aionlogs | walk of shame

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walk of shame

WHO: Howl & Ciel; Howl & you?
WHAT: On the afternoon of the second day of the TDM's events, Howl set out to make good on his lofty promise to take out Estinien. Once he found him, however, things did not go well. He returns at the end of the day with severe injuries, to be found by Ciel and whisked off for healing and rest. For the next several days, he stays sequestered in his room, but don't think he's so upset that he won't see visitors willing to give him sympathy and attention.
WHERE: Kenoma Lodestone (closed); Howl's quarters (open)
WHEN: Approximately April 27-April 30
WARNINGS: Description/discussion of Howl's pretty significant physical injuries; plus there's a good chance of self-loathing/self-destruction/vaguely suicidal ideation. He is a Kenoma after all, and he's having a bad time.

If you wanna plot something specifically for this, you can PM me here or poke me at

lazdo/OddLazdo#2470!

CLOSED: for Ciel (April ~27)

[ The day is turning to late afternoon when the magic of a far-off returning stone glimmers beside the Regent's Lodestone. In the next moment, a large, sticky black mass of feathers appears. The Aion buried somewhere inside shivers in shock and relief as he realizes the spell finally executed, but that quick pulse of emotion drops off sharply as the cold floor crashes against the torment permeating through his entire body. And then, gradually, comes a pervasive aura of not just despair, but tangible physical pain, emanating off the broken wizard like poisonous gas.

A few cultists turn from their current tasks to gawk at the monster that is now, suddenly, bleeding profusely in the Regent's grand and austere hall. They glance at one another as if wordlessly debating who should approach, if anyone. Before any of them move, the pile of feathers does; it rises as if trying to turn itself into a pyramid before two distinct but mangled wings peel away from the mass, along with arms and legs. There is no head to speak of, or at least, no protrusion that can be recognized as a head.

The creature turns very slowly towards the nearest archway leading out of the Lodestone's hall and begins to shuffle towards it. It leaves a trail of blood and iridescent black feathers in its wake. The cultists gawk, unaware of what exactly to do, but to any fellow Kenoma Aions nearby, the creature's mind is familiar. This tortured glob of malleable feathers is clearly, obviously the Wizard Howl, and he is not well. ]

OPEN: for all (April 27-30)

[ In the days following his return to Achamoth, Howl has done his best to keep to himself. Unfortunately his best cannot account for the tenacity of the others here, who to his dismay, have somehow already found out what had happened to him. Whether they know the details, Howl has no idea, but the mere fact that people know that he returned to the city in defeat after a day of fighting inflicts a kind of humiliation on him so severe that he cannot bring himself to show his face outside of his room.

Sadly, this has not stopped people from contacting him through communion — or even attempting to visit. Howl can't decide which is more dreadful: being trounced so thoroughly or suffering the concern of others.

At the same time, it is so very boring in this room, and Howl has never been able to bear being alone with his own thoughts. Regardless of who you are, there's a strong chance he will answer your message, and a fairly good chance he will yell back at your knock that the door is open. ]

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The answer causes Emet-Selch to narrow his eyes, careful to pick it apart in his mind. He says nothing and allows Howl to recount the encounter however he wished to. Although, this specific way of recounting this doesn't seem to strike a chord of approval - but then again, not much does.

He leans one arm back to brace himself against the extremely uncomfortable wooden bench, letting the other fall across his lap. "No, instead he offered to kill you and take that which is most precious to you. Like any truly merciful savior would." He ends the sentence with the slightest disapproving huff.

"That which is most precious?"

Howl echoes the words in the course of pondering them. What exactly does Emet-Selch mean by that? His life? That's only true in the most technical sense — his body would come back, presumably, even if Estinien had taken his Shard back with him to the Pleroma. Or does the old mage mean something else? Howl's... freedom, maybe?

The wizard rolls onto his side, facing Emet-Selch again, and props his head up on one hand.

"To his credit, or his foolishness... whichever it might be... he didn't. The only thing he demanded from me was the vial I was given before I left Achamoth. And then, he left me there to use the returning stone."

"I see..." Emet-Selch gives him a long assessing look, the kind he gives while puzzling out information in his mind. What kind of consequences would that bring? That demand was likely not insignificant. Though perhaps inevitable in the long term.

After a while, he stands from his seat with a grunt of effort. "If we are not here to train, perhaps it would be best if I accompanied you back to your room."

Howl watches Emet-Selch get up and realizes, as he's offering to escort him back, that he's glad the Ascian came to bother him in his room, and that he really did need to talk to someone about everything that happened, and that he... doesn't want to go back just yet. Before answering, Howl gets up from the grass, huffing softly when the effort agitates some lingering pain.

Once he's on his feet, he dusts himself free of any loose grass and trains his eyes back on Emet-Selch. "I've got a better idea. Let's go drinking." And for the first time since Emet-Selch barged in, a hint of an energetic smile comes back to Howl's face. "You want to? I know I could use it."

The look on his face yields a flicker of surprise before giving way to uncertainty. He's quiet at first, like it's a question he's asked so seldomly that he doesn't know what to say.

One can't help but think of the days prior, when he stood over Howl's bedside tending to those grievous wounds. It's an unfortunate reminder of what becoming attached would bring. What it would always bring. These creatures are so frail. So..withered. Being invested in them always brought suffering no matter how much he wished it otherwise.

"I do not want to 'go drinking'." He says listlessly. "I will escort you to the kitchens to get whatever drink you desire, if that is what you wish."

"Oh, come now — don't tell me you're disappointed you didn't get to teach me any magic," Howl chides, although his tone is playful. It did not escape his attention that Emet-Selch was taken somewhat aback by the invitation. Suspecting that he might be convinced with one more push, Howl walks back towards him, limping slightly on his bad leg.

"An ancient being like yourself must possess truly unparalleled hardiness against spirits! Probably still not as hardy as me, of course; you wouldn't believe the sort of mischief I got up to at the academy."

Okay, maybe he can believe it. But still! With a broad grin that sharply contrasts with his dour mood from a few minutes ago, he gives Emet-Selch's high shoulder a chummy pat.

"I've been sitting in my room for days. Turn me down if you want, but know that I'll be inviting you again many more times until you come!"

The look of uncertainty does not cease even as such cheerfulness is freely given. Persistent cheerfulness- the worst kind of cheerfulness.

Emet-Selch closes his eyes and folds one arm over the other, a frown clear on his face while he debates his options. "Perhaps it would be useful to hear what kind of chicanery you have committed in your schooling years, so that I may know what the future may hold." It's not...entirely a no.

"Ah, that's a perfect idea! Trading tales of our youth over our drinks!"

That is... not at all what Emet-Selch said, but with how the younger wizard grins up at the ancient with a slightly coy look in his eye, one gets the feeling that Howl is teasing Emet-Selch a little bit on purpose. Either way, Howl is undeniably in a better mood now. And could anyone blame him? Now that he's got all that talking about feelings out of the way, he can go back to what he loves most: doing whatever he wants, for the sake of it being what he wants. And having fun is always part of that.

"I know the best place, right on the edge of the Entertainment District. It isn't far. Come along!"

The sparkling lights of the Entertainment District are soon in view. Emet-Selch, for his part, still seems unsure about the whole sorted affair.

They reach a bar soon enough. It has large glass windows and lights that are strewn up over the entrance. Emet-Selch gives it a critical look, but he seems convinced enough that it's worth going inside.

The pair are shown to their seats by the host - every employee is excited to have two living and breathing Aions in their establishment. Well, they are enthusiastic about having Howl there. Emet-Selch they still seem a little wary about.

Emet-Selch slips into his seat at the bar with an enthusiastic grumble. "My, I wonder if they could have found seats any less comfortable."

Howl follows along on the way to the bar, making small talk with Emet-Selch and ignoring his vaguely sour mood the entire way. His tolerance is fueled by all that the old mage has done for him, both intentionally and unintentionally. And as ornery as Emet-Selch can be, Howl can be just as bad. What sort of hypocrite would be be if he couldn't look past it?

On the way into the bar, Howl gives his warmest and most charming smile to the young thing who brings them to their seats at the bar. The way he talks to women is not overtly sexual; he's not trying to be some sort of corny Casanova. His approach is much more honest and down to earth, possessing as he does the necessary charm to simply be himself and still be widely appealing. Before she leaves them at their seats, he takes her hand and kisses the back of her knuckles, and she leaves them both with flushed cheeks and a new story to gleefully tell her friends.

Howl turns towards his companion just as he's grumbling about the seats. "We could always ask for different seats," he offers congenially, holding up the mark of the Celebrant carved into his forearm. "They've certainly noticed who we are... and while you're a bit problematic at the moment, I'm not."

But he suspects that Emet-Selch is complaining for the sake of it. Instead of waiting overlong for him to answer, he turns towards the bartender and raises his other hand. "Two doubles of your best brandy, on the rocks!"

Emet-Selch rolls his eyes at the display. The proper gesture, the giggling girls running back to their friends, it's all charmingly reprehensible. "I wouldn't want to hinder the view of your adoring public."

Though he does catch himself sparing a thought for how that leg wound is healing in the same reasoning. They walked all the way here. It would be better to rest for a while without any unnecessary movement.

Both of their drinks are brought to them with all haste. He reaches for his glass and, curiously, there is a folded slip of paper tucked under it. Emet-Selch removes it and reads what is written. His expression seems so...unimpressed by its contents. It says: 'I have a thing for bad boys'.

Of course.

The note arrests Howl's attention like a squeaky toy being waved in front of a puppy. He swiftly leans in close, intending to see for himself what it says before Emet-Selch can lift it out of view with his long arms. And what is written there is more amazing, more hilarious, more delighting than anything he could have guessed.

With an enormous grin on his face, he straightens up and looks at Emet-Selch expectedly, clearly trying to stifle a laugh as he does.

"Well now. Looks like you've still got it, old man, whether you like it or not! Not even that Mark is holding you back!"

Howl snatches his drink off the counter and holds it out, seeking a toast before he takes the first sip. As he waits for Emet-Selch to do the same, he continues. "Popular with the ladies back home? I'm no judge of male beauty, but I wager your height would be enough to capture the interest of plenty women. Not to mention your sunny personality."

Emet-Selch slaps the note down in front of Howl with intent. Keep it.

"Ah yes, my captivating personality." It's plainly obvious that is a facetious remark. He is under no impression that he is the easiest person to get along with, nor does he want to entertain everyone's company.

In any case.

"It has never mattered who I was 'popular' with." He reaches for his drink and swirls it around in the glass. "Although, it seems you have no trouble in attracting admirers. I have an inclination that would be the case even if you were not an Aion."

Left hanging on the toast, Howl wobbles his glass, clinking it with an imagined second glass instead, before taking a respectably deep sip of the liquor. It burns the back of his throat and he lets out a sharp exhale of satisfaction once it's down.

"Nonsense," Howl says in retort to Emet-Selch's deflection of his question. But he seems to let it go as he settles against the edge of the bar, arms crossed, still holding his glass in one hand. Howl knows that the past is a sensitive topic for the older man, so he's content moving on.

"Your inclination would be mostly correct," Howl says matter-of-factly. "But attracting admirers is one thing. Keeping them, that's a skill I am still working on." He shoots Emet-Selch a mysterious look, and after a moment, extends one of the fingers gripping his glass to point backwards at himself — at his chest.

"Although... I suspect it may not be a skill issue."

The intrigue is enough to make Emet-Selch arch an eyebrow. Ah, the heart? He has enough good sense to not ask that aloud in case there are prying ears around them. While there may be no Kenoma around, the people of Achamoth shouldn't be privy to such a thing either.

"Oh." He says in surprise. "What an unexpected hindrance." The tone beckons him for further elaboration.

Howl smiles subtly at his reaction. His pale blue eyes dart away, down into his drink again, and he seems to be hesitating to respond. The hesitation goes on a few beats too long, to the point that instead it seems he is struggling to answer.

Finally, he sighs and takes another sip of brandy. That's now two sips more than Emet-Selch has taken.

"A powerful mage ought to know how curses work," he finally says, sounding as listless as he is vague. "Unless they work differently in your world...? Hmm." That last comment seems more to himself than to Emet-Selch.

Edited 2022-05-25 04:54 (UTC)

At first, it seems like the question that would not get an answer. Or perhaps had no clear answer? Emet-Selch takes a sip of his drink and lets the topic sit.

He taps the countertop with two fingers to indicate to the barkeep to bring them a few more. She winks at him and heads off. Wonderful.

When he does receive an answer, it seems... evasive. "It is difficult to judge how familiar I am with something when I have so little detail." Which prompts the question: "Who placed it on you, and why?"

That's a good of a question to start with as any, and it does help Howl navigate around the communication restrictions inherent to the curse that comes with demonic contracts. He thinks for a moment, wondering how much he'd say even if he were capable of speaking freely, and then ponders how to say it. The process in his head is akin to trying to shove a coded message through a crack in a stone wall.

"A friend of mine," he says slowly. The curse didn't stop his tongue the way it tends to do so in situations like this — possibly because Emet-Selch was able to discern some details about the curse on his own, Howl muses to himself. He continues.

"His name was Calcifer. I... met him when I was very young. Just a boy." He takes a quick sip from his glass, emptying it. "You could say that by becoming friends, we both cursed the other."

Emet-Selch makes a small sound of amusement through his nose. "You mean to tell me that being friends with you brings trouble?" His voice sounds so facetious, but not at all mean-spirited. In fact, he sounds more entertained than anything.

The new drinks are brought to them and sat on the table. Emet-Selch picks one up in his hand and swirls it lightly in his hand. "In what way did your friend find themselves 'cursed'?"

Howl is not offended; he knows Emet-Selch well enough by now to tell when he is having a bit of fun, and even when he isn't, Howl rarely takes his cranky mutterings too seriously.

With a smile encouraged by his friend's amusement, he shrugs his shoulders lightly. "...I suppose you could say he was cursed to remain my friend, whether he liked it or not. Oh, if he were here, you can be sure he'd be chiming in right now to complain that he's more akin to my slave, but..."

Howl stops. His smile fades slightly as he glances away, choosing his words, and then he looks back to Emet-Selch to gauge whether he catches the true meaning of what he's saying.

"...He had a heart that tended towards self-pity. Always complaining about everything, never wanting to do any work at all."

The long look he gives is indicative enough that he is able to piece the hints together. It is not so far-fetched, given his 'younger brother' of sorts became the heart of their God.

"...Then he is your friend indeed." Emet-Selch summarizes calmly. "Perhaps their accusations are not so inaccurate. Such 'friends' often find themselves at the mercy of our whims and sentimentalities."

"Hah! He'd like you for sure," Howl remarks with a wide, closed-eyed grin, his mirth from before returning even stronger. It's so infinitesimally rare for Howl to be able to talk about Calcifer in a way that lets him actually say anything about him, and somehow, the sorrow that usually overtakes him when he merely thinks about his now-dead friend does not plague him today, during this rare conversation. Of course, it's not that it isn't there — it definitely is, squeezing inside his chest every time he pictures the fire demon in his head — but it's almost like the act of being able to talk about him at all is soothing.

"I knew him all my life, or close to it," Howl continues after taking a sip from his glass. "He was always there for me, and me for him. Quite literally. And now, I'll never see him again."

Howl knows Emet-Selch will not understand the full story, not from what he's said so far. He has no way of knowing that Calcifer is a demon, that Howl offered up his heart to him when he was just a child, and that he never intended to form an unbreakable contract that would give him enormous power while cutting his maximum possible lifespan by more than half. But... those are just details, aren't they? The basics are not so difficult: that Calcifer was his friend, and he loved him in spite of their mutually complicated situation, and that he misses him dearly.

Emet-Selch's expression softens to rare sympathy. This feeling of loss is all too familiar. Perhaps all Aion's feel some of that similar pain given the state of their worlds.

"It is never easy to lose those we love." His voice carries with it empathy that only experience can provide. In this case - no matter how their friendship is described - it gives the impression of surpassing normal fondness. "In their woeful absence, we find that they have taken a piece of us with them."

There is no intent for elaboration. He moves on. "That seems doubly true given what your friend is."

Later, with some reflection, Howl will feel foolish for voicing these thoughts to Emet-Selch. He knows he's seen more loss than probably anyone, and on reflection, he'll worry that bringing up his relatively frivolous problems made him a poor drinking buddy. But for now, having his troubles recognized brings him a comfort that he has literally never felt before now. Calcifer is the only person he could speak to about these things, but because they were both quite aware of their predicament, there was never any occasion to talk about it. Certainly not when it also ran the risk of making Howl feel so overwhelmed with helplessness.

Because, what was there for he and Calcifer to do? Howl's heart is what kept Calcifer from fizzling out into nothingness seconds after being born, like the other shooting stars that night. To take it back would be to kill him. And Howl had exploited Calcifer's power far too much over the years for him to ever dream of doing such a thing. This of course begs the question of how Howl can still be living and breathing with Calcifer dead — his heart dead — but... who knows?

Emet-Selch's discerning comment makes Howl pause. Yes, he understood well what he'd tried to get across, and Howl is immensely grateful for it. For now, he sets his glass back down on the bar with a sigh. He's got to slow down or he'll get drunk before he knows it.

"I had given up hope, you know," he says as he props his chin in his hand and looks out across the bar. "But even so, it's different when he's gone. Not even a miracle can undo the mess we got ourselves in when he's not even here."

It isn't just a friend he lost. His heart is gone forever. In moments like this, the Kenoma wraps around his soul perfectly, without the tiniest pushback.

He silently considers the particulars of the situation. What delineation is there between the heart and soul, when does one stop and the other begin? Emet-Selch glances momentarily at Howl's shard with his eyes. Just as importantly, what did that mean for what is contained within...?

"Is that who you cried out for, back in the cave?" Though he had made a fuss about it back then - and made a poor first impression besides - that doesn't mean that he wasn't listening to what transpired.

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Later...

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