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. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

The question makes Howl hesitate. He turns his head slightly, as if to look back at Emet-Selch while thinking, but his eyes stay averted. That night, the sole night he spent in the throne room... he was crying out for everything back then. Everything. It had been so overwhelming. Not just the loss of Calcifer, but the loss of his world and everyone he's ever known. Markl, the child he found on his doorstep and took in on the pretense of making him his apprentice, only for him to prove himself as a smart and capable boy, and become his apprentice for real. His castle, both literal and figurative, born from Calcifer's power, which made it possible for him to be a free wizard. And that cursed girl. The very last thing Howl remembers before finding himself in this place was forcing her out of his bedroom — or, he should say, the twisted maze of tunnels he'd turned it into to keep her out — after she...

Howl suddenly huffs out a deep, theatrical sigh and sits up straight. After picking up his glass, he knocks the entire thing back, having changed his mind about slowing down. When it clacks back onto the bar counter, he exhales with satisfaction.

"That, and more," is all Howl says. Between his decisive gesturing and the short response, it is clear that he intends to move them away from this topic now. That was his limit.

"Listen to me, going on and on with my sob story! That's not what I dragged you out here for." Turning to Emet-Selch for real now, he gives him an apologetic smile. "Weren't we supposed to share stories of our escapades? Me and my school days, and you... well, as long as you've been around, I'd expect you to have some escapades under your belt."

It seems that vein of conversation is at an end. He can understand when a topic is being steered in another direction and so he willingly leaves it at that.

"Hardly." Emet-Selch with a hint of the pride he used to have back in his halcyon days, one that was bound and determined to uphold the prestige of his name. Even so, he takes a sip of his drink so as to ignore elaborating entirely.

"Schooling for magic is no easy undertaking. What urged you to pursue it?"

Howl hums out a noise of disappointment when Emet-Selch declines his invitation to talk about himself. He really does want to know more about you and get to know you better, old man, especially after everything you've done for him lately, but if he doesn't want to, Howl can respect that.

"Well," he begins, "I didn't pursue it exactly. My uncle and guardian, he was a wizard in service of the King. His duties left me with quite a lot of time by myself as a child, and with nothing better to do, I started exploring his library and various collections."

He pauses, needing a moment to choose the right words to bypass his curse.

"...It was around this time I met Calcifer. And then, around the same time, my uncle finally noticed what I'd been doing, and more importantly, the talent and power he'd never noticed in me before then." Howl smiles somewhat apologetically at Emet-Selch; hopefully, his friend doesn't mind having to put these fragments together on his own.

"Once I caught the attention of the adults around me, well, my study of magic was like a foregone conclusion. Not that I didn't like it, mind you. I love magic. I was drawn to it from the start."

The idea of having to piece together information is more intriguing than having it handed to him. In this case, it seems like his 'friend' served as a source of power...? Or a way to enhance natural ability.

Emet-Selch puts a hand to his chin. "They must have been very impressed." The talents of children are something that one's own kin would remark upon, but not so much for the other adults around them. Not unless it is truly remarkable. "Your Uncle was a magician of regard, but they chose to send you to a school for tutlage instead?"

"Yes," Howl answers simply, giving Emet-Selch a wry smile. He doesn't offer much elaboration, as there hadn't been any one reason for his enrollment at the Sorcerer's Academy. His uncle's lack of time was only one of them, and one Howl has always thought of more as an excuse.

"I was something of a troublemaker at that age," he adds once the beat of thought has passed, "as shocking as that surely is."

"You don't say," Emet-Selch says as flat as anything, steeped in the suspicion that Howl never quite grew out of such 'troublemaking'.

"And what manner of mischief would you cause in your formative years that you have since left behind?" Thus, the crux of what he 'claimed' to come here for: to find out what kind of trouble he could potentially find himself in.

"Now, who said anything about my troublemaking being left behind?" Howl says jokingly, picking up on what Emet-Selch is thinking. But he continues anyway, thinking back on his boyhood as he taps a finger against his jaw.

"I delighted in showing off my magic. Other children, upperclassmen, teachers, whoever would give me their attention. My self-study had put me several years ahead of my classmates, and I made no attempt at hiding that fact, often to the annoyance of my instructors."

The alcohol is settled comfortably in his brain now, a veil that soothes Howl's perpetual, low-level anxieties. The cute waitress whose knuckles he'd kissed passes them by and Howl does not even seem to notice.

"They'd never expel me though, and I knew it. To have a student there with as much untapped power as I — it added to the prestige of the school and the pedigree of its graduates." With that, he pauses and glances to Emet-Selch.

"...I should mention that my alma mater was founded and sponsored by the crown. It was, to be blunt, a military academy, where students were groomed to be wizards of war. Graduation required the swearing of an oath to serve king and country when called upon, with no room to decline."

Emet-Selch's expression sobers. Wizards of war. A surprising detail, and not one he would naturally assume with Howl. It did explain his steadfast determination and willingness to challenge the Dragoon, perhaps the modicum of pride that came with his asking if he was familiar with shield magic.

Silently, he reassesses some of their past interactions to compare with that of soldiers he's seen in the past.

"To which I assume you graduated." It is a makeshift way of asking if Howl is, indeed, indebted to the crown. Or was, at least.

Howl snorts. Rolls his eyes, plops his chin back into his hand. This part makes him feel particularly bitter, apparently.

"Yes, I did," he sighs. "Mind you, my marks were never good, but it wasn't for a lack of learning or a deficiency in ability. I'd caught the Royal Sorceress' attention long before graduation, you know, and I became her apprentice even before I graduated. I just... hated the damn place. I'm not good at school. Most of it is nonsense."

He understands what Emet-Selch was really asking, so he adds, "And yes, I took the oath. But even as I stood there at the ceremony, reciting it with my schoolmates, I did not take it seriously. It wasn't long after that Calcifer and I made ourselves disappear. The oath, my career, my prestigious apprenticeship, none of it was worth a damn if we'd have to lose our freedom."

“A deserter.” It’s not judgemental or disapproving. Merely fact. Those who broke that oath were no friends to the crown. No matter the cost they were supposed to remain loyal. Loyal to the end.

Which makes him..wonder.

“Deserters are usually looked upon with more or equal ire to the enemy.” He looks to Howl, “You must have a talent for ‘disappearing’. They never would have stopped hunting you.”

Emet-Selch's tone might not have been accusatory, but the use of that word makes Howl peer at him. It may be technically correct, but it's only a term that would ever be used by those people without Howl's best interests in mind — who wanted to control him, control his power, and in the process, hurt Calcifer. The sidelong look softens as Emet-Selch continues, showing he does understand, but Howl's hackles are not completely lowered so quickly.

"Working together, Calcifer and I can... could keep ourselves hidden with minor effort," he says slowly. "And no, they never did stop looking for me, but after a while they did stop devoting so many resources to it."

Silently, he's wondering how they got back on such a depressing topic yet again. He's tempted to have another drink, but the disparity between the number he's had already and the number Emet-Selch has had feels wrong.

"That must make your feelings towards the Regent somewhat arduous," Emet-Selch observes quietly. It's a dangerous thing to note and it would be an equally dangerous thing to expect and answer to with so many devout followers present.

Though the entire comparison isn't lost on him, either. Someone in charge who commands their respect and loyalty. If it did not work before... then what makes it different here? Different enough to make a show of challenging one of their potential 'problems' on his own in a show of force? In a place where he did not train with comrades, had no familiarity with home, and had no family. This, he considers to himself.

But in the meanwhile, he offers an amicable expression and knowingly moves the conversation onward. Deliberately.

"Although I have the feeling you have a penchant for such relationships." His voice turns somewhat cheerfully chiding. "Do you know how exhausting the last few days have been in having to conjure so much healing magic? Arduous indeed." With that, he takes another drink.

walk of shame

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