[ 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

[expiera]

It very much does. You "did what you had to", as you say, just like how you're trying to figure out what you will have to do now.

[How is it different? It isn't, she doesn't think so even if he insists otherwise, so she doesn't ask the obvious. If he wants to cling onto semantics, he can do that, she won't stop him. He doesn't even need to turn, she's not watching him. She's still busy packaging the katsusandos away, even as she vaguely sees him fidget from the corner of her peripheral vision.

It's with her back to him that she makes the offer.]

If I show you my battle that led to the prisoners' capture, will you show me the battle of what happened to your arm?

[No preamble, no pretense. Just memory for memory, information for information. She did claim they relate, even as he refuted it. Is asking that way okay...?]

[epiprocta]

[ It's a shrewdly put request. One answered by a quiet creak of the chair as Gen stiffens in response.

Of course Gen doesn't want to share his memories of what had happened in Venera between him and Dokja -- that entire feud had been a personal affair from beginning to end. Even if he hadn't been bothered this whole time by people like Ciel and Eustace attempting to dissuade him from his goal of killing Dokja, the intimate nature of his loathing towards the man makes those memories difficult to hand over to anyone. Habit is a hard thing to break, and it simply isn't in Gen's nature to discuss matters that affect him so much. His sins and hurt must be kept hidden close to his chest always.

But ... ]

... what do you get from something like that.

[ Gen struggles to keep his words flat, but without even realizing it, he's leaned forward ever so slightly in his seat. His tone of voice, too, comes out a little too hurried to convey the sort of apathy he wants to. He does desperately want to know exactly what happened during that bout in Godsblood, if only to help organize his own thoughts. It's simply a question of how high a price he's willing to pay for them; what repercussions he might expect for revealing the exact nature of his encounter with Dokja to Ciel. ]

[expiera]

[It's been a few months since that night in his room. When he threw a glass at her, missed her head by a few hairs, and all but demanded that she leave him alone. She "knows better", now. Her opinion of him hasn't changed much, he's a teenager way over his head. But he did manage to hang on, built relationships with the people around him whether he liked it or not. (Misa. Amos. Emet-Selch. Eustace. Abel.)

Still impressively self-destructive though, and there isn't anything she can do but maybe pick up the pieces, if she just so happens to be around the day he comes apart. Suppose that's what she's doing now: giving him a tool to something, whether he makes more pieces of himself from it or less remains to be seen.

She's got his interest, in any case: the refusal isn't immediate, she doesn't even need to look at him to pick it up. Flat as he may try keeping his voice, tired as he may be, the very fact that he's asking said enough.]

You've been training tirelessly with Eustace and Emet-Selch for the past several months. If your opponent could still manage to take an arm from you, then that's someone with ability we should know about.

[Snapping close a glass container she just fit four sandwiches in, she brings it to the cooling box further off to the side. As much as she can guess, she really hasn't looked into whatever Gen may have gotten himself into after the Innocence. She essentially knows nothing, so she acts as such. On the other hand, she doubts he'll ever need the knowledge to fight Abel or Himeka, but... that's not what this is about, and they both know it, don't they? It's an information trade, and if she needs to fluff her excuse up a bit to make it more palatable for him, then so be it.]

[epiprocta]

[ That's bullshit.

That's bullshit and they both know it. Gen knows Ciel knows they both know it. (And yet.)

The chair creaks Gen uneasily shifts his weight, averting his gaze as he tries to think past the exhausted fog that's been filling his head for days on end, now. He can feel his pulse ring in his ears every time he thinks too hard about that fight with Dokja. But the same time, it's not like he can not think about it -- he's not like Misa, not able to simply turn his thoughts away from it. So if he's going to be plagued by reminders of it constantly, without warning, those intrusive thoughts persistently slipping before his eyes no matter what else he tries to distract himself with ... maybe it's worth at least exchanging them for some answers.

(Maybe. His gut instinct insists that it's not -- he's not someone meant to be honest, he's meant to hold things close to his chest forever, until he dies. He tries to fight past that knowledge.) ]

Then -- ...

[ His voice comes halting, and Gen stops almost immediately. Swallows thickly, then sits forth in his chair, leaning heavily against the countertop in some vague attempt to seem more steadfast about this decision. But there's just no way to hide the deepset anxiety that he practically exudes as he forces himself to continue, his voice hoarse with more than just exhaustion. ]

-- then you go first. I'll do it. But ... I want answers, first.

[ But more than that, he doesn't want to linger after having shown Ciel his side of the story. Wants to exit the scene immediately afterward. Already, his desire to simply leave is obvious from the tension rife in his posture, but he still fights against it to tug down the high collar of his shirt, his shard gleaming where it sits at his throat. ]

No deal, otherwise.

[expiera]

[The box put away, she saunters back to the table Gen is sitting at with visible strain. Her gaze fixes onto him properly now, no more looking away.

He looks like shit.

Will this only burden him further? Or will it absolve him? She can't tell as she is, but it's been well known to her ever since a crashed dinner-not-date in Godsblood that this boy has been in contact with that foolish self-professed priest with an ever-bleeding heart. She can see it far too easily, honestly, how that brand of patience could worm its way under this scarred and volatile teen's rough exterior and straight into a starving and self-denying heart.

Minegishi Gen shouldn't have to go through any of this. But since there's no means to remove him from Horos in any way she knows of or would care to entertain, the only compromise would be...

(...)

Drawing in a quiet breath, she lifts a hand to her chest and phases her shard through her robes at her sternum without shifting her gaze away from him. She's done it many times now, it comes as easily as breathing.]

That's okay. I don't mind answering questions you may have to ask out loud either, I also won't ask anything of you after. [She considers telling him it's getting late and he should get some rest, but ultimately decides against it after a few seconds of deliberation.]

The sandwiches will still be here tomorrow. You can ask a kitchen staff to help you reheat them, or just send down your retainer.

[What a pointless detail to voice. But since it's through food that they maintained this strenuous relationship the past few months, it seems only fitting too, almost poetic really, to close off the last remnants of what may pass off as normalcy between them before they leave that world behind.

She'll show him, just how mercilessly Abel and Himeka were ambushed. How seamlessly and ruthlessly she fought together with Emet-Selch as a unit. She knows where she'll cut the feed, too: right after the clumsy Pleromas fall into the sea, before Emet-Selch begins gathering a spell of thundering fury and Ciel herself had to step in to stop him.

Thus dragging the prisoners back as people and not shards, it would've been a kinder fate than how they've been treated ever since their confinement began.]