[ 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

[epiprocta]

[ Gen might not know anything about healing magic, but the time it takes for Emet-Selch to treat his arm to a level of satisfaction doesn't go amiss. And while he can guess that it's in large part because the injury is so ... traumatic complex, that still doesn't mean Emet-Selch had to do anything. It would have been fine without any further intervention. Probably.

It's that knowledge that makes the stint of silence while Emet-Selch is working feel exponentially longer. It's why he notices the way Emet-Selch looks just a bit more tired once the job is done. And it's why Gen doesn't bristle at that additional demand despite his usual aggressive tendencies -- he only looks wearily at the offered hand before shaking his head. ]

They're fine. Nothing I can't handle, since you fixed that one.

[ 'That one.' His arm, he means. Funny how he can't bring himself to address that matter in specific terms.

Gen doesn't wait for a response before forging on flatly: ]

I just ended up getting into a bunch of fights in Venera. [ A bunch of fights, he says. Like they were schoolyard scraps, not life-or-death battles. ] Estinien. That horse woman. ... Dokja.

[lachtara]

[ With the injuries as addressed as they're going to get, Emet-Selch stands up again. He twists himself at a bit of an awkward angle in order to work the tension from his back. Sitting like that could certainly be painful after time passed. ]

Ah. Did you manage to kill your quarry?

[epiprocta]

[ He looks up at the sound of rustling fabric and popping vertebrae, watching Emet-Selch stretch. And just as he's about to bluntly tell the 'old man' to take a seat before he slips a disk or something --

ah. ]

... [ Gen tenses in the face of that question. Stares at the floor as he takes shuddering breath. Then swallows thickly before nodding. ] ... yeah. I killed him.

[lachtara]

[ Emet-Selch looks on. That expression doesn't seem to ask for congratulations, nor does it seem happy with this accomplishment. Quite the opposite. The words that eventually follow are knowing and sad, as if he's seen this very same thing destroy so many people over the years. ]

It never feels as satisfying as it should, does it?

[ A rhetorical question to be certain. Emet-Selch lets it hang without an answer before giving a sigh. ]

We've no need for the injured to be on the front lines. Rest for a while. The fight will still be waiting once you've recovered.

[ It's not entirely within his authority to give orders when he is not their leader in name. But if anyone were to force Gen into a fight, he will be willing to advocate on his behalf. ]

[epiprocta]

[ He's not sure what sort of response he expected. And he's not sure if what Emet-Selch offers him is what he was looking for. But in a strange way, that plainly given answer -- part understanding, part pragmatic advice -- feels ... right. Gen raises his head only a fraction at the sound of Emet-Selch's low words, peering wearily up past the messy shadow of his hair, then offers another small nod. Just a little bit of the wretched tension drains from the line of his shoulders as he exhales, slow and hoarse. ]

... I'm fine. [ He says it mostly because he doesn't know what else to say. ] I can fight if something happens. I'm just ... I've been tired since we got back.

[ And not just physically. It feels like something's reached into his skull and gouged out a chunk of his mind.

Gen distractedly rubs at his shoulder before giving Emet another glance. ]

And -- isn't stuff going to get serious from here? Even more than before.

[ Is there really any time for him to be resting? ]

[lachtara]

There is always something serious underfoot, always some crisis, the world always at the brink of a cataclysm that will undo it all.

[ There is something particularly tired in his words. Not too long ago he had needed to cave from his responsibilities and spend a night in casual conversation. It gave him just enough to take a few more steps forward... Until events following that beat him down him yet again. Now here he stands. Exhausted. Trudging ever onward. ]

I imagine you'll ignore what I suggest - as is your wont - but remember that all your efforts will be for naught if you die miserably.

[ He sighs and looks down to the rest of the hall at large. Despite acting wholly disinterested in what he's about to say his words seem a little more genuine. Even begrudgingly concerned. ]

If you insist on getting in trouble then the least you could do is tell me when you do.

[epiprocta]

[ Perhaps notably, Gen barely reacts to that statement -- that he might die miserably. Maybe because a small part of him longs for that outcome, even if another greater part of him would fight tooth and nail against it. (His mind longs for the peaceful rest of death without the pain it would take to get there.)

Instead, it's that offer that he should talk to Emet-Selch when troubled that has him looking up sharply. Even past the bedraggled tangle of his hair, there's a faint, bright glimmer of clear desperation and ... something else in his eyes. Trust, maybe. Even when Emet-Selch looks back to him from his survey of the hallways, Gen's gaze is still fixed on him, lined with exhausted shadows and red at the edges from lack of sleep, lingering on him without shying away.

It still takes a moment longer to muster his voice, though. ]

Do -- [ Uncharacteristically, Gen chokes on his voice for a moment. But only one moment. He forces himself to swallow hard, then forges on regardless of the tightness in his chest. ] ... I heard you're one of the ones who brought them here. The prisoners. Do .... d'you think that's going well? That that was the right thing to do?

[ Even asking that doesn't feel right. It's not like him to express such overt doubts about what he's doing. But still, those words had spilled from his lips before he could stop them, and Gen stares at Emet-Selch like a wild dog, cautious and wary. Awaiting an answer he's not sure he wants to hear. ]

[lachtara]

[ He looks back. Some of these so-called 'soldiers' are so young, and this naive question reminds him of just that. Only someone unfamiliar with war and its cruelties would think to assume pleasantries are a possibility. Bringing captives here on the days following a failed execution guaranteed that they would be made to take Vaeka's place as an example to all.

Emet-Selch's expression falls, pitying. ]

"Is it the right thing to do"....

[ He repeats this solemnly. ]

Gen, Have I ever told you the reason why I believe in the Kenoma's cause?

[epiprocta]

[ Maybe it's a good thing Gen fails to recognize that look of pity for what it is, or he might have reacted with indignity. As it is, he only regards Emet-Selch uneasily for a moment before slowly shaking his head. ]

What does that have to do with this.

[ And besides -- he'd thought it had gone without saying. What glimpses he'd caught of Emet-Selch's life before Horos had been grim. Even with the Innocence's aftereffects rendering his memories fuzzy at the edges, he hadn't forgotten that ravaged landscape he'd been forced to experience through Emet-Selch's memories -- and what man wouldn't want to be rid of such a ravaged world and start one anew? ]

[lachtara]

It has everything to do with this.

[ He would not do this without good enough reason. As he looks off in contemplation, his expression turns sorrowful. ]

The world is broken. It is ravaged by war, sickness, wickedness, ignorance, and frailty. If we have the chance to ensure that we create a better world, then that is what we should do. A world filled with peace and love, where sickness and frailty do not cut lives short, and where we may focus on what we have in common as opposed to our differences.

[ Emet-Selch pauses. Seeing Gen injured and exhausted only furthered the need in his own mind - if there is even a need for further motivation after witnessing thousands upon thousands of years with much of the same. A sigh escapes him. ]

I take no pleasure in hostages. I take no pleasure in the fate they suffer at the hands of those who would willingly torture them at the behest of no one, with no justification. Whether it is 'right' is irrelevant; it is in pursuit of a greater good. So I will endure this unpleasantness in hopes that we all might be whole again.

[epiprocta]

[ Emet-Selch might notice the way Gen's shoulders slowly slump as he listens to that answer. Not out of dejection, but out of a strange sense of relief, some of that discomfort and caution making way for a weary acceptance.

Because he gets it. He really does. His voice is hoarse but a touch more even when he answers quietly, ]

So it's just something that has to be done.

[ Not that that lessens the sickly feeling that lingers in his stomach when he thinks of the word torture. Something that he'd never expected to have to visualize in such concrete terms in his life, and something that he doesn't want to dwell on. But the framing that Emet-Selch offers him, at least, helps dull the ache to something more familiar. The same way that he'd been willing to dirty his hands back home because it was what was necessary to protect his loved ones.

And while he can't claim to fully be able to understand why the capture of Abel is necessary to hasten the end of this conflict ... Emet-Selch probably knows better. He has to hope that's the case.

Gen looks back down as he sits back on the bench, fingers curled into the fabric of his slacks as if looking for something to hold onto. Something to help him stay grounded. ]

... if you really think this is the only way, then -- ...

[ Then he'll accept it. He has to, right? ]

[lachtara]

[ This is the only way, but not only for the reasons he would express here. This is his last chance to have that 'better world' and the last chance for him to see his loved ones again. He could not fail here.

After a lengthy pause, Emet-Selch turns and decides to take the conversation down another route. He makes for the other side of the bench that Gen sits on and takes a seat of his own. ]

Events in Godsblood aside, I heard there was yet another encounter with the Innocent in Venera that greatly hindered our allies. Would you permit me to see your point of view?

[epiprocta]

[ Even after his acceptance, this is clearly a subject that weighs heavily on his mind. Gen's a beat slow to process what Emet-Selch is saying, needing an extra moment to look up from the floor with a weary blink. ]

The Innocent? [ Another pause, and then a sigh. ] Oh. With Estinien. ... okay.

[ He can't even pretend to be excited to share his memories of that fight. It had been a terribly messy affair, and not even the most memorable one he'd endured, now. Just an ugly blip on his recollections of Venera that he isn't excited to return to. But he's glad for the change of subject, so -- he gives a small nod as he tugs down the high collar of his shirt to withdraw his shard from where it sits at his throat. ]

D'you think it'll help, if you see it?

[lachtara]

It would help to see what happened firsthand, so that we may have a better chance of keeping it from happening again.

[ There are certainly unforeseen circumstances and actions that can't be helped, as there was in Venera, but there must be a better way to utilize his allies that does not end with him... frustrated by their condition. As he is frustrated with Gen's. ]

[epiprocta]

[ A generally private person (and a teenager with the appropriate amount of pride, to boot), Gen doesn't particularly enjoy sharing his memories with anyone. More than the memories themselves, it's the associated emotions woven through -- his emotions, raw and unfiltered -- that he doesn't want seen.

But it's not like that bout with Estinien had been a personal matter for him. And he can't help trusting Emet-Selch to a certain extent. So if the man says it'll be useful ... fine. Gen nods. ]

... just keep'em to yourself, I guess.

[ Even his protest is half-hearted, since he can't really imagine Emet-Selch is the type to spread such things frivolously.

So as soon as Emet-Selch gives him the okay for Communion -- off they go. Gen's memories are frantic and messy, every sensation and observation heightened by the rush of adrenaline and the hot flare of emotions. But at least they're honest. Gen permits Emet-Selch to see everything from that chaotic battle up until that bleary moment Eustace had urged him to flee before that Innocent being's might. ]

[lachtara]

[ Ah, Communion. That unpleasant feeling of someone else's memories being threaded into his own.

The memories cause a faint grimace. Not so much for their visual content more than the forcible emotions that come with them. Youth and their unwieldy feelings. That is, until he feels a jolt of what the shimmer caused, which causes him to notably wince at such a strange and powerful feeling.

Once it ends, Emet-Selch focuses on their surroundings once more with renewed clarity. So that is what they must work through to protect themselves. It's not much in terms of weakness but it would be a place to start. ]

My thanks.

[ Emet-Selch looks down at the floor. There's a purposeful bit of hesitation as he seems to consider ...something. Something difficult, judging from the brief wrinkle of his brow.

He looks in Gen's direction and lifts a hand to place it reassuringly on his student's shoulder. It's only for a few seconds, but hopefully, such an unspoken gesture would be understood.

With that, he stands. ]

Go get some rest. I'll see to it your retainer brings you something to eat.

[epiprocta]

[ Gen is quiet once his memories peter off. Without even replacing his shard where it belongs at his throat, he simply sits quietly on the bench, staring blankly at the floor. Those memories from Venera feel both oddly distant and so close, and revisiting them in such vivid fashion is almost a little too much to handle in his current state, a sickly feeling sitting heavy in his stomach. (He remembers the streets of Venera. The look on that man, Gibraltar, had given him while being dragged off by the Achamite guards. The garden behind that church in Venera. The fountain red with blood and the sounds of Dokja's dying breaths and     )

-- it's the gentle weight of Emet-Selch's hand coming to rest upon his shoulder that snaps him out of his dark spiral of thoughts.

He looks up with a small start, fingers reflexively grasping tighter around his shard to keep it safe. And while it's not much that Emet-Selch offers him ... it's enough. ]

... yeah. [ He finally gives a small nod as Emet-Selch's hand withdraws from his shoulder, and Gen swallows thickly, nods again, then replaces his shard where it belongs. His gaze lingers on Emet-Selch for a moment longer than might have been expected, as if reluctant to let go, before finally ducking away. ] Okay. I'll rest.

[ That moment of eye contact, the warmth of his hand, the tangible proof of his presence. The small acknowledgement of what he'd been through. The quiet statement of thanks. -- it's more than he'd ever been offered when he'd been most troubled in his younger days, and it's all he'd wanted back then. It might not fully ease that acrid sensation that burns in the pit of his stomach, but it at least lets him breathe easier.

Gen doesn't have any thanks of his own to offer. But given his usual attitude, the simple fact that he acquiesces so quietly probably speaks volumes.

He'll go back to his room and he'll rest. And maybe, if he reminds himself that this time, at least one person has acknowledged him, it'll help ward off the nightmares. ]