[OPEN TO KENOMA] EXECUTION OF THE INNOCENT

[aionpcs]

WHO: The Regent and Interested Kenoma
WHAT: As promised, the Regent is carrying out the Innocence Entity's invite-only execution.
WHERE: The Regent's Throne Room.
WHEN: Firaseri 22nd, after dissipated Kenoma have emerged.
WARNINGS: Disturbing imagery, gore, limb loss, general unpleasantness.

It's the evening of the 22nd when the call goes out: it is time for the execution. This is purely an event for the willing and or eager, and besides being informed of it, no Kenoma will be pressured into attending. Those that are interested, however, will be led to the Regent's throne room for what promises to be a very special occasion.

Upon entry, the set up of the throne room will seem quite familiar to those that have been there before. A cavernous room filled with nothing but the throne itself, its emptiness seems an intentional call to the void. Several stairs lead to the dais where the throne sits, currently occupied by a the Regent. As usual, any details about the Regent are obscured behind flowing robes and a faceted mask. Presently, they are swirling around a glass of what is presumably wine, but drinking absolutely none of it. Any Kenoma that seem interested will be offered a drink by one of the Citadel servants on duty.

It's not just the Regent present, however. Off to the right side of the room, an arrangement of familiar void-dark spears have been fused into the wall and floor, with their prisoner still held at their center, pierced from all sides. Estinien Wyrmblood appears as little more than a shadow of his former self at this stage, every ounce of color stripped from him, in sharp contrast to the black ichor that bubbles and drips from a cruel assortment of wounds. One eye is swollen with infection, oozing void, while the other is completely blank with whiteness. Each limb has been shorn down to a stub, as if burned by a dark fire from the outside in; all except a set of ragged, broken wings strung up being him. His torso, pierced as it is, seems to be barely holding onto form.

If he reacts to the arrival of 'guests', it isn't apparent. Instead, he seems practically comatose, all except for that open eye and the shallow movements of his breath. His shard is exposed, resting beneath his collar bones, an eye-like shape that has become similarly colorless. The usual sheen of color that all shards hold has faded away, now showing nothing but the gray of the stone beneath it. Those with True Sight will see that he has fallen to the first tier of Pleroma, and even that he is only tenuously hanging on to.

At their throne, the Regent lifts their glass.

"Welcome, kindred."

Comments

PREGAMING

[aionpcs]

You may post any general pre-execution threads below this top-level. If your character is addressing the Regent specifically, please call them out in the subject of your comment.

open.

[vapour]

[ — Estinien''s still Pleroma aligned, though. That's the first thing that registers to Childe as he approaches the display, his mind flashing a reminder visual of that mangled corpse of the Innocence from that nightmare he had that night. Childe observes in silence, not thinking very much at all other than a brief good for him. Of course, he knows it's probably to do more with the Innocence entity than anything else considering he's still breathing but barely being head together in any manner. Yeah, he saw that, too, didn't he?

He saw the Kenoma, too, dripping and leaking and consuming. Nice to know his mind isn't too far off the mark.

He saw something like this and yet not like this at all. His dream was fake, but there's something in the back of his mind that needs kept locked away that reminds him he's seen something almost like this in the Abyss— heard it, saw it, felt it, and smelled it because the Abyss was everything and everywhere when one was in the void. Was this something that would have happened to him if Skirk had not rescued him? If he never found a way out of the Abyss?

Entrophy always seems to visually exist as a kind of primordial swamp, dragging anything back to where it came from, doesn't it?

He's mentally triggered himself over this for the last several days that he ultimately feels ... nothing. Not in a way suggesting he's unaffected but that he's been desensitized. There's nothing that follows that realization, either—neither relief nor concern. It's a pin dropping in an empty room onto an empty floor. Even so, his eyes are sad, having an eerie light in them that they didn't have prior, reminiscent of his Abyss Form's cape. Normally, that would be a good thing, but Childe's pretty sure it's part of that curse that had him retain Abyss Form after the battle.

It has to be a curse.
What else could it possibly be?

Closing his eyes, finally, Childe turns away to look over those present and make note of the ones who are not there that should be. There's no pressure or mandate, but there is silent expectation and silent assumptions made as with everything when there is a choice. He goes to slide his mask back over his face, having only taken it off in some semblance of respect. If he is going to gaze on someone or something fully bared to the world, he can spare the same, even if ultimately their states don't even remotely compare.

For the rest of the Kenoma, his mask is just fine. He hasn't seen any of them in days, and he knows none of them questioned where he might have been during that time (although the most likely ones had been severely injured or dead, so what's to expect?)... Besides, he's noticed when he doesn't wear the mask that sometimes he sees things that aren't there. He can only assume whatever has been done to his eyes means such things will take time to adjust back to normal. Even now he sees momentary tendrils or drips or smears on the wall made of Kenoma essence where it doesn't seem to exist—or something like tears leading to the abyss? He's had a hard time telling the difference at this point. The only thing he's sure of by now is that they're not real.

Childe hesitates with putting his mask on fully as his ears pick up the sudden haunting, sorrowful sobbing and the dirty ruined white feathers at the very edge of his vision that are gone as soon as he turns to focus on them.

Almost sure, anyway. Besides, he's never needed the help of any additional "curses" after what's he put himself through.]

[lifespanned]

[ Misa attends because she feels she has an obligation to; one of those spears that pierced the beast was her own doing, after all. That, and she believes attending has more to do with status. What good is a Kenoma that can't bear witness to such events? Since Godsblood, becoming accustomed to seeing more and more horrible things has simply become commonplace. It's a learning curve - sink or swim.

This, she finds, is almost easier to watch. She doesn't know Estinien personally, and never came into close contact with the being of the Innocent. It's always been easier for her to dole out judgment on those she never met or spoke to— thus, her empathy while watching the display is lacking. It'd hurt more for her, to watch Abel and Himeka struggle. But this? She's almost... cruelly passive, taking it in. After watching one of her own comrades have his head bashed in, even the gore doesn't bother her so much, not that she takes any glee from looking at it. No, standing there, in her neat, pressed clothes, arm casted from a severe break just a few days prior, she looks at ease aside from a gentle, contemplative crease in her brow.

When Childe's hesitation at putting on his mask, and his strange glances about catch her sight in her periphery, she turns her head towards him just slightly. As luck would have it, they're quite near, in the throne room. Her words are hushed, barely above a whisper when she talks, able to see him clearly even from just looking to the side— she doesn't want to draw too much attention to him, out of consideration. ]

Are you okay?

[ There's concern in her voice, and she picks at her cast idly, trying to search what she can see of his face for read on his emotional state. Before she continues, though, she moves her eyes back forward, not wanting to risk turning fully, unless it looks like they're partaking in friendly conversation. ]

You're looking around all funny...

for the Regent.

[vapour]

Childe moves forward towards the Regent once he has fully lost interest in observing the open display of the execution victim(s), him offering a respectful bow before addressing them with his question.

"What your Excellency has in store for the Entity— will this have it be gone for good?"

Or is there a real possibility that it will end up coming back somehow?

[baltimores]

[ It's been a good day.

Amos had awoken in Achamoth's place of power, well beneath the Citadel, feeling kind of amazing. Frenzied state that he'd been in for some time before, he'd embraced the peace of nothingness he'd felt as he'd died, had held onto it as he'd been nothing more than a soul waiting to regrow. It had been comfortable, easy, something he'd fallen into with no objections and cocooned himself in — so that by the time he'd had to punch his way out of a crystal for the second time since being on Horos, he'd felt refreshed and perfectly at peace.

Also extremely hungry. And in need of some kind of shower. That too.

He knows he's got some awkwardness to answer for — the whole trying to kill a number of your allies while in a berserker state thing — but getting himself back into the land of the living had taken some level of priority for him. He'd spent the day getting himself cleaned up again and shovelling food into his face, and by the time the call had come out, he was feeling good. Ready to get back at things.

(It was as he was getting cleaned up that he became fully aware that he'd come back a little different. His skin is greyed, black blood flowing through his veins underneath. His eyes are noticeably different as well — sclera now black; a faint glow visible from his still-blue irises, better perceived in low, if any, light.

He's thoroughly unconcerned by it all.)

Dressed plainly and practically as ever, he'd showed up to the throne room, both out of a sense of obligation — he'd just woken up earlier that day, what else was he going to do with his evening — and wanting to see this thing die. It needed to die; it's going to die; that's good, this is all something good.

Amos sips at his own glass of wine — or maybe he's on his second by now, trying to gently wash down everything from the day, pacing suddenly important again — as he regards Estinien's greatly reduced form. He appraises him first, noting that this was the guy who had bested him not too long ago, reduced to this, and that feels nice. But more pointedly, his eyes are drawn to the spears — and anyone in the know might catch the recognition in his eyes.

There were six of them, huh? That's interesting. He's pretty happy about that.

Pretty happy about all of this, really. Amos carries with him an air of general contentment as he looks around the room, maybe nods in acknowledgment if he catches your gaze. It's a pretty good day, right? ]

[vivificantem]

Amos.

[He'd heard about what happened - to Misa, to the rest of them - but he seems to be reserving judgment for now; not his place, perhaps. Not within his span of interest, more likely. It isn't his place to throw stones, what with the residence made of glass and all.

Regardless, he's pleased to see Amos either way; he hasn't been around him to talk to for quite some time.]

It's been a while.

[cutlery]

[ There's no wine in Sebastian's hand, nor any particular sense that he holds a strong feeling for events they're about to witness. His smile is an even, placid calm and little more. He is taking in everyone with interest, though, since other than exchanging glances or brief conversation while fighting in the city a few days prior, there's a fair amount of people where this would be their first time seeing each other in person. What an introduction.

Of course, he and Amos had also exchanged blows a few days prior as well. It's clearly not something he's bothered by in the slightest, since as their gazes meet, Sebastian nods back with a pleasant smile. ]

Welcome back.

[ That first, he decides. He's heard that Amos had been one of the ones to fall and had ventured down to the basement once or twice to witness just what revival looked like here, but there's little more than that. If "death" wasn't quite so permanent here, Sebastian was hardly inclined to call it death at all. ]

[vapour]

You're back. I was wondering if you were gonna be able to make it to this.

[ it's the first sign of any emotion he's shown since entering here and it's with approaching the Kenoma aion that has come to see as an older brother figure that he can go to when things are out of place. Considering the last time they spoke was in regards to Estinien and the Innocence, well... he knows this would be something Amos wouldn't want to miss.

It's hard not to miss the changes to Amos, but if the other is unbothered and unconcerned, then there's no reason for him to say anything. ]

You feeling okay?

THE REGENT

[baltimores]

[ When Amos does approach the Regent, it's with the same refreshed, contented spirit he's had since waking back up earlier in the day. He nods at them, still in possession of his own half-filled wine glass. ]

Hey, Boss. [ It's a term he'd used for someone he'd followed as a moral compass in his previous life; it's only fitting he uses it here too, he feels. They are technically his boss. ] Thanks for all of this.

[ Inviting the Kenoma; hell, not doing anything until some of them had been revived, whether that had been by design or happy coincidence. Trusting them to help in their plans... Trusting him to help take this thing down.

... And that's still kind of the matter at hand. The entire reason Amos had been concerned about, wanted the Innocence dead in the first place, and his demeanour turns more serious accordingly. ]

Are there more things like that out there? Things that can take over our minds, like it did in Venera. [ He'd fallen to its whims, hard and oblivious all the while, and it's something he wants to avoid. Needs to avoid, because it had made him hurt people, and for absolutely nothing. Some shortsighted bullshit, which is the exact opposite of what they're trying to do here, with the Kenoma. ] Or is this it?

[ He has no doubt there's gonna be more stuff for them to kill in the future; it's pretty different if the thing they're killing can co-opt Aions or not, though. ]

[uproared]

[ Amos hasn't seen Mordred in her armour before, so when he catches her eye, she briefly removes her helmet to make herself recognizable. ]

Damn. You look like shit, big guy. [ She grins, making it clear that she means the jab in a friendly matter. ] Everything okay?

[hundredpower]

[Barnaby hasn't talked to Amos since the beach, particularly with everything that happened since then, so he's surprised when he sees Amos and his changed appearance now. He knows that at some point he had been dissipated, had seen his shard down in the place of power with Howl's, but none of the grim specifics. He had already been too wracked with his own grief to want to ask about others.

He approaches him now, still studying his appearance. They've both changed, he supposes, even if Barnaby's changes are more of the inward kind.]

Amos. I'm glad to see you've recovered.

[There's less of the frostiness he'd addressed him with before. He has no reason to regard Amos with hostility or resentment now, not when their goals have now become aligned.]

[expiera]

[News travel fast, though the information is not particularly difficult to procure either, after talking to a few of their allies who would have no reason to withhold important information. It's good to see Amos back and seeming so spirited, but...

But.

Suppose now's not a good time for it, in the public and on the cusp of the Regent giving them all the first public address in some time. Ciel has opted for a set of dark robes with a more official flair, though they don't look very different from the ones she usually wears around the Citadel. It's watching Amos' eyes light up at the spears that confirms it, something anyone still aware and conscious at the time of the Sanctifier's fall would have already noticed. So, that means...]

Amos.

[She saunters over his way, giving him a small nod of greeting once their eyes meet.]

Good evening. How are you feeling?

[If it's anywhere close to how he's looking... More than good, apparently?]

THE REGENT

[hundredpower]

[Barnaby won't mourn the loss of either the Innocence entity, that afflicted Venera with that terrible infection, nor will he mourn what Estinien endures for bringing war and destruction to the city. Horos is better off with them gone -- if the Regent does not find a way to bring Estinien to heel for their own purposes.

He is, however, mourning Howl's loss, one of the few Kenoma not present in the throne room, and he refuses the wine offered by the servants. Another bitter reminder, too, that Howl isn't here, the man who had shared drink with him and comforted him after his long imprisonment. This isn't a happy occasion for him, even if it is a victory.

He has other things on his mind, too, and before the execution begins, he approaches the Regent and gives a low bow.]

Your Excellency... There is something I need to discuss with you. In private, if I may, when you are available.

[It isn't so urgent that he needs to distract from the matter at hand now, he thinks, unless the Regent is perhaps willing to indulge his request via communion.]

Open

[entsetzt]

Crane arrives in the throne room, with a small bag of assorted nuts he procured beforehand. After all, should not a spectacle of this kind be properly enjoyed? He watches the Regent upon the throne, getting his firs good look at his new benefactor, before moving on. Any business he may have with the Regent can wait for now.

In the time before the execution begins, he wanders into the gallery where Estinien is kept on display, and stands there, observing the man like he was a Monet or Picasso. He pops an almond into his mouth, chewing in thought.

"I can't imagine the fool isn't in utter agony. How exquisite." He says finally, to whoever nearby might be listening, before tipping the bag your way. "Nut?"

ᴏᴘᴇɴ.

[subsist]

[ When Kaeya receives the invitation, he knows that he will be attending the execution before his mind manages to process what that all means. There's no question about it. Even if none of them are being pressured to go, he understands that it will have certain implications (and perhaps consequences) if one deigns it unnecessary to show up. Maybe they'll find out what those consequences will be, if anything, but beyond just seeing this as an obligation because he is an Aion of the Kenoma, there is also a morbid curiousity that comes with wanting to see what the Regent plans on doing.

So he goes, dressed up in all black with hints of an intricate and golden flourish on the right edge of his cape. His characteristic eyepatch has been abandoned for something more in line with Achamite fashion — an ornate mask that hides both his eye and shard. If one were to look closely enough, they might catch a glimpse of the crystalline black and blue sheen of his soul, but otherwise, his bangs do a good job of hiding it. This is the first time he's ever felt the need to wear a mask. After all, there's no point in continuing to pretend that he is still a servant of the one-eyed king when his reign no longer matters here at Horos.

When he enters the throne room, he spares one glance at the main display. There is something familiar about what has been done to Estinien that is almost startling. No, it isn't the violence done to his person, the loss of his limbs, or the spears that keep him pinned to the wall and floor. It's the black ichor that bubbles and oozes from everywhere it could, crawling out of his body like a heavy sludge, like the blood of abyssal monsters that he has encountered before. It's a frightening reminder of just how far-reaching the abyss truly is, and it also serves as another realization: perhaps this is why he answered the Kenoma's call.

He keeps to himself, for the most part, looking around to see who else might show up. It's no surprise that most of the Kenoma will be here in attendance, but the ones who are absent will... definitely have him wondering. (Makoto, for one thing. Where is he?) The servants on duty try to offer him a drink, but he refuses, surprisingly enough, stating that he would rather have a clear mind in order to be able to fully digest what's to come. Beyond that, he isn't exactly trying to ignore anyone, and if someone does try to approach him, he already has a small smile to offer as a form of greeting.

It almost feels wrong to have one on his face given the situation, but he can only hope it'll help ease the tension for someone else. ]

the regent

[cutlery]

[ Ever since he had drank the Kenoma, he had looked forward to meeting this being. After all, to put it in a context he was familiar with, they may as well be his master. Sebastian is a creature used to serving, even preferring it. But it's strange to given so much freedom with it. Not that he minds, of course, but still. He feels a need and a curiosity to make his introduction formally all the same.

So before the execution, Sebastian will approach the throne, and with the formality that's perfectly familiar to him after years as a servant, he drops to a knee to dip into an especially formal and deferential bow. He's not sure how much it even matters, since the etiquette may not even be the same here in Horos, but to him, it's more to show that he has no shame in bowing this deeply. Demons had a certain reputation, after all, but his own pride presented itself rather differently. ]

Your Excellency, it is a pleasure to meet you. Allow me to offer my congratulations on this day of victory.

[ Normally, he would give an introduction out of politeness, but he's assuming that it would be redundant, as well as not wanting to waste their time with manners alone. So when it seems appropriate or he's given signal to do so, he'll raise his head to regard them. ]

I also approach because I have a question on a personal matter, should you allow it. I seek your wisdom in the nature of the souls of this world.

The Regent

[tohell]

[ So far, J has played the part of the cautious observer when it comes to being within any proximity to the Regent. He knows every interaction with this being is a dangerous thing. Any information he gives up, any weakness he reveals, could later be exploited for whatever reason their ruler deems suitable.

In the here and now, that ironclad caution has bled away with something else inside the demon, that leaves him appearing surprisingly human for something born within hell's slums. Deprived of any sleep that isn't haunted by unending nightmares, and holding vigil over a headless body that refuses to rot, even with his ability to heal into perpetuity, J is beginning to look weathered. Worn thin in spirit and mind. Like a feral thing starved half to death, but in a way that makes it sharper-edged and all the more vicious instead of weak. Because something of value to him has come under threat. And if J has to salt and burn half of Horos to return what rightfully belongs in his possession, all the Regent has to do is give him permission-

And J will light that fire.

So the demon approaches the throne, absent of all the flourished, extraneous gestures and ease by which he typically moves. Stripped down to something harder, J slightly bends at the waist in a show of respect, and stays there a moment. ]

Forgive the abrupt nature of this request, but I seek a private audience with your excellency, whenever it's most convenient.

open

[zauneyete]

[ The call was long coming. He had no idea whether or not That Thing was still alive in the body of the now captured Estinien Wyrmblood. He assumed it was dead, obliterated by the Regent and the Kenoma's power, though the call to execution certainly suggested otherwise. The call to arrive was a cause for celebration, for as much as Silco had been jubilant the day of -- in the end, it felt so terribly... anti-climactic, in the end.

The invitation to the execution seemed to light that spark back in Silco, a terribly exciting, gruesome end, for something to be killed before them. He'd taken the time to prepare, once he received word.

He'd arrived in his best, something he'd been reserving for another dinner with the Regent -- something he'd purchased specifically for the next event -- and what better event, than one where the Innocence would be entirely murdered? Unlike his usual attire -- often deep reds and golds, similar to the fashion he'd worn so long in Zaun -- he'd taken to black, and silver, something a bit more matching towards the Regent's own coloring, in their clothing, with filigree and fasteners that looked fine and sharp, small spikes or whorls that ended in sharp points. The coat, too, still large and with an oversized collar, had a rich purple lining -- almost shimmer bright in the light -- and of course, as he'd been taking to wearing these days, gloves. Makeup hiding that mottled scar, and a drawn-in eyebrow, the real sign of change was his eyes. Silco hadn't noticed it at first, but they were changing. The black pit of his eye was faded -- nearly purple now -- the iris turning white -- and his other, normally blue was shifting, that same purple color -- the occasional light revealed an undertone settling in, almost neon. He'd tried to will it back, but to no avail, and even that would not sour his mood.

Silco strode in with all of the presence of a man who had not aimed to hide. He hadn't lit a cigar yet, but his fingers itched every now and again for the inner pocket, and when he noted the Regent's drink, he did ask, and receive one for himself, and would tip it in greeting to those who noticed. Silco didn't hover invisibly, or hover at the edges this time. He had desperately hoped this would happen, and although the Regent had certainly not been lying when they said that It would be nigh impossible for one Aion to do -- When he looked, every now and again at the battered and bruised body of Estinien Wyrmblood, watched those injuries leak, and bubble with the essence of Kenoma... he wondered what would happen, if he got close. Would It recognize him? Would That Thing come back out, and try for him again? For Silco, it had always been personal, but he didn't dare get too close, lest it hear them.

He turned away from looking at it for the moment. This was a cause for celebration, and while he wanted to watch it writhe and die, until then, he didn't want to sully his good mood. And by the look on his face, not the usual sullen, dour look -- he had a sardonic, self-confident smirk, filled with all of the indulgence of someone who was ready to watch something that they hated die. ]

For The Regent (...?)

[lachtara]

It's been a tiring few days and he's beyond his tether in terms of effort. This, he assumes, is the final task before a period of rest. Rest would certainly be a welcome change of pace.

Perhaps in contrast to all the others who have approached with an air of formality, Emet-Selch offers something akin to conversational chatter. A break from the formality. He strides up along The Regent and offers a greeting. "Ah, Imagine meeting you here." It's a tired attempt at light humor.

He takes a sip of his drink. "You know, you've never provided me a proper name."

open;

[vivificantem]

[Paul can't seem to bring his attention away from the absolute mess that remains of Estinien; there doesn't seem to be any recognition, nor is there any desire to take credit for, anything involving those pitch black spears - he had been told that no one is to know about that, and as such he intends to die with that knowledge retained within his soul, but even so he's just…staring at all of this, trying to figure out what he makes of it.

There's something familiar in it, something that calls back to the paintings and sculptures of the martyrs, of Christ; there's something about the figure being strung up to suffer that sits well with him, that does interesting things to his brain, things that he sort of wonders about - if they're the Kenoma's fault or his own. If there's much of a difference anymore, because some part of his mind tells him that there isn't and some part insists that there never has been. It occurs to him, vaguely, that maybe he should worry about that; it occurs to him that he's always had someone else to ensure that he doesn't worry about things like that and that really, seeing as she's dead now, he isn't sure what to do with what's left.

Perhaps it'll be addressed in that church service he's planning. Most likely it won't, and it can go unsaid like the rest.

But for now he just stares at Estinien, and he keeps his thoughts in his head where they belong, and for someone who's never been taught properly to maintain eye contact he's managing pretty well right now.]

open!

[devilmancrybaby]

Luo Binghe is more tense than he usually would be, at a gathering like this. This is mostly because he is like four feet tall right now. The crutches probably also don't help. Not that he expects the Regent will allow their followers to start fighting each other here or anything, but Binghe's normal stature (6'2", more or less an adult, extremely powerful) allows him a measure of confidence in most situations that in his current state (broken leg, demonic and spiritual cultivation sealed, looks about 10 years old) he lacks completely.

He is at least cleaner better dressed than he was when he was actually ten, though. Since the events of the raid he's had his retainer acquire appropriate clothes for him, after about a day of stubbornly hoping this would pass quickly. They're in his usual style, which is to say mostly black with silver and red trim, and he has his somewhat shorter hair tied up in its normal half-ponytail, which makes him slightly easier to potentially identify for anyone willing to come to the conclusion that one of their fellow Aions has shrunk.

In spite of his injured leg, he stands up straight, the fist of one hand clenched around the handle of his crutch. His eyes are fixed on Estinien, his expression unreadable.

THE REGENT

[lifespanned]

[ Misa's attendance to this event was a sure one, ever since she saw those spears penetrate the Sanctifier's body during the siege. She remains rather passive at the display of the body itself, but her expression warms, approaching the Regent. As things have become more dire, her admiration has grown. ]

Nice to see you again so soon.

[ It's a friendly, polite greeting, accompanied by a wave of her casted arm, on the mend from a break. Seeing their leader again, there's one thing she's interested in doing, now that the mood seems a little... more jovial, for lack of a better word, so long as the nasty body over there is looked over. There hasn't been as much of a chance for it, in the more serious situations in which they've crossed paths. ]

And nice to see you in a good mood, too. Feeling excited? Seems like this was a long time coming... I think.

[ ...all she wants is a chance to say something nice, simply content to even get a chance to be friendly towards someone who had recognized her loyalty. She's grateful to be seen, and wants to repay that feeling in turn. ]

open!

[uproared]

[ Standing alongside the other Aions is a suit of armour.

... Well, it's not just a suit. There's clearly someone inside (it's standing with its arms crossed, for starters, which is hardly a typical pose for a display piece) but the only things visible at a glance are green eyes behind the visor... and, to tier two Kenoma, the legacy Sovereign.

If Mordred sees anyone looking at her, rather than at what remains of Estinien, she snorts; inclining her helmeted head slightly. ]

What? Feeling squeamish? [ Her voice is slightly echo-y compared to usual, but it might be recognizable to those who've spoken or communed with her. ]

opennnnn

[semicharmed]

[ Matt, as has been noted elsewhere, looks half awake right now. But he wanted to be here, both to reassure his coworkers that he's fine, and to see how exactly this is all meant to end with the Innocence. Initially, he wasn't sure it was possible to kill something like this being, which he had construed as a god of sorts; now he's not so sure. Certainly the concept brings him no pleasure. Maybe it should make Matt happy, or at least relieved, to see someone who tried to destroy him in such straits. But regarding Estinien's body--half-consumed by darkness, battered and impaled, but with lungs still bellowing air and heart stubbornly beating--produces a horror in Matt that verges on nausea. At the same time, he can't help wondering: What's going to happen? What tactic will the Regent take to destroy the Innocence? Curiosity thrills in him, curling fitfully in his stomach and extending tendrils to the tip ends of his missing fingers.

It's not as if this gathering is wholly without its pleasures. Matt is fascinated, astounded, to look around the cavernous room and pick out his fellow Kenoma: by gradients of darkness, by Legacy. He can't articulate why he feels the way he does. Like nearly all intuition, his conclusions come as if from far beyond himself, divorced from whatever evidence may have prompted them. For the moment, he simply observes, trying to catalog his thoughts and feelings as they come.

Aris, his retainer, has done a frankly incredible job of dressing him given the timeframe. Matt's usual black boots are accompanied by slim navy trousers and a grayish-blue shirt, dazzled with a constellation of smoky beads. Its sleeves are a bit shorter than Matt's usual, exposing both the bare stump at his left wrist and the dark band around his right. Matt woke up with it still in place, so whatever his blank-check promise to the Regent entails, death wasn't the answer.

For the moment, Matt sips from a glass of wine. All he can do is watch and wait. ]

open

[regressor]

[Havoc is there... though, but for the bright red color of her hair, she might not have even be noticed at all. She is not a... dramatic presence. Petite by nature and malnourished by nurture, she has almost always taken on an unassuming position, neither at the very front nor the very back of a crowd, neither too excited nor too apprehensive, neither dressed up nor down (though someone with a keen eye would notice that her modest clothing, covered throat to ankle, is actually an expensive fabric despite its plainness).

It's almost like she just... happens to be existing in that space for the moment.

For anyone who saw her in battle against the Sanctifier, cold and aglow with radiation, deadly in her precision and hyperfocused in her intent, doing something to the beast over and over that made it writhe and roar and spill more blood, leaving behind only a faint shimmer in the air and the acrid hint of ozone... It might seem a bit strange, that she just... looks so weak, now. For two days after the battle she had not been seen in the Citadel, and now she does seem... a bit ill, still, a bit wane, but it's hard to guess the cause.

Some snooping had revealed that she might be the only Innocent-aligned Kenoma left- or at least, the only one in this grand throne room. Even without the fact that they were supposedly here to watch the execution of an Innocence entity, her sense of survival did not appreciate this development. It was rarely advantageous to be the only one of something in times like this.

That doesn't share on her face. She just watches. She focuses on keeping up an appearance of a woman who took this sort of thing seriously, somber and respectful. Mirroring the Regent, she ends up with a glass of wine in her hand, but... she isn't really drinking it.

But she is there.]