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middaeg2021-01-04 09:58 pm
hearthebell) wrote in middaeg2021-01-04 09:58 pm
Entry tags:
First Week of January Catchall
Who: L Lawliet (Linden Tailor) and YOU
When: First week of Ieneur
Where: Various places
What: Catchall, for old and new CR
Warnings: None to speak of yet, will update if that changes
I. The Orphanage
[Even thrill-chasers can be happier when their lives settle into some kind of routine. For a time, that was true for L, and it’s served as an anchor for him through the festivities of Modranicht when so many are with their loved ones exchanging thoughtfully selected gifts and homemade food. Now that the orphanage has achieved some kind of substantial funding, it’s the first time many of the children have experienced any level of wonder associated with the season, and the staff all did their part to contribute to it, keeping fairly busy.
Regarding the staff, of course, there’s always been a vague sense that L doesn’t fit in. The children appreciate that he’s not like all the other adults and has a different and creative way of thinking about things, of course. His colleagues appreciate that about him, too, but there’s also the sense that they think of him, at times, almost as one of the children. It comes out in small ways; surprise when he shows interest in volunteering or partaking in something, awkward fumbling to explain when he overhears that there are after-work plans excluding him.
Hands not being broken, he would have been able to help wrap Modranicht gifts if he’d been told they were all collaborating to do it. While it’s likely he would decline, he notices never being invited to join the staff for drinks biweekly. While he runs his classes with relative freedom to cover the subject matter and approach it as he sees fit, he often finds out about schedule or policy changes right along with the kids, instead of at the meetings committed to deciding those changes. It’s confirmation of something he’s always actually known, that he lacks charisma and social skills and general likability, but the more involved in the micro-community of the orphanage he gets, the reminder gets a little heavier each day.
Having never needed to try, before, there was no shame in failing. Now that he’s trying, and failing, he’s stopped looking forward to work, and started looking forward to when he can go home, or any number of places along the way.
Maybe you’re here dropping off a donation. Maybe you’re volunteering your time, or you’re actually employed here, like “Linden.” Either way, the lanky, pale man with a mop of shaggy hair treats you a bit warily, whether or not you’ve met before.]
Did you need something?
[Brusque. Not quite hostile, but the day is almost over. His reserves are almost spent, and it’s difficult to be pleasant on empty.]
II. The Entertainment District
[L cuts through this district every day after work. Essentially at the city’s center, it makes for a fairly straight cut to the Haven, and sometimes he goes straight home. Sometimes, he strays a bit, looking for a performer doing something impressive and difficult that requires a steady hand and years of practice, or failing that, a quiet and discreet drink in a dark bar to take the edge off a difficult day.
Never enough to truly dull it, of course. Never enough to hint to the Bonded he’s connected to that he actually needs it, and besides, a shot of cheap liquor on an empty stomach goes a long way, for the money and the burn.
Maybe you’re a performer, or watching one right along with him. Maybe you’re also enjoying a discreet drink in a dive bar on your way home. Maybe you’ve caught him in between points and you work in this district and you’re selling a good or service you hope to ply him with. Either way, there’s a hollow-eyed witch who seems like any diversion is worth changing the tone of his life, at least for a little while.]
Tell me...
[It’s the question at the front of his mind, for the performer or the audience, the incidental companion drinker or the bartender, and the seller of your ware or service, all the same.]
Are you exactly where you intended to go, at present, or creating an extra step to avoid getting there sooner than you must?
III. The Coven
[Sometimes, early before work or on the weekends, L puts in extra time studying at the Coven. He likes the academic setting, the quiet corners, the hundreds of books he can burn through with his fast and ferocious wit.
Myr’s Modranicht gift was thoughtful, kind, and useful. L’s foregone his hodgepodge of other tools for the new set, matching and elegant and tailored to his specific technique for casting magic that leans heavily on etching and engraving runes. He doesn’t fail to notice that the blade in the kit is wrapped in golden ribbon, sealed at the ends with beeswax as if to gently discourage him from using it to bite into his own convenient store of witch’s blood. He doesn’t unravel it today, for at least the reason that his skipped meals and over-caffeinated state of hyperfocus don’t lend well to even small amounts of blood loss, though there’s probably more to it. There usually is, where Myr is concerned; as a rule, L actively tries to avoid displeasing or disappointing Myr, however certain he is that he will fail. There comes a point, after all, when one has reached the limit of what he can give, or do, or become. Efforts come to yield smaller returns, until there’s a plateau, or even a decline.
He sits in one one of the classes for advanced illusion, breaking in his new tools, taking heart at least in the fact that he can rely on his penchant for acquiring and applying knowledge. He hasn’t peaked, or plateaued, or declined in this regard; there’s more he can show Light, and neither of them will grow bored. The pair of illusory cockroaches on the table in front of him, maneuvering in intricate and perfect tandem, really do seem limited only by what his mind can do, and in truth, that’s the set of limitations that he prefers, even if he detests roaches.
If you’re in class together, he’ll notice if you’re struggling, and offer to help you get the hang of it. Having flawed technique and having to settle for mediocrity is unbearable; he knows that better than anyone.]
[IV. Dream (for Bonded knowledge and/or interaction)]
This particular dream started when Light arrived. Since then, it’s grown more frequent and vivid, to the point where even on nights L doesn’t clearly remember his dreams, he’s nearly positive that he had the same one, again, old paths doggedly retraced.
A brilliant, warm sun has melted the snow and brought an entire ecosystem’s cacophony with it, cycles of life and death mingling hidden in the bordering forest’s dense branches. There are distant suggestions of cracking eggshells, rattling serpents and rodent shrieks alike; predator and prey engaged in an endless and entrancing dance.
Not that L has the time to listen, or investigate, or muse, or even notice if one of his Bonded has ended up here with him. He’s too busy kneeling at the edge of the lake, which seems to have gotten both larger and murkier. He’s attempting, always, to repair the shrinking ice floats and re-glaze the surface of a lake where dead fish float to the surface, unable to adapt to water that just isn’t as cold and clean as it used to be. The ice almost seems to melt faster than he can create it, though, or at least just fast enough that his efforts are largely in vain in spite of the tremendous and exhausting strain. His rests are infrequent but desperately needed, and sorely bought; the Leviathan hasn’t gone anywhere, won’t die seemingly out of spite, and finds this whole process very agitating. Its scaly ridges suggesting only a sliver of its total mass surface periodically, and sometimes L has to move quickly to avoid whatever bit of ground he’s standing on crumbling out from under him as a result of the beast’s jaws or thrashing. As it chips away at the grass and soil surrounding the lake, the amount of ground remaining to stand on diminishes, pushing anyone who doesn’t want to end up in the water back toward the dense and deafening forest.
It’s small wonder, really, that he wakes up these days feeling as though he hasn’t slept at all, putting on a pot of coffee for the strongest possible start.]
[V. Wildcard]
[Don’t see it? Want it? Have at it! Throw a prompt my way or hit me up on discord at ladylazarus#2235 to plot something out with me.]
When: First week of Ieneur
Where: Various places
What: Catchall, for old and new CR
Warnings: None to speak of yet, will update if that changes
I. The Orphanage
[Even thrill-chasers can be happier when their lives settle into some kind of routine. For a time, that was true for L, and it’s served as an anchor for him through the festivities of Modranicht when so many are with their loved ones exchanging thoughtfully selected gifts and homemade food. Now that the orphanage has achieved some kind of substantial funding, it’s the first time many of the children have experienced any level of wonder associated with the season, and the staff all did their part to contribute to it, keeping fairly busy.
Regarding the staff, of course, there’s always been a vague sense that L doesn’t fit in. The children appreciate that he’s not like all the other adults and has a different and creative way of thinking about things, of course. His colleagues appreciate that about him, too, but there’s also the sense that they think of him, at times, almost as one of the children. It comes out in small ways; surprise when he shows interest in volunteering or partaking in something, awkward fumbling to explain when he overhears that there are after-work plans excluding him.
Hands not being broken, he would have been able to help wrap Modranicht gifts if he’d been told they were all collaborating to do it. While it’s likely he would decline, he notices never being invited to join the staff for drinks biweekly. While he runs his classes with relative freedom to cover the subject matter and approach it as he sees fit, he often finds out about schedule or policy changes right along with the kids, instead of at the meetings committed to deciding those changes. It’s confirmation of something he’s always actually known, that he lacks charisma and social skills and general likability, but the more involved in the micro-community of the orphanage he gets, the reminder gets a little heavier each day.
Having never needed to try, before, there was no shame in failing. Now that he’s trying, and failing, he’s stopped looking forward to work, and started looking forward to when he can go home, or any number of places along the way.
Maybe you’re here dropping off a donation. Maybe you’re volunteering your time, or you’re actually employed here, like “Linden.” Either way, the lanky, pale man with a mop of shaggy hair treats you a bit warily, whether or not you’ve met before.]
Did you need something?
[Brusque. Not quite hostile, but the day is almost over. His reserves are almost spent, and it’s difficult to be pleasant on empty.]
II. The Entertainment District
[L cuts through this district every day after work. Essentially at the city’s center, it makes for a fairly straight cut to the Haven, and sometimes he goes straight home. Sometimes, he strays a bit, looking for a performer doing something impressive and difficult that requires a steady hand and years of practice, or failing that, a quiet and discreet drink in a dark bar to take the edge off a difficult day.
Never enough to truly dull it, of course. Never enough to hint to the Bonded he’s connected to that he actually needs it, and besides, a shot of cheap liquor on an empty stomach goes a long way, for the money and the burn.
Maybe you’re a performer, or watching one right along with him. Maybe you’re also enjoying a discreet drink in a dive bar on your way home. Maybe you’ve caught him in between points and you work in this district and you’re selling a good or service you hope to ply him with. Either way, there’s a hollow-eyed witch who seems like any diversion is worth changing the tone of his life, at least for a little while.]
Tell me...
[It’s the question at the front of his mind, for the performer or the audience, the incidental companion drinker or the bartender, and the seller of your ware or service, all the same.]
Are you exactly where you intended to go, at present, or creating an extra step to avoid getting there sooner than you must?
III. The Coven
[Sometimes, early before work or on the weekends, L puts in extra time studying at the Coven. He likes the academic setting, the quiet corners, the hundreds of books he can burn through with his fast and ferocious wit.
Myr’s Modranicht gift was thoughtful, kind, and useful. L’s foregone his hodgepodge of other tools for the new set, matching and elegant and tailored to his specific technique for casting magic that leans heavily on etching and engraving runes. He doesn’t fail to notice that the blade in the kit is wrapped in golden ribbon, sealed at the ends with beeswax as if to gently discourage him from using it to bite into his own convenient store of witch’s blood. He doesn’t unravel it today, for at least the reason that his skipped meals and over-caffeinated state of hyperfocus don’t lend well to even small amounts of blood loss, though there’s probably more to it. There usually is, where Myr is concerned; as a rule, L actively tries to avoid displeasing or disappointing Myr, however certain he is that he will fail. There comes a point, after all, when one has reached the limit of what he can give, or do, or become. Efforts come to yield smaller returns, until there’s a plateau, or even a decline.
He sits in one one of the classes for advanced illusion, breaking in his new tools, taking heart at least in the fact that he can rely on his penchant for acquiring and applying knowledge. He hasn’t peaked, or plateaued, or declined in this regard; there’s more he can show Light, and neither of them will grow bored. The pair of illusory cockroaches on the table in front of him, maneuvering in intricate and perfect tandem, really do seem limited only by what his mind can do, and in truth, that’s the set of limitations that he prefers, even if he detests roaches.
If you’re in class together, he’ll notice if you’re struggling, and offer to help you get the hang of it. Having flawed technique and having to settle for mediocrity is unbearable; he knows that better than anyone.]
[IV. Dream (for Bonded knowledge and/or interaction)]
This particular dream started when Light arrived. Since then, it’s grown more frequent and vivid, to the point where even on nights L doesn’t clearly remember his dreams, he’s nearly positive that he had the same one, again, old paths doggedly retraced.
A brilliant, warm sun has melted the snow and brought an entire ecosystem’s cacophony with it, cycles of life and death mingling hidden in the bordering forest’s dense branches. There are distant suggestions of cracking eggshells, rattling serpents and rodent shrieks alike; predator and prey engaged in an endless and entrancing dance.
Not that L has the time to listen, or investigate, or muse, or even notice if one of his Bonded has ended up here with him. He’s too busy kneeling at the edge of the lake, which seems to have gotten both larger and murkier. He’s attempting, always, to repair the shrinking ice floats and re-glaze the surface of a lake where dead fish float to the surface, unable to adapt to water that just isn’t as cold and clean as it used to be. The ice almost seems to melt faster than he can create it, though, or at least just fast enough that his efforts are largely in vain in spite of the tremendous and exhausting strain. His rests are infrequent but desperately needed, and sorely bought; the Leviathan hasn’t gone anywhere, won’t die seemingly out of spite, and finds this whole process very agitating. Its scaly ridges suggesting only a sliver of its total mass surface periodically, and sometimes L has to move quickly to avoid whatever bit of ground he’s standing on crumbling out from under him as a result of the beast’s jaws or thrashing. As it chips away at the grass and soil surrounding the lake, the amount of ground remaining to stand on diminishes, pushing anyone who doesn’t want to end up in the water back toward the dense and deafening forest.
It’s small wonder, really, that he wakes up these days feeling as though he hasn’t slept at all, putting on a pot of coffee for the strongest possible start.]
[V. Wildcard]
[Don’t see it? Want it? Have at it! Throw a prompt my way or hit me up on discord at ladylazarus#2235 to plot something out with me.]
no subject
My responsibilities back home. But here? My routine.
( because doing the same thing every day, over and over again? it gets boring. and it doesn't matter how long he's lived in this town playing by its rules. he'll always feel that need to be quick and cautious, a habit born from watching his back every time he's somewhere that isn't considered safe for burnish. )
Though, I might worry my Bonded if I'm out too late.
no subject
It sounds like you need a change in routine. Longer-term, than just ducking into a bar on the way home.
[Pot, meet kettle. Movie, meet projector.]
If your Bonded is the type to worry if you're out late, they're probably also the type to notice if you've been drinking. Unless this is truly your routine, and not the deviation from it.
no subject
... he was worried the last time I drank. I won't make that mistake again.
( it's why once he's done with his second shot, he pushes the glass away from him. )
Be honest with me. lio stares into those observant eyes of L's. ( a lie would be hard to conceal from a harpy in the first place, but he hopes that a stranger wouldn't make the mistake to be blatant about it. ) Let's say I'm some important person. Should I feel guilty for not being able to handle my responsibilities, simply because I'm not where I should be?
no subject
He peers back. He is a seasoned liar, but unless he has a reason to, he doesn't get off on it or anything.]
Functionally, you should think of it as though you had died.
[He taps the counter. He will have another; just one more. The walk home is long enough for the self-imposed fog of tipsiness to melt away, although L is a slight man, actually appearing frail. He just doesn't have the mass to absorb a lot of liquor quickly.]
While there are certainly exceptions, most people don't choose to die. Most also leave behind obligations when they die, you know... and if you don't think that they should feel guilty, you shouldn't, either.
no subject
unlike lio right now, of course. he is indeed a 'monster'.
but anyway, L has a point. it's not what he wants to hear though, and lio huffs. )
Then, I failed.
( though he can't dwell on it right now. )
Are you able to think of it the same way, as if you've died? Does it bother you?
no subject
No... unless death means failure in the context of existence in your world, it's a false equivalency to claim as much. Besides...
[It's starting to hit him. His tongue and lips tingle pleasantly.]
Anyone in a position of power who doesn't have a contingency plan in place for their possible death is shortsighted at best, and grossly hubristic, at worst.
[He doesn't actually answer the question... but the implication, perhaps, is that he rests easy in the knowledge that his contingency plan covered him.]
As an aside... I've met people from the future in my world, who report no irregular disappearances even though the individuals involved were here. If you've lost your place in time, it's highly likely that your world hasn't even noticed, and events are carrying on as they would if you'd never left.
no subject
If that's true, then... I feel a little better.
( he probably should've known this already, but it's honestly never come up. weird how a stranger would provide lio with this revelation of sorts! then again that might also be a testament to how focused he's been on the present and not on the past or future. it's those quiet times when he's resting where those thoughts nag at him. )
So, I'm curious. Have you also created that 'extra step'?
no subject
[His sharp, intelligent eyes are starting to lose some of their piercing focus in favor of a distant glaze. That's what he gets for drinking faster than his body mass can handle, and this conversation may have a waning time limit.
However, the advantage is that he's maybe a little more willing to answer that question now that it's turned back his direction.]
Perhaps... not to be cliché, but every day is the same, and something is missing from the time my life truly mattered. I'm never where I am "supposed to be."
no subject
maybe he can smile. just a little. and only for L. )
And is that what you want? To be somewhere that you're "supposed to be"?
( because he can relate, if he's hearing L correctly. )
no subject
...no.
[The answer sounds like it surprises him.]
That is... if we mean "where we're supposed to be" as what would have happened if we'd stayed where we came from without this little detour... in which case some of us definitely have an easier time thinking of ourselves as dead.
[If Lio catches his drift. Light Yagami, his Bonded and murderer, doesn't know that L is deceased within hours of their last awareness in their world, and so it's actually a little sloppy of L to even insinuate as much.
Then again, maybe there's wisdom and freedom in letting one's guard down around a stranger. L might have said so for the same reason Lio smiled.]
It's more that I want to shake this notion of being existentially homeless, and caught between what I had and what I have the opportunity become. The choices are overwhelming, and none particularly more desirable than the other ones. I'm trying to decide if fulfilling one's potential is an onus, or... purely optional, and at what point intellectual atrophy seems like acceptance of mediocrity.
[There might be a lot on his chest.]
no subject
but it's the now that's more important, and the harpy's wings flutter as he stares at his empty glass, feeling the warmth in his mouth start to dissipate.
and this is when lio's second realization kicks in: man, he's nowhere near as eloquent. )
Accepting mediocrity sounds like giving up. But I think... can your potential change? Can you pivot and make an impact through other means? Stretch your wings, find new horizons. Burn anything down that gets in your way.
( the last part is what he'd do, if he had his fire. but that seems like forever ago. )
... maybe I'll also take a few extra steps now and then.
no subject
He seems to realize it, for a moment, blinking his overlarge eyes a few times to restore some semblance of focus. He imbibed too quickly; he might have some trouble getting home. He starts to ask the bartender for another, and is met with a shake of the man's head.]
Your potential can change. You can get worse; your wings can break, or burn.
[Bitterly. Then,]
I've probably kept you long enough.
no subject
( that resentful tone doesn't get missed. his brows furrow, as he stands up from his seat and closes his eyes, rolling his shoulders and letting his wings stretch slightly. L looks... out of it? and despite him being a stranger at first, lio can't help but be a little worried. protective. for no reason other than his ability to get home safely... wherever that is. )
Not really. ( he pauses, thinking for a second. ) Do you live far?
no subject
The Haven...
[He gestures vaguely toward the bar back. Notably, it's not the direction one would need to head in to reach the Haven.]
I work in the Harbor district, so Entertainment is at roughly the halfway point. It's shortest to cut through the city center.
[The poor guy walks the length of the city's diameter, twice daily, to get from home to work and back. If he liked his job more, it might make sense to move closer, but... well.]
Why do you ask?
no subject
Oh? So do I.
( if the bartender was willing to deny L another drink, then that means something to him. )
If you need it, I could fly you back. Or at the very least, accompany you.
no subject
[Slightly slurred.]
You're really offering something like that? I could be a murderer, or a terrible person.
no subject
( he stares unflinchingly at L, posture stiffening just slightly. )
Anyone could be one of those things. And being a murderer doesn't make you a terrible person.
( though lio doesn't feel like he's either of those things. )
no subject
[He concedes the first point, though he remains silent on the second one. He's losing the ability to argue at length about the nuance involved in determining how evil a murder is or isn't, or what excuses it, or what makes a death sentence the only clear answer. It's all heavy; too heavy, tonight, for his thin shoulders to hold up. Even his head is drooping forward under its own weight.]
Your argument convinced me. I'll let you accompany me home. I'm not a murderer, although... that's exactly what a murderer would want you to think, under these circumstances.