[ 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's movements are definitely much clumsier than before as he wrangles his lighter. Though flipping the lid open one-handed is easy enough, keeping a flame alive long enough to light his cigarette is a different story. The night air is chilly and restless, and a breeze keeps blowing out the tiny flame. After one, two hapless tries, he's forced to shift his stance and hunch over to block the breeze with his body; the flame of the lighter casts starker shadows at the tired creases under his eyes and the deep furrow of his brow as he ducks down to dip his cigarette into the lighter's flame.

... somehow, he hadn't thought a vampire would ever suffer from insomnia. There's a strange contrast there, he thinks. Between Liem being a vampire, and having to deal with such mundane issues. He wonders if the two are interconnected.

He also wonders what it is that's got Liem so restless.

But he can't see any visible injuries on him like with Misa or Amos that would warrant a blunt question. Neither is he quite close enough to Liem to want to risk of vulnerability of seeming like he cares. So. ]

-- how else d'you deal with it, then. [ The second best option. He feigns disinterest, but not so much disinterest that he won't pursue the subject. Gen stows his lighter away once more as he mumbles around his cigarette. ] You just always go wandering around outside when you can't sleep? Can't imagine that's something you can always do.

[ (Is he also asking for tips for himself? Maybe. Just a little. He's pretty tired of being tired.) ]

[sterngaze]

[Liem’s restlessness is confined to small gestures as he leans on the railing next to Minegishi. His eyes flick away now and then to survey the surrounding yard. His fingers smooth over the front of his coat and tug minute rumples from his sleeves. After a little while his exhaustion persuades him into stillness, only for him to return to motion as though to assure himself one last time that all is really as it should be.]

It isn’t, always.

[For now the night is warm, and he has nothing except his own whims with which to fill his time. Presumably the same could be said for the young man beside him. But at other times the weather might be poor, or duties might keep them fixed to a certain place. And perhaps dressing to wander out of doors isn’t such a trivial thing for someone with only one arm.]

I keep busy, mostly. Cook, or clean, or catch up on work. I used to read from The Order of Numbers most nights, as well.

[There’s a slight sigh to his voice as he mentions this. He didn’t have his book with him for the first month he’d spent in Horos, and he doesn’t have it now. He probably won’t be getting his hands on it a third time.

His shoulders move in a small shrug. He doesn’t actually have any tips for getting to sleep on restless nights—only tips on how to fill them.]

I suppose I’ll have to read something else now. Perhaps find out what Achamite poetry is like.

[epiprocta]

[ ... never mind. Whatever tiny crumb of sympathy he'd had for their shared plight of sleepless nights dissipates in the face of that almost ridiculously cliche answer. Cooking, cleaning, working, reading.

Gen rolls his eyes. ]

You couldn't sound like more of a straightlaced, workaholic nerd if you tried.

[ Still, there's no real derision in his words. Partly because he's tired, but partly because saying these sorts of combative, obnoxious things is just second nature to him -- whatever, it's fine that Liem's an unfun, no-life dweeb if that's really what he wants.

The ember of his cigarette glows bright as Gen takes a deep drag at his cigarette, then simply exhales around it without pulling it away. Mostly because his hand's occupied gripping at his shoulder, willing the scarring at the truncated end of his arm to stop aching. The pain seems to come and go without much logic, and all he can do when it hurts is try and distract himself. ]

Feels ridiculous that you'd be fine with coming back from all that -- [ Those words are the ones that prickle with derision. 'All that.' The happenings in Venera. ] -- and just returning to boring stuff like that. Like nothing happened.

[ Those days spent in Venera had upended a great many things for him, both physically and mentally. They're hard to bounce back from so quickly. And even if Liem is some vampire or whatever, they must have also had some effect on him, right? Like with everyone else? ]

[sterngaze]

[Joke’s on you, Minegishi. One doesn’t reach this level of straightlaced, workaholic nerdery without trying. Liem can only say this with a straight face as a result of decades of earnest, applied effort spent becoming the most milquetoast person possible. He couldn’t possibly be offended by the assertion that he’s making it look easy.]

Well… partly, I cherish the opportunity to do mundane things for just that reason. The routine helps me feel normal again.

But you’re right—it doesn’t always work. That’s why I’m out here.

[Certainly there are times when he’s too physically, mentally, emotionally compromised to even pretend to be fine. Those are the times when he shuts himself in his room, avoiding contact with other people—or when he wanders out into the night to lose himself in the bustle of the city or the vastness of the wilderness. When even pausing for an unexpected chat makes him stir restlessly and aim wistful glances further down the path with that unspoken desire to keep moving.

He suspects that if he were to offer to let Minegishi talk about what’s bothering him, he would only be met with more scorn. In Venera, he’d seemed dead-set on pushing through regardless of how much their mission set him on edge. But he really does seem like he needs to figure out some way to be at peace with himself. He may be young to have to shoulder this kind of duty, but at this point, he has no other choice. Right now, everyone in the Kenoma is relying on each other to have it together and do what needs to be done.

He adds, after a pause,] I know I said after we met properly for the first time that I owed you. That’s still true. More so now, even. I didn’t pull my weight in Venera, and you, and everyone else, were the ones picking up the slack.

[epiprocta]

[ It's not even like he really disagrees with what Liem is saying.

He gets it. He gets how sometimes, when trying to forget something bad that's happened, the only realistic course of action is to pretend that it simply hadn't happened -- throwing oneself into the mundanities of normal life to try and return to it. It's the only realistic solution he's ever had himself, so he gets it. But still ... at times like this, it just doesn't feel right. Even if he doesn't have any other specific fixes that he can pursue -- talking to people? seeking help? allowing himself to actually seem hurt? as if any of those are viable solutions -- that doesn't make his current arrangement feel any less fucked up.

In other words ... Liem's guess is right. An offer to talk would simply be met with a derisive huff. It's the sort of option Gen's learned simply isn't permissible to take. So maybe the inadvertent offer of a distraction, instead, is actually the correct choice. ]

The hell are you talking about -- [ It's only after that incredulous question's left him that Gen manages to connect the dots. 'Didn't pull my weight,' Liem says. And Gen realizes why Liem had been scarce these past two weeks, and why he looks like shit now. His eyes narrow when he mutters, ] -- ... so you were also one of those piece of shit traitors, huh. Like Barnaby.

[ Does it provide some small comfort that at least Gen sounds more exasperated and annoyed than he does angry? Liem won't know it, but the only reason Gen's anger is tempered here is because Liem hadn't directly attacked or interfered with his work. Resentful as he is, now that he's realized what Liem was up to in Venera, he settles for huffing out his next lungful of his smoke, staring at Liem past the hazy curtain of it as he drones, ]

What were you even thinking, getting in everyone's way there.

[sterngaze]

[There had been a period of time, after Liem returned to Citadel life but before he'd had the opportunity to learn the statuses of his fellows, that Liem has worried about the others he'd met in Venera who seemed reluctant to do the Regent's bidding—or who were even against it entirely. He couldn't deny the guilty relief he'd felt when he learned that Meteion wasn't here any longer, that she hadn't undergone the same torment he had in order to bring him back into the fold—or the equally guilty relief that Matt had done what was asked of him despite his misgivings.

But although he shuddered to think what Barnaby had experienced during his own reeducation, there was a part of him that was glad someone else had failed as he had, and suffered as he suffered. It was a small and ugly part of him, one he didn't like looking at. When Minegishi mentions Barnaby, he looks away, out across the courtyard.

What was he thinking? His actions of only a few weeks ago now seem impossibly foolish, the actions of a naive child thinking only of himself. Ever since being released from the dungeons, he's been astounded at just how badly his judgement had been clouded back then, and how closed his mind had been to the truth that people had been showing him ever since he set foot on Horos.]

I suppose I was thinking that I knew better than the Regent did.

[What other reason would he have to so disdain their orders? His anger had made him not only blind, but arrogant as well.]

About who deserved to live, and who needed to die.

[epiprocta]

[ A shiver runs down his spine at that.

Not at what Liem says last -- Gen has no delusions about what fighting for the Kenoma means. Victory for the Kenoma will mean the death of everything and everyone. He's fine with that. If everything he'd ever known were to simply blink out of existence, here and now, he'd have no complaints. No, what makes his skin crawl is --

I suppose I was thinking that I knew better than the Regent did.

'Was.'

And now he doesn't.

Maybe even past the thin curtain of smoke that lingers between them, Liem can feel the way Gen's gaze sharpens at that, brow furrowed and eyes narrowing. There's a pointed pause before he speaks again. ]

And you've changed your mind, now. [ That much is a statement of fact. He doubts Liem would be out here, wandering about, if that lesson hadn't been impressed upon him. But now that he knows why Liem has been missing for so long, he can't help being all the more aware of how shitty Liem looks. Exhausted, drained. ] Doesn't seem like something that'd be easy to change your mind about so quickly. You get sit down for a nice long lecture or something?

[ His tone of voice is dead and flat. Skeptical. If Liem says 'yes,' he's going to laugh. What he's really asking is obvious enough -- 'what happened to you?' ]

[sterngaze]

[As the implications of Liem's long absence from Citadel lay themselves plain between them, the sharpening of the younger man's attention on him is palpable. He finds that despite the extent to which his emotions seem to have been wrung from him and replaced with shifting tides of anxiety and exhaustion, he still has the capacity to feel embarrassed under the abrupt intensity of the gaze aimed his way.]

You know I didn't.

[Bereft of anything else to do, his hands return to brushing infinitesimal specks of dust from his jacket, fidgeting with the set of his cuffs and the already-unimpeachable hang of the garment from the tight line of his shoulders.]

Maybe I would have been, had I been penitent. I don't know.

[Experience has taught him that remorse by itself is no guarantee of understanding. The Regent may have decided that he needed correction to address his weaknesses either way.

He slides his restless gaze back to Minegishi with a small, weary frown. No one else has actually asked him what happened while he was in isolation—out of consideration, he assumes, that the youth next to him patently lacks. When he tries to summon an answer, Liem's mind skitters uncomfortably over the topic of his punishment like water over hot iron. He says, reluctantly,]

I had a long, solitary time to consider what I had done. Much like when I was first inducted, after being fed that vial—but longer. It felt like much longer. It was… very unpleasant.

[It was unpleasant in the same way that hacking off one's own limb would be unpleasant.]

But I think it needed to be. To make an impression.