a nod. ]

iii. later days - get in loser we're going kidnapping (paul, m)
[ The streets are so quiet now.

Not a peaceful quiet–more like smothered with a pillow quiet. Sometimes when Matt closes his eyes, the space behind them fills with feathers. He tries to tell himself it's left over from the scry with Xishen, some form of PTSD or psychic hangover; but in his gut, he knows the connection is more mundane.

He still has a list of names, most of them uncrossed-out. As of right now–breakfast time at the inn he's made his base of operations–the list is pinned beneath his plate, names obscured by the scatter of his utensils. Matt's left arm is in his lap, held close against his body; his right holds a mug of coffee. A spoon stirs itself in the mug, then withdraws and clatters onto his plate.

He's going, okay? He just needs caffeine first. ]

II-A

[sterngaze]

[Shuttered unhappiness weighs on Liem as the Kenoma aions receive the list of names they’re to hunt down and make examples of. His expression is distant, and his manner distracted as people disperse to their various objectives; his attention is focused inward in a way it’s increasingly been for days now, since the Regent’s address. Although the sombre look on his face is very usual for him, the air of inattention is not.

The moment Matt proffers his flask is the first moment that Liem looks at him—really looks at him—since before they departed from the Citadel. His eyes go first to the shining silver, and he dredges himself from his thoughts, regarding Matt with the polite society smile that he’s long since learned to adopt when caught off-guard in social situations.]

You came prepared. I wouldn’t have thought to…

[His pleasantry trails off, leaving a conspicuous lull in his speech as his eyes flick over Matt’s person. The hastily erected smile falters.]

… To bring drinks.

[He can't keep the stricken look from his eyes as he scans their surroundings for an quiet place from which they might keep an eye on their current target. It should be simple to grab them unobtrusively once they're heading home from market, but he knows better than to spend the intervening time standing in the street. Liem gestures mechanically to a narrow staircase scaling the side of a nearby store. Crowning the building appears to be a modest rooftop garden.]

The vantage from the roof should be sufficient, don't you think?

[semicharmed]

[ Never mind, Matt isn't ready to interact with other people yet. He's feeling way too many feelings right now. Embarrassment. Anger. A weird sense of having failed Liem somehow, even though they don't really know each other? He also can't help remembering that daydream where he rubbed Liem's back with balm, and feels an incredibly stupid pang of insecurity because it's not like he's going to be called on to rub his back with balm again, but if he were for some reason, he'd only be half as good at it.

More insidiously, perhaps, he can't help a glimmer of pleasure watching Liem's smile fall away. It wasn't real--and Matt is only interested in reality. ]

From the roof, [ he repeats, the idea seeming entirely novel to him. ] Yes, yeah, that should be perfect.

After you.

[sterngaze]

[To his credit, Liem doesn’t stare. The loss of a hand, a limb, an ear, an eye—this isn’t anything he hasn’t seen dozens of times over a lifetime of servicing poverty-stricken villages and delving into Oppara’s seedier districts. Sometimes he’s seen similar among the upper classes as well, among those who have served in Taldor’s extensive military. He pauses briefly when Matt answers, fending off the urge to ask what happened—then simply murmurs his assent and heads for the staircase he’d indicated.

But the air about him feels inescapably heavy as he leads the way up, making their climb seem interminable. As he trudges automatically up the steps, he can’t help but wonder, what is the point? Why is he even here, helping a tyrant tighten their grip on power while those whose worlds they destroyed bleed themselves dry for a dream and a promise? When he’d first followed Matt back to the Citadel, he hadn’t really believed he could save the world—he’d just wanted to save a single person. But the longer he stays here, the more even that hope seems beyond him.

He scans the roof automatically when they finally reach the top, spying nothing aside from the flowerbeds and a few humble trees and bushes. For the time being, they’re alone.]

We don’t have to discuss it if you don’t want to. [He looks quietly, steadily back at Matt.] But we are going to be here for quite a while.

[semicharmed]

[ Matt, for his part, watches the line of Liem's spine as they ascend, the taut pull of his shoulders. All the more reason to believe that his daydream truly did happen, however any of those communion hazes can be said to have "happened." Matt doesn't think his subconscious has the restraint to dream up a lover who's quite so slow to relax.

As they emerge onto the roof, Matt eyes the greenery with professional herbalist interest. Then his gaze slides to Liem's face.

Despite the fact that he started off this day crying and feeling sorry for himself, when Liem speaks so softly and so kindly, Matt immediately rolls his eyes. ]

Oh my God. [ He takes a pull from the flask, then strides forward and offers it to Liem. ] If we're discussing this, then you're drinking.

III.

[affal]

( as the days wear on and venera once again draws up its dreadful pall before waiting for the storm to pass, makoto can't help but remark inwardly on the flexible approach with which the Regent addresses controlling their territories. perhaps in literature orwell and huxley might have disagreed with how an autocrat might exorcise complete power, but within the leader at the helm of achamoth there was no such contradiction. the capitol was kept in sway by continuously fanning the flames of religious zealotry, its fever pitch maintained by the exclusivity of their status and luxurious lifestyles — those which they would fight to defend as they attempted to steady the course until the universe's inexorable slouch into dissolution. he might never have seen the glory of venera in its heyday, but at every street corner he had been able to tell that he stood among the bones of a once-great city, its corpse animated for the purposes and benefit of a distant overlord. in a way, it's almost elegant. makoto has never had any interest in ruling over peoples — not when control over specific individuals was so much more thrilling and personal — but he can pay witness to the artistry inherent in tyranny just as he can do the same for the craftsmanship inherent in the politically toothless art displayed around town.

the reason for makoto's presence in the inn this quiet morning was simple: he'd ascertained earlier in the week that this was where matt was making a habit of staying, and he'd kept very loose tabs on him since, as one might do on an animal that might make a break for it any moment. that might not be the case, but... he very much gets the sense that any lack of forward progress in hunting down the marks had less to do with poor luck and more to do with pulled punches.

if that's the case, he might just need the proper encouragement. )

Ah, Matt. Good morning.

( said in a bright and buoyant tone of voice as the slight figure of the young man slips into the chair across from him — a voice that might be familiar, even if the individual is somewhat less so. makoto has been cycling through a small number of disguise glamours throughout the week, but the one he wears now is the easiest for one to wear since it simply most resembles how he looked when he was still human. clad in plain (and somewhat dusty-looking) work clothes, with his dark hair shorn short and the disfiguring scar ringing his neck erased by illusion, he looks for all the world like a young veneran apprentice out on errands for his master before the work day began in earnest.

his dark eyes fall to the paper mostly hidden by a plate and utensils before flicking back upwards to matt's face; the darkness of the intent within his gaze is perhaps the only thing that undermines his disguise. )

Preparing for the day, I see. ( the words may sound benign, but the sly smile says otherwise. )

[semicharmed]

[ That voice is familiar.

Matt frowns as his gaze snaps to the person across from him. The shape isn't one he knows, and he can't see a shard anywhere. But then again, this guy knows his name. And there is something he recognizes in the stranger's gaze--or imagines he does.

He doesn't much like the insinuating curve to that smile. Matt normally doesn't mind when people look like they know something he doesn't, but this week, it feels like what he doesn't know just might kill him. Functional immortality be damned. ]

Just having breakfast, [ he replies, gaze flicking from the stranger's face to his hands. ] You know. Fuel the body, fuel the mind.

[affal]

( it's been a while, hasn't it?

the young man that's slid into the chair opposite matt has made it clear that he doesn't intend on staying there long. he sits in the chair sideways, once of his arms slung over its back and the other resting with his elbow on the table. his chin rests on an upturned palm, and one slender forefinger taps out a very slow, regular beat as he watches matt's expression with a reptilian sort of calculation playing out in his eyes. )

Yes, of course. And it's just as well, because you'll need to be prepared.

( as he speaks, his attention has drifted out over the room, taking into account each other individual in the room. he'd started doing so largely out of force of habit, but he also judges their distance and chooses his words to suit. he straightens up, forearm lying flat on the table, and he returns his gaze to matt. )

I was thinking we could work together today. I have something I need some help with.

[semicharmed]

[ It would be maudlin, though somewhat accurate, to say that Matt's gaze drifts to follow Makoto's fingers because of his recent misadventure. What's more accurate is that he's always been like this. He's always been interested in the way other people move, the way they sit and walk and arrange themselves. The tap, tap, tap strikes up a metronome in his mind, as if setting a rhythm Matt will have to follow.

His eyebrows arch. ]

You were? [ when is a good time to admit he doesnt know who he is ] Well ... I try to be helpful where I can. [ Or at least not actively detrimental, as per Regent instruction. Matt lifts his mug for a pull of coffee. ] And before this goes any further, remind me of your name?

II-b

[epiprocta]

[ And that milquetoast nod is answered with -- a click of the tongue and a slightly wrinkled nose. ]

What, you too good to just hold the damn thing?

[ He'd mostly come to this area in search of someplace quiet to try and organize his thoughts, and he's admittedly not that pleased about running into another Kenoma. Especially one he doesn't even know well. So of course Gen bristles in typical petulant, teenage fashion.

At least he sounds more tired and cranky than he does actively hostile; despite his aggressive choice of words, his gaze doesn't linger on Matt for long before he simply snatches the map out of the air. His other hand, he occupies retrieving a cigarette from his pocket, distractedly parking it between his lips as he looks the map over. ]

... you making any progress?

[ His voice is low when he speaks again, his gaze flickering up from the map to scrutinize Matt. Looking to gauge his reaction. ]

[semicharmed]

[ This is honestly the wildest interaction Matt's had in weeks, if not months, and it's only just started. You too good to just hold the damn thing ricochets through his mind like a silver ball navigating a pinball machine--bouncing off insecurities and griefs, swirling around some unexamined abelism, passing through a tunnel of scarlet pain and unraveling and a voice demanding begone--

Matt ends up laughing. Not loud or long, in the grand scheme of things, but longer and louder than he expects to. He can't even bring himself to resist his map being grabbed away, though the fingers of his right hand tighten reflexively around his list.

(The fingers of his left hand want to tighten too. But of course, they no longer exist.) ]

Um, [ Matt says, mouth twitching up at the corners, ] I mean, define progress.

[ He sobers most of the way up in short order. This person seems to be assessing him, and Matt can never tell whether he's being assessed for insufficient loyalty to the secret-policing agenda, or a surfeit of it. His own expression grows searching. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Matt laughs, and Gen looks at him like he's looking at a crazy person. Which he's kind of assuming Matt is, now.

Eyes narrowed dubiously, brow lowered to a scowl and mouth a hard slash, Gen simply studies him in silence for a moment -- and barely waits for Matt to catch his breath after that laughter before stepping forth and shoving the map back into his chest. Not hard enough to knock him over, but definitely hard enough to force him back a half-step. ]

Having a good time, aren't you.

[ His words are a low growl, guttural, almost threatening, but rather undermined by the hoarse, weary edge to his voice. Gen looks away afterwards with a sullen huff, fishing through his pocket for his lighter. ]

And what do you think I mean by progress. We're not asking these people out on dates, are we, smartass?

[semicharmed]

--Ah, [ Matt exclaims, staggering backward as the shove lands. His eyes widen abruptly; his brittle amusement evaporates. In its wake, fear and anger flicker for dominance. He's too upset to really process the tiredness in Gen's demeanor, especially preoccupied with scrabbling to hang onto both map and list of names in only one hand, but something manages to penetrate. Maybe it's the way this guy looks away after pushing him, a far cry from the sneering, alpha-male eye contact Matt associates with random aggression.

Fuck, what did he expect from his side? ]

Are you this charming to all your coworkers?

[ It's a question designed to come out snarky and devil-may-care, but Matt sounds awfully sober. He displays the stump of his left hand, wrapped in black strips of cloth. ]

I am not "too good" to hold the map. I'm working with what I have. [ A pause, then: ] And for the record, no. This is my first time giving extrajudicial kidnapping a whirl; I've had limited success so far.

@pinkeyed - after the first few days (cw: some more gory stuff)

[semicharmed]

[ Matt had an exceptionally poor night's sleep. That would've been fine--"Aion," "functionally immortal," etc., etc.--except his hand was fucking killing him the whole time. Or rather, his lack of hand. His lacuna. The spot his brain keeps sending electric impulse to, only for the neurotransmitters to lemming themselves off the cliff of his fucking stump. He falls into a layer cake dream where his hand is back, then gone upon waking, then back and gone again in a variety of idiosyncratic ways: put through a meat grinder, pulled off like the hand of a mannequin, crushed between rocks in the ocean. The whole time, his vanished fingers hurt.

The news is worse when he wakes up, because a new name has been added to the Kenomas' list. And unlike the ones Matt's seen previously, this one is familiar.

Of all the people he'd expect to attract the attention of the Regent, she isn't one of them. She's a fucking sculptor. What could she have done? In a brief flutter of paranoia, Matt wonders if she's on the list just because she hosted him (and Thoma, and Kaeya). That's probably not true, but like ... what the fuck is?

He skips breakfast entirely, grabbing his mug of coffee and straight-up walking out of the inn with it. He doesn't need to check his map; he knows where to find her workshop. Matt rounds the familiar corner and approaches the storefront, which he can tell from some yards off is empty. Drawing closer only cements that impression. No one is visible through the front window, and no sound comes from within.

He can't knock on the door and hold onto his coffee, so with a frustrated huff, Matt focuses his mind and his breathing for the moments it takes to suspend the mug in midair. His now-free hand raps on the sturdy wood. ]

Flora?

[zauneyete]

[ The list was... the list. Silco wasn't worried about the people who were on it, beyond the fact that they were in some form or fashion, trying to make a stand. Silco didn't bother trying to wonder why someone was on the list, beyond how it worked into his knowledge of the targets. This one, it appeared, had allowed some revolutionaries to use her art space. Small-scale, he supposed, but he'd been present, when they stopped by the place, and invisibly watched her take down the hall. Plausible deniability only went so far.

And it never went far enough when one's kilns were clearly in use. So, she would be taken care of, and Silco had been by waiting for her to come back, after the last group had stopped by. He'd been invisible in the studio, waiting, sitting in a seat and observing. When someone knocked on the door he tipped his head, and then he heard... Matt's voice. He knew her by name, did he?

He smirked, and stood, to open the door, only turned the handle, and allowed it to slowly creak open, before he appeared in the middle of the room, a touch of dramatic flourish, now that it was one of their own. Supposedly.

He smirked. ]

Expecting someone else to be here?

[semicharmed]

[ You would think that someone who could turn invisible would be more attuned to when other people were doing it. But Matt had never been good at detecting magical auras. One energy always seemed to flow into another to him.

So he had no idea Silco was here until the moment he revealed himself. Matt staggered back a half-step, and though he didn't yelp or make any similarly embarrassing sound, his breath caught painfully. ]

Jesus, [ he protested. His gaze flicked from corner to corner of the small storefront. No sculptures had been smashed or disturbed, and the door to Flora's workshop, where her kilns stood, was decorously closed. ]

Nice to see you, [ he added, in a decidedly lackluster tone. ] I didn't know you could do that.

even later days wildcard;

[emblazer]

[ Sometime while Thoma is boredly sitting in his cell in Venera, he does try and pass the long hours by sticking his head as much as he can through the barred windows or the barred doors, hoping to catch anyone strolling by –mostly anyone familiar. At first, he doesn't quite recognize Matt simply because Matt is missing an appendage now, but the closer Matt meanders into view, the better Thoma can pick up the other more familiar features, namely his face and general build. While this is not how he intended their reunion to go, he's feeling a little desperate at the moment, so once Matt is in earshot, he may pick up a quiet noise– ]

Psst. Over here. Is that really you?

[ In spite of his present circumstances, Thoma does try and keep a friendly disposition. He's also standing on his toes so his head could stick slightly out of the very small, very high window. ]

Did I catch you at a bad time with your... uh, your hand?

[ Did one of their own do that? ]

[semicharmed]

[ Matt doesn't have any business around the holding cells and "courtrooms" today. He has no prisoners to turn over, and nobody's figured out yet that they could ask him for assistance with interrogations. But he feels an obscure obligation to be a witness to the proceedings. After all, he accepted the Kenoma because he didn't want to deny ugly truths. And maybe there's a piece of him, just a sliver, that's hoping he'll see something that will make all of this make some kind of sense. A justification.

The hailing hiss pulls him from his reverie. ]

Thoma? [ If he lets did I catch you at a bad time sink in, he'll start laughing too wildly to stop, so it glides right by him. Matt approaches the tiny window with a look of bewilderment. ] What are you doing in there?

[emblazer]

Funny story, that... [ He chuckles, looking a little embarrassed like he'd committed a social gaff as opposed to impeding several arrests. ]

It was another Aion that put me here. We had a disagreement.

[ A pretty big disagreement. Thoma had barely survived the literal shock that their battle had spurned, and he's still feeling singed hours later. Or has it been a day already? Maybe two days... honestly, the boredom might kill him before the Regent does. ]

Your turn. What happened to you?

[ He's not going to let the missing hand go yet. Matt had two perfectly good ones last he remembers. ]

@tohell - about halfway through the secret policing timeline

[semicharmed]

[ Safely back at the inn for the evening, Matt locks the door and starts a bath.

He's taken advantage of the abundant local greenery to pick up fresh herbs and flowers from the market. Once hot water has been poured into the tub, he adds lavender for peace, healing, and better sleep; rosemary for more healing; garden mint and salt to shore up the prayer. Though these days, he's not sure exactly who he's praying to. Maybe whatever has his hand. Matt plucks a sprig of lavender from the water and summons fire until the wet blossoms dry, then char, then burn to ash.

He comes downstairs with his hair still damp, and a disoriented sense that there's too many people here. The group of soldiers by the fireside clang their pints like gongs, laughing too loud. The barmaids whirl through the room, wielding their serving trays like discuses. Matt feels like if he steps wrong, one could take his head clean off.

He hovers on the stairs, stymied. An anxious piece of his mind plucks psychically at the compression garment wrapped around the stump at his left wrist. It unwinds itself, then slowly begins to re-wind. Matt's mind tugs the strip of black fabric tighter and tighter. ]

[tohell]

[ Regardless of what his companion may say on the matter, J isn't the type to keep his ward on a short leash. Enough of Makoto's agency has already been stripped away by the wear and tear necessitated by Hell's rules. Molding him into something that first could survive then later thrive in a place that had seen a thousand of his predecessors driven mad. So he allows their partnership the breathing room Makoto has grown used to in the years spent garnering favorable connections with Hell's upper crust and then later investigating his master's past. They're both independent enough that J doesn't need to oversee the other man's arrangements for the night, and focuses instead on his own somewhat hedonistic preferences for comfort. Another notch in his constant string of indulgences to make up for a lack of them in his most formative years.

As Matt struggles to take the plunge and join the raucous crowd digging into steaming pies and fresh ale, J catches sight of his fellow Kenoma as he wanders in past the entryway. A familiar face who ought to be on a mission, but instead looks in the midst of going through his own personal dilemma. Like many a demon from his world, J lacks the compunctions that might lead others to skirt another to spare them the added humiliation of a confrontation. If anything, it's blood in the water that lures him to stride right up to the banister of Matt's occupied staircase. One hand perched neatly upon a hip, J leans against the railing with an uptick of brows and the expectation of a cordial greeting in response to the one he initiates. ] Fancy meeting you here, Matt.

Seems it truly is a small world after all. [ While the Kenoma have been given marching orders, it isn't as though their whole fleet has been kettled into one place. Plenty have been sent to Godsblood, and those focused here are scattered across the city at large. There's more than one inn within the city limits to settle into tonight, while some of the more diehard types might not even risk the luxury while on the hunt. So it's rather like kismet that their paths happen to cross during a lull in the ugly business of kidnapping and imprisoning a few unlucky locals. ] Are you among those of us who've flocked to this quaint establishment by rumors of the chef's legendary cuisine? I've heard it rivals even the finest of Venera's restaurants.

[semicharmed]

[ J has strode into this building in a perfectly ordinary way, but to Matt's disoriented gaze, he may as well have popped in from the ether. He blinks, startled out of his paralysis; the strips of cloth around his arm freeze, then drop as he loses focus on the magic that animated them. They dangle slackly from the stump of his wrist.

Recognizing J, Matt smiles. He's uneasy seeing most people on principle right now, but a piece of him is also genuinely pleased. ]

Hey, [ he says. ] Uh, I didn't know anything about this place's reputation when I decided to stay here. I just liked the look of it.

But the food I've had is good. [ He takes a step down the stairs, slightly closer to the banister where J leans. His general bearing resembles a bird thinking about touching down. ] Is that why you're here? For dinner?

III.

[vivificantem]

[Paul's gotten a little more used to operating during the daytime, since he's been here; sometimes it can't be avoided, and as long as he avoids direct skin contact with sunlight it's...less agonizing, anyway. Less directly incendiary, at the least, which is the main point. He can deal with the rest once he's back with his retainer.

Indoors is at least an acceptable way to start the day, even if they're going to have to go out eventually; ideally he'd wait until nightfall, but that depends on what the day brings. It's not like he sleeps anymore, either way.

Finding Matt isn't painfully difficult; approaching him comes easily, and even if he notices something odd about his posture or his countenance in general, he isn't going to say anything about it.]

Matt. I was wondering if you'd be here.

[semicharmed]

[ At the sound of Paul's voice, Matt glances sharply up. His eyes are a little wide, a little haunted, but there's a glimmer of relief in them too.

He hasn't wanted to talk to anyone. He even tried to take Paul's portal from Achamoth without being noticed. But he's also been lonely--even lonelier than usual, with this seismic change and no one to tell. With barely any structure or schedule to distract him from the weight of it. And of everybody on this goddamn continent, Paul strikes him as someone who would understand why he did this to himself. What he hoped to gain. ]

Paul. Hey. [ His brow furrows quizzically. ] You were?

[ Matt wonders if there's something about this Veneran inn that connects to his personality in some way. Definitely it's a nicer place, with soft beds and hot baths and a talented kitchen staff, so maybe there's some "deeply urban aesthete" to be gleaned. ]

[vivificantem]

[He glances around, vaguely indicating the space.]

It seems like the sort of place you'd like.

[He can't exactly say why, but it is; he's never been good at nailing down that sort of thing, just being sort of aware that the connection exists.]

Do you mind if I join you?