[ 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

[vapour]

[ oh, typical. Not that Childe's put off or anything (he's dealt with worse, and has been way worse himself) but he does reconsider his options before smiling a little, feigning surprise at that look Gen gives him. Even despite his words, he sounds like he's trying to not be mean (he's absolutely trying to be mean, though.) ]

Huh! My mistake. I thought you were trying to actually improve your skills here. If you just want to flail around with no focus at all and make yourself a sitting duck the next battle you get stuck in, I guess you're allowed to do that, too.

Even so, some of the aions are going to be worried about you, and you look like total shit. If you don't care about your own health, at least consider not being a liability to them and the healers.

[ Childe doesn't know what or why, but he thinks he gets what's going on here at least a little. So time to see how easy it is to piss this kid off. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Childe gets his answer soon enough, which is: very easy.

Those last few words have barely left Childe's lips before Gen's hand forth shoots forth, fingers tangling into Childe's shirtfront to yank him close. Gen has zero qualms about invading other people's personal space, and that fact is made abundantly clear when he leans close in to snarl right in Childe's face, ]

Well, aren't you a fucking saint for worrying for them.

[ As if he really believes this fuckface is intervening in his business purely out of concern for the healers. (He'd know, because he hasn't spoken to the healers since they returned from Venera, determined to ride matters out by himself going forth.) There's the rustle of fabric compressing as Gen tightens his grip, looming closer until they're practically nose to nose, his voice a hoarse growl. ]

But I never asked for anyone to worry about me. Them, or you. So what other excuse do you have for butting into my business, huh?

[vapour]

[ Despite everything, there's the smallest chuckle from Childe's throat. Although he's allowed the other to get in his personal space, he doesn't seem particularly bothered by this. Actually he finds it really quite funny. ]

You're mad because people don't have your permission to give a shit about you? Maybe you should have tried harder to be a scumbag, then, to reassure that. But you're still just a confused kid when it comes down it.

I'm butting into your business because you seem to want someone to notice your situation really fucking badly or you'd do a hell of a better job hiding it. Since you can't ask for help like a normal person, I'm kicking your door down.

[epiprocta]

[ the irony of being called a 'kid' by someone literally going by the name childe tho

Gen is initially silent in the face of what Childe says to him, but his mounting irritation is obvious even without words. His grip tightens against the folds of Childe's shirt, his gaze hardening, and his next breath comes as a derisive huff. ]

Want someone to notice me? [ His words are sharp with disdain as he mimics Childe's cadence. And again, a hard huff, this one closer to a scornful laugh. As if. ] I'd not hiding anything because I don't care what other people think. I don't expect anything. Sounds like you're the one hungry for people to be paying attention to you -- so don't go projecting on me, you narcissistic prick.

[ And that last word is accompanied by a hard shove back, meant to throw Childe off-balance and send him stumbling to the ground. It's just too bad he can't muster quite the same strength now as he usually can. ]

[vapour]

[ wow he didn't pick his title/codename ok :(

Childe could argue further with him, but he thinks it's better not to. He lets Gen shove him back and although he does stumble back he doesn't actually fall. A huff of the air turns into a sigh. ] Oh please. Don't you think there are far better targets to project myself onto than you in that case?

[ As he says that, he wipes at his face with the back of his hand, a sudden tendril of water splashing to life as it follows his motions. Something in the air (everywhere) suddenly feels very heavy, saturated in humidity to maximum level, and a blade made of what seems to be water bonded so tightly that it's become solid appears in his hand.

Childe has nothing to confirm or deny because his entire existence is made up of others' assumptions about him. He himself is no master at reading others but he can tell when someone is trying to do everything they can to distract themselves from something. What Gen's dealing with he doesn't know— and he really doesn't care to know, either. It's all the same to him, though, if Gen thinks he's here concerned about him and trying to get in his personal business over it.

All that matters is this kid needs his ass kicked so he has something else to focus on other than what's eating away at him. ]

Since you don't have the guards to pummel on, but're still full of piss and vinegar, why don't we go a round? [ Childe's voice lilts as he asks, before a nasty little smile tilts the edges of his mouth upwards just barely. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Gen can't help stiffening for a moment when Childe manifests that sword, his next breath coming just a touch sharper. He'd already disliked having to look at blades, discomforted by the older associations they often stirred up. But especially now, he can't help the way his mind's briefly overtaken by memories -- the glimmer of a pale blade beneath the moonlight as it carves an arc towards him, Kim Dokja's gaze fixed upon him, and the bone-deep chill of almost bleeding out. What's left of his arm suddenly aches terribly, and Gen has to force his next breath slow to keep himself calm.

Even as he pales a shade, cold sweat beaded at his brow, he shoots Childe a contemptuous stare for a moment, then steps away -- only so he can retrieve his practice mace from where he'd left it leaning against a nearby bench. This one's blunted, its head padded with fabric to keep it from causing serious harm, but it's still heavy enough to hurt should it land a blow.

The sound it makes is hefty when Gen takes it into hand and gives it a swing, its weight hanging heavy from his grip when he turns back to Childe. ]

Fine.

[ And he doesn't wait for any further signal before lunging in, a heavy swing of the mace aimed right at Childe's face. It'll probably be blocked, he imagines. But he doesn't care. He just needs to feel the impact of that blow as soon as possible, to force that adrenaline rush so it will drive all other thoughts in his mind. ]

[vapour]

[ It's not blocked.

It's dodged with Childe pulling himself back with scary accuracy of just how far the reach of that weapon actually is along with Gen's momentum from the lunge.

Gen will have to earn a hit here, even a blocked one, because on the battlefield Childe decides the rules, the stakes, and the object of the fight; it's up to his opponent to push themselves to overcome these things and really challenge him.

Unfortunately for Gen, it's been too long since Childe felt anything close to the rush of a battle. It hasn't made the Harbinger rusty, but it has made him a little more blood thirsty, and a little less willing to accept being a lunching bag of the bat. Still, he's never one to get overly aggressive and just put his all into a fight until the opponent proves they're worth some of his time.

Here, he's decided to devote some time already to exhaust Gen, hopefully in a shorter amount of time than he would have with the guards.

... That doesn't mean he's going to be nice to Gen physically or mentally, though.

He hops back a few feet further once he's dodged the swing, a laugh like a child might when playing a game their enjoying. ]

Going right for the face, huh? That's rude— mind your manners! [ With a swing of his arm the blade disappeared, reforming into a bow. In a graceful fluid motion, he brings the bow back around and takes archer stance, his fingers pulling back on the watery-formed bow string. As he does so, an arrow made of the hydro element materializes and he aims right at Gen's face as soon as he has a shot at right between the eyes.

It's all incredibly fast, unfairly so, but Gen is still an aion, so he may very well be able to block it if he tries hard enough. It's unlikely, but not impossible, especially with an adrenaline rush.

Even if it strikes him, however, it won't pierce like one would expect it to. Instead, it will explode in the boy's face just as it smacks his forehead. He'll feel what is like a hard hit at the brow of his forehead that might make him stumble off balance, but all that happens is he's ultimately splashed in the face with a sobering amount of harmless water as if a water balloon was just fired, instead. It'll hurt initially, but it'll quickly wear off as ultimately harmless.

Childe's words are flat, empty of emotion to the point that it almost doesn't seem possible to be from the same individual that was speaking seconds ago. ]

Again. [ it's not a request. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Maybe if he were in better condition -- properly rested, not still recovering from too many half-healed injuries, better acclimated to his new center of balance -- he might have been able to dodge that arrow. Maybe. But he's not, so he can't.

Gen jerks his head aside when he sees the attack incoming, but even before it makes impact he knows it isn't enough. And though he steels himself to feel the arrow rip through skin as it clips his temple, he's caught off-guard by what happens instead. The impact is blunt, not sharp, and he ends up staggering back heavily as he blinks heavily to try and clear his vision. -- it's water, not blood, that drips wet from his lashes, he realizes after a moment.

It makes sense in retrospect. This guy acts like an idiot, but no idiot would last this long willing to use lethal force against a so-called ally. This is just a training match in the end, and there's no real threat of danger. But still -- exhausted as he is, Gen can't simply take the indignity of being treated like some sort of plaything. Even with the dark shadows under his eyes and the unkempt tangle of his hair spilling over his face, when Gen shakes the water out of his eyes and looks to Childe, it's clear his gaze is bright with fury.

He doesn't waste his breath on words -- he simply snarls a hateful noise as he lunges forth, aiming another swing of the mace at Childe's head.

But this time, he won't be able to just dodge back.

In the same moment, the ground behind Childe suddenly erupts upwards, chunks of dirt and rock exploding out from the earth to block off his path. If he tries to dodge back again, he'll be pelted with that debris spat from the ground; if not, the mace's head is aimed right for his skull.

What now? ]

[vapour]

[ Good.

Childe welcomes that snarl and the fury energizing Gen. Emotions are the worst possible thing in a battle, but that's only if your opponent knows how to handle them. Otherwise, they can be a miracle force that turn the tides on even the most unfavorable situations.

The sound of the earth rising is bittersweet— the Geo-Element is rarely wielded by such hotheaded individuals, but there are great beasts with a rage like no other made of it all the same. Even as he feels dirt tumbling down and hitting the back of his head and the collar of his shirt, he remains fully focused on Gen.

This punk really likes to smash heads, huh?

Not the worst plan when it's kill or be killed, but not much help in learning to be better at handling a battle where that fails to work.

Recalling the flash on the other's face when he saw the hydroblade, Childe lunges forward himself to meet Gen head on. The bow in his hand dissolves and is replaced by the hydroblade, and in his other hand a second blade materializes, as well. With a flick of his wrists he's slamming the butts of the hydroblade's handles together to fuse into a dual edged spear before he swings it to intercept the mace in a clash. He manages to halt it before it gets to his head, but Gen still had a pretty good momentum going nevertheless.

Not bad!

Hooking his spear along the mace's head he parries it to one side before tilting the double-sided spear to have one point now be swung in a reverse motion in the form of a horizonal slash.

What will he do? ]

[epiprocta]

[ He can't swing the mace quite like he'd gotten used to. Without his other arm to counterbalance the weight of that weapon, he's forced to keep his movements more restrained lest he overshoot and unbalance himself. And he's slower on the recovery, too. His body just won't move the way it did before taking that damage. It's an important lesson that he'd already started to grasp while training with Eustace, but it's made all the clearer when he's fighting against someone like Childe who isn't holding back at all.

A bitter pill to swallow.

Case in point -- the impact of the mace clashing against Childe's weapon rings all the way up his arm, making his muscles ache and his nerves shiver. Already exhausted and in less than optimal condition, Gen's a beat slow to steel himself for what's coming, and the following parry is enough to have him stumbling a step sideways.

It doesn't leave him much time to react to the incoming spear swing.

What should he do? Probably not what he does end up doing -- which is simply gritting his teeth and lunging into that incoming blow. The spear's shaft is on a straight path towards his ribcage that way; a real weapon swung at that speed would have been more than capable of bruising a few ribs, maybe even fracture one. But it at least brings him out of the slashing range of the point tip, and, more importantly, brings him close up into Childe's personal space. A truly reckless move.

Up close like this Childe might get a good glimpse of Gen's face -- a touch pale, sweat beading down his jaw, eyes wild and ringed with exhausted shadows -- before he adjusts his grips and aims to slam the handle of his mace into Childe's gut as hard as he can, right below the ribcage. A wiser move than attempting a broad swing in such close quarters; Eustace had taught him well. It's just too bad he can't muster any proper strength when he's already clearly drained. ]

[vapour]

[ it'll be a harder pill to swallow the day Gen realizes that Childe is very much holding back. Despite both being Aions and Firebrands, Eustace's idea of restraint and Childe's idea of restraint are completely different levels.

That's not the lesson of today, however.

Today, the lesson is that standing up to an opponent that you know isn't going to let you simply beat on them can be rewarding: like Childe actually not simply using his bow the entire time to bully Gen and wear him down with constant humiliating hits that stack up to exhaust someone in the most physically and mentally type of way. Of course Gen doesn't know that Childe plays like a cat with the majority of his victims because they're not strong enough to warrant the energy, but he might find out one day when Childe decides he's not going to respect Gen even the slightest bit .

That isn't today. Today, Childe gives him enough respect to have the privilege to land that hit straight beneath his ribcage. Whether or not he let it land on purpose doesn't matter, and he won't reveal which version of the events are true, but the grunt and sharp hiss pulled from him are real pain.

Ballsy moves don't always deserve to be shown as pure stupidity, because sometimes you just really get lucky when it counts.

There's no words from the Firebrand aion, no hint of whether he's impressed, amused, angry or something else all together. He staggers back and then continues to further edge the distance between them. That pain he's experiencing seems to be enough that clutching his upper abdomen and not attempting a retaliation is the preferred set of actions he will take.

The deciding factor of how this match will end is what Gen decides to do next. ]

[epiprocta]

[ It's not like Gen's blind to the fact that he's severely outclassed by many other fighters here. It's not like he's ever lost sight of the fact that he's just a highschooler who was thrown into this chaos and forced to adapt. Were he in a slightly better state of mind, he might have caught onto the fact that Childe is clearly holding back for whatever reason. Maybe.

But he isn't, so he doesn't.

All Gen cares about at the moment is pushing past the crushing exhaustion weighing down on him, and venting his mounting frustration on this conveniently-available target, consequences be damned. He feels the staff of Childe's spear crack against his side, a blunt pain hammering through his lungs as the impact shivers through his ribs. But he ignores it. Ignores that hard-to-read expression on Childe's face, too. Ignores the thoughts of anything other than simply winning this fight, whatever that means.

Childe staggers back from the blow to the ribcage, and Gen surges forth to maintain that close distance between them. His boot stomps down hard on the ground between them, but it's not a simply intimidation tactic. The impact of his boot sends a rapid shudder through the ground, causing it to crumble beneath Childe's feet, destabilizing his footing and ideally forcing his balance into a precarious position.

And pressing that advantage, Gen lunges forth to aim a tight but vicious back-hand swing of the mace aimed at Childe's chest. Not something that would kill, were they fighting with real weapons. But more than enough to cause injury and a significant amount of pain. Enough that it might, might help vent some of the wretched sensation that's been long building in his chest, he thinks. (He hopes. Desperately.) ]

[vapour]

[ for a split second, childe is a little more intrigued by gen, but only because his earth magic is executed the same way as the Traveler does. Interesting, but up in the air on promise overall. he'll have to see gen in a real fight rather than this sloppy mess he's executing. he only lets gen get away with this because he sees the other needs to pass the fuck out.

gen's mace hits hard, and childe grimaces. to the other it'll feel like he's struck flesh and bone, even perhaps the give of cracked upper ribs, but childe doesn't make a sound beyond the initial grunt that's let out with the inevitable rush of air that's forced out of him from the attack. it's enough to knock him off his feet and send him to the ground hard onto his back. ( it's not exactly something childe's happy about experiencing, even if he's holding back, but it's gen's reward for finally getting off the whole bashing skulls obsession he had in the beginning.)

now, let's see if all that helps gen 'feel better' and has exhausted him or if childe needs to take it into his own hands. for the moment, the harbinger won't react other than move to roll on one shoulder even as he's gasping for air. it may sound like pain to gen, hopefully, if that's what he's after, because, without any air in his lungs, he can't even make a sound if he tried. ]

[epiprocta]

[ The impact of the blow rings all the way up his arm, shivering cold through the joint of his shoulder. The heavy thunk of padded metal making impact with flesh seems to hang in the air, unhindered even by the thud of Childe's body hitting the floor and the grit of his weight scuffing through the dirt.

For one moment Gen is still frozen in place, shoulders tensed as he watches Childe's gasping form, silently steeling himself for some sort of retaliation or counterattack. Because it can't be that easy, can it? ... can it? ]

-- get up.

[ Gen spits out that demand hoarse and breathless, though he can't help the way his posture slumps slightly. And even as he takes a heavy step towards where Childe lies on the ground, he finds himself lowering the mace. It suddenly feels so heavy in his hand, an inexplicable exhaustion starting to weigh across his limbs. Maybe because he can't help dropping his guard at the thought that he's 'won' this bout. (Or maybe because Childe's form lying on the ground reminds him a bit too much of the sight of Dokja's body beneath him in that Veneran fountain, chest heaving in those same pathetic gasps for air.)

Gen swallows thickly before he finds his voice once more. And though his voice sounds markedly wearier, he still maintains that tenuous grasp on his main -- stubbornly refusing to drop his guard completely -- as he draws another step closer to Childe. Practically standing right over him by now as he repeats, ]

Get up. Or are you telling me that's really all you've got?

[vapour]

[ get up, Gen says, as if he's never had the air knocked out of him in his entire life. Childe can't even laugh without some shit in his lungs, and so several seconds more pass in silence, the Harbinger solely focused on refilling his lungs.

still, Childe stares directly up at Gen the entire time once he moves to over him, eyes void of anything and everything. None of his demands are going to be met any faster, and maybe Childe will just lie here indefinitely, afterall.

There's one difference between Dokja and Childe though, and that's that Childe has no desire to die. Death will come for him far sooner than a normal human, but he's decided to live every second until then until its at his doorstep. This, truly, is nothing.

His voice is low, apathetic and surprisingly flat when he finally responds, as if he suddenly can't quite drag his usual persona over to mask the one beneath it. ]

Still standing. . .? That's...

[ The smile that slides up Childe's face is arguably unsettling, so confident even as he slowly lifts his arm up towards Gen—or the sky itself. ]

... a real shame.

[ Childe's blue eyes suddenly flare violet, a coil of electricity erecting itself out of nowhere and crawling up his to his hand and fingers before snapping itself as a bolt from its master straight for Gen's head.

It's practically all instantaneous, and if hits, its intention isn't to pierce or otherwise outwardly harm Gen but instead to send his neurons on the fritz and blank his mind out temporarily even as he looses consciousness (its effects will be almost seizure-like.) Maybe it'll help him rest temporarily in a dreamless state, but either way it won't hurt—at least not until after he wakes up.

He was going to spare Gen this if he had given into his exhaustion after Childe let him get that pent up mess inside of him released via such a blow but... well, he can't dictate Gen to perform to his whims. And someone needs to deal with Gen since he isn't feeling well with himself at all..

Oh well. ]