[ 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]

[ His pace skips one, two beats at that suggestion. And he hates that it does.

For Silco, it must be terribly obvious that Gen is tempted. Even if he hurries to avert his gaze, there was a very notable moment when his eyes went wide with a sickly blend of surprise and longing, his face a touch flushed as a single breath escaping quick and shaky past parted lips, before he hurriedly looked away.

'Drugs are dangerous,' he vaguely remembers his father telling him once. Drugs aren't like the casual trade of violence and 'protection' and money; drugs are different. They're not a territory he should treat lightly in. He knows that. But still ... ]

... you're really just a one-trick pony, aren't you, old man.

[ At least Gen has the minimum self control it takes to change the subject instead of immediately buckling. Even as a bead of cold sweat slides down his temple, he shoots Silco a confrontational stare first, as if hoping to prod at the other's sore spot. (He tries not to think about how badly his hand is trembling, hungering for even a taste of that euphoric sensation Silco had granted him before. A reprieve from how badly everything hurts.) ]

Is that really the only thing you can do? Can't even offer some other meds?

[zauneyete]

[ Silco shrugged, and inhaled again at his cigar. He thought it should be obvious, by now, that he didn't keep a drugstore on his person. he blew the smoke up, letting it trail out of his mouth, just to savor the moment. Gen was obviously tempted, and Silco couldn't blame him. He knew the power shimmer provided, the way it thudded through ones veins, the spike of power and pain -- it was so heady, a sweet lance that cured that feeling of hopelessness as much as it numbed the pain. ]

Did you think I was brewing it in my rooms, boy? I'm not carrying around an apothecary.

[ He had never been outright with his powers. Gen, however, had been privy to the both of them. He supposed he wouldn't have been able to keep them secret for long, but at the same time...

He still didn't refer to it as his power, like it was separate from him, something that wasn't a part of him. Silco still had a difficult time, admitting, thinking, accepting that powers were something he had, and something that was a part of him. ]

You don't have to accept it, but you did look... so pained.

[ So pathetic, he added mentally, but he did know how hold his tongue. Occasionally. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Well, he did, honestly. He did figure Silco was actually making whatever he was peddling by hand. And while that swift dose he'd been given during the bout with Estinien had given him some vague hint that that wasn't the case, distracted as he'd been, it's not until Silco clarifies matters here that Gen fully connects the dots with an low groan of exasperation.

Great. So Silco's 'medicine' presumably comes from some weird ability, whether it was given to him here or not. And he's limited to just the one, from the way he's saying it. Lame. ]

... you talk like it's just an aspirin or something.

[ -- actually, does this guy even know what an aspirin is? Fuck, he's not going to explain that. Gen cringes as a fresh wave of pain knifes through his nerves, hand gripping into his shoulder and fingers digging in to try to distract himself. But his gaze very obviously drifts up from the ground to fix on Silco's fingertips -- his mind recalling that touch to the back of his neck, the adrenaline from that fight with Estinien burning the moment into his memories -- as he mutters sullenly, ]

I don't need -- want that high. Like from before.

[ Though he isn't aware of it, he's already backed off from a hard rejection into bargaining. ]

[zauneyete]

Oh no?

[ He asked, his lips curled into a self-satisfied smile. He'd been practicing with it -- playing with the effects -- trying it out. Mostly, he'd been playing in the Entertainment District -- mostly in some of the more back-alley bloodsports, where he could get away with playing with the dosage -- something he hadn't anticipated, but now... ]

You look like you need something to remove the pain. Really, boy, you look like you're about to fall over.

[ He raised one hand, and rubbed his fingers together. With the gloves he had on, there was no skin-to-skin contact, but then again, Gen could probably put together why Silco took to wearing gloves these days. He looked to Gen, then, and lifted a lip in a subtle, barely-there smirk. ]

I suppose if you don't want the high, you're just going to have to suffer. All that pain, when you could be free of that. I can keep you from being stronger, you know, and faster. But isn't that feeling of...invincibility better than...

That?

[epiprocta]

[ He knows what Silco is doing. He knows it. Knows that Silco isn't saying any of this horseshit out of genuine care or consideration. Not that he knows what Silco actually is driven by to offer his help like this, but Gen knows it's certainly not goodwill. And while he'd bet his life that giving in now is the start to a dangerous slippery slope ...

-- fuck. ]

... fine.

[ Even before Gen grits out that reluctant acquiescence, Silco might have seen it coming in the way he ducks his gaze aside, tangled strands of his hair falling over his face. In the way his fingers have dug furrows into the fabric of his clothes in a futile attempt to squelch the pain continuing to rattle through his nerves. He might have put up a valiant fight, but in the end, Gen is just a youth way out of his depths, dealing with an injury that nobody his age should have to -- and he needs all the help he can get.

He's still avoiding meeting Silco's gaze as he adds at a hoarse mutter, ]

Just ... half. Just give me half. Of whatever it was you did back in Venera. [ Is that even possible? He has no idea. He just knows it would be dangerous to get another taste of that euphoric high again, when he's desperate for something to distract himself. ] You can do that much, right?

[zauneyete]

You're lucky -- I've been practicing.

[ Silco had been careful with his practice, quiet. He didn't do it anywhere anyone could see, or find, but he had been doing so. He knew too, what it was like, to be too young for an injury, out of control, finding no solace in any painkillers or methods. The only thing that had ever worked came with a heady price. His indulgence of shimmer was by the drop. That was even dangerous, in its own way.

But it worked, just like he knew this would work. He pulled off his glove, and reached out his hand, to Gen. He would make him take that last step. Bridge that divide.

The dose was... all of the invincibility, all of the addictive properties, none of the strength, or speed. ]

So yes, I can. Half of it, as promised.

[epiprocta]

[ A small part of him had been hoping the answer would be 'no.' That he'd have a firm, external reason for why this was an excessive and stupid idea. If Silco had answered with a 'no,' even if it were untrue, he would have had some incentive for simply getting up and leaving, trying to find some other solution.

Instead, Silco holds out his hand.

And Gen bites his lip as he stares at it for a moment, pulse thrumming in his ears. Then a fresh sear of pain rips through his nerves, and he promptly grabs at that offered hand.

That supposed half-dose is still potent. Even without the rush of strength or agility, the burst of euphoria is enough to earn a violent shudder. Gen stifles a gasp as his entire body ratchets hard with tension, his grip inadvertently tightening against Silco's hand until his nails dig in painfully. It takes him far too long to gather his senses enough to loosen his grip, and even then, his movements are halting. Finally free of that throbbing pain that had been squeezing at his lungs, he breathes in deep rasps as the tension finally starts to melt from the line of his shoulders.

... fuck. How the hell is he supposed to resist something like this? ]

[zauneyete]

[ Silco didn't cry out, or gasp. He winced, of course, when Gen's grip tightened, his bare hand exposed to Gen's nails and the strength of someone who spent at least some of their time working at martial efforts. He couldn't see his own eyes, but with the burst of shimmer, they were that neon purple of shimmer -- both of them -- shifting, like liquid warping into the iris, before it faded once more. He breathed in, breathed out, and one of his eyes closed, until he finally started to relax his fingers, and Silco could pull his hand away, and he tugged a glove back on, to cover his hands, and keep them away from brushing up against others.

Silco didn't fear his control these days, but any excuse to keep himself from having to touch other people felt like an exercise in appropriate caution.

He watched, carefully, as Gen started to relax, his breathing harsh as he gulped it in. As someone who used Shimmer for his own medicinal purposes, he understood the feeling, the relief it brought. He waited, for Gen to say something.

After all, Silco didn't need to fill the silence, and he certainly didn't need to rub it in. Gen knew what he had, and he knew what shimmer could do for him. That was enough. ]

[epiprocta]

[ There's a long silence before Gen manages to find any words. But then again, there's much that can be gleaned even before he speaks -- the way his ragged breaths slowly level out, the rustle of fabric as his posture slumps, the scrape of tree bark as he slowly sags down where he'd been leaning against the tree until he's crouched on the ground. There's a quiet thump when he leans his head back against its trunk and heaves a long sigh; the tremendous relief granted to him by the shimmer is obvious in his expression and almost palpable in the way his whole body loosens, no longer ratcheted tight with pain.

And only then, he manages to look at Silco once more. ]

Tha -- ...

[ 'Thanks,' he almost says. He only catches himself at the absolute last second, biting back that word because he knows he shouldn't say it. Even if he can't help the swell of gratitude in the depths of his heart, his body overjoyed to be finally granted this reprieve. It's with great effort that he swallows back that sentiment that he knows he shouldn't be feeling, and instead changes tack. ]

-- how long. [ Ungrateful and brusque. But it's probably what's expected of him anyway, so. ] How long does this last?

[ How long before it starts hurting again? ]

cw: eye trauma sorry miru

[zauneyete]

[ Silco watched him with an impassive eye, watched him move to slump against the tree, watching him settle in, enjoying a life without pain. He remembered those days, when his eye ached so badly -- as his body slowly corrupted around the injury, the pollution and poison in the water, seeped into his eye, stinging. He remembered it well, and he likely wouldn't have been much older than Gen was now, when it happened.

He wished he'd had the reprieve that shimmer offered sooner, rather than only once he'd found Singed, and the formula had been developed. They'd taken that formula, of course, and built off of it, but... ]

Ten minutes, give or take. [ He paused, and offered. ] I can offer two, total.