middaeg | I Am Embracing the Cold Rushing in Like Ice to a Diamond [OPEN, Catchall for June]

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I Am Embracing the Cold Rushing in Like Ice to a Diamond [OPEN, Catchall for June]

Who: L Lawliet and OPEN
When: Throughout June
Where: Various places;
What: Sans caretaker, an antisocial, world-renowned detective separated from all his resources searches for lodging, work, and purpose. All while continuing to practice magic.
Warnings: None right now; I'll update it if that changes!

A. More explosions make debris (Barracks)

[To say that there's been something of an adjustment period since L arrived here is an understatement, to say the least. Once, he had a handler who took care of everything he needed, from laundry to finding him things to eat to telling him when it was time to sleep. While it wasn't the kind of life that most adults were content leading, it had suited him just fine, allowing him to devote more energy to his one truly passionate pursuit: solving the world's most bizarre and complex cases.

One month in, and he's semi-adapted to his new environment, in the sense that he is surviving, but not exactly thriving. He's carved out a niche for himself in the barracks, where stacks of overdue library books stand in place of furniture or decor... but otherwise, one would be forgiven for believing that this particular building is unoccupied. There's no real sign that anyone has taken up residence here from the outside; restoration efforts haven't reached this section of the barracks yet, and the plants outside are overgrown, some of the windows drooping and dilapidated, the door hanging precariously from one hinge that only sort of works.

If you did make this very understandable mistake and you opt to enter, you might stumble upon the only room that's being actively used, and it's sort of a pathetic sight. A scrawny, dark-haired young man is seated in a curled position on the floor. His back is against the wall and his shaggy head is drooped over his bony knees, with clumps of candy wrappers and four open books around his bare feet. He is wearing the set of Coven robes he received on the first day here, and they appear, after a month, to be in desperate need of a good cleaning. Fast asleep in a clear state of exhaustion, he doesn't notice you... but if you stick around or make even the slightest noise, that's bound to change quickly.]

B. Catching it kind of suits you (Coven)

[L avoids going out in public nearly to the point of being agoraphobic. The pallor of his skin suggests that he's never even seen the Sun, and the shuffling, tentative way he moves is absurdly ill-suited to crowds of jostling strangers. But he makes exceptions for certain things, and must; his only other true option is to stagnate and slowly wither away to a brittle, frail collection of bones. The unfortunate realities of distrusting people while being rather more reliant on them than most grown humans are coming home to roost, in the sense that L's faltering a bit without Watari's constant, vigilant maintenance. Soon his health will begin to suffer, and as a Witch, it makes sense that the best way to be sustainably self-sufficient might be buckling down and learning how to heal his own injuries, restore his own energy if he's lacking sleep, and make food materialize out of thin air so he doesn't have to go out and purchase it.

After a month, he's found that it's not nearly so simple. Some branches of magic have been more promising than others; he seems to have a knack for Divination and Illusion, which probably shouldn't be surprising given his background as an investigator. But L tends not to be merely average at anything; his destiny is either extreme proficiency, or extreme disaster, and the latter seems to be the case with Abjuration and Transmutation. It seems that healing and mending things are what give him the most trouble, to the point where his attempts actually backfire and have the opposite effect.

What started as a minor abrasion on his left hand, that any extremely basic healing spell could make short work of, has spread to many abrasions all over his hand and wrist. His attempts to mend the Coven robe he is still wearing since receiving it on his first day are actually unraveling the threads holding it together. His frustration is real and powerful, but his expression doesn't betray it. Just maybe the occasional swift exhalation, or a murmured question about his future success before he consults tea leaves and sets aside the cup, disgusted with the answer he reads there with comparative ease.

Maybe these particular disciplines come easier to you and you have a heart. Or maybe you just want to laugh at him.]

C. Well it doesn't suit me (Runetchers)

[L is a fast reader, and a fast learner. When he's exhausted what he has to work with in a day at the Coven, advised not to overdo it before he has a bond with a monster who can help him cycle his magic, there are still many hours left in a day... and really, when money is a concern and not just managed in vast quantities to be thrown around when it's required, the necessity of it can't really be overlooked.

But when one has worked the same job since early childhood and needed no introduction at the top of his field, it's an issue. When one is off and peculiar in his interactions and socially irregular, it's an issue. When one secretly considers himself above most offerings, it's especially an issue, and so a month has passed with nothing catching L's interest and no currency changing hands. However, when Runetchers put out a call for steady hands and loading scrolls with spells, it's a prospect... and when they add that they are willing to teach on the job, L is sufficiently sold. At least for a little while, this will suffice, especially if he doesn't have to come in contact with chipper inquisitive customers or nitpicky coworkers.

Did you also take this quest? Or did you just drop in to check out the shop that smells like old parchment and cloves? Either way, the spindly, wide-eyed youth is watching you, pausing in his work so his dark, lacquered eyes can better follow you around the shop. If you move to get away from him, you might notice that he's even left his desk to keep closer tabs on you. ]

D. With the Sun setting low and the shadows unfurled (FULL MOON, around the city)

[It's been an especially long day. As L's magical practice deepens, so does the exhaustion that comes with trying to do it alone, and the ensuing snappishness and irritability... but today, in particular, it's been difficult to use magic at all. His attempts at spells are either weak or they fail entirely, and while he's wrung what he can out of him to get through work, he was dismissed early and told to get some rest when it became clear, quickly, that even his ability to draw pretty straight lines was suffering.

He's on his way home tonight. Maybe you're another witch who's similarly weakened, or a monster struggling with their changes. Either way, it's dark, and he's wearing dark clothing, and it's entirely likely that you just don't see the guy and walk right into him. Hopefully it's not claws-first, and with the way his eyes are narrowing, it would be great if you were in a better mood.]

E. Can you live with the way they make you look unreal? (WILDCARD)

[Don't see it? Want it? Have at it! If you want a quick and easy way to get ahold of me for plotting purposes, I am on plurk at

lexil.]

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[francel's made visiting the coven part of an almost-daily routine — in part because his monster changes have been coming for him so abnormally, and with so much pain, that he's been subjecting himself to near-constant observation to make sure that all as well.

as such, he notices l hunched over his wounds one day, seemingly trying to fix them. clearly, he's not having much luck.]

...Linden?

[at least, francel supposes he has the privilege of calling "linden" by his forename. the alternative — "master tailor" — just, er, sounds a little odd, even by eorzean standards.]

Are you all right?

[Deep in concentration, L is putting his all into making this work. It's broken handily when Francel approaches him, and L's shoulders curl forward guardedly. Because of everyone he's met, Francel has been consistently kind, helpful, approachable and nonjudgmental, he does believe that his intentions at this time are good.

What's difficult, actually, is just reconciling all of this with the uncomfortable reality that he's just not used to being bad at things like this.]

Francel...

[He nods a stiff greeting, managing to keep the stinging pain out of his voice.]

Certain spells are proving challenging. You... perhaps can guess which ones are giving me some difficulty.

I... I see.

[francel bites his lip, over-empathizing with l's pain despite trying to restrain himself. in this case, of course, linden tailor's pain is physical, and francel's pain is most typically emotional, but all the same, the young lord has a certain affinity for open wounds that only get worse and worse over time.

the obvious advice would be to tell l to just stop, but francel is sensitive to injured pride, and it seems cruel to tell anyone to stop merely because they are bad at something.]

Perhaps you might practice on things that are not yourself, or your own? There's no substitute for wounded flesh, I know, but with regard to your robes, you could practice on a sheet of torn parchment...

[The impression L gets is an uncertain one. Francel might see, truly, but he could also be humoring him, or stalling until he figures out a better way to do it. There's an uncomfortable impression that Francel's at least as bothered by the lacerations as L is, but true empathy is something that the detective struggles with at least as much as this type of spell. It's as though that part of him as always been numb, deadened, heavy and alien.]

I've been practicing...

[With little success.]

I can't say I've found much success, and it was my hope that the truly needful would drive faster success.

[Higher stakes light fires under people. He's seen and felt it. This approach does make sense to him.]

...You mean to endanger yourself until you see improvement?

[honestly, it makes sense in a way, but francel can't stop himself from sounding appropriately horrified. his expression steels over, though he's clearly wrestling with it.

this... certainly explains why he suspected that l was the kind of scholar who would quite literally burn the candle at both ends.]

Linden, I... perhaps you've heard this before, but I'm not certain that's the best way to study.

[That's precisely what he means; he doesn't even nod to confirm it. It just shows in the unwavering way the light hits his dark eyes, the resolve, the blank acceptance of any cost.]

Actually, I haven't heard it before.

[Not from anyone who mattered, at least. No, he was always allowed to study how he pleased, pursue his methods how he pleased.]

I suppose I always got results, so... no one questioned it. How would you study?

[He takes a break, folding his long fingers to at least partly conceal the bleeding, turning genuine interest onto Francel.]

[of course he hasn't heard it before. it would almost be funny if it weren't mostly sad. wasn't your family concerned? francel almost asks, stupidly, but the answer is staring him plain in the face: l either does not have any family, or they are precisely the kinds of people who would tolerate this kind of behavior. either way, asking would open up a can of worms, one which francel knows he would drop onto the floor if he found it in his hands.]

Personally, the threat of physical punishment only ever served to make me do worse. I had tutors aplenty who thought such methods would light a fire under the seat of any young lordling who was failing to live up to his potential, but I would only... well, I would panic and make bad decisions, essentially.

[he shrugs, looking more flippant than he feels.]

Of course, I do not believe that you are panicking now. But I wonder if you would not see more improvement under more... healthy conditions.

[One thing that coming here has done is put in stark perspective just how differently L led his life than most others. He always knew it, of course, always realized that he wasn't part of a society, neither drawing from or contributing to any kind of mutual support system. He had a caretaker, but that was entirely different... and the symbiotic relationship they'd developed benefitted from his results, even at the cost of his health.]

It sounds like your situation was an externally motivated one, which makes it different... at least, I think so.

[He isn't certain; even his monotone can't really conceal it totally. They're both uncomfortable, both trying to express something that's difficult to do gracefully without giving away more than they want to.]

I've always worked well under pressure, but... I don't know if magic follows the same rules as what I'm used to.

[Buried in a shallow grave is the subtext: waging a war against one's humanity might be fine for the results L used to get, but connection to that humanity might be necessary for these kinds of spells.]

It's almost dinnertime, isn't it?

[It's 4 PM. But he hasn't had breakfast or lunch, and his blood sugar has been coasting on fumes for awhile now.]

[francel has to check. fortunately, the communications pocketwatch serves as an actual watch, so he's able to check the time. he frowns.]

It's four in the afternoon. You'd be due for a late lunch, or a very early dinner, if that is your preference.

[he's willing to be generous, so he adds:]

I could run out and fetch you something to eat, if you're hungry. Or we could go together.

[L actually has to think, really catch himself, before asking what it really meant to be due for a normal mealtime. Running on an erratic, bizarre schedule dictated by a series of energetic spurts and wrung-out crashes, the clock only matters as far as the business hours of the establishments he needs to access.

But speaking of bodies, and humanity, and requirements and pain... he's been sitting here for a long time, now. The thought of going somewhere presumably by using his legs wakes him up to the fact that they rather ache, that there is a cramp in his thigh and a deep, radiating ache in a lower back that's been hunched forward for hours.]

I wouldn't mind going together, but... please don't feel obligated. It sounds as though you're not hungry yourself at this time.

[He's still coming around to the notion that people don't need reasons to go places together, that it could be sincerely motivated by nothing more than the opportunity to help someone or get to know them better. This delayed epiphany is probably why he's still alone and isolated in a place that encourages bonds, connections, companionship.]

[in response, francel shrugs, generously dismissing l's concerns.]

I always have appetite for a bit of lemon cake. Or rolanberry, if that is in stock instead.

[the real concern is not francel's appetite — or waistline — but his wallet. chronic pain has left him unable to work; his coinpurse will realistically have to last him another few weeks. still, surely he'll be able to afford a quick meal for "linden tailor" and himself? he isn't that pressed for funds at the moment...]

Ah, but we needn't frequent a patisserie if that isn't to your taste. What do you prefer to eat?

[This is going more smoothly and easily than L anticipated on several different levels. Not only is Francel offering to accompany him and appears to genuinely want to go, but he's even proposing that they eat exactly the kind of food that L prefers. And that's saying something; L is a picky eater.

He smiles, gaining confidence in the interaction as his expectations are subverted and he turns out not to have rational reasons for his concerns and cynicism.]

Desserts, actually. That sounds more than agreeable.

[L is absolutely what happens when a person grows up, but eats the way children swear they will when they are beholden to the authority of no fun-ruining adult. He also serves as a pretty good cautionary example... but cake for dinner is better than nothing for dinner.

He stands, beginning to gather his studying materials together. He doesn't have a bag, meaning that he's just going to be carrying an assorted stack of books, pens, and papers in his arms. Money isn't a concern for him, considering his job at Runetchers is plenty to sustain him for the present; it's a much better feeling than relying on the charity of others, or just going without because approaching them is too difficult or unpleasant.]

You'd know what establishments are of a good quality, better than I would. I didn't eat out much before I found a job, for reasons that must be obvious.

[belatedly, and with a rather guilty expression on his face, francel realizes that if l hasn't eaten much today, dessert is, well, not the most responsible meal that he could have suggested. but linden has already agreed to it, and it's hardly appropriate for an ishgardian to question someone's personal customs so long as his own are respected, so... that's that. they're committed to dessert now.]

Fiscal responsibility is an admirable quality in any man.

[francel almost wishes he could offer linden some sort of bag, but he doesn't have one himself, so the bedraggled student will just have to make do with his arms. away they go, though — out of the coven and into the afternoon sunset.]

The rigors of magic aside, have you been acclimating well, Linden? I can't recall if I asked you whether or not this world is like or unlike your own.

[L rather wears the evidence of his lifestyle on his bony frame, the dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin. But it's normal for him to exclusively eat things that are both calorically dense and nutritionally worthless, and he doesn't behave as though he'll be hungry later, or crash badly after a sudden sugar spike.

That, too, is normal for him, and he would argue that it's what caffeine was invented for.]

Fiscal responsibility...? Yes, of course...

[His hesitation is only because handling money himself is also new to him. His caretaker did it before, and there was also a fairly bottomless supply as a result of the fortune his skills had amassed. His legacy was formidable. Here, if he had only enough to spend on a donut to his name, and he was hungry for one, he would probably buy a donut. It's a mercy that he has simple tastes.]

This world is very unlike mine. Magic and monsters don't really exist.

[Shinigami and Death Notes aren't something he's going to mention or count; if only because he only learned about them himself several days before arriving here. It's not representative of the majority of his life or methods.]

That being said, I believe that I'm acclimating well enough.

["Believe" is an appropriate qualifier, because he's... not.]

And yourself? It seems as though it's the case, at least.

I am... doing as best I can, certainly. But I admit, I feel less and less like myself with each passing day.

[francel has been wearing a cloak of brown linen, one which sits so oddly over his back that there must be something beneath it. the mass over his back twitches oddly — evidently, his monster transformation has involved the development of these appendages. it's not hard to deduce that he's grown wings.]

If I were a Witch like you, perhaps things would be different...

[While L certainly isn't turning into a monster, undergoing anything so extreme or alien, he's still quick to shake his head in denial. Because...]

They would be different, perhaps, but... not quite opposite, I suspect. While I enjoy a great deal about learning and using magic... deepening the study requires things that might be beyond me, at present.

[A Bond, namely. It's elusive, reliant on cooperation and trust, and L has a hard enough time just making friends. Someone taking pity on him and offering to share lunch is one thing, but he seems fully resigned to the fact that, for better or worse, his path is going to be a solitary one. Not unsustainable, if he's extremely careful and extremely lucky.

His eyes linger on the bulging hidden wings.]

There must be something good about it, even if it is strange.

[francel looks a little uneasy, not least because... well, frankly, sometimes linden just looks a little odd, and the way he's staring at francel now only heightens the slightly discomfiting effect of his appearance. it's nothing to be held against him, surely! no one can help how they look!]

...I spoke to you of how the men and women of my homeland waged battle against the Dravanian Horde, did I not? It... seems a great irony, but 'twould seem I am bound to become a dragon by the standards of this land.

[he sighs, leading l down a city street.]

...I am trying to be calm, certainly. Rational. But — the idea of obtaining power at the cost of becoming one's most hated enemy sits ill upon my breast.

[It's not an unusual impression. L is one of the rare humans who can elicit the uncanny valley in other living things, especially when he stares. It's off-putting and bizarre, even when others don't have entirely negative impressions of him; if they do? It scarcely helps to change that.]

It makes sense that you would be conflicted.

[And "conflicted" is generous; it implies that there's something good about it to contrast with the bad. Not Francel's perception, evidently; it's such an unfortunate choice given his personal history with dragons that it's actually strikingly, darkly ironic.]

It seems that the things you are not bound by are the things you should focus on. This is not your world; even if your eventual form resembles a dragon from your world identically, we don't currently exist in an environment where the two species are at war. Is there something specifically that you fear? Judgment or assumptions from someone you know who might see you living as a dragon, perhaps?

[what linden says is not wrong, francel knows. if dragons and men are not at war in this world, and no one from ishgard will arrive save aymeric (a man who was already sympathetic to the dragons), then there's really nothing to be ashamed about.

but it's the principle of the thing, francel thinks. it's when you learn to look at a dragon and see it as a thing to be killed, an enemy, a merciless beast — and then have to see the same thing when you look at yourself in the mirror.]

I... suppose what I fear most is... losing my Elezen form. The appendages, I suppose, I can live with — and the scales are not so reptilian that I cannot tolerate them. But if I were to wake up to — discover that my nose has turned to a scalekin's snout, my spine lengthened to a thumping tail —

[gods above, he actually has to suppress a visceral shiver. that would be horrifying.]

Ugh, it does not bear imagining.

[Old, closely held and deeply ingrained prejudices are the hardest ones to shake. L's seen enough of humans, and been separated from them sufficiently, to realize as much. He's never failed to see the forest for the trees; he's had a very clear, if very removed and sterile, view.

L speaks calmly and carefully.]

I don't mean to discourage you. But those things are very likely to happen to you. It would be better to accept that now, rather than be even more devastated when you hold out hope that they will not.

[Maybe that sounded blunter, more abrupt or harsh than he intended it to. He speaks like some mechanical arbiter who wishes to be fair, but cannot genuinely understand the emotional side of the argument beyond childish mimicry. He attempts to soften it, somewhat, with a proposed solution.]

Perhaps you could form a Bond with a witch who could assist you in looking less like what you hate so much, at least while you're still getting used to it. Illusion work is versatile and fascinating.

[francel pulls a wry, pained face, but he can't deny that linden is wrong. as a matter of fact, linden is probably right, and it is better to prepare for the worst-case scenario than to have one's vain hopes disappointed.

aymeric keeps giving francel the exact opposite advice — he tells him to keep his chin up, to stay positive — but low expectations are easier to manage.]

Perhaps... but I already have a Bond, and would not feel comfortable with another. I could petition my Bonded to study such glamouring spells, but... he would think of it as running away from the problem. And... he would be right.

[l's mechanical bluntness doesn't seem to bother francel, at least.]

Have you looked into securing a Bond for yourself, by any chance?

You have a Bond already? I see... that's really lucky.

[He sounds a bit envious; he's astonished at the speed and ease with which others seem to have found Bonds, seeing it as somewhat beyond his ability. Currently, maybe even ever. He's pretty much resigned to being a dead witch walking if he can't ever find one, effectively burn off some of the tremendous energy his practice is building up within him. He can't be the only one... but some days, it really feels like it.]

I don't know if it's for someone like me. There are clearly benefits, but... a lot about the arrangement seems inherently fraught, as well.

[Having to spend so much time around someone else, for one!]

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I Am Embracing the Cold Rushing in Like Ice to a Diamond [OPEN, Catchall for June]

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