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WHO: Gen & OTA TO KENOMA.
WHAT: A Very Special Episode about how good and fun it is to stop smoking.
WHERE: Around the Citadel, Achamoth.
WHEN: Early-to-mid Visoseri, starting early during the Rise to the Challenge event.
WARNINGS: None at the moment!

i. training fields ( closed to LIEM )

[ It's not like he actually enjoys physical activity in any capacity, whether it be fighting or training or labor. The construction work he'd done back home and the training he does here are mostly the same to him -- just a job, a means to an end, and something "productive" he can do to vent his energy and keep himself occupied. Gen can't really imagine what kind of muscleheaded jock actually finds this shit fun or rewarding in its own right.

That said, the taste of a smoke right after a period of strenuous work almost makes it worth it.

Late in the afternoon, after one of the semi-regular group training sessions has wrapped up and the equipment's been mostly put away, with just a few stragglers still hanging behind to chit-chat and do final cool-downs. From where he's walking by, Liem might hear the sound of a soft click, a pause, then a deep sigh of contentment. Sensitive as he is to smells, it won't take him much effort to pinpoint the bitter tang of cigarette smoke; a plume of gray directs the eye to where Gen's leaning against one of the fences surrounding the training field, looking perfectly at home as he takes another deep drag.

And, feeling that glance directed his way, he looks over. Lucky for Liem, he's caught Gen before he could pocket his cigarettes once more, and since he's in a good mood he gives a cant of the head before holding out the pack in his direction. His words come slightly muffled around the cigarette in his mouth: ]

What, you want one?

ii. citadel grounds ( the sickly option )

[ It's a nice sunny afternoon, warm but not too warm, clear skies, etc. And anyone walking through the citadel grounds, might hear the sound of a low groan and a hoarse voice calling to them: ]

-- hey. [ It only takes a glance over to spot where Gen is slumped on a bench under the dappled shade of a tree, looking thoroughly pale and miserable and unwell. But more importantly, he gives a few shallow coughs before mumbling: ] Get this thing off me.

[ 'This thing' being a stray cat that's draped itself over his throat and chest, apparently having the best nap of its life, using him as a bed while it soaks up the sun. In typical cat fashion, of course it's made itself right at home on the place where it's least welcome at the moment. And while Gen really does look like he's having a rough time of it, and would appreciate being freed of that weight on his chest without having to unscrunch himself from the inglorious position he's huddled himself into ...

The cat looks really cute. And comfy. It's even purring a little! Maybe it'd be fine to just let it continue napping there. ]

iii. training fields ( the cranky option )

[ There's sounds of a commotion coming from the training field. Some sort of argument, it sounds like? And while the shouting and the snarling dies down by the time any concerned interlopers show up, one might spot the way several guards hurriedly exit the grounds, looking disgruntled and muttering something begrudging amongst themselves. One is nursing a bleeding nose leaving a trail of red spots on the ground.

And left on the otherwise-empty training circle is one (1) horrible teenager scuffing a hand through his hair, looking thoroughly roughed-up and irate. He's sporting a few scratches and a freshly-welling bruise on his cheek himself, but either hasn't noticed or doesn't care. Instead, the moment anyone even peeks into the training field, he's quick to turn on them with snarl. ]

-- the hell're you looking at.

iv. corridors ( the tired option )

[ Some stupid hour of the night finds the corridors of the Citadel largely quiet and empty. Almost peaceful. But well ... here he is, wide awake and dying for a smoke.

Anyone who glances down the corridor towards the balcony at its very end, illuminated by cold moonlight and framed by the swing of the door left open, might spot Gen where he's practically draped over the railing surrounding that little balcony, staring listlessly out at nothing.

This really would be a nice place to smoke and relax. But instead, here he is with his nerves rubbed raw by withdrawal, practically shivering from the way he can't quite calm down. Even the slightest noise coming from the corridor has him jerking around to glance over like a spooked dog ready to attack. Sorry not sorry if you were just trying to get to your room and instead find yourself being stared down by this incredibly tired but frazzled-looking youth. ]

v. wildcard

[ I'm open to just about anything! Please feel free to hit me with whatever, but otherwise I'm around at

databomb, inktrashing#5307 on Discord, or right here on the event plotting post if you'd like to plot things first or want me to shotgun some ideas at you to see if anything piques your fancy! ]

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"So you've accepted his little dare of self-improvement?" Emet-Selch rounds a corner to the next hall. Their destination is the kitchens, which would be mostly abandoned late at night. But it holds the best remedy for such a condition.

He takes a tired sip of his tea. What is the word he could use which would likely irritate Gen most in this situation?

Ah, yes. "Adorable."

And just as Emet-Selch must have anticipated, that choice word earns a loud groan and a hoarse "Fuck off."

The only reason he doesn't kick up more of a fuss about being referred to in such patronizing fashion is because his throat feels too ragged to waste too many words. Gen coughs two, three times, then clears his throat.

"Don't give a shit about self-improvement. Just didn't like the -- the in -- ..." Give him a second, his brain fog is so bad and words are difficult. "... the implication. The implication I can't. I can. I can just fine. Not like I depend on'em or anything."

The fact that he's saying this is basically a declaration that he does depend on them, isn't it.

The rude remark is met with a pleasantly amused quirk of his lips.

"Clearly." He says in agreement, though if that's meant as a comment on his determination or a facetious comment on his obviously incapacitated state remains delightfully unstated.

"There are natural remedies for easing such misery. Consider inconveniencing one of the late-night kitchen staff for one; it will do more good than folding yourself over a banister." Since they are convinently heading in that direction.

... oh, right.

"I knew that," Gen protests after a moment too long. But the half-hearted way he says it and the way he slouches, one hand awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck makes it clear that option really had slipped his mind. Clearly, he's doing great with these withdrawal symptoms.

"And what do you know about this stuff, anyway. I've never seen you smoke -- you gonna tell me you also quit before?"

He says that flippantly enough, but it's only once the words have left his mouth that it occurs to Gen that, somehow, it wouldn't be that surprising if Emet-Selch had done something like that in the past. He seems to have had quite the history, after all.

"No. Such a thing has never appealed to me." There are a plethora of reasons for such but he does not list any.

Emet-Selch's expression looks distant as he explains. "I have spent time amongst encampments full of soldiers. Many could not handle the toll that war asked of them, and just as many chose to handle it with their vices." Cigarettes were among the least egregious of those very vices.

"On occasion, we could not procure the supplies that they needed. So I have seen my share of those partaking in the very same fight you now face, most often not by choice."

... yeah, that sounds like it tracks. Emet-Selch's mention of reliance on vices to deal with stress is way too relatable for him, made obvious in the way Gen gives a low grunt before uncomfortably averting his eyes.

Although, of course Gen would take the wrong lesson from what Emet-Selch is telling him.

"What other 'vices' did people use? Just booze?" It's not like he's planning on directly replacing his smoking with something else, but -- well, he's certainly tempted. At least he has the self-awareness to keep his gaze averted as he continues at a hoarse mumble, "For people stuck in a long battle ... would smokes and booze really be enough? Especially once they run out." And then, against his better judgement, he adds, "What did you use?"

Emet-Selch looks wistfully at the ground in front of them. What did he use back then?

"What I used then is the same thing that I use today." He says, answering while still remaining unclear. If makes one thing apparent enough, it's that he doesn't view this situation as much different. He was still fighting for his home. That has not changed.

"As for the others, they used anything. Everything. Those who found no comfort in vices found comfort in their own end." A grim picture he does not care to detail further.

"That's not a proper answer."

So he says in expectedly cranky fashion, but Gen doesn't push the matter. Judging by what he's seen of Emet-Selch so far, he's going to take that non-answer to meat Emet-Selch sustains himself on sheer grit and persistence. Which sounds like insanity to him, but ... he has to grudgingly respect it.

There's a longer pause wherein he scuffs a hand through his hair, pulling his fingertips through a few stray tangles and brushing the pale strands back out of his face. Then, finally, he continues halfheartedly.

"Yeah, well. I'm not planning on doing that here, so." He really isn't, he thinks. It's just an unpleasant subject to have broached even in this oblique fashion, given the events that happened in Venera are still lingering at the back of his mind. "I'm just looking for something to help a bit. S'been a while since I've had this much trouble sleeping."

They finally reach the kitchens. One of the workers approaches Emet-Selch with a beverage, almost as if he was ...expected. It's exchanged for the empty mug without complaint.

Then Emet-Selch proceeds to provide a description of a different beverage that could help soothe the symptoms that Gen is experiencing. After the worker makes a face - surely whatever Emet-Selch described sounded strange to them - they head off in order to hurriedly make something to that effect.

Emet-Selch then takes a seat at a wooden table in the middle of the kitchen that is surrounded by bar stools. "It is such an inconvenience when one can't sleep." He comments on Gen's plight with a sigh. "Sleeping is such a delightful way to pass the time. It is almost as though we are afforded peace for a few fleeting moments before we must face the world anew." He takes a sip of his drink. "I am sure that sounds incredibly trite to someone so young."

The poor servant departs to mix up whatever strange drink it is that Emet-Selch has requested, and Gen takes the chance to grab up what looks like a baguette from a pile lying on one of the counters. Not that he would have asked for permission in the first place, but especially now when he feels like shit, he can't bring himself to care if he's stealing part of someone else's dinner.

"No, I get it."

He trails behind Emet-Selch to lean against the table as he starts idly picking at the baguette, ripping off small pieces to chew on; the crust does more to sate his desire for an oral fixation than the soft insides.

"I get it. Sometimes just sleeping feels like the only way to get any rest. ... not physically, but mentally. When nightmares aren't a thing, I guess." A worker walks by, shooting him a mildly scandalized look for his theft, but Gen ignores it as he rips off another chunk of his stolen snack, looking at some vague point on the floortiles. "... I had a lot of trouble sleeping, a few years back. Felt like shit the whole time. Took ages before I felt normal again."

"Mmm." Emet-Selch says in agreement. Not that he had restful sleep in ages, but sleep does provide a break from the world when nightmares decided to leave him be - that much is true.

He puts an elbow on the table and braces his head on his hand tiredly. "What brought your sleeplessness about?"

The kitchen worker appears again and presents Gen with his beverage. This drink is a glass mug with a light yellow liquid finished with lemons and leaves. There is an (oddly specifically requested) straw in it which ruins its adult refinement.

Despite its pleasant appearance, it takes absolutely terrible, akin to what someone might use to clean floors with.

Gen spends a significant moment lost in thought, frowning as he absently rips a chunk of the baguette to very small pieces, littering his shirtfront and the floor around him with crumbs as he does so. It's not until the worker's approach snaps him out of his thoughts that Gen gives a start, then accepts the mug with a grunt.

"Just ... some stuff." He ultimately throws a shredded chunk of bread in his mouth, mumbling his answer while chewing. "Gave me pretty bad nightmares."

Trauma, in other words. Though he's not about to word it as such, even if he knows what it is; he's making a huge concession just by making this oblique admission to anyone at all.

He tries to distract himself from the subject by taking a long sip of the drink (with the straw) -- which, to its credit, does a magnificent job of providing a distraction, because Gen almost spits it back out. He ends up gracelessly choking on his mouthful before arduously forcing himself to swallow, wiping errant flecks from his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he shoots Emet-Selch an indignant stare.

"-- the hell?! What did you tell'em to make, poison?"

The silence and few words say more than he cares to let on. 'Some stuff' is significant enough not to want to talk about. Something important. Something undesirable. The subject is not pressed any more than that.

Gen's reaction to the drink, though, gets a tired arch of the eyebrow.

"Please. It is meant to ease the pain your body feels." Emet-Selch yawns and finally surrenders to the gravity tugging at his eyelids long enough to close them. Just for a few moments. "I find it most interesting that you can sit with me at a table and drink the pisswater they called wine, but you draw the line at that. I must earnestly question your tastes."

"Not like I liked that wine much, either." Gen mumbles his gripes as he swirls the cup in his hand, watching the straw spin a lazy circle leaning against the rim. Impressive how something that looks so tasty can turn out so gross. "You're the one with something wrong with your tastes if you think this shit's anywhere near on the same level as the ..."

But his words peter off with a disgruntled noise when he notices Emet-Selch with his eyes closed. And while Gen does inhale, briefly considering snapping that it's fucking rude to just sleep in front of someone like that ... he ultimately just gives a quiet huff before taking a long sip of that concoction.

It's still gross enough to make his expression crumple, and it's chased by the sound of breadcrust crinkling as Gen takes a bite to clear the rancid aftertaste from his mouth. But at least for a few moments, he opts to suffer in (mostly) silence for Emet-Selch's sake. A noble sacrifice, truly.

Closing his eyes is only supposed to last for a moment, but Gen's words begin to become muffled noise as the weariness strengthens its hold. For a few short - but blissful - minutes, he manages to doze off.

Ah, peace.

As all good things are, rest is not long-lived. Gravity begins to take hold and his head begins to list far to one side while taking the rest of him with it. When he feels himself begin to fall he awakes with a start to catch himself.

Emet-Selch briefly grapples with being awake and looks around to see Gen sitting close by. Quietly sitting close by. Busying himself with his drink and filched bread. It's not lost on him that Gen had the courtesy not to try and wake him up. For that much, he is quietly grateful.

He clears his throat to brush off the incident and stands from the table. "I should retire to my chambers." Before he falls asleep in earnest. "If what you have does not ease the pain to your liking, ask them to make you another. Do not take more than three." He says. (It sounds vaguely threatening.)

To his meager credit, Gen really does wait in silence while Emet-Selch snatches a few precious moments of rest. And he does manage to work most of the way through that wretched concoction, balancing it out with bites of the bread.

So maybe it kind-of sort-of makes up for the fact that he reacts to Emet-Selch's less-than-graceful jolt awake with a low laugh. He'd clearly been watching the other's balance slowly tip forward, his gaze wolfish in anticipation. And while a small part of him is disappointed Emet-Selch hadn't taken a total spill on the floor, that embarrassing little show is just enough to have made his wait worth it. It's always funny seeing people who play at such dignity get taken down even half a peg.

"Yeah, 'cause I'm just dying for a fourth glass of this shit."

So he says, his words dry as anything, but his voice already sounds a little less hoarse. That awful, hazy feeling in his head has subsided a bit, too. Enough that he thinks maybe he might be able to get some sleep if he tried again now. Maybe.

Gen finishes off his drink with an obnoxious slurp of the straw, makes a face, then leaves it on the counter for the workers to put away.

"Guess I should head back, too. I'll walk with you. Make sure you're not gonna fall over and break your fragile old hips, gramps."

Yes, now that he's once seen Emet-Selch almost tip over, he will be making himself absolutely insufferable about it.

"Oh, ha. Ha." Each word of the short sentence is articulated to a fault to make it sound as irritated as he cared to be at that hour. Still. He would not let such comments or laughter go without retort.

"If my stumbling concerns you so acutely, then I should be so kind as to ease your addled mind of its worry." There is a small rush of wind around him as Emet lifts himself a few inches off the ground with the power of flight.

"Let us be on our way." He carries himself to the kitchen entrance without ever setting foot on the ground. Sometimes spite could be a justifiable reason for using the power he wielded.

And, gods, is he tired. It's a small mercy not to have to walk.

Figures that a man so comfortable with magic would be able to pull off some bullshit like this. But even so, Gen can't help giving a startled blink when Emet-Selch basically hovers over to the kitchen entrance; even when he reigns his surprise back in as quickly as possible, it's clear he's been caught on the back-foot given the sullen tone to his voice as he mumbles, "That's cheating."

Why can't he pull that sort of hovering bullshit? Unfair. And it's not like he actually wants to, because it looks stupid, but it's a matter of principle okay.

Still, he raises no other complaints as he walks down the hallway alongside Emet-Selch, still working through his rapidly-shrinking baguette and leaving a small trail of crumbs in his wake. Despite his complaints about the drink Emet-Selch had requested for him, he's definitely feeling a little more clear-headed thanks to its help, and his voice almost sounds back to normal when he stops by a different room door on the way to Emet-Selch's quarters.

"I'm here." The baguette is gone by this point, and Gen carelessly shoves the door to his room open. "Later."

But through the open doorway, maybe Emet-Selch can spot a very large, very sharp-looking clawed finger sitting on Gen's desk, the pale of its petrified surface gleaming in the moonlight streaming past a crack in the curtains.

Emet-Selch continues his spell until they reach Gen's door, happily 'cheating' the entire way to Gen's room.

Once they reach it, he lets the flight spell dissipate and his feet settle on the ground. It so happens that he glances into his room and spots... something on the countertop. Something notably strange.

"What is that?" He asks.

"Hm?" He'd been all ready to close the door behind him but pauses at Emet-Selch's question. Looks into his room, following the other's line of sight. Then gives a soft exhale. "Oh, that."

Gen leaves the door wide open behind him as he enters; Emet-Selch is welcome to follow him if he wishes. The room is fairly austere, one might notice -- there's little by way of personal decor save an ashtray set by the windowsill, a non-standard blanket draped over one of the comfy chairs nearby, some items of clothing piled on another chair. The desk it also mostly bare save a few tools that would be used for maintaining a mace, that jagged shape laid atop a few pages of written instructions. The papers rustle when Gen picks up the makeshift paperweight.

"It's his finger -- Estinien's." He slinks back Emet-Selch's way to offer it forth, if he wants to take a look. "I brought back his hand thinking it might have some use. Ended up giving most of it to Xishen to prove I've been doing my job, but kept this just in case. Dunno what to do with it, though."

Of course, Emet-Selch follows him right in. A brief glance is given to the room around them. So much could be said for how others enjoy their space - and there is much to be said about this one and its barrenness.

When Gen approaches him with the 'finger' and explains its origins, Emet-Selch can't help but arch an eyebrow in reproach. "Aiming to impress by gifting the appendages of your foes? How barbarous." He snatches the strangely-shaped thing from Gen's palm to get a closer look.

"The crystal form of the contagion." He tilts his head to one side and looks at it. "It could harbor clues to help us confront that beast in the future if we could learn to unlock its secrets."

He rolls his eyes as he leans back against the desk.

"Yeah, she was so thrilled by it she promised me a second date. Things might even get frisky if I play my cards right." Like he gives a shit what Xishen or the Regent personally think of him. All that matters is that he prove he's fulfilled his duties to keep them off his back, and surely that very tangible piece of proof will be enough to sate them for a while.

But for now, Gen regards Emet-Selch in silence for a moment, watching the man's gaze. Then he offers, "You can take it if you think it'll be useful."

After all, Emet-Selch has been easy enough to work with so far. And if anyone here can get anything out of that finger, it might be Emet-Selch, given what the man's apparently been through. Though Gen keeps his tone of voice casual, it's a rare sign of trust that he's extending here.

"Not like I'm doing anything with it. Do whatever you think is right with it."

Emet-Selch daintily pulls out a handkerchief from within his breast pocket and wraps the... thing in it before slipping it into his sleeve for safekeeping. This is something that will have to be considered another time.

"Unfortunately, you must have a first date before you have a second, Gen." He playfully chides. "Now, I will leave you to your evening. If you decide to get into trouble later, make sure it's interesting, would you?"

Emet-Selch rolls a wrist in the air in place of a farewell and disappears within an all-consuming purple and black darkness. Within an instant, he leaves Gen alone in his room.

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cw: brief suicide mention

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