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

i'm so sorry abel you really don't deserve to have to deal with All This

[epiprocta]

[ He does want that water. Badly. Evident in the way that Gen's eyes immediately flit towards that cup, lingering for a pointed moment before he can drag his focus away. But he's clearly determined not to let that weakness slip, because after moment of glowering furiously at Abel, the first thing he spits out is: ]

I didn't ask you for shit. [ Even if his words are hoarse and crackling at the edges from dehydration, he refuses to acknowledge it. ] And I'm not your f -- friend.

[ That petulant retort had been interrupted by a sniffle, and Gen glares resentfully at Abel before averting his gaze only so he can swipe the back of his hand past his upper lip, smearing through the black ooze that dribbles from his nose like a particularly persistent nosebleed. His face is a mess of cold sweat and smudges of black, but he's clearly determined to pretend that isn't the case; Gen sniffles again before glaring at Abel and jerking his head towards that fallen piece of bread. ]

That's not my fault. [ Like, yeah, he was the one who threw the bread at Abel's face, but it's obviously not his fault Abel was too slow to catch it? The guy can eat it off the filthy ground for all he cares. Gen swallows back a glut of black slime that threatens to rise from the back of his throat, angrily swiping a hand past the trickle of black that seeps from the corner of his lips as he mumbles, ] Sick of all you people pretending to act all noble, giving each other food and pretending to care. Like you're in any position to be worrying about other people.

he absolutely deserves All This, there there kiddo,

[inutilis]

[ Gen's delightfully contrarian act doesn't seem to irk Abel at all; if anything, it only solidifies the impression that this boy is something akin to a wounded, cornered animal desperately putting its hackles up and trying to appear menacing to protect itself. he knows this song and dance; he knows what it means. he reads it no differently than he would a child curled up and sobbing his heart out, and so... the priest takes no offense.

instead, he sets the cup of water at Gen's side well within arm's reach if he can stand going for it, before scooting to sit in front of him, cross-legged. Abel absently picks up the piece of discarded bread; he has no stomach for food right now, but... he turns it over thoughtfully all the same. one doesn't waste food, alright?? keepsies for later!!! ]

If a little human kindness is too hard to swallow, sir... I assure you, the water goes down much easier. You don't have to take me at my word, of course; giving it a try yourself might be the easiest way to see for yourself, mm?

[epiprocta]

[ Too bad Abel's barely had the chance to take a seat and settle down before Gen lunges forth on his knees -- both hands fisting into the front of Abel's robes and yanking him so close they're almost nose-to-nose. It's from that delightfully invasive and uncomfortable arrangement that Gen growls right into Abel's face, ]

Fuck. Off.

[ His words are spoken slowly, deliberately, both to make a point and because his throat feels sand-dry, his voice crackling at the edges from thirst. And Gen's clearly aware of it himself, given the way his eyes narrow in distaste at the sound of his own wretched voice, before he tries to push past it, shaking Abel (weakly) by that grip at his robes. ]

'Human kindness?' Like any sane person would be talking about that kind of thing in a situation like this. The hell's wrong with you?

[inutilis]

[ the suddenness of the movement catches Abel by surprise more than the actual lunge itself; Abel is exhaling a soft noise of shock, his hands immediately lifting as though in the universal signal of surrender, and he's flinching mildly as though anticipating to be struck.

...but no blow comes, and instead-- Gen shoots off a white hot outpouring of his irritation in the form of a verbal lashing. it's a shame that these words only further drive home just how distinctly unwell the boy is; the tremble of the hands gripping Abel's flimsy robe... the gravelly quality of his voice... the heavy smudges of shadow around his eyes.

and though it probably only serves to further add insult to injury-- Abel's eyes only reflect his ever-growing concern. he makes no moves to extricate himself from Gen's grip, no defense nor retaliation at all. ]

Because... I don't want to be a part of a world where a man sees someone suffering, and offering a glass of water is an act so monumental... someone can't bring himself to accept it.

[epiprocta]

[ Exhausted and unwell as he is, it takes Gen a long moment to process what Abel is saying. A long moment of silence wherein he stares with eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, fingers squeezing tighter around those fistfuls of flimsy fabric when he sees the concern in Abel's eyes. And then, finally, he makes a quiet rasping noise -- something that might take some effort to recognize as a bitter laugh, given how hoarse and ragged it is. ]

So you're just doing it to make yourself feel better. So you can pretend everything'll be fine, because human kindness still exists. Is that it?

[ Quite the cynical interpretation of Abel's words. But there's something telling about it -- both the fact that Gen's thoughts had veered in that direction, and the way his grip loosens a fraction as he voices that notion. In his current state, it's much easier for Gen to rationalize that this stranger had made the kind offer in order to selfishly soothe his own worries, rather than out of any genuine goodwill. ]

'm not some -- idiot just here to make you feel better ...

[ Then the retort peters off into a dry coughing fit because, surprise surprise, turns out bristling and snarling isn't exactly the most productive thing to do while severely dehydrated. ]

[inutilis]

[ it isn't the most shocking reaction, all things considered. though it sits in Abel's stomach like a rock, the realization that this boy has lived a hard, unforgiving sort of life becomes glaringly clear with each word that leaves his mouth. yes... perhaps the image of a cornered, wounded animal frantic to maintain self-preservation-- even as it tears at itself all the while-- was accurate.

...miserable. it's miserable. ]

If you do it for me, or for yourself... please drink it.

[ his brow knits further, the plaintive edge stealing into his voice; even if Gen's grip has softened some, Abel doesn't make any moves to release himself, not wanting to kick-start another round of bristling if he can help it. he isn't certain if Gen will be able to take much more of this. ] I'll consider myself as owing you one, sir-- alright? A favor, something you can call in when all of this is behind us. --I'm not a man who breaks his promises, okay...? So, if you'd just-- please... humor me, I... You aren't well...

[ he is not above begging. Abel is seriously concerned his hot-headed friend would rather see himself succumb to a painful, lonely end rather than accept even the smallest, barest bit of kindness.

...and that, perhaps, is far more miserable than the ichor-tinged sickness in either of their veins. ]

[epiprocta]

Shut up. [ Gen's snarled response comes so quick and abrupt it almost cuts off Abel's plea, forging on regardless of how his words are ragged at the edges from fighting back more coughs. ] Just -- shut up. Shut it for a minute.

[ There's the sound of fraying fabric as he gives Abel another wobbly shake, and when he leans in to growl right in Abel's face, it's so close that he's spitting flecks of that black ooze to speckle against his long-suffering, tattered robe. Lovely. ]

Don't -- ... don't ... [ 'Patronize' is the word he's looking for. 'Don't patronize me.' But word choice is hard when you're so drained you can barely string two thoughts together, and Gen ends up struggling visibly for a long moment before giving up and lamely hissing, ] ... don't mock me. Shut the hell up.

[ 'I'll consider myself as owing you one.' As if.

But at least Abel is granted some small reward for enduring this graceless tantrum. Because Gen's clearly flagging hard, whatever meager energy he'd had in reserve burnt out in a flash, and he wobbles on his knees the next moment. Gives a bleary shake of the head before shoving Abel away, then sits back down, arms braced against the ground as he doubles over to hack up a glut of black slime. Coughs, wheezes, and shoots Abel a resentful glare past the tangle of his hair even as his chest heaves with ragged breaths -- before finally snatching up the cup of water and throwing it back in one go. ]

[inutilis]

[ for a beat, Abel thinks Gen might honest to god pass out, if not suffer some kind of serious episode the priest isn't sure he could help remedy; he finds himself wincing to watch Gen wheeze and choke on the black sludge, his heart beginning to thud a slightly unsteady tattoo against his ribcage in nervous energy. but with a suddenness that takes Abel aback, the the cup is lifted, and Gen drinks deep before Abel can think to caution him to take it slowly.

--a relief. it's a relief... the gratitude floods through him enough to make him feel vaguely woozy. hoo, this boy... ]

...If you fight this half as hard as you're fighting me, sir-- it gives me a great deal of hope for you making it through this mess... you know that?

[ a half-hearted effort at some kind of levity, even if it might be a tad weak. he knows, alright--? he also knows he's walking on eggshells with his current company, and further aggravating Gen isn't exactly on his to-do list.

it... hurts, to see him so cagey and violently averse to the prospect of a little basic human decency. he's young, as well; not for the first time, Abel feels the quiet burn of an indignant anger at whoever-- or whatever-- was responsible for this nauseating predicament. why take a boy who can just barely be called a man for this misery...?

it's on the tip of his tongue. 'are you alright?' or, 'would you like some more?' but he has a feeling neither would be well received. all Abel can do is lightly tilt his head, hoping that this much has given Gen some meager relief. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Gen comes up coughing, fighting back the urge to be sick because the water's a precious, precious resource and he can't afford to waste it. He still feels like shit. His head hurts, he feels both cold and feverish at the same time, and he can't seem to focus on anything except those dark thoughts that keep swirling incessantly through the forefront of his mind. But still ... the water's help alleviate the worst of his misery, and at least he can swallow now without feeling like his throat's clogged with razorblades.

Gen clears his throat as he lowers the cup, wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. Looks at the empty cup, clearly wanting more but unwilling to say it. Rubs a hand over his face, hating the fact that he'd buckled, and trying very hard not to think about the fact that put in that situation, he probably would have given in ten times out of ten.

Finally, after that moment of sullen deliberation, he turns to toss the cup back into Abel's lap. ]

... what's the point, anyway.

[ It's hard mustering the same level of rage once he's already relented, and Gen's anger manifests in a more subdued fashion now. Even as he settles back into his little corner against the wall, he glowers at Abel, as if daring him to disagree when he mutters: ]

They can keep us here as long as they want. What's the point in what you're doing. Everyone's going to give in or die, eventually.

[inutilis]

[ for a beat or two, Abel simply sits there with the cup in his lap, looking at it with a spacey sort of absent-minded stare. don't... mind him, alright, he's just-- kind of relieved that Gen isn't on the verge of keeling over and dying at the present moment?? who's to say what might happen in the coming hours, but... at least for now...

his temporary reverie is inevitably broken up by those dour, morbid mumbled words. Abel finds himself slow to lift his head, giving the boy a moment's silence -- collecting himself as much as determining how to answer and avoid another trip to Punchy Town. ]

...I know it's probably not what you'd like to hear, sir, but-- just like there's no way to be sure what happens to us if we give in, there's no way to be sure what happens if we hold out, either. You don't think they'd have gone through all this trouble just to let us die if we were stubborn, do you? The bruises you've given and dished out along the way should've told them there are plenty among us who aren't the cooperative sort, right...?

[epiprocta]

[ Yeah, it wasn't what he wanted to hear -- Gen scowls regardless of how gently Abel offers those kind words. ]

's that supposed to make me feel better? I didn't ask for that kind of responsibility. [ It's some small consolation that Gen doesn't go right back to bristling and snarling; it seems he's decided to settle down for now lest he risk upchucking the previous water he's barely keeping down. ] I'm not doing anything for any of you.

[ How telling that he seems to have drawn a firm line between himself and everyone else here, no desire to cooperate, no sense of camaraderie. All of his pre-existing reservations about people have been exacerbated tenfold by his worst thoughts ringing nonstop in his ears, and Gen stifles a frustrated groan as he scuffs a hand through the tangle of his hair. Winces, shaking his head as another pulse of distress rolls off him, before he looks back up to Abel. ]

Not like you can be sure you'll hold out for however long this takes, either. Talk is easy.

[inutilis]

[ Abel can see that line that's been drawn in the sand as clearly as if it were physically in front of him. Gen is protecting himself, that much is clear. these are defense mechanisms. these are walls erected to keep things out, and one only teaches themselves such things because they've had to.

the priest shifts his weight lightly, making no moves to encroach any further on Gen's personal space, but... making himself a bit more comfortable against the cold bite of the cavern floor. ]

We've held out this far, and... I don't think that's any small feat. Having endured being dragged what felt like halfway around the world, to say nothing of everything else we've been through today... doesn't that count for anything? Because I certainly think it does.

[epiprocta]

[ Abel's approach of treating him like a cagey animal is pretty much the correct one. Gen does narrow his eyes when Abel shifts, but remains mollified for the moment when the distance between them is maintained.

Not that that keeps him from giving Abel a withering stare, like he's said something particularly stupid. ]

Why would it count for anything. All that matters in the end is if you fuck up or not.

[ ... but that's not a train of thought he wants to dwell on at the moment. The fact that actions are irreversible, and that people who do bad things will forever be bad. Gen shivers, fighting back a wave of nausea before snapping, ]

-- what's keeping you here, then. You said it yourself, we don't know what'll happen if we give in. Is it just that you wanna be some hero helping all the pathetic people here?

[ Not like he particularly enjoys these sorts of conversations with strangers. But he needs the distraction. Badly. At least while he's still feeling too shitty to pick fights, he'll take whatever this bleeding heart has to say. ]

[inutilis]

Do you find something heroic in that, sir?

[ in helping those who might be too weak to help themselves? is that truly something worth any consideration at all? is Gen's world really so cold and bleak...? Abel is genuinely curious, even if that curiosity comes with sharp edges -- because he knows the answer will be unmistakably painful. ]

I don't think we see eye to eye on much of anything, so far... Troublesome, isn't it... truly troublesome. [ Abel heaves a sigh, leaning one of his elbows on his knee, and chin in his palm. ] 'All that matters in the end is if you fuck up or not.' That, too... I can't really understand. Do you really think that once you've made a mistake, there's no going back? That that's just-- it?

[epiprocta]

[ Abel's perfectly reasonable, kindly statements are met with hard stare and an irritated deadpan: ]

... how old are you?

[ What kind of adult has this kind of attitude? Maybe this guy really is some sort of freak. Gen gives Abel a dubious look as he shifts where he's sitting, only to flinch and recoil as a dull ache works through the myriad injuries he's earned. It takes him another moment to gingerly arrange himself to sit in a way that hurts less. ]

Actions have consequences. [ Case in point, he wearily inspects the scrapes and bruises starting to bloom dark down his arm. Speaking listlessly as he squints at a particularly deep ugly scab starting to form at the point of his elbow. ] You make a mistake, you have to pay the price for it. There's no take-backs. And you don't get back any wasted time if you help the wrong people, either. I'd say you're an idiot if you think the ego boost is worth it, but I guess that's your choice.

[inutilis]

[ observing as Gen inspects the various injuries marking his scuffles with their guards, Abel is quiet only a moment's beat as he puts together how to go about explaining his point of view. the sardonic, dry edge to Gen's responses don't seem to get under his skin, but they do make him consider his approach... and, perhaps, he's using a more delicate hand than his usual graceless deluge of nonsense. ]

You're right... once something is done, it can't be undone.

[ his eyes settle on the injuries marring Gen's arm distractedly. ]

But that doesn't mean that things that break are broken for good, does it? If you put the pieces back together, things can be salvaged... and sometimes they can be rescued from being broken at all. People, too, are more durable and enduring than we often give ourselves credit for, and I don't think you're an exception. You didn't stop getting back up again even after the guards had bruised you up more than your fair share, did you?

[ Abel had not failed to notice his friend here was stubborn and willfully enduring, despite the lethargy beginning to pull at him now. ]

Maybe you'll think me an idealistic fool, and... maybe you're right. But I don't see anything that can't be put back together again. I don't want to see it get that far, either. That's all.

[epiprocta]

[ Gen watches Abel as he talks, his gaze so intense that Abel must be able to feel it prickling at his skin. But it's a little different from that near-rabid, defensive glare from before. His eyes are still ringed with exhausted shadows and streaks of that black sludge, but there's a sharp, scrutinizing edge to the way he studies Abel -- part risk assessment, and part just trying to figure out what the hell kind of adult is capable of saying that fairytale nonsense with a straight face.

He's probably lying, Gen decides. Either that, or he's really some idiot with his head in the clouds, who's lived a cushy and comfortable life. There's no other way anyone could actually believe what he's saying.

This guy's probably going to get hurt sooner or later, talking like this. Which isn't his problem. The spiteful part of him even kind of wants to see it, when this guy gets his ideals stomped on. But regardless, Gen's certain of it. ]

I don't have anything to do with whatever you tell yourself.

[ He finally drops his gaze, finished with his assessment of Abel, and gives a low sigh. ]

I gave you the food [ more like 'threw it at you' ] so we're even. I don't owe you anything. So what I do is only my business, whether it's fighting those guards or [ giving up ] anything else. Don't use me as an excuse for your nonsense.

[inutilis]

We aren't even.

[ Abel's answer comes without much in the way of any pause or hesitation at all, this time. no need to think about this one; no need for rumination, no hemming and hawing about it. ]

...Because you never owed me anything to begin with, of course. I guess I owe you two, per my word-- a favor for the water and the generously donated snack for later... A-ah. I'm going to end up owing you the clothes off my back at this rate, aren't I--?

[ his shoulders sag, head drooping with a faux sigh of dejection. what a sad state of affairs...... like a man who's lost everything right on down to his britches at a game of poker he was ill-prepared for, right? yeah. sWINDLED... ]

I suppose I ought to take my leave before I lose anything else to you tonight... --'Like my dignity,' you say? No, no... that one definitely went getting socked in the face with stale bread.

[ the priest settles his hands on his knees before hefting himself upright with a little grunt, a tiny clumsy stumble-- but he manages alright, and offers the boy a smile. ]

...I'll be looking forward to seeing how you collect once we're feeling much more ourselves again, my friend. Please don't disappoint me, okay~? I'll be giving you plenty of time to come up with something good. --Real good~! Inspired!!

[ and before Mr. McManhandler can get all up in arms, Abel's choosing to wander on off and away from Gen's person, shoving half the heel of bread into his mouth as he goes. thank you for the snaccies......... new bestie!!!!!! ]