EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

[aionmods]

The Empty Throne

DESCENT

Nearly two weeks after being dragged from shrine caverns, you hear along the grapevine that the "the throne room is complete." It doesn't take long to figure out what that means; the ritual grounds that you have been hearing mention of are finally prepared, and it's only a short while before you are once again being gathered together for travel. As a small mercy, at least this time the journey is short.

Through a passage that has been blocked by a gathering of soldiers for the entire length of your stay, a stairway is revealed to you. It leads deep into the ruins, through unfamiliar structures and into the bowels of the earth. Though your feel your are mostly going downward, the walk is still long on account of how many stairs their are, and the soldiers escorting you are restless. They are now being led by the stray, mask wearing Achamites that have been accompanying the group till now, silently observing. Whatever place this is, it seems that they now hold court.

Funneled into the chambers below, you are greeted by a massive, domed enclosure of stone. Positioned around its circular radius are twelve thrones in various states of disrepair, sized as if meant to seat giants. The backs of these thrones all differ slightly in design, though most have great cleaves of stone broken loose from their architecture, as if subjected to some great cataclysm. Each is engraved with a sigil, though some have been obscured by the destruction wrought. The throne closest to the entrance has been almost entirely demolished, making it impossible to glean much about.

The dome's ceiling appears to be hundreds of feet tall at its apex, its smooth surface disrupted by stalactites that puncture through its form like teeth. As a result, many chunks of the original structure seem to have cracked and collapsed in to the floor below. When examined closely, these fragments of the domed ceiling seem to be made of a material strangely reflective in quality, though caked in many years of dirt and grime. If large enough sections are cleaned, patterns may emerge, revealing designs that look almost like star maps. The floor beneath your feet as a similar, but subtly different quality, covered in wreckage and ruin but can be cleaned to reveal complex patterns of intersecting lines.

A careful eye will indicate that these lines all lead towards the center of the room - the one space that has been cleared and scrubbed prior to your arrival. Here, the lines converge, with carefully preserved marking in the stone that bely increasing levels of runic complexity the closer you look. This is where the ritual will be held, you are told.

THE RITUAL

There is not much time to regain your bearings before you are being shuffled forth towards the ritual space; no, all the waiting has already been done. Under the command of the smaller group of Achamites, the Hylicians will make heavy use of the whips in leading everyone to their places along the rune-inscribed circle. Before that, however, small cuts will be made to each prisoner with an athame, either on their hand or arm. With a sharp, burning sensation in the afflicted skin, these cuts will spread into wounds reflecting the image of one of the eleven sigils displayed on the thrones encircling the group, and matching the shrine they were originally pulled from.

With this accomplished, they can finally be taken into the circle. With a design comprised of four triangles overlapping, the design of an open eye carved at its center, all prisoners will be led to separates points on its design where the lines cross. Seemingly arranged by their shrine sigil to be closest to whatever throne represents them, they will be brought to their designated positions one by one. Any attempts to flee or disrupt the process will be dealt with swiftly and harshly, exacerbated by the increasing levels of paranoia and fear in the soldiers themselves. Whatever is being done here, they don't seem happy to involved with it either.

When everyone is in place, the seeming master of ceremonies will finally emerge. A dark haired woman will appear from the shadows, motes of golden light fluttering about her otherwise darkness-clad visage. Moving towards the center of the circle, she will stand over the marking of the eye and begin working her magicks. As if on cue, the soldiers will withdraw any remaining whips and scurry to the outside of the circle, only for new bonds of ethereal energy to lash out of the ritual circle itself, binding each and every prisoner and dragging them down to their knees. Among the soldiers, you can hear mutterings identifying this woman as "the Aion."

"Come," she says to the coterie of robed Achamites, who will approach the circle with an assortment of vials collected into cases. There is enough for each prisoner to be given a drink, and so they will; a vial of abyssal liquid will be forced into each one of your throats, no matter how uncomfortably it must be done. While no less ruthless, the Achamites have a different way about them as they work, forcing themselves upon you with a strange familiarity that feels more akin to a mother forcing their child to take medicine than the suspicious hostility of the soldiers. As the foul liquid touches your tongue, it takes on a consistency almost like a living thing, crawling down your throat even if you refuse to swallow, all while the Achamites stroke your hair and make saccharine assurances.

Once all the prisoners have been fed their vial, the Achamamites too will retreat from the circle - all except for one. Joining 'the Aion' at the center, the two of them will begin enacting a planned ceremony of sorts, that culminates in the following scene:

The Achamite kneels before the Aion, lifting their masked face to meet their dark gaze. They speak, in practiced tones.

"To the Kenoma my body, to the Kenoma my soul."

In response, the Aion holds the Achamite's face between their hands in almost a loving gesture. She speaks softly:

"By the blood of the Martyr, I accept your sacrifice."

From the Aion's hands a darkness spreads across the Achamite's body, as if they are melting and dissolving on a cellular level. She kneels along with them, cradling them as their body breaks down, pooling in a void-black liquid around their knees. It drains into the lines of the ritual circle, surging out towards the prisoners.

Within moments, the ritual is complete.

KENOMA SICKNESS

As this dark power surges throughout the ritual circle, you will find yourself almost consumed by the tide. Whatever foul creation you were forced to swallow wakes within your chest, and you can feel it move within your veins, inside you lungs, behind your eyes. As quickly as it begins, the flood of darkness washes over you, but not without leaving you stained.

Something has changed in its wake. As you return to your senses, you will notice the magical bonds of the circle have fallen away, leaving you free to move; for once, the soldiers will not move to lead or restrain you. Instead, the Hylicians warily back away from the ritual space, retreating towards the only path upwards, where they form a defensive line. The Achamites that linger make a series of ritual gestures, praying in voices too soft to hear. The Aion woman stands in the center, her hands blackened with residue from the person you just watched fall to pieces in her arms.

"You will be given time to find your truth," she says. "Use it well."

As you recover from the experience enough to stand, she and her Achamite entourage are already retreating to join the Hylician guard. Gradually, your situation will become clear: they intend to keep your trapped down here. However, it will not be the same as when you waited before. Instead, the soldiers simply intend to block your only exit out, and otherwise leave you free to roam the full diameter of the throne room, seemingly free to do whatever you want as long as it isn't trying to break free of the cavern's confines. Each day, they will offer to their prisoners a limit supply of food, water, and firewood, but nothing more. Beyond that, you only have your increasingly dirty white robes and the same bedrolls as before.

❖ COMMUNION
The first change you will experience is an itching darkness in your mind, like a psychic wound that is becoming infected. The sort of thoughts you would normally try to force down become increasingly hard to resist; despair, hatred, and fear will plague you, and requiring great feats of will to silence even temporarily. Phantoms of the things you'd rather forget will become a constant companion, all while a presence seems to whisper: when you accept your fate, the pain will stop.

Worse than this, the darkness of your mind may not remain private. As if awakened by the ritual, your empathetic sense has become impossibly strong, to the point that you feel the broadcasted emotions and thoughts of others, and in turn, your darkest thoughts will be psychically projected to others with a volume proportional to the intensity with which you feel them. This effect is most potent between those sharing Legacy, with the capacity for their identities to become momentarily confused. In all cases, this connection may bleed into your dreams, or manifest as hallucinations.

❖ TRANSFORMATION
Yet, your mind is not the only thing that ails. In proportion to the strength of your emotions, your body may begin changing to match your state of mind. Physical transformations akin to those mentioned here will begin to manifest, themed to your inner suffering and the most negative aspects of your self conception. These alterations may shift from moment to moment, depending on the turbulence of your emotional state. They may or may not be painful.

❖ AFFLICTION
Along with the above effects, characters may also experience various more mundane ailments; essentially anything traditionally associated with illness could fit. Weakness, nausea, body aches, and chills are all common options. Along with this, void-black ooze may start to trickle from virtually any orifice. While it may stain clothing and skin, the material itself will dissipate after a few minutes in a manner reminiscent of ectoplasm. This effect may also appear around your Shard, as if the stone itself has begun to bleed.

RESISTANCE

Even as the Kenoma threatens to overwhelm you, you still have the power to fight. Though it may be a grueling war of attrition, you can force back its advances with sufficient will to survive and resist the darkness. Of course, your captors are not going to make this easy for you. Those that fight hard enough to expel the Kenoma from their bodies and spirits will take at least a week to do so, and for that duration they will be trapped within this chilly cavern, haunted by their worst thoughts and emotions.

The bedrolls barely strand up against the cold, your clothing doesn't at all, and to be comfortable you'll require fire. Yet, there is a limited amount provided to you, along with food and water, and the soldiers do not seem to be making any effort to distribute it evenly. Achieving basic warmth and sustenance may become a battle against your fellow inmates, all while you struggle against the enemy infecting your body. Cracks in the dome of the cavern lead into some smaller caverns and crevasses in the stone that can offer some privacy or protection, but the more splintered the group becomes the less the supplies will hold up. Fortunately for you, neither the cold nor starvation will kill you, but it will make you suffer.

Yet, you may still persevere. As you fight back the Kenoma, something else will be cultivated in its place. Bit by bit, a comforting and warm presence will grow within you, gradually disrupting the maladies afflicting your body and mind. Your faith and perseverance has been rewarded with an attunement to the Pleroma, the Kenoma's cosmological opposite; given enough time, the Kenoma will be forced from your being entirely, in the form of void-black sludge. Only then will your power begin to shine through, the abilities of your past life slowly returning.

You must keep your guard. With or without otherworldly power, escape will be a struggle.

ACCEPTANCE

Or, you may choose the easy option. Maybe the Kenoma resonates with your history and emotions in a way that makes it seem like it isn't the enemy. Maybe the depths of your despair are too deep to escape. Maybe your simply lack the strength to fight. Whatever the reason, sooner or later, the Kenoma claims you. The more you let it in, the less it feels like a poison and the more it feels like strength. The darkness settles comfortably into the cracks and holes of your spirit, and you awaken to its power. You feel the change viscerally.

This world is not good enough, a voice seems to speak through the Kenoma. This suffering you feel, the cruelty that has birthed this darkness in you... it is simply the rot that is consuming this existence. A better universe awaits, one forged by your own hand, and all you need do is first bring about this broken reality's end.

Whatever effects you were suffering from the Kenoma's presence will fade away, and in its place, you will feel your endurance bolstered. The clarity is stark in comparison to the mire you were trapped in before. As the other prisoners suffer around you, the Aion woman from before and an accompaniment of a couple Hylician soldiers will approach you among the ruins, as if summoned straight to your location. She looks you over, her dark eyes impassive, and then asks:

"Did you feel it?"

She doesn't actually wait for an answer, your expression alone enough to assure her. She'll tell the soldiers that you are free to go, and that you are to be given a share of their food and a change of clothes. She'll escort you out of cavern and towards the upper ruins, where the soldiers and Achamites have set up camp. This feels natural to you, somehow, like you and her are on the same wavelength in a way that is hard to comprehend. She is like you, you sense. That dark power is within her as well.

She doesn't linger with you for long, but she will see that you are on your way before heading back to the caverns. She'll say that the voice you heard, that promise, was the Regent, the ruler of this land. They spoke of a power that could birth a new, better universe, and they weren't misleading you. It's within their reach, closer than ever, and if you help them achieve it you will be rewarded lavishly. For now, you are free to regain your strength while the others make their choices. She only asks that you stay in the area and be ready to join the Regent in Achamoth when all is prepared.

If you're prone to boredom, though, she will mention that you'd really be doing the prisoners a favor by convincing them to accept the Kenoma like you did. You could convince them with words, or by making their situations so unbearable they won't have a choice but to break. However you'd like. It won't be worse than what's coming for them if they carry on this way.

When she parts ways with you, you are left to your own devices. Somehow, you feel inclined to cooperate. After all, the Regent did have a point.

QUESTIONS

Are the involuntary transformations during the Kenoma sickness period temporary afflictions or permanent ones?
By default they are temporary, but characters can also keep a couple keepsake changes if you'd like! An Aion's physical appearance is something that is generally in flux, and so even if you keep something from this event, you can always alter it later.

What kind of supplies are going to be distributed to those who accept Kenoma and leave the caverns?
They'll be given food, water, and clothing. They'll be given more/better rations than they were as prisoners, but it's still the sort of food that is limited by the fact that they are out here on a mission. The soldiers will have some fresh meat from prey they've been hunting in the forest, and will generally be having a lot of stew-based food going. There are actual spices in it, though, so that's cool. This is all set up where the Hylicians are camping.

As for clothes, they will get a fresh set (including boots or shoes) and some soap to clean themselves up in the nearby creeks and ponds. Hylici has an aesthetic that leans towards ancient Greek/Roman, so while they won't have anything fancy with them, you are free to assume they are able to acquire anything in that general ballpark. They do also have pants, though. While it is now spring and Horos has a generally temperate climate, it can be chilly at night.

Will Pleroma attuned be able to escape once they've regained their powers?
Yes, they will be allowed to escape at that point, and a second log will be going up to cover that part of the event. This log should generally cover up until shortly after Pleroma start ejecting the Kenoma's influence. Characters are permitted to escape by their own power if they somehow devise a plan to do so, but as we know the Pleromas are at a significant disadvantage in this situation, some characters who have fought against the Kenoma particularly valiantly will be given some magical assistance to help the survivors escape.

Will the Kenomas be able to try to stop them?
Yes! The second log will be set up to contain some PVP, though given the Pleromas do need to escape, we ask that you play nice. There will be a battle, but it will be structured in the context of the Pleromas having to hold off the Kenomas long enough to escape, so it will be relatively brief.

Can we speak to "the Aion"?
Yes, she will be around for the full length of the event. All characters will have the chance to find her watching over the group whether they are Kenomas or soon to be Pleromas. She will not be that talkative, though, so anyone tagging her will have to lead the conversation. She will not make small talk. Martyrs will recognize her as one of them.

Comments

re: the more things change the more they stay the same... 🤔

[expiera]

[Once again, she knows, logically, what she should be doing: stand up, turn around, walk away, and never look back. He can find out about that wooden cup filled with water left at his side on his own, later.

Once again, she goes against her own common sense, because apparently she simply can't help herself:]

Worry about yourself.

[Not accusatory, not reproachful, simply plainly said. With that out, she turns her back to him with every intention of taking her long-due step in the opposite direction. She's far, far overstayed her welcome, and every fibre of her is aware.]

help......... 😩

[inutilis]

[ ...there's something about that voice that pulls, tugs at him. it's familiar, isn't it? but for a moment, he can't quite pinpoint it... like an itch, something tickling at him from the base of his skull. where does he know that voice from again...?

but that thought is pushed aside for the one that had come before it. there is no sign of exhaustion nor fatigue in her mannerisms as she rises fluidly, nor does she seem disquieted or harangued by the Kenoma's sickness. the cloak, her composure-- then this means... ]

--wait.

[ a soft, but hasty request. (it seems he's been making a good deal of those, hasn't he...?) Abel is leaning forward as if preparing to lumber after her. ]

Please, would you wait a minute...? You... have we met, before?

rubs ur old weary back, there there

[expiera]

[Which 'God' should she offer her thanks to, that he hasn't gotten his paw grip on her again in a thotughtless attempt to stop her? The idea is almost humorous.

One step away from him taken.]

No.

[And it's the truth. They're strangers, through and through.]

[inutilis]

[ ...she's intent on leaving.

but that itch is still there, and her refuting that they've met before-- it just doesn't sit right with him, somehow. considering he's already all but sure that she has already accepted whatever the Kenoma had offered her... letting her go-- it feels like a grievous error of judgment.

he's fumbling a bit clumsily up to his feet, leaning a hand awkwardly against the cold and rocky surface of the cavern wall, and maybe she had counted her blessings about him keeping his paws to himself too early. though she's taken a step away from him... he's in possession of particularly long and lanky limbs, isn't he? ah. how unfortunate for her; he's gently reaching to grasp for her elbow in hopes of once more coaxing her to halt her retreat. ]

--Please, miss. You... why did you, ah...

[ was she trying to help him? ...why?

why does he feel so certain that letting her go would be a mistake? ]

[expiera]

[He may be long and lanky, but she is small and lithe. He would be sorely mistaken to think her easy to catch, but while he fails to find purchase on her elbow, it would seem that he does manage to cling onto his inexplicable gut feeling, somehow: he'll find himself snagging cloth, which is coincidentally linked to her hood. A small, tentative tug confirms his grip; she could keep walking, but if he doesn't let go, then she would have no choice but to leave even more behind.

...]

Let go.

[It's not a request.]

[inutilis]

[ Let go.

she means the fabric he's managed to entangle in his fingers, of course. but somehow-- those words tug at something else inside of him. that impressively stubborn itch blooms into all-out recognition, now, and CielElesia gets her wish. his fingers loosen, the fabric of her cloak freed as a quiet realization sweeps him.

this woman... she is the one, who...

... ]

[expiera]

[Easy, isn't it? He doesn't have to think about it. He has no fault nor responsibility in this, so it's simply best to let go. Something inexplicable, impossible may have crossed a few days earlier, but she didn't ask him to hold on then, and she's not about to start now.

No sense crying over spilled milk.

Without another word, she takes another step. Then another, following that.

Whether she's aware of the weight and significance of his silence, she really does not appear to have the slightest intention of lingering at his side any longer. He's already realized even before this, hasn't he? They chose differently, so that automatically puts them at odds.

It doesn't matter, what she was doing before. He's let go, once, twice, thrice now. So let go, this'll be another fading daydream before long.]

[inutilis]

[ letting go might be a life skill Abel should've learned a long long, long time ago.

...but he hadn't.

the fabric of her cloak slips through his fingers as his attention is stolen elsewhere, a revelation thoroughly distracting him from one task to another. the last time he'd seen her, this woman had been ascending the incline toward the Hylician guard - and then making her way beyond them to a place Abel could not follow in more ways than one. he had felt it, he's sure... the moment when she had been the one to let go.

Abel may not be the steadiest on his feet; there is something terribly ironic in being the most human he's been in centuries, here and now, but it doesn't stop him from taking a stubborn, willful step forward to bridge the broadening gap between them. his fingers that have loosened on that fabric now reach once more, fully intending to grasp at whatever he can find. ]

--Elesia?

[ that is her name, isn't it--? one so quietly uttered among the nightmarish chaos, one so surreal Abel still isn't certain what had been real and what had been some kind of shared madness.

...no, he isn't very good at letting go at all. ]

[expiera]

[Two steps of her part, and it only takes him one to catch up. Perhaps something can be said for being a lanky beanpole, there are advantages to being a whole foot taller than the hooded woman he's never met in person before until this very moment. He can't see her eyes narrow, but they do as she resolves to walk faster. There's nothing for either of them here.

He catches her cloak once again. This time, his purposeful, seeking grasp tugs the same moment as she tries edging away in the opposite direction, resulting in a flutter of fabric that inevitably sees the hood pulled back--before it is cleanly removed from her head.]

...

[It reveals short ultramarine blue, a sight he may have seen in more than just a feverish nightmare.

She does not turn around. For a moment at least, she is still once more.]

You have the wrong person.

[The hood falls flat in his curled fingers, and she's walking away again; she's opted to remove it entirely, leaving it in his hand since he doesn't seem to understand let go no matter how clearly she says it. Let the dead remain buried; if he wants to chase after ghosts, then she will have no part in it.]

[inutilis]

[ ...it is her.

there's no mistaking it once the cloak is displaced. he had seen this person that night, and whatever it was they'd experienced-- it had been her... he knows it as surely as he knows his own name, his own face, can identify his own sense of self. ]

It was you... it was.

[ Abel's fingers grip the loose fabric of the cloak, though its owner has long since shrugged it off and left it with someone else. and though he doesn't make another step to chase after her, neither does he seem to be relenting, either. he's still holding on, even if there is nothing physical to grasp.

but whatever stubborn hold Abel might have, it isn't born of some needling wish to be proven right, nor because he needs to know the identity of the woman whose crushing descent into the Kenoma he'd observed in a very personal way. it's a sort of niggling worry, instead-- and perhaps, in some small part... a fearfulness. not of her, but for her. the path she's chosen... ]

...Please, you don't have to-- ah. Run from me, like I'm some kind of...

[ well. that bit trails off a tad awkwardly, and perhaps he chooses to leave the rest unsaid. ]

I just-- I don't understand.

[ 'but I'd like to.'

...Abel holds the cloak aloft in a peaceful gesture of surrender. if she truly wants nothing to do with him, then... perhaps that's understandable considering what she's been through. having her privacy so violently invaded-- purposefully or otherwise-- is a hard pill to swallow. what he had been privy to (and willfully chooses to believe was one sided in retrospect) should never have been given involuntary voice.

he isn't here to take away any more than has already been taken from her. that really would be cruel, wouldn't it? and suppose... if she doesn't want to take what he is giving, then-- he cannot, will not, force her. ]

[expiera]

[She didn't sigh, facing the messy, and drooling creature sleeping at her feet then.

She is sighing now, as everything clicks in place for him and there's no more room for any shred of plausible denial. This man who felt the same way, had been dyed crimson of a similar cloth, yet chooses to fight in spite of it all.

"I don't understand." Says the man who knows itself a monster deep down, who couldn't finish his sentence precisely for that reason. She knows, just as he does.

That's the difference between them, isn't it? She doesn't as well, but unlike him, she has no wish to see things from his side. He's the odd one out, if anything; if there was truly just as much of him back then as there had been of her, then how can he not understand? It's all extremely, excessively simple.]

Then you don't need to. It would do you no good.

[Wilful ignorance? Or blind hope? Or something else? He did appear and actively sounds the type, with that silly look on his face then and this terribly fragile offering of God Knows What now.

There's a bit of distance between them, at present. He'll have to take more than just two steps if he wants to catch back up.]

[inutilis]

[ this is a gap that two meager steps will not bridge, and he knows it. Abel stands where he is, keeping her cloak held out in offer for her to take it back if she so wishes; he won't stop her. won't chase after her, either, if she chose to simply pretend she never made this little pit-stop, humored him with whatever momentary kindness she'd offered while he had nodded off. ]

I don't think I can agree... and, even if we can't see eye to eye on that point, miss-- it's alright. I'm coming to grasp there's a good many people I can't seem to meet with on their terms, lately.

[ a fact that makes his heart sink all the way to his stomach where it sits, heavy and uncomfortable. CielElesia isn't the only one, after all, who had embraced an emptiness inside of her, permitted it to swallow her whole in favor of the promise of oblivion. it aches, but their choices have been made. not a one of them seemed uneasy or regret it. ]

...But saying it would do me no good-- even if it didn't, it's important to me all the same.

[ life isn't always pleasant or easy to swallow. some of the hardest, most bitter pills he's been fed have been the most valuable, even if he hadn't been able to see it at the time. Abel is no longer of the mind that he can afford to turn away and avert his eyes from things he doesn't want to see or hear, even if they're painful.

understanding isn't a choice to him. even if he might not be able to agree with where she's coming from -- being able to understand it, understand her... it's important. ]

[expiera]

[Humoring...]

Something like that would've been impossible, regardless of how things are or where you find yourself.

[To each their own cross.

...]

What is there to understand?

[That's what all this is, in the end. Humoring. She's humoring him again, isn't she? He isn't pressing her, isn't trying to chase her. Isn't accusing her. He's simply... Trying, and she finds her own feet stall once more in turn.

A bad habit.]

[inutilis]

You, miss.

[ she is humoring him, because he is well aware she could easily turn around, take her cloak back and leave -- simple as that.

but she isn't. ]

...I want to understand why you're here, instead of up there.

[ past the incline, past the line of Hylician guard, past the border he cannot cross. ]

[expiera]

[...

This isn't the first time she's been asked. She couldn't provide a satisfactory answer then, and she doubts she can now. They already had expectations, didn't they? That she's trying to sway them, that she should have some ulterior motive. Everything has to be self-serving somehow, the demon she met outside on the surface really had it right all along.

But this man... This man.

She already knows she can't use her peers as an excuse, or the soldiers who granted them full freedom of movement as long as they stayed in this general area. Surely she hasn't been the first he's seen come back down, and she won't be the last, either. It would be a poor deflection anyway, she doesn't need to refer to others to produce a shallow answer. After all, the truth IS that simple:]

A whim.

[She knows she can't change anything. That her being here makes absolutely no difference in the end, not when she had no intention whatsoever of "spreading the good word" from the very beginning, something she's already been accused of several times over.

But she kept coming.

There's no rhyme nor reason to it. There's no cause or purpose, either. So if not a whim, then what else?

It really wasn't complicated.]

[inutilis]

[ a whim, is it...

Abel takes that in quietly, and the hand holding that cloak slowly sinks to his side when it becomes more and more apparent she isn't going to accept it. a whim. it's true that she could just be finding a way to pass the time; if what Miss Xishen said is true, then she will be taking all those who accept the Kenoma back with her to the Regent. in the meantime... it's a waiting game to see what becomes of their remainder.

sure; it's plausible enough. CielElesia is waiting. but with her newfound freedom from this uncomfortably stifling cavern, the fact that she's returned back down into it instead of enjoying the fresh air and accommodations outside is... telling.

the soft knit at his brow only deepens, consternation writ in blue eyes that watch her back. ]

Then, I guess-- that means I should thank you.

[ there's a light tug of a smile at his lips, slightly self-deprecating and sheepish. ]

Though it's a little embarrassing to admit, I suppose I nodded off, didn't I? And... you were checking on me, right...? Um-- I'm not really sure how we got to the whole towel in my mouth thing, but-- y-you know, that's really not the important part--

[ h-haha, you know, happens all the time, totally understandable tbh, ]

[expiera]

[With her back still turned to him several steps ahead, he can't see her face, and she can't see his either.

Good. There may be some movement to her shoulders, but it's not like he'd immediately be able to tell she just crossed her arms. It's apparent just listening to him, what a remarkably adaptable and resilient creature the sloppy, sad, dirty, exhausted, drooling thing she came across turned out to be.

"Trouble", indeed]

I've done nothing worth thanking. I woke you, if anything.

[Said as if suggesting he should be upset by that, though she has a feeling he'll dismiss it the same way he's started rambling. Is that how he copes... "Not the important part", he says. Why does she have the strangest feeling it's going to take him a while before he gets there, too?]

[inutilis]

[ Abel is, indeed, more than happy to motor right along past that bit; it's a bit like sliding on a well-fitting glove, slipping into something a little less raw and a little closer to normalcy.

he's uncomfortably rubbing into messy silver hair, fidgeting where he stands before, uh-- holding the cloak out again. ]

I, ah-- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take this from you earlier, it just-- it sort of slipped off...! And-- I do appreciate it. The whole 'checking on me' thing, not the cloak bit, to clarify, h-haha. Because... well, I mean-- you know you didn't have to do that, obviously, i-it's-- um.

[ ........ ]

--Thank you, Miss Elesia.

[expiera]

...

[Is it just him, or did the atmosphere suddenly shift once more, feels strangely cooler despite the brief levity he just so painstakingly created? He's met with unflinching silence the moment he gave voice to a Name, and it's also the exact moment when she resumes walking away with another step.

"You have the wrong person." If he's truly this deaf, then she really ought to be on her way.]

[inutilis]

[ it would take a special sort of idiot oblivious soul not to notice the near palpable frigidity between them; while CielElesia hasn't exactly been the most warmly welcoming soul in the world, neither has she been outright hostile. this isn't hostility either, per say, but... there's definitely something unpleasant in it. ]

...You-- ah...

[ did he say something wrong?? maybe she's simply allergic to idiots which is an entirely valid standpoint to have tbh, but... somehow, he gets the feeling it isn't his Rambling that's bothered her.

he doesn't... understand. ah, the tragedy of being 2iq......... ]

[expiera]

Whether you're hard on hearing or simply mocking me at this point, there's no conversation to be had with a man who amuses himself with misnaming strangers.

[Not outright hostile, perhaps, but one would be beyond blind and deaf to describe a complete lack of it around them at this point. He finally got her to look back, however briefly, and it's only to deliver an empty, soulless stare. As if she was looking at something not merely unpleasant, but shouldn't even exist to begin with.

That much spelled out, she resumes her steps with no intention of stopping again.]

[inutilis]

...W-wait, what do you--

[ he only manages to stammer something out after the look she levels his way manages to run his blood cold. there is something about it-- something deeply unnerving, something that shivers through him in all the places still afflicted by the Kenoma's influence. that look is hollow and biting, even if there is no outright malice in it, no explicit ill intent. ]

That... it isn't your name?

[ but he's certain he heard...

...is he mistaken? he is so sure that is the name he'd heard, firm and distinct through their shared chaos-- uttered by this voice, no less. but maybe it hadn't been hers, after all?

regardless, it's something that seems to scream that it is off-limits, even if Abel doesn't understand it. ]

--I'm sorry. That was-- it's my mistake, so... I'm sorry, if I've gotten my wires mixed up somewhere, miss.

[expiera]

[He finally seems to get it. His attempt at apology is the only reason her steps are stalling once more. She's no longer looking his way, but her tone remains hollow and cold.]

No, and I already told you as much. For someone who supposedly wants to "understand", you don't seem to care much about what I say. [Not just repeating that name, but at letting go, too.] It makes your gratitude and apology ring hollow. If you like your own voice so much, I'll leave you to it.

[inutilis]

...H-hey, that isn't--

[ fair? what he meant at all? it isn't, though Abel isn't the sort to argue his own righteousness in the eyes of others. he's far more concerned with any slight perceived on the other party, little thought given to anything else. ]

I'm not saying any of this for the sake of it... and my voice is the last one I like hearing, for your information... [ thought it comes out with an attempt at something faux haughty and petulant, trying to rein this back from wherever it's going. ] I-- I would've sworn that was...

[ ... ]

...It's not important, in the end. I was wrong, and... I am sorry, miss. If you give me some other way to address you, then-- I happily will.

[expiera]

[It isn't fair, no, but it's already achieved the desired effect. It's taken some wind out of his sails, yet the fact that he's still trying is not lost on her. Persistent... Somewhat masochistic too, isn't it?

She keeps her exhale quiet and to herself this time, before turning around to face him properly in full.]

Just tell me what you want from me, though I doubt I can give it.

[A beat.]

You'll have my name once you need it.

[So no, her name is off the tables even if he'd like to have it. Consider it the consequence of misnaming her twice, she reserves the right to doubt if she can even trust him with that much.]