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[OPEN] i am shell and i am bone

WHO: Brainwashed Estinien and YOU
WHAT: Having been dissipated during the Innocence's execution, Estinien returns very much changed.
WHERE: The Citadel, Achamoth
WHEN: Early Sekiseri
WARNINGS: Torture, abuse, brainwashing, public humiliation. The forecast for Estinien is extremely miserable and depressing at the moment.

I➔ Of the Abyss

He had been born into this world empty, with a body misshapen and unfit for survival. There had been no reason for it, no meaning to existing... he'd simply been formed, drawn from the abyss in the service of another. It was only at that master's touch that he was provided with a means and purpose to act. Only at their call that he had regained hazy memories of hatred and torment and remembered that there was something out there to blame for what he was.

His was a miserable existence, after all. Since the moment he had been pulled from his chrysalis, utterly helpless and blind, wracked with spiritual pain, he'd known that much. At first, living had been nothing but aimless suffering. With nothing inside of him besides a sense of devastating loss that he had no means to understand, he had eagerly latched on to whatever was given to him. To know that he had some use to his keepers, the ones that had gifted back his sight, gifted him the legs to stand on and hands to touch... he'd do whatever they wanted with the strength they had afforded him. Even if they saw him as a wretched creature worthy primarily of disgust, it didn't matter. Not when the alternative was unending, meaningless pain.

He's been told he'll have an opportunity to strike back against the forces that reduced him to this state, that destroyed whatever he was before. He had no memory of it. He's the spectral remains of something that once lived, and now there is only vengeance to look forward to. He'd like to hurt someone else, he thinks. To drag the enemies that he touched closer to himself, to what he had been made into. To make them experience it for as long as he can.

It's in that state of mind that he is first let loose into the Citadel, craving to inflict pain, but having been taught that no one within the tower's walls was to be harmed or struggled against. Instead, the people of the Citadel, the Aions in particular, were his objective superiors. His presence there was a mercy to him, and he was to accept whatever he was given by the others, whether it be torment or aid. His role was to act in their service, by whatever means his feeble mind could manage.

Any Kenoma who come upon him may recognize Estinien Wyrmblood, but only in some aspects of his form. To those with the Sight, he is attuned to the Kenoma and of the Firebrand. Physically, he is a mess. His torso and head still reflect the snow white of the Innocence, though with crimson, draconic eyes. The one on his left side is severely scarred, its sclera darkened with void. Each limb is similarly blackened, looking less like a natural extension of his body and more like foreign flesh that has been grafted on, scaled and clawed and monstrous.

His gait is unnatural, as if not quite accustomed to the idea of walking, as if his limbs are confusing to him. He's dressed in nothing but what appears as a rag-like loincloth, his long white hair unkempt and hanging in ragged chunks. Restraining him is a thick collar and muzzle. Around his darkened, greyed-out shard a sigil is carved - one that might be familiar to some. It's the very same mark of disfavour that Emet-Selch had briefly worn, all those months ago.

There is no recognition in his eyes.

II➔ Walking in Shame

While the Regent's mark on his chest has caused many of the Citadel's inhabitants to give him a wide berth, that hasn't been enough for some of them. Either having heard the rumours of who and what he is, or having seen him themself in the sky of Achamoth, some are unable to contain their spite for him. Though he's been made to heel already, a few of the Citadel's non-Aion residents may be seen heaping additional scorn on him, spitting cruel words and accusations that he has no context for.

Sometimes the abuse turns physical. You may witness Achamite soldiers berating him in the halls, shoving, tripping, or manhandling him. For his part, he has little reaction, taking whatever he is given as rightful and purposeful. At some point, a gaggle of Citadel neophytes assigned to cleaning duty dump a bucket of dirty wash water over him. Others hurl rocks.

[Feel free to invent other scenarios with Citadel NPCs if you want, I'm open.]

III➔ In the End

When he isn't aimlessly wandering the Citadel, he is caged for the night. While that first day Dionys is there to lock him up, from that point on she visits only intermittently to let him in and out, and much of his time is spent alone. His prison is something more befitting of a zoo animal, kept to a distant corner of the Citadel, nearby the tables where the mounts are kept. There are guards on patrol nearby, but Kenoma will be allowed to pass through, provided they don't do anything suspect.

There is nothing in way of comfort or adornment to its interior, just bars and a cold floor to pass out against. He lays still most of the time, nothing to devote his thoughts to, nowhere else to be. He almost looks forward to when one of his keepers return... anything for a moment of respite and meaning. It's possible that the one visiting him now has been given permission to unlock him for some purpose. He is unlikely to complain.

[OOC: Estinien has been 'trained' to go along with whatever the Kenoma subject him to (besides outright killing him) and he can be freely taken anywhere in the Citadel. For the most part he's been wandering around common areas. I've been told that Kenoma won't get in trouble for interacting with him/feeding him/dressing him as long as they aren't excessively compassionate about it. The Kenoma can also specifically request his use for whatever tasks they might need done, though he will be incompetent at anything that isn't straightforward.

To clarify what "excessively compassionate" means: it's really just not doing stuff that portrays what the Regent did to him as wrong or acting like he deserves better. Part of the humiliation is him having to rely on what Kenoma give him, so they may deign to help him, it would just be bad look to do it from a place of moral objection that would undermine the Regent's decisions.]

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Matt doesn't mean to distract Estinien from the mortifying ordeal of being known to himself. Not consciously. But perhaps a sliver of him is superstitious that the wrong gesture could break whatever spell this is--crack this pale Estinien open like a chrysalis and reveal the deadly, lionlike one at his heart. Though if that's what's waiting at Estinien's core, Matt's improved vision doesn't allow him to see it.

"Yes please," Matt confirms, pleasant. "I wanna do something about your hair, but honestly ... a bath wouldn't hurt you."

The servant returns promptly, now dressed in a damp shift and carrying a basket full of the things Matt's requested. He thanks her, and as she scurries away, Matt investigates what he's working with. A bar of soap, a few jars of various unguents, towels. A small pail. Matt nudges off his shoes, which are basically leather house slippers, and tucks them into the basket, swapping them out for first the jars, then the comb. He glances back to Estinien.

"So ... all I need you to do is just stay close enough that I can reach your hair." He senses he won't be able to avoid getting wet, but most days he steps in a small moat, so what else is new. "I'm not going to hurt you on purpose, but some of this probably won't feel pleasant." He skims the pail across the water's surface, filling it. "Tip your head back, please."

He slips into the water as soon as he's been given clearance to do so, sinking in up to his nose. It feels... pleasant in a way he hasn't felt before, to be surrounded by warmth like this. All the while, the grime that has been building up no longer seems to have a hold on them, and some of the itch on his scalp abates.

He actually looks something akin to peaceful when Matt is ready to go, if only because the new sensation had enabled him to put away his other thoughts, just for a moment. He readily nods when Matt asks for his cooperation, coming back to the edge of the pool.

Not being hurt 'on purpose' seems fine to him, relatively speaking. If that's the case, whatever it is can't be so bad. He sits on the short set of stairs leading into the water, turning his back to Matt and complying in a way that is either overtly trusting or completely resigned to whatever is thrown his way.

This is all so gentle so far, though. He's been lured into relaxing, if only a little.

As Estinien sits on the steps, Matt settles cross-legged at the edge of the bath. After years of using his body as his primary spellcasting instrument, years of breathing exercises and the intersections formed by touch, Matt has a better sense for body language than he does for most other social cues. Estinien's compliance is easy to note, his relative relaxation a little less so; but Matt does notice it. It reminds him, bittersweetly, of Liem, and he isn't sure what to do with that. So he tips the pail, letting water fall in a warm sheet onto Estinien's hair. Fills the pail again. Repeat.

After a few passes, Matt reaches for the jar he's fairly sure contains the closest thing to conditioner they have here, a fragrant oil. Since losing his hand, simple tasks like unscrewing lids have changed from hold jar, twist lid to pin jar between stump and stomach, twist lid--a distinction that's barely anything, and yet enough to sting him. Matt's still planning to use that comb, but he's taking a gentler route to get there: He coats his fingers in the oil and starts to apply it to Estinien's hair, beginning with the most problematic tangles.

"You are a mess, huh," he murmurs, rueful. "Don't take that as an insult, by the way. My hair has been officially unmanageable since I was a kid--lots of tangles."

His hair is, fortunately, mostly straight - but still thick enough that it can be a lot to work through. It's longer than when he first entered Horos, no longer held back by his less than dedicated care routine. The fringe is where it's most notable, having drifted past the point where he can see past it without shifting it out of the way.

Were he the man he used to be, this is the sort of interaction he would only allow from the people he trusted most. Right now, just being offered physical care in a way that is patient and gentle is enough to make it desirable. He finds himself leaning into Matt's ministrations, rather than away. He hadn't really realized it was possible to feel less physically wretched until now.

He thinks about what Matt says. He doesn't know anything about what he was like as a child. He only remembers being pulled from his chrysalis, with his hair already a mess. It got this way because nothing was done to fix it, simple as that.

"Yes," he murmurs, some vague acknowledgment of what Matt has said. What catches his interest more is that Matt is doing all of this one-handed. He'd seen it before, of course - the truncated limb. Yet just hadn't seemed like his business, until he started seeing the ways it made these tasks just slightly harder. At one point when he looks back, or when he passes into his view, he points it out.

"Your hand..." Or the lack thereof. In some ways, he understands it all too well. His own limbs has been malformed when he was first reborn. He hadn't been able to do anything to help himself, relying on his new masters entirely.

"... Oh." An uneasy chuckle. "Yeah. My hand."

He wonders if Estinien can see what's really there, the tear and tug on reality that the missing space exerts. The relative shallowness to the shadow around his heart makes him think--maybe not.

"Actually, it's kind of related to the thing that had a hold on you," he says. "The Innocence." Matt pauses. He hasn't shared this with most Kenoma; hardly anyone has the full picture. Estinien may seem harmless now, but there's every chance that as he recovers, he'll retain any information Matt gives him--maybe even use it against him, or spread it to another Kenoma who would.

But the matter feels like it concerns Estinien more deeply than anyone. Matt doesn't want to keep it from him.

"A piece of her had kind of ... molded itself to look like you, or to be you, and Xishen and I used it to try and scry for her." He tugs at a particularly stubborn knot in Estinien's hair, fingers working to loosen it. "Which she was strong enough to prevent. At least until I gave something up of equal value."

Her... the Innocence...

Nobody has actually used those specific words to him yet. The Pleroma, yes. It was all the Pleroma, with no more details given. It was an out-of-control force, one that he'd taken into himself and suffered the consequences. He was a fool barely worthy of mercy for that mistake, but...

To hear Matt talk about it almost like it was a person... it makes him feel strange. Had he known this person, as who he was before? What had she meant to him? How painful had it been to realize her betrayal? To realize that he'd been tricked with promises of power and torn to pieces at her hands?

For a moment, he feels that suppressed hatred rise up in his chest. The kind that waits and claws at his ribs for the chance to escape. The kind that he'll have no outlet for until he's finally allowed to hurt someone else in turn...

Gradually, though, he forces it down. Instead, his brow furrows, both in response to the pulling of his hair's tangles a to the thought of this mysterious talk of molded forms and scrying. They've been battling against her, had they? And him.

"She hurt you?" he murmurs, not sure he understands. He she - had he - taken Matt's hand?

"Well, she hurt a lot of people," Matt says slowly. "Including me. But the hand was more like ... I had to give it up to unlock enough power to reach her."

Tug--tug--ha. Matt's fingers, at last, slide unobstructed through the strands of hair. Matt cranes from behind Estinien to get a better look at his expression. It's a bit strange to try and read someone's face through a muzzle, but he doesn't think he looks too terribly upset by the direction the conversation's taken.

"So I sacrificed it," he concludes. "It was my choice." He reaches for the comb now, starting to draw it through Estinien's hair. Matt seems to have a good sense for when Estinien's tenser and when he's more relaxed, and adjusts his own force accordingly. "You know, the things we're called on to do ... they can be really hard. But I don't mind suffering in the short term if it means a better world eventually."

The things they're called to do...

He's certainly gotten the impression here that the Kenoma has some kind of higher calling, if only to fight back against the very same force that destroyed him. He'd been blinded by his hubris before, he can only assume. So desperate for power he would gamble his soul, and it was a bet that he lost.

Matt sounds almost noble while talking about this, without any context to go off of. The people here were vindicated by their cause, and it was only right that vengeance be taken, if they deserved it. That Matt has gone for this, instead... he doesn't know how to feel. Relived. Grateful, maybe.

His expression has remained distant throughout the conversation, and it remains that way now. He supposes he sacrificed his own limbs, in a sense. It was just for a much more foolish thing. He can't feel like there is any place for him in this better world. But... maybe if he...

"A better world...?" he asks. For only a moment, some part of him wishes that he could help. Maybe he will, in the end, but if there was anything he could actually do now... if he could be part of higher purpose...

"Mmhmm." As the comb grazes Estinien's scalp. Matt pulls it through the tip ends of his hair, pleased to feel it move smoothly. "One without unnecessary suffering. Where everything can have its place, and its time, and be loved for what it is."

A slight pause.

"That's what I want, at least. I'm doing my best to make sure that happens."

It's hard to know what the new universe will look like, when as far as Matt knows, none of them have ever seen one born before. It's hard to know what the signs will be when they're on the right path. But he's changing, at least. He's seen others change. That growth, that shift, makes the whole project seem tantalizingly possible.

It's a bittersweet concept to him. He can't really imagine life without suffering, let alone an entire world with it. If that's what the Kenoma have been fighting for... it feels even grimmer to be on this side of things.

The comb in his hair feels nice, and physically speaking he feels nice. His hair actually moving like that is so freeing in comparison and his feet are warm in the water.

In contrast, however, that news causes nothing but hurt for him on a personal level.

"I couldn't... be a part of that..." he says softly, staring down at the water. He was barely fit for life in this world, let alone a better, more perfect one. Even if he wasn't completely broken spiritually and mentally, he doesn't think he would be welcome. Not after what he did to this place. Not when he's already angered the Regent so.

Matt hesitates.

Estinien looks like he's accepted the Kenoma to him, so in that sense, he imagines he's already part of it. He wants to tell him as much, but it strikes him as the sort of spiritual question that maybe the Regent wouldn't like to hear he'd been weighing in on. Better not to risk stepping on their toes.

"I don't know," Matt says eventually. "It's hard to say what'll happen. I'm not sure what part I'll play in the whole thing ... or if I'll even be there to see the next world. Still, that doesn't mean we can't contribute."

He's pleased with his progress tidying Estinien's hair. It's tangle-free! And it even smells nice! Matt wishes he'd thought to ask for shears to deal with those overlong bangs, but the last time he tried to give someone a haircut, he really fucked it up.

To be fair, he'd been eight.

"Okay," he muses, "I think it's towel time, just to get some of the moisture out of here. I have a master plan for keeping your hair out of your face."

The Regent has impressed upon him that he's a lesser creature who is only being given what little he has out of mercy and grace. It seems impossible to imagine he'd be invited to whatever new world is created. At the same time... Matt himself saying that he doesn't know if he'll get to see the next world, and that it doesn't matter either way...

It makes him feel like there might be some hope for him, if even a little. That he could be a part of whatever needs to be done to allow that to happen. Maybe that's what it will be like when he is finally sent against the Pleroma. His hubris, his violence... everything that was responsible for reducing him to this state could be used to tear apart the things that had enabled it in the first place.

It wouldn't matter if he got anything from it, wouldn't it? At least he's be doing something. At least this new lifeform he feels like, left behind by another, could earn some small bit of purpose before it stops existing forever.

Matt says he's done with his hair, though, so that interrupts his train of thought. He slides his fingers through his own air, in awe at how different it feels. It pools smoothly over his shoulder and back, a far cry from the frayed mess it had been before. It feels like a gift, as much as anything else. Something Matt had been willing to give him, despite everything.

He finds himself a bit teary-eyed, at something so small.

"Thank you," he mumbles.

Matt has always been a sympathy crier, ever since he was little. So even without consciously connecting that mumble to tears or sadness, Matt's throat feels tight for a moment.

Only a moment, though. Then he rallies with another smile.

"Don't thank me yet." He reaches for the towel, starting to more or less sponge it over Estinien's hair to get the excess moisture out. "My real innovation ... is gonna be ..."

The towel, now dampened, flops into the basket. Matt reclaims the comb and cordons off Estinien's hair into three sections, equal as he can make them. When his fingers move in his hair again, it's with more care and precision: to isolate three small strands, and begin laying them one over the other. How is Matt managing with only one hand? The answer is a levitation spell, used to hold the strands he's not actively braiding in place. It doesn't feel like much--no more than a warm, gentle puff of air.

"Most people don't know I can do this," he says as he works. "But I used to braid my sister's hair all the time. I wanted to do everything with her when we were kids, so I was like her little handmaiden."

He's fully committed to accepting whatever Matt is willing to give him at this point, and so he sits patiently through the toweling and the unfamiliar arranging of his hair. Something about this whole experience... it strikes a chord with him in a way that is impossible to describe or make sense of. Like a light in the corner of his vision that is gone every time he looks for it.

The mention of a sister, of familial grooming... it feels like something he should have strong emotions about. He even does, in a way. Matt tells him this and it hits with a weight that is completely irrational. He's told about a sister and brother, and it's almost like he's having something that was once his be described.

Something he can never get back. Even if... if...

"You..."

Matt was someone's brother. He doesn't know why that matters to him. He feels completely enslaved to these uncontrollable feelings, none of which he knows the root of.

"...She was lucky..."

Those three small words stop Matt mid-gesture. He doesn't even breathe.

The thing is, while he believes in his goal, he doesn't feel like someone that anybody would be lucky to have around. Certainly he wasn't lucky for Flora. Or for Majorita, or Silco, or any of the allies his feckless intuitions have endangered. For the boy he and Paul were going to arrest before Estinien swooped in. There's also the fact--one Estinien has no way of knowing, but which Matt can't ignore--that he and Katy-Rose weren't exactly on speaking terms when the world ended. They weren't on non-speaking terms, they just ... didn't have much to say to each other anymore.

"Hm. Well." A soft huff, as his fingers start to move again. "She didn't think so."

Matt reaches for a stray strand of Estinien's hair, fishing it out from beneath the muzzle's strap. His fingers brush the tip of a pointed ear as he brings it into the braid.

"But you know, that's okay. It's all in the past."

It's hard for him to relate to the emotions Matt alludes to. He doesn't have anyone, after all. It's hard to imagine people like Matt and the other Kenoma being unwanted or alone. Not with the power they wield. Not with how important they are to the future.

Meanwhile, Matt's fingers brush against his ear, causing it to twitch ever so slightly.

It's all in the past.

He wishes the past was something he could move on from, like Matt suggests. Instead, the past will burden him forever, every aspect of him changed irrevocably my mistakes that were already so far out of reach.

Could Matt truly be free of his own burdens?

"It doesn't hurt you?"

Matt's eyes catch on the twitch of Estinien's ear. It's a surprising movement to him, coming from a world where most people's ears are decidedly smaller and rounder. Like most traits that make people unique, he finds it quietly fascinating.

He turns his focus back to his task.

"It hurts," he says, after a moment. "But pain isn't necessarily a bad thing. I mean, I don't want there to be any more of it in the universe than there has to be. But in its place, pain is ... information. It gives us signals about things that are important."

This braid is shaping up nicely. He just needs something to tie it off with. Matt fishes into his pocket, coming up with a twist of string, and uses a moment's focused meditation to make the string twirl itself around the base of the braid. He ties it into a slightly lopsided bow.

He can't see Matt's work, but he can feel it. It's nice not to have his long hair clinging all over his body, especially when it's wet. It's much fancier than something he could have done for himself.

He listens to what Matt says intently, having found his manner trustworthy. It almost feels... conversational. Friendly, like talking to someone you have an amicable relationship. He shifts his legs in the water, stretching out his knees and toes.

"What do you think is important...?" he asks. It's a fairly open-ended question. Maybe he just wants to listen to Matt talk to him some more, the subject matter less important than the gentle, peaceful tone.

Matt's not sure what to do with his fingers anymore, with nothing to officially occupy them. He fusses a moment with Estinien's braid, tucking a wayward strand more securely, but then he sits back. Lets his hand drop to his side.

"Oh ... a lot of things," he sighs, smiling faintly. As he predicted, his pant legs are wet by now, but Matt doesn't mind. If anything, he half wants to get into the bath himself, since Estinien seems to be enjoying it so much. "Almost anything, depending on the situation. Which isn't really an answer."

Matt reaches towards the water, doodling absent sigils in its surface.

"I think love is important," he says. "Not just affection, or intimacy--those are pieces of love, but not the whole. Love is like ... gravity. And breath. It's like these components of being, the things that make us what we are, and when they're working right everything just ... sings."

He flicks his fingers into the invisible symbol he's just drawn. Bathwater splashes in a small spatter.

Rueful: "I'm sure that doesn't make any sense. But like, if you hurt because of love, it might be because you love someone and they don't feel the same way. Or if I feel like ... nothing sings right in the world anymore, and it hasn't for a long time, then I'm not hurting because love doesn't matter to me. It's because it matters a lot. And it's important for me to remember that."

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[OPEN] i am shell and i am bone

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