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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! ]

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[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.

[ This doesn't feel right. More than any conscious recognition of the change in Barnaby's demeanor, it's animal instinct that has his nerves prickling. The look in Barnaby's eyes, the cadence of his voice, the strength of his grip -- all of them feel just unfamiliar enough that Gen hesitates for a split second, his gaze flickering down towards where Barnaby's fingers are wound tight around his wrist.

He's quick to look back up to Barnaby, expression still tinged with hostile derision. But there's a cautious edge to his gaze that hadn't been there just moments ago, even as he continues to edge into Barnaby's personal space. ]

Or what, Mr. Hero? Gonna try to knock me out again?

[ It doesn't seem like the type of thing the Barnaby he knew from before Venera would do. But here and now, he finds himself reflexively tensing up just in case Barnaby really does try something. ]

[The hero title seems to rankle Barnaby in a way that it didn't previously, his eyes narrowing and his grip on Gen tightening further still, enough that Gen will feel the bloodflow to his hand beginning to restrict. It would take a heartbeat with his Hundred Power to snap the bone like a twig, and his temper is short enough now that he'd seriously entertain the notion.

He's distracted, though, as he actually takes the time to look at Gen -- and at what's missing.]

What happened to your other arm? [The question is more irritation than concern, as if he always expected something like this would happen.]

[ He can feel his wrist creaking under the pressure of Barnaby's grip, bone and cartilage grinding against each other as his fingertips start to tingle.

But more than that, it's the inquiry about his arm that has him immediately jerking his hand away and falling back a half step, reflexively shifting his stance to angle his injured side away from Barnaby's view. ]

... none of your business.

[ Some of his aggression's been traded for a more defensive hostility, and Gen huffs a slow exhale as he narrows his eyes at Barnaby. Studying him in silence for a moment before he mutters, ]

Where the fuck have you been since all that went down. I figured you went crawling into some hole and died.

[ Not really. It's just some easy provocation to fill the air as he tries to parse exactly what the hell he's seeing through his True Sight when he looks at Barnaby now. ]

[Barnaby lets him go without resistance; he'd accomplished what he needed to, which is to get Gen out of his face. He's still curious about his injury, but pressing the matter won't get him anywhere.]

I made a mistake, behaving as I did in Venera. That was punished and corrected accordingly. [He says, toneless, not betraying any hint of the suffering that had involved, how it had broken him in. He simply says it as if delivering a factual report.]

If you still have ire for me, take it up with the Regent, who has chosen to grant me a second chance. I have no further reason to fight with you, unless you insist on giving me one.

[ Just looking at Barnaby's shard is enough to make his skin crawl. But it's when he hears that word spoken so flatly, so matter-of-factly, that Gen really feels dread prickling cold down his spine. ]

... 'corrected.'

[ He echoes it flatly enough, but the flicker of caution in his gaze makes it clear Gen isn't pleased with Barnaby's response. It takes him a moment to formulate a response just because he can't fully pull his thoughts away from that roiling pocket of darkness he can sense in Barnaby's very being. And even once he does find words, his voice emerges a touch hoarse around the edges. (Not just 'corrected.' 'Punished and corrected,' Barnaby had said.) ]

Corrected how? What the hell were you even thinking back in Venera, anyway? It sure sounds like you caused one hell of a mess -- not just for me, but for other people as well. The fuck's wrong with you?

[Uncertainty flickers across Barnaby's expression for the first time, and his brow furrows. Many of his memories of Venera are hazy in parts, even his own thoughts and feelings, and trying to grasp at those fragmented memories only has them slip through his fingers. Why did he go to such extremes in Venera, and with such conviction?]

I don't know... It's difficult to remember. [Which sounds like an excuse, an absconding from responsibility, so he tries to elaborate:] I was angry with the Regent, when they admitted they were the one who destroyed our worlds. I didn't want people here to suffer the same fate.

[Why was he so angry, so distraught, though? Even that very feeling feels like a dim sensation now, almost as if it happened to someone else. That much is still wholly inexplicable.]

Whatever my reasons, I was mistaken to care. The Regent reminded me that it's impossible to save everyone, and trying to protect some only means turning a blind eye to others. There's too much suffering in the worlds. In this one, in mine...

[In Gen's, too, perhaps. He meets Gen's eyes, wondering if, whatever he has endured to make him so bitter and jaded at such a young age, it's enough for him to feel the same way. To give him that scathing conclusion that the idea of a hero who can protect others is -- was always -- little more than a self-righteous delusion.]

If the world itself is corrupt at its foundations, it would be better to destroy it and start again. I understand that now.

[That, more or less, summarises how he was 'corrected'.]

[ This feels wrong. This feels so wrong.

He doesn't even like Barnaby -- the man's an insufferable, nagging, self-righteous prick with his head stuck a mile up his own ass. But even so ... Gen watches the way Barnaby slowly says these things that sound wrong coming from his lips, that shouldn't be said in his voice, and he feels nausea curl in the pit of his stomach. (His thoughts go back to Reiji. Seeing the way he'd often speak without even seeing the people he was looking at, gaze blank and utterly apathetic. Walking around half-dead, because his own mother had slowly, steadily smothered him to death deep down inside.)

Barnaby's gaze fixes on him once more, and Gen stiffens visibly. Narrows his eyes before spitting contemptuously, ]

Took you long enough. You're on this side. Wasn't that obvious from the start?

[ Because that's not the problem here. Gen's always accepted that the Regent's methods are both correct and inevitable. As far as he's concerned, everything out there can burn to ashes.

No, what rankles at him is -- ]

But you really are some hero, aren't you. [ That note of derision in his voice only sharpens as he spits out that word. 'Hero.' ] Attacking your own allies because of your own bullshit beliefs? No wonder you ditched your own partner for a fatter paycheck.

[Barnaby gives him a long, incredulous look as he tries to parse-- whatever Gen is claiming.]

I retired from my hero career over a year ago, and I didn't have a partner. What are you talking about?

[He had finished his long quest for revenge, but his victory was a hollow one. The darkness he'd chased down all those years still existed, even with the excising of one of its leaders, and he had no way to find the answers he still needed. So he'd given up, and that was the end of it, and the beginning of his inclination towards believing society was too corrupt to salvage. Continuing his career would have been perpetuating a lie, it would have been continuing a predetermined role handed to him by the man who had made his existence a living hell.

Or so he now remembers, at least.]

Say whatever you please about me or about heroes, but at least keep your criticisms factual.

[ That uneasy feeling building in his chest just won't stop intensifying.

It's Gen's turn to look disbelieving when Barnaby answers so matter-of-factly, and he's frozen in confusion for a moment. Simply staring at Barnaby with brow furrowed and lips parted, a baffled question hanging on the tip of his tongue before he manages to spit out -- ]

Are you fucking with me?

[ Because he remembers it. He remembers what he saw back the first time they were all in Venera. His memories of what had happened between the throes of that Innocence infection are blurrier, but the memories that had been foisted upon him linger with greater clarity. He knows what he saw, what he felt back then, and he won't stand for it if Barnaby's simply trying to gloss the matter over like none of that had happened.

There's no masking the clear irritation in his voice when he continues, though -- maybe there's also a crumb of something deeper than simply annoyance in his tone of voice. Something a little more disturbed than that. ]

I saw your memories back then, you asshole. Your partner -- Tiger. The one you ditched in Second Tier or whatever because you wouldn't get paid enough dropping to his level. All because you were so invested in looking like a bigshot hero, giving money to an orphanage. You think I'd forget this bullshit?

[Barnaby stares at him for a drawn-out moment. Some of the details are correct, but he still has no idea who he's talking about, and he's pretty sure Gen wouldn't make something like this up only to get bent out of shape about his own invention. What would he possibly have to gain from something so elaborate? Particularly when he knows Gen isn't one to be particularly skilled at feigning his emotions, his body language too indicates this is all genuine.]

I don't recall anyone with a hero name like Tiger. I retired from the business before the Second League was even created, and I haven't been a hero in well over a year now.

[He does recall volunteering at the orphanage after retiring, though, even if he doesn't have the salary he once did to financially support it. He feels unsettled, like this is all too familiar. It wouldn't be the first time his own personal recollections haven't lined up with someone else's, but...]

...I shared my memories with you in Venera, didn't I? Are you sure you're not the one misremembering?

You think I give enough of a shit about you to make up a whole fake backstory for you?

[ The shitty retort that Gen gives probably isn't far from what might be expected of him regardless of circumstances. But the ire he feels now is starting to veer on being personal, the edges of his words even sharper than the usual brand of teenage petulance he exudes by default, and Gen seethes in silence for a moment as he tries to understand what's happening.

He isn't misremembering anything. He wants to misremember things. Hates that he'd had others' memories foisted upon him during those cursed days in Venera, and wishes he could abandon him. But no, he remembers those glimpses of Barnaby's life all too clearly -- the flash of too many journalists' cameras, the sight of an older man doubled over trying to hide a wound, the casual give-and-take of ridiculous nicknames. Bunny. Tiger. ]

-- Kotetsu. [ It had taken him a moment to recall the exact name, but Gen spits it out venomously as he meets Barnaby's gaze and holds it ferociously. Willing, demanding that the other remember it, because it's an unfair burden that he never asked for if he's the one who has to remember it instead. ] Your own partner's name. Kotetsu. Are you really so much of an ungrateful, unfaithful piece of shit you won't even remember that?

'Kotetsu'? [He tests the name out, but it doesn't hold any familiarity to him.] I don't...

[That creeping feeling of fear is beginning to rise up in his chest, constricting it tight. Is it happening again... Are his own memories really at fault here? Could that damage to his shard really lead to this? Gen's right, he really has no ulterior motive to lie to this extent.

He's trying not to let the panic show in his expression, but there's something almost frantic in his next question.]

Can you describe him to me? Perhaps I can recall what he looks like.

[ He's starting to connect the dots now, and he doesn't like any of it.

The strange darkness that seems to have been engraved into Barnaby's very being. The odd shift in his personality. The fact that he seems to have completely forgotten about someone who'd apparently been pivotal to his life. -- is this what the Regent does to traitors?

Barnaby's question is asked so genuinely that it's actually kind of pathetic. And sickening. He'd brought the subject up solely to rub it in Barnaby's face, but he can't even find any gratification in the prospect of being smug, any more. Gen only meets Barnaby's gaze with a bitter, uneasy look before gritting out his answer at a deadpan. ]

Older guy. Brown hair, brown eyes. Stupid facial hair. A little shorter than you. [ A short exhale. ] Called you Bunny.

[There's still no recognition passing across his face even as Gen describes his appearance, but 'Bunny'...] Someone else called me that ridiculous nickname here, too. How is that--?

[The answer is so obvious, it clicks.]

--Venera. [If that's where Gen became aware of his memories, then J would have easily done the same, and that the two have mentioned it independent of one another lends credence to his claims. He begins to pace, confusion and agitation radiating from their shared Legacy even without communion, running a hand through his hair. Why are those memories of home missing and not others? Is J withholding information from him, and is it even worth confronting him about, or will he just receive lies in exchange? Should he ask the Regent? If there are things that are missing, it's probably far too late for them to look at his shard again and tell him about what he could have lost.

He stops pacing. Gen's still here, and he can't afford to have a silent meltdown in front of him when there's so many things he doesn't know, but there's still a wild-eyed look to his stare as he looks back at the teen.]

...I'm sure I don't need to tell you this, but whatever becomes of your body, make sure you guard your shard at all costs.

[Otherwise, Gen will wind up like him.]

No shit, genius.

[ He'd been watching Barnaby's anxious pacing in silence, expression steadily darkening, but snaps that strained response in the face of Barnaby's utterly stupid, brainless advice. Like hell he was about to let anyone touch his shard in the first place, but seeing Barnaby in this state really makes his blood run cold. Is Barnaby even aware of how fucked up his aura seems now? Is he really unable to connect the dots that Regent probably did this to him?

(His mind goes to Reiji. That selective blindness. The inability to see who'd been the one to slowly ruin him, fill him with rot from the core. His chest feels tight with an acrid sensation.)

The gaze he fixes on Barnaby is still dripping with disdain, but maybe Barnaby can feel the faintest flicker of something else there, too, bolstered by the connection of their shared Legacies. Not concern, exactly, but ... a dark sort of pity, the way a man might view still-life roadkill twitching on the hot asphalt.

Gen exhales slowly before turning away. ]

... I called you that before. Out loud. If other people picked up on it and started calling you by it too, that's not my problem. But -- [ A pause. Gen glances aside, wondering if the Regent has any way of knowing of this conversation. If he risks anything by saying this out loud. His voice lowers just a touch as he mutters, ] -- but I didn't misremember anything. And I don't have any reason to lie to you about this shit.

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