[ open. ]

[epiprocta]

WHO: Gen & OTA TO KENOMA.
WHAT: Aftermath of the events of Soviseri.
WHERE: Around the Citadel.
WHEN: Late Soviseri into early/mid-Firaseri.
WARNINGS: None at the moment, will add if applicable!

i. citadel halls

[ Shortly after the Kenoma's return to Achamoth from their respective assignments (and though very few of them probably know what's coming, before the public reveal of their 'prisoners,') the Aions of the Citadel might hear some slight commotion. The sounds of an argument muffled past a door, it seems like -- though 'argument' might be a poor definition of whatever's going on, since one voice is definitely speaking far more than the other, and in a much angrier tone of voice. At least it doesn't last terribly long before there's the sound of a door being flung open, followed by the stomp of footsteps, then -- ]

I'm leaving. Don't follow me.

[ That latter bit is snarled in clear irritation, answered by a young man's meek 'Yes, sir.' Gen slams the door shut behind him as he skulks out out of his room and into the halls, giving an irritable click of the tongue. And only then realizes that he has an audience. ]

... what.

[ Gen scowls as he looks to whoever's caught him in that embarrassing little tiff with his retainer, though -- that's not necessarily the most alarming thing about him at the moment. He's clearly been having a rough go of things, face pale save the exhausted shadows under his eyes and hair a disheveled mess in desperate need of a trim. Not to mention his left sleeve, which hangs empty at his side. Though Gen reflexively tries to angle himself to keep that wounded side slightly out of view, there's really only so much he can do for such a glaring injury. ]

ii. citadel grounds

[ He can't remember the last time he got a full night's sleep. Certainly not since they'd been sent to Venera. In any case, it's starting to become routine that the unholy hours of night find Gen wandering about the halls of the Citadel, the sounds of his boots scuffing off tile cutting through the chilly silence. It's usually quiet at this time of night even with the random assortment of servants and guards that often flit past him, though he's not sure if that's a good or a bad thing. Maybe the quiet will help him rest, he thinks sometimes. But the quiet mostly ends up further muddying the turmoil of his thoughts. And given the general state of affairs around the Citadel these days, he struggles to even distract himself with familiar comforts. The lurid sights and attractions of the entertainment district just don't hold the same allure any more.

And so any other Kenoma awake in these small hours of the night might find Gen out around the Citadel grounds, the harsh black of his clothes almost melting him into the darkness. Sorry if he startles you during your peaceful nighttime rest.

a.

Bad days find him slowly trailing a meandering path down a hallway or a path outside, head ducked and hand clutching at his left shoulder. The injury itself might have been healed up, skin and flesh forcibly melded together where his limb ends short, but it still hurts sometimes. Hurts a lot. ... this is what they call phantom pain, right?

The tip of his boot catches on some uneven spot on the ground, sending him stumbling, and Gen groans as he comes to lean against something for support -- a nearby tree, a bit of fencing, whatever -- just so he can stay upright until this godawful sensation stops. Sorry not sorry if he's getting in your way.

b.

But (relatively) good days find Gen outside, staring into the middle distance -- maybe on one of the Citadel's many balconies, or out and about in the gardens. Though the heavy dark circles under his eyes indicate he's not awake at this ludicrous hour just because he's a night owl, at least he seems mostly calm, if tired.

There's the rustle of fabric as he withdraws a cigarette and his lighter, parking the former between his lips and flicking on the latter with a practice swipe of the thumb. Too bad the night air is cold, and the weather refuses to permit him even that small vice; turns out lighting a cigarette in anything but the calmest air is hard when you don't have an extra hand to shield that tiny fire. The lighter's flame sputters and dies once, twice in the face of a stiff breeze, and Gen huffs an irritated noise to himself. ]

Hey. [ Then, realizing he has company, he turns to whoever else might be up at this ridiculous hour. And, barely giving them the chance to respond to his brusque greeting, Gen tosses his lighter their way. Better move fast. ] Do me a favor.

[ He words it like a request, but says it like a demand. Like an order. Rude. ]

iii. wildcard

[ Gen can be found skulking around the Citadel and the streets of Achamoth looking generally exhausted and out of sorts, or in the training fields in the mornings still trying to stick to his usual routine, so please feel free to assume anything else if these prompts don't work for you! Otherwise, I'm available at databomb / inktrashing#5307 for plotting purposes if you'd like to plan something! ]

Comments

for KAEYA.

[epiprocta]

[ Another sleepless night, another late-night trek through the halls of the Citadel in search of something to keep his mind occupied. This time, just for a change of pace, Gen hauls along a bottle of wine he'd nabbed from the kitchen, wondering if maybe the alcohol will at least help him sleep. (It won't.) And seeking someplace quiet where he can smoke, he ends up meandering towards one of the open-air balconies he tends to favor.

Only to find somebody already there. ]

... oh, it's you.

[ This blue-haired, eyepatched asshole. Funny. Come to think of it, this is also the place where they'd last spoken before that whole shitshow in Venera. Though this time, Gen doesn't seem so much hostile as he does weary and maybe only a little annoyed to find 'his spot' already occupied.

Whatever. He likes this spot too much to just give it up to Kaeya, and now that he's already run into the guy, might as well touch base with him, he supposes. So Gen huffs a quiet sigh before trudging across the balcony to opposite side from where Kaeya is, leaning against the railing; the night is quiet enough that his voice carries clear despite the modest distance between them. ]

You're looking better'n the last time I saw you.

[ He means their encounter in Venera, of course. Where they'd parted ways soon after that whole messy fight with Estinien. Gen only vaguely remembers catching a glimpse of Kaeya laid out so Paul could heal him, before limping off to find somewhere quiet to rest while waiting for his own turn. Thinking about it now, that whole debacle feels like it happened both a long time ago, and not long ago enough. ... but he'd rather not think about it, so Gen instead takes a swig of wine straight from the bottle. How classy. ]

[subsist]

[ it doesn't even occur to kaeya that he'd picked the same balcony where his first pack of cigarettes ever were so carelessly chucked as far as they could go. he simply followed the whims of a mischievous, familiar cat who led him all the way here, and now it's perched on the railing as thin, whispy smoke comes from the cigarette in between kaeya's lips.

he has a lot of things to process which is why he's here, suffering through yet another sleepless night, but what else is new? it would have been nice to be left alone to sort himself out but it seems fate has other plans for him tonight, and they come in the form of one prickly chainsmoking teenager.

who... happens to be drinking straight out of a wine bottle this time around? interesting. ]

Ah, yes. I'm still on the mend, but I'm mostly in one piece.

[ that's good enough for him, really. he pauses, and then he realizes something, making him gesture at the balcony he's on. ]

Sorry, did I steal your spot? Would you like it back?

[epiprocta]

[ He wrinkles his nose at that at first, wondering if maybe it's some stupid jab at his missing arm. But -- no, probably not? (At least, he tells himself it's not. He doesn't want to think about it.)

So Gen instead gives a dismissive grunt at Kaeya's question as he raises the wine bottle to his lips once more. ]

Don't care.

[ And then, after a swig of wine: ]

Good for you on making it out of that whole mess alive, though. [ That drawling statement is followed by an obnoxious lick of the lips and a pointed pause before he adds, ] So who do you think you have to thank for being in one piece, hm?

[ It's not just himself. Gen knows that. The fight against Estinien had been a truly chaotic jumble, and he knows he was just one part of it; he's proud but not delusional. But that's not the point, right now. Right now Gen just needs a distraction -- any distraction -- and having a somewhat-legitimate excuse to needle at this asshole will do just fine in that regard. ]

for EUSTACE.

[epiprocta]

[ Gen had barely waited a few days after their return from Venera before contacting Eustace and asking -- or rather, demanding -- that they resume training as usual. 'My balance feels fucked up,' was what he'd grumbled while looking aside, trying to keep his voice as flat as possible. 'Gotta get used to that shit. Who knows when more shit's going to go down.'

In truth, it's less that Gen is a diligent trainee -- because he's not, he's really not, diligent is not a word that would ever be truly fitting for him -- and more that he needs a distraction. Something to keep him from sinking into the deep quagmire of thoughts swirling about his head, exacerbated by a steady string of information that he can't escape or ignore. (The presence of prisoners that had been captured. Word of what exactly had happened in Godsblood. And then that public display.) Whatever will help him keep his thoughts away from those subjects will do. And these morning training sessions with Eustace are something he's gotten used to. They're reliable, they're exhausting, they help him completely empty his mind, and ... he'd never admit it out loud, but he's come to find some comfort in the quiet reliability of Eustace's presence. They're one of his favorite methods.

So. Early in the morning following the unsettling public debut of those prisoners, Eustace should find Gen on their usual training field. Although ... instead of stretching and pacing about restlessly as he usually does when he arrives before Eustace, this time Gen is seated on one of the fieldside benches. Clearly dozing.

At least he jolts awake with a muffled grunt the moment he hears the grit of footsteps on the field, blinking drowsily as he tries to focus his gaze on Eustace. ]

... hey.

[ His voice sounds muzzy with stubborn traces of sleep, and Gen wobbles on his feet as he hauls himself upright, scuffing a hand over his face. He's obviously been sleeping incredibly poorly as of late, but that doesn't really matter. (Did he end up walking here at the crack of dawn after speaking to Abel because there was no way he could go back to sleep? Maybe. It's fine.) ]

[lockedon]

[ He's a little surprised when Gen barges in so shortly after their mission in Venera concludes, demanding that their training resume as though he hadn't just gone through a major traumatic event with the loss of one limb.

But the reasons Gen gives are solid enough, and maybe more than that the desperation in his eyes when he asks is compelling enough that Eustace reluctantly agrees, adjusting his schedule so he can slot their sessions back in. He doesn't have it in him to deny Gen anything right now in any case, so long as his requests aren't actively detrimental to his health and well-being.

Though it seems Gen's doing well enough for himself on that front, snoozing on a bench nearby and looking, once again, like he's been put through the wringer. That dash of white still lingering in his (too-long) hair doesn't help matters either. ]

You really make it a habit of looking like shit, huh.

[ A delightfully pleasant greeting from Mr. Sunshine himself, but there's not a single ounce of judgment in his tone. There hasn't been for days now, not after everything that's happened in Venera and especially not after he'd caught sight of Abel and Himeka chained out for everyone to see.

Of course, his own lack of sleep makes him look like shit too, the smudges under his own eyes more pronounced these days. Even his hair looks more disheveled than usual, half of his morning routine chucked in the trash as he dives straight into work. They all have their own ways of coping and his has always been to drown himself in so much work that he no longer has time to think about any of his own worries.

What he still has time for, though, is a careful examination of Gen's mental and physical health, and all signs for both point to not great. While Gen probably could train just fine in his current condition, Eustace thinks it's maybe time for a break. ]

This way.

[ Instead of leading Gen onto the training field though, he heads towards the nearest exit, out of the Citadel and towards the city. ]

i. Citadel Halls

[lachtara]

[ It's pure coincidence that Emet-Selch wanders down this hall at the same time that there is muffled commotion. He continues walking with the intent of ignoring whatever is going on, until Gen makes for the hall.

The sight of him makes Emet-Selch's eyes narrow. One cannot miss the muffled look of his messy hair, the tiredness on his face, and the way his clothes fold unnaturally around his arm to indicate a lack of ligaments underneath. He can practically feel his temper rise in frustration.

Every time he sees Gen. Every time he is injured, tired, and in some state of injury. Now it has worsened to such a degree that it is painfully apparent that this boy is crumbling before his eyes. It's always the same. Why must he suffer the fate of always seeing them deteriorate around him?

Emet-Selch stomps up to Gen's side and leers down at him with a seething gaze. He points sharply at a nearby bench. With a voice of authority he has never used before on this boy he doesn't ask - he commands - that he listen. ]

Sit.

[epiprocta]

[ The thing about spending your adolescent years being considered one of the most intimidating people around is that you don't really get acclimated to being caught on the back-foot. And while Gen had already been made (well) aware of Emet's magical prowess and his stature alike -- he's still caught completely off-guard by the commanding tone of voice suddenly directed at him. A register that he's never heard Emet-Selch use before.

He flinches back visibly, shoulders tense and expression etched with caution, and there's a moment's pause before he can even think to offer a retort, his words emerging a touch halting. ]

-- the hell? What's got your panties in a twist?

[ Gen bristles because it's first instinct for him to act strong no matter the circumstances. But it's obvious he's unsettled by the hard edge in Emet-Selch's voice and the vicious stare fixed on him. Even as he offers that petulant answer, he finds himself ducking his gaze aside after a moment and retreating a step closer to the bench.

It's just that actually abiding by that demand in prompt fashion -- like some dog tucking its tail between its legs -- isn't something his (battered) pride will permit. ]

ii-b

[baltimores]

[ Plants have healing powers feels like something Prax might have said, and unable to sleep for one reason or another — his throat itches. Or at least he would just call it itching. Maybe it's more suffocating than anything else, but, whatever — Amos figures he might as well attempt a nighttime walk out in the gardens. Not like he has anywhere else to be. Not like he has anything pressing to do tomorrow. Not like it wouldn't hurt to try.

Seems he wasn't the only one with this idea— and something is being thrown at him.

Amos reflexively lifts his right hand to catch the lighter, immediately has to duck down and make the save with his left hand when it slips through his remaining fingers. Well, shit; those have been on his mind too, every single time he attempts to do something that used to be easy and now requires a more concerted effort or clever alternative, and this is just a reminder of that.

But at least he pops back up with the lighter securely in his left hand, really not any worse for the wear. That's why he's out here, anyway. To get over this moment of lowness.

Though Gen's probably lower. He peers back up at him as he ambles his way over. ]

You look like shit.

[ Said in as friendly a way as possible, because, well, he does, but also, Hi. Still, Amos switches hands and flicks the lighter on, offering it out to Gen with his left hand curled around the flame, keeping it alive. More surface area for him there. ]

[epiprocta]

[ -- the hell's wrong with Amos' hand? (And what the fuck exactly happened in Godsblood for both Misa and Amos to be in this state?)

Though he'd caught a quick glimpse of Amos' damaged hand in the midst of that odd fumble, it's only when his hands are extended cupping the lighter's flame that Gen gets a proper look at the damage wrought there. It's mostly what merits the brief pause before he grunts and leans in to dip the tip of his cigarette into that little flame. A quick inhale to get the ember to take, and he straightens back up to take a deep exhale, savoring the bitter smoke for a moment with head tipped back and eyes closed -- the familiar taste and chemical rush of it really is one of the few things keep his sanity intact these days, it feels like. ]

... yeah, I probably do.

[ It's only afterward that he offers that half-assed answer, followed by a low mutter that he'd allow very few others in Horos. ]

Thanks.

[ Gen holds his hand out to take the lighter back, but his gaze is clearly fixed on the mess of Amos' fingers instead of the lighter; even muffled around the cigarette, there's a somewhat bitter, weary edge to his words. ]

Guess you've been through a lot too, huh.

ii a

[zauneyete]

[ Silco understands phantom pain, and while Gen doesn't look particularly injured, he is certainly showing the signs of it. He, too, wandered at night, in the dark -- a habit from lurking for too long in an abandoned factory, and then running a bar when that had been...recovered -- Silco doesn't sleep much by habit, either way. He lurks in a different way than Gen does, though.

While Gen hovers in the dark shadows, clad in black, melding with the darkness, while Silco is silent, and invisible.

He'd taken to using it more, half for practice, and half because... he simply didn't want to be seen. It was always so interesting, what people said, or did, when they thought nobody was watching. When he watched Gen stoop against the tree, he neared, got closer.

When he appeared, it's shadowed by the tree, his one eye glowed in the night, when he seemed to appear next to him, leaning against his tree. ]

Having a little trouble?

[epiprocta]

[ Gen, of course, is much less appreciative of Silco's stealth abilities. ]

-- fuck!

[ That hoarse, startled bark is all he can manage as he reflexively jerks back. And unfortunately, he's yet to acclimate to the the change in his body's balance. That sudden movement is enough to tip him off his center of gravity, and Gen stifles a grunt as he gracelessly falls back on his ass. Embarrassing.

And while he'd normally get all up in Silco's face about being a childish piece-of-shit villain with nothing better to do ... in this moment, Gen only gives an indignant huff as he shoots Silco a sullen glare. ]

... the hell's your problem?

[ It's not he isn't annoyed. It's more that the sudden movement's send needles of pain shooting through what's left of his arm, and it's taking more of his concentration to try and mask how much it hurts. Too bad the pallor of his face and the slight shortness of his breath give him away. ]

2b

[gravings]

[ Gray doesn't consider herself a night owl; as an industrious contributor to her tiny village community, there was always too much to do at the crack of dawn. Even though there's nothing to do here in Achamoth chore-wise, she prefers to hang onto that early-rising tendency as much as she can; call her old-fashioned, but waking up late just seems lazy to her.

But lately she's had a lot to think about, and sleep only comes reluctantly. Better that she spends her time quietly thinking in the fresh night air than in the hideous splendor of her room; she's still not used to its vacuous space and extreme design choices (the jacuzzi moat).

This evening, she finds Gen in the gardens. Unexpectedly, because he seems like he would be more at home sitting at a bar or against a brick wall with his hands in his pockets. He addresses her before she gets a chance to, but she manages to catch the lighter her tosses her way without fumbling it. She inspects it curiously and supposes this means he's given up on giving up smoking.

Despite his demand she takes her time, looking up to him first for a clue as to why he's asking for her of all people to use his ligter — and the answer becomes evident right away, one of his sleeves empty against his side. The shock of it rounds her eyes; though she knows that their lost body parts will apparently grow back with time, it's still a serious thing to have an entire arm lopped off. But she keeps her mouth shut, figuring that neither of them will feel like discussing the particulars of the past few weeks.

More importantly, he looks like he's just arrived from a deserted island. He always looks a little shaggy — it's been getting worse the longer his hair gets — but this is definitively the worst shape she's seen him in... except for maybe when the Innocence disease was going around. He has an excuse for why he can't groom herself in the current moment, of course, but... ]

... On one condition.

[ Two people can make demands around here!! ]

[epiprocta]

[ He sees the way Gray's gaze falls upon his wounded arm, of course. Sees the way her eyes widen, her mouth starting to form a surprised 'o.' And, obviously, he ignores it. Yes, he's missing an arm. No, he's not particularly in the mood to talk about.

Instead, he gives a low grunt as he beckons with his fingers, indicating she should hurry up and provide him with a light -- and gives a cant of the head when she offers him a deal instead of compliance. ]

... a condition?

[ The cigarette's removed from his mouth for the moment as he looks Gray over like he's studying an unusual specimen under a pane of glass. But, like, could he blamed for being a little curious about her response? After a moment's scrutiny he gives a dry laugh, barely more than a hoarse exhale cracked past a crooked smirk. ]

So you started growing a bit of a spine, huh.

[ He hadn't expected Gray, of all people, to raise any protest instead of just quietly obliging his demand. And it's not like he'd consider Gray his friend or anything ... he can at least admit that this isn't something that feels bad to witness. (The tiny spark of nostalgia that flutters at the very back of his thoughts doesn't hurt, either. It reminds him of back when he'd protect his spineless friends from bullies back when he was much younger, and watched them learn to stand up for themselves at least a little.) ]

Fine. I'll play along. What's this condition of yours.

iii. late night snacking pt. 2 electric boogaloo

[expiera]

[When she reached the kitchen that night, Ciel had trouble deciding what to make. Her default would be curry, naturally, but spices are limited and precious, and it's an indulgence she... shouldn't be having right now. She could always bake too, surely the citadel children will easily decimate whatever she whips up, but she's feeling peckish too, and she's not feeling sweets right now.

...

In the end, she decides she doesn't want anything too complicated. After carefully cutting through slices of white bread, shredding some cabbage leaves, and spending a good chunk of time mixing and taste-testing various sauces, she gets on making batter with flour, eggs, and bread crumbs, leaving the step of frying the pork chops to last.

So this ended up a little complicated, but whatever. It's not like she got a sudden inexplicable craving for katsusando deep fried pork cutlet sandwiches or anything, the mood just struck her and the ingredients were on hand. ...Sorta; there was no way she could replicate yuzu mayo and tonkatsu sauce, but the taste of Mysterious Sauce X she ended up putting together with what's available was close enough to be similar without weird, so passable enough. She's making extras; this isn't something she does often, so may as well make sure she has enough for lunch tomorrow, and maybe two other servings just in case. Would Emet-Selch care for a few? These are greasy and not exactly healthy, but fried food is tasty. Alas, if only there was some shitty eats-anything-but-especially-misses-Japanese-food teenager lurking about...!]

[epiprocta]

[ He hasn't really been hungry since getting sent to Venera. Or rather -- he's gotten physically hungry, but his actual appetite's been fucked. Everything tastes weird, and not in the way things had while he'd quit smoking. It's a more familiar way that his sense of taste has been affected, and he hates that he can recognize it for what it is: the same sort of bullshit he'd been through six years back, after that incident. Something about extreme stress. (And trauma, though he'd never admit as much.)

Actually doing anything about the issue, or even thinking about it very much, is absolutely not an option, though. So the days find Gen listlessly trying to keep his mind occupied and only eating when his stomach growls, simply trying to fill his stomach with something that at least tastes decent while filling his stomach.

-- so can he be blamed for perking up the instant he smells something vaguely familiar while wandering around the halls at some ungodly hour one night?

The only warning Ciel will get is the sound of heavy footsteps trudging her way before the kitchen door's swung open roughly, and Gen pokes his head in looking like ... well, looking like hell, mostly. The unkempt tangle of his hair isn't enough to hide the exhausted shadows under his eyes, and his clothes are unkempt. One sleeve hangs tangled at his side; clearly, Gen's yet to acclimate to wrangling that empty sleeve, or doesn't care enough to learn. Still, there's a look of something resembling anticipation in his gaze when he looks around the kitchen.

His eyes do tinge with a sort of weary resignation when he recognizes her for who she is, that emotion further accompanied by one that Ciel might be less familiar seeing on him -- caution. But even that new wariness isn't enough to squelch his desire to pinpoint the familiar scent he'd caught, and Gen gives a blink, looking slightly more alert, when he finally spots the delicious-looking, golden-brown, completed sample Ciel's laid on a platter. ]

... you're making katsu.

[ It's a statement of the obvious, meant to be a simple observation. But, like. She can totally hear the slight note of longing in his voice, right. Gen's never been one for subtlety. ]

wildcard.

[vapour]

[ Childe has known for some time that Gen trains out here due to the fact that Childe does as well, religiously so, even. He arrives earlier and leaves later than the other, and is conscientious to leave the other in peace. Afterall, training on ones own requires a certain focus and mindset that is easily disrupted by outside stimuli.

Nevertheless, he's noticed the other off the training grounds in an odd sort of state, enough that he's come to actively observe Gen while he's on them. It's clear, even without being up close and personal that the other is pushing his body to an unhealthy limit and it's officially showing in every aspect of his training. He shouldn't be training at all, he should be in bed. He should be recovering, not pushing himself even further when there's nothing to gain from doing so.

That's how Childe ends up approaching Gen this particular early morning, looking a little bit concerned, but it probably will be unnoticeable to someone as exhausted and mentally preoccupied as the younger man. ]

Yo. Not that it's any of my business, and I'm sure you've been harassed by a lot of the others already, but you really shouldn't be pushing yourself like this. You aren't benefiting from this training in your state at all.

[epiprocta]

[ It's true that Gen's been spending a lot of time on the training fields as of late. And not out of diligence. It's just that exhausting himself physically is one of the more reliable ways he knows of distracting himself, and these days, he has an especially good excuse in needing to acclimate to his new center of balance. Why shouldn't he wile away the hours throwing himself at the off-duty guards with demands of sparring matches until he can barely drag himself back to his room afterwards? It's a perfectly sensible and fine plan, isn't it?

Apparently not.

Gen looks over with a scowl when that voice interrupts him before he can lunge at the guards yet again, though any irritation in his expression is rather dampened by exhaustion, his breaths coming shallow and his face drenched with sweat. ]

Yeah, you're right. [ He'd simply looked Childe over in sullen silence for a moment before clearing his throat, catching his breath enough to answer at a (slightly hoarse) deadpan. ] It's not your business.

[ Behind him, the guards shoot Childe grateful glances as they try to sidle away without being noticed; clearly, they've had their fill of training for the day and are eager to depart. For better or for worse, Gen pays them no attention, his focus still fixed on Childe for the moment, eyes narrowed in scrutiny. ]

What's it to you?

ii-a. cw: references to torture, claustrophobia, & psychological trauma

[sterngaze]

[After the harrowing eternity of his isolation in the Citadel's cramped solitary cells, followed by days of abuse at Dionys's imaginative hands, Liem is in desperate need of rest as he recovers from his ordeal. The combination of long-term starvation, sleeplessness, misery, and terror has wrung him completely dry, and the fact that he'd actually been trying to sleep at this hour of night, despite his natural proclivities, is a testament to how burned out he's become.

But he couldn't stay in his rooms any longer, not with the walls closing in on him like hungry jaws and the deep quiet threatening to choke him. A man like him could never be afraid of the dark; even the lightless closet he'd been confined to for the past week and more had been perfectly clear to him, its walls crowding so close they seemed about to crush the air from his lungs. He'd had a perfect view of the exit, shut tight to prevent even the smallest sound from entering or leaving, making his prison as silent as a sealed crypt, the perfect place to consign a man like him for however long it took for his mind to crack apart entirely.

So while his lightless rooms made his heart slam against his ribs in wordless dread, the night-dark paths of the Citadel's yards and gardens now serve as his refuge. He still looks haunted as he prowls along them; his ink-dark eyes are shadowed even more deeply than usual, and his normally faultless posture is not just tense, but stooped like a stalking bird. He flicks his gaze around the shrubs and trees as though hunting for something—possibly something he expects is hunting him. But his wariness is subdued, rather than the blind panic that had propelled him hastily-dressed out the door and into the night.

He spots Minegishi easily, long before human eyes are capable of picking him out of the dark. Liem pauses when he sees him coming, and considers slipping away to continue his nighttime wanderings in solitude. But even from a distance, he can't help but notice the glaring lack of his arm when he stumbles and has to catch himself with just one. He can't stop himself from watching him clutch at the garden rail for support long after he's arrested his fall, nor from starting forward again to make his way closer along the path.]

Minegishi. [The frown is audible in his voice if not completely visible on his face.] I wasn't expecting to see you out here at this hour.

[He wasn't expecting to see anyone out here at this hour.]

[epiprocta]

[ He should probably be able to connect the dots immediately, in theory. It's not like Gen's completely inattentive about the goings-on in the Citadel, and there are only so many Aions who live in its halls. And given his knowledge of who else had gone suspiciously absent -- Barnaby, that fucking rat bastard traitor -- he probably should have immediately been able to guess at what was going on when a familiar, corpse-pale face went suspiciously unseen following his return from Venera.

He should have.

But it's been hard thinking about anything as of late. And when he can barely keep track of the passage of time, he sure can't spare the energy to think about an acquaintance. During those days that Liem suffers at the Regent and Dionys' hands, Gen -- simply doesn't think about him at all. It's not until he hears the familiar voice calling to him in the gardens that he's even reminded of the other man's existence at all. ]

... oh, it's you.

[ Liem doesn't know it, but it's a (small and) dubious honor that Gen doesn't reflexively bristle at the sight of him. Why should he? Liem is about as milquetoast as they get here among the Kenoma when it comes to attitude, while being too stuffy and proper to give him shit for any reason. So instead of reacting with hostility upon turning and recognizing the other, Gen only gives that vaguely dismissive answer, then breathes a weary sigh as he slumps against the fencing. His entire left side keeps feeling like it's pinging through with red-hot needles, and it's exhausting to deal with. He needs a moment to take a deep breath before he can find his voice. ]

I'm allowed to take a walk whenever I want. [ It's probably telling that even that shitty, petulant retort of his is a little lacking in teeth at the moment. Gen raises an eyebrow as he looks Liem over, his voice a hoarse drawl that he doesn't bother trying to keep the exhaustion out of. ] What, you thought wandering around at this time is something only vampires can do?

[ The dim lighting makes it hard to tell, but ... something about Liem seems off. Maybe the pallor of his skin. Maybe the shadows under his eyes. ]

wildcard

[galdorleod]

[ Several days after the Kenomas' return to Achamoth, as the early days of Firaseri come and go, one of Gen's nighttime walks through the dark streets is interrupted by the very loud sound of fluttering bird wings. It's so loud that one would rightly assume that whatever made it must be large, and therefore it couldn't possibly come from an actual bird. But before the teen can wonder if some terrifying creature from the bestiary has spied him from out of the sky, something human-shaped moves in the darkness ahead. Well... vaguely human-shaped. They've got huge wings emerging from their back, and their body is covered in obsidian feathers, but it's got a head and arms and legs and it's upright, so... still qualifies as human-shaped, right? or, mothman-shaped maybe?

However Gen might react, the figure notices him and turns its head to look in his direction. Its face is pale white, the only part of its body that's the color of a regular human's skin tone.

The figure blinks at him in the darkness. ]

...is someone there?

[epiprocta]

[ He thinks he's seeing things, at first.

Which -- wouldn't be that unreasonable, actually. He's been sleeping like shit, what fragments of rest he's been able to get rendered choppy and tense with nightmares. Of course he'd start hallucinating ghostly bullshit. His footsteps had slowed at the sight of that shadow(?) swooping into view just up ahead, and Gen stares for a moment as it(?) straightens up. And looks at him. With a human face. ]

... fuck. [ That soft whisper is to himself more than to that monster(?), and Gen presses his thumb to that spot between his brows, willing the start of a headache to subside. Maybe he should just go back in and try to sleep again? But he's already tried. Twice. What's the point. There's the rustle of fabric as he instead fishes through his pockets for his pack of cigarettes, muttering under his breath, ]

This is so fucking stupid --

[ Then that monster talks.

Gen's reaction speed is respectable, especially considering how tired he is at the moment. He promptly stiffens with a startled grunt, falling back a half-step

and lobs his (thankfully mostly-empty) cigarette pack right in Howl's face. ]

for BARNABY.

[epiprocta]

[ It's not even like Gen wants to pay a lot of attention to the others who regularly use the training fields. What they do is their business, and he largely doesn't care about them as long as they don't get in his way. But just because he keeps a regular schedule -- walking by the same grounds every day, keeping largely the same hours -- he ends up noticing the people on the fields he passes by on the way to his usual spot, eyes scanning over familiar faces and noting them at the back of his mind.

So of course he notices it when a very familiar face that he hasn't seen in some two weeks shows up on the training fields once more.

On Barnaby's end, the only warning he gets of the very rude visit that's headed his way is the sound of booted feet suddenly jerking to a halt on the paths between the fields. It's immediately followed by the stomp of heavy footsteps changing direction to make a beeline towards him. The gate to the field he's occupying is thrown open without ceremony, and then Gen stalks directly towards him, the guttural snarl of his voice carrying clear across the field: ]

You.

[ Has Barnaby recognized his rude guest by this point? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, he'll soon be getting a very close look at them, because Gen doesn't hesitate for a second before tangling his fingers into Barnaby's shirtfront and yanking him close. Close enough that he can keep his voice low as he growls practically in the other's face, ]

You've got some nerve showing your face here again like nothing's changed.

[hundredpower]

[Barnaby's been working off the rust with some simple training drills mixed with running laps around the training area. He's still avoiding people, mostly attending the grounds when he knows they're quietest, so he can focus on preparing for the upcoming battle without pointless distractions like... Well, this.

But it was inevitable eventually. The identity of that snarl is easy to attribute even before he turns to look, and as Gen approaches and grabs his shirt, he's icily calm, fixing him with a sharp stare.]

You're the one barging in here assuming nothing has changed.

[He grabs Gen's wrist, and there's a threat in the strength of his grip and his tone when he says:] Let go of me.

ii-a

[semicharmed]

[ Matt isn't sure why his own phantom pain is worse at night. His entirely non-scientific and non-medical instinct is that it's because nighttime offers the fewest distractions. Nothing but loneliness and his own thoughts, which is why he's been trying to have as little of either as possible. Matt's exploration of Achamoth's nightlife has, therefore, gone from semi-frequent coping mechanism to daily medication. Sometimes he wrangles people to go with him--Liem, Amos, Childe--or is wrangled in turn. But the company isn't a constant; only the noise. The drinks, the drugs, the touch, anything to take the edge off.

That's why he's outside tonight. He's come back from an evening out and thought he'd walk off the last of his intoxication somewhere with plants. Matt's meandering along, mask dangling from his (remaining) fingertips, when he hears a groan.

His gaze snaps up. And for a bizarre moment, Matt feels like he's staring into a funhouse mirror. It's the same missing limb, the same echoed pain ... a different face attached.

He says, in a tone of stunned understanding: ]

Oh.

[epiprocta]

[ The pain tends to come and go without pattern or warning. And while it's been eating away at him all evening, chasing away even the faintest prospect of sleep and leaving him utterly exhausted, the worst is when it suddenly spikes. Like someone's slowly driving red-hot needles into where his arm ends, right along the ragged scarring between where his shoulder is and his elbow should be.

The pains had escalated without warning, leaving him doubled over leaning against a tree, fingers clawing at the bark for lack of anything better to vent his frustrations on. It's only the sound of a halting footstep that has him looking up blearily, and Gen blinks the cold sweat out of his eyes just in time to recognize the face looking at him and hear that gormless, pathetic noise.

What the hell is 'oh' even supposed to mean.

It's mostly indignity, a stubborn refusal to let anyone see him this compromised, that has Gen straightening upright once more even as he wobbles a bit on his feet. The dim lighting does little to obfuscate the pallor of his face though, and his voice emerges hoarse and boneless when he growls, ]

-- say we match, and I'm gonna cave your face in.

[ Too bad there's not much bite behind that threat. But also, he really does feel like he's going to snap if this guy says something that lame to his face right now. ]