middaeg | February Fallout + March Catchall

Entry tags:

February Fallout + March Catchall

Who: Soren & OTA
When: March (some late February)
Where: Your Heart's Desire (or wherever designated)
What: Various. Soren is suffering from difficulties with his memory and bouts of disorientation after being brainwashed.
Warnings: Mentions of past event (blood/violence; brainwashing)

i. nameless faces
Maybe you're passing by the dragon on the streets of the Haven, or down in the Harbor District, or perhaps the Coven grounds. Maybe you know him and decide to greet him. Maybe you don't and do it anyway. Or maybe you're not the type to exchange pleasantries and instead offer him a passing glance of acknowledgment.

Or maybe you did none of these things, and Soren should still be able to recognize you. Maybe he doesn't, but thinks he should anyway. For some reason, he's offering a blank, nonplussed stare, long and hard like you're wearing someone else's skin. Realizing this faux pas, Soren snaps out of his brief trance and mumbles an apology.

"Oh... Excuse me." The way he shifts, he looks like he might just be thinking about evacuating the unintended social situation.

ii. lunatic (foeuveur 28th)
The Looking-Glass House was once devoid of a single soul besides the Dragon. Moonlight streams through the windows, full and bright. It's the witching hour. He cannot sleep.

He holds his horned head pressed to the surface of one of the many mirrors lining the walls as if in deep contemplation or to nurse a migraine. The charged and eerie silence echoes in mantras on his soft voice. If one treads closer, they will begin to hear snippets of what he murmurs to himself:

"He is not here. He never was. Don't let this infernal world get to your head..."

iii. fall back
Navigating the crush and flow of traffic in the Shopping District today is no mean task. Bypassing the crowd by taking to the air should come naturally to any Monster equipped with wings, but for whatever reason, this simple, frequently employed solution appears to have eluded the tactician.

It may not even cross anyone else's mind to begin with, being as there are plenty of shops packed together and stalls set up for the purpose of meandering through to browse. Soren pushes though as if on a mission to get out, but in the bustle and confusion, someone wheels around and clumsily smacks Soren in the back of his head hard enough to rob him of his footing.

The Dragon takes a skidding tumble into the streets, dropping bags and books. He gets trampled and tripped over a couple of times before passersby begin to notice, then throng him in a cluster of concern and curiosity. Soren blinks up at them in a daze, but then he blanches with fear. The crowd murmurs and shouts various questions and remarks, mostly whether he hurt himself or why he won't say or do anything, but it's difficult to parse among the cacophonous backdrop. His mouth hangs open and he tries to make himself smaller. One person reaches out, but he withdraws even harder, flinching as though they mean to strike rather than lend a hand. This show forces some of the people to shake their heads at his refusal of help and move on with their day, while the few who remain offer each other questioning glances as if asking each other what to do if he's going to act like this.

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[Soren's not the only one with wings who hasn't been using them properly... at least not to their fullest extent. It's something he'll think of later, but for the moment he's on the same level as the Dragon, making his way through the crowds like every other earthbound being and looking just as human as any native Witch. He's not in a particular hurry, and the commotion catches his attention after a moment, drawing a frown of concern to his face. He takes a few moments to peer around others and get a look at what's happening from a distance before deciding that—well, no one else is helping, so why shouldn't he?

Ferran calls out, almost authoritative despite not being the most imposing of figures—at least his voice is deep enough to draw a proper response from at least a few onlookers.]

Back up, give him space.

[He pushes past them, gesturing for them to step back. It's a shame he doesn't have his charming magic anymore or his words would be more effective... What he does have, though, are illusions, and while they might not keep people away, they can muffle the sound of the crowds around them as if a wall has been placed there. Hopefully the relative quiet will help the other man calm down, if that is what he needs. Ferran kneels a couple of feet away from Soren, keeping his hands to himself and his voice softer but still clear.]

Hey, can you hear me?

[Charms or not, the gaggle of onlookers step aside upon his command, their consciences assuaged by letting someone who seems to have a better idea how to handle the situation take the reins in lieu of them. The Dragon remains curled up at the curb with peeled eyes, more like a frightened Puca frozen by a pack of Turnskin. They flash toward the newcomer as he approaches and pin to him. Magic tints the air. His sense of hearing seems to shift, parting for the person who kneels before him. Instantly, habitually, he doubts he can trust him, wonders if he feigns goodwill, wonders what sort of trap he could be setting for him. The burn of being tricked by an offering of food just to be mocked and hurt still pains him, and he would not like to repeat his mistake.

Soren's mouth parts again, but the words no matter how simple just won't come out. He nods.]

[Ferran lets out a quiet sigh at the response, a small smile of relief relaxing his expression. Although nonverbal, the answer and the Dragon's clear focus on him is a step in the right direction, he thinks.]

Good...

[But—there are clearly still problems to be solved here. What were those steps he learned, again? Something about making sure the person isn't disoriented... Although he's optimistic about Soren's clarity, he stays still for the moment. Reaching out physically clearly didn't work with the others who tried.]

Do you know where you are?

[Soren blinkingly permits himself to perform a quick scan of his surroundings, more mindful of a sense of place than before. These streets... Wasn't he just in the village? Wait; that would be very strange. The Shopping District of Aefenglom is a far cry from...

Gallia. Oh no. Not this again.

The helpless, childlike fear starts to dissipate as feels a little bigger than he was before, and he focuses on this stranger. Oh, he hopes he's a stranger, because he would hate to confront yet another page ripped out of his memories that he must rebind. It's better for him if he can, but the emotional toil is not easy, and he's run ragged as it is, and this current confusion doesn't help. Soren swallows, takes a breath, and focuses on reining in the mental faculties he needs but lost. In a positive turn of events, he rediscovers that he can, in fact, articulate himself.]

Sh... Shopping District. [There. Talking wasn't so hard, now was it? He reclaims one of the toppled bags, scoops in some of the various herbs and tinctures that had taken a spill on the streets. Uncertainty still haunts his bearing as he tries to pull himself together.] Um... Thank you. Who are you?

Edited 2021-03-03 16:19 (UTC)

[It seems like the guy is starting to sort himself out, and although the Fae isn't about to leave until he's a hundred percent sure, it's at least enough where he lets go of that mental checklist. He nods to confirm the answer, and smiles a little more genuinely at the thanks.]

My name's Ferran. [He nods towards the scattered items that Soren has attempted to gather, pushing back the urge to immediately ask for the Dragon's name in return. He'll get to that in a bit, when they're in a less crowded space, perhaps. More importantly:] Can I help you with those?

[Thankfully he doesn't have any bags of his own to get in the way, as his purposes in the district were more about acquiring employment than goods.]

[Ferran... ... No, the name rings no bell of his. In all likelihood, this is just one of hundreds of strangers he has never met before, and there's some odd comfort to be found in that. Nerves still frazzled by the unpleasant headspace he had emerged from, the Dragon eschews assistance and retrieves the rest of his belongings.]

There's no need. I'm already down here, so... [As he rises with his stuff held close to his body, an intermediate-level spellbook slips from his hastily-cobbled grasp.]

[Ferran could have argued that his kneel put him relatively close to the same level, but before he can take the opportunity, the book escapes the Dragon's arms and he ducks forward to catch it before it can hit the ground. His cloak flutters from the movement just enough to allow a glimpse of his embarrassingly glittery wings before gravity conceals them again.

He takes a quick glance at the cover as he straightens up, just to see what manner of spells the other was studying, but his attention returns to Soren quickly enough. He doesn't offer the tome back yet, however; if it slipped out before, at the very least the guy needs a minute to arrange his things before he can secure it properly.]

Looks like your book had other ideas. I can carry this much for you, at least.

[He doesn't think much of a Dragon studying spells—he's done plenty of research at the Coven himself, if just to see if Witch magic could help him relate to his own abilities. It hasn't been a completely fruitless endeavor, at least. Speaking of those abilities, though, he lets the illusory muffling fade around them over several seconds. It takes a considerable amount of focus to maintain his glamor and that sort of thing, and he doesn't want to exhaust himself.]

[Those wings, bright and dazzling, are difficult to miss and rouse slight curiosity in the Dragon. Perhaps he had wrongfully assumed that this was a Witch? One Monster in particular was good at casting illusions and enchantments, and the idea settles in his mind that Ferran is no ordinary human suddenly captivated by a Dragon in the streets, vying for his attention and favor for his own gain, whether that gain is to satisfy mere curiosity or something more. Fae, like Dragons, are an exceptionally rare sight. Why he would try to conceal his species makes perfect sense to Soren.

He says nothing to that, however. There's comfort in the fact that he was capable of putting two and two together, for it means he was thinking from a place that recognizes his true current identity: most likely, this is another Mirrorbound.

The Dragon sighs, suddenly exhausted. He can't even remember where he had been trying to go, what else he'd been looking for out here. Did he bring Ranulf along? If not, he really should have. What a mess he is. Is he going to trigger another search and rescue out of him? Soren looks at Ferran with mild chagrin and a dash of suspicion.]

Just how far are you intending to walk with me? Don't you have better things to do than carry my one book?

[The spellbook is focused around the school of transmutation, if Ferran chooses to examine a little more closely.]

I don't have anywhere to be for a while, and I can't think of a better way to spend my time than help someone out.

[He wouldn't blame the Dragon for being suspicious of anyone so openly accommodating, but his intentions are nothing sinister despite his Fae nature. The chance to meet someone new, potentially see new parts of the city, to feel useful and appreciated... there are plenty of selfish reasons to it, but nothing he'd consider untoward.]

And I can always carry more than just the one book.

[He does indeed take another look at the book as he glances down to his otherwise-free hands. Transmutation isn't a kind of magic Ferran would be interested in himself even if he were a Witch, but it's one he can recognize as useful. Whether Soren has picked it up for himself or someone else, he's sure there's a decent reason.]

Doing some research?

[Soren isn't so easily assured by motivations like 'helping'. Though there certainly are people out there more inclined to do so without any ulterior motives, there's usually something in it for them. Soren can think of at least a dozen things he'd personally rather be doing than offering someone assistance for free, and he can't imagine Ferran doesn't really have a better way to spend his time, but he also can't imagine any shady intentions out of the disguised Fae. About the worst he could expect is another trick.

...Oh. That's right. The only trick that just happened to him was a trick of the mind.

The dragon is free to refuse if he so chooses. However, even though he doesn't particularly like spending time with others he hardly knows, it wouldn't hurt to get to know another Mirrorbound. They're the closest thing he has to an ally, even if he wouldn't trust some of them further than he could throw them when he was a wimpy mage. One of the other tomes is threatening to make a getaway like the other did, one on a different subject, which appears to be herbology and its practical applications to magic.]

If you could catch that one before it falls, then, I would appreciate it. Yes; I'm always doing research. On a variety of topics, for a variety of reasons.

[Ferran ducks over to take the mentioned book, only giving it a cursory glance this time—ooh, plants?—before settling it in his hands against the other. He's almost as much of a book nerd as Soren is, so he can relate, and simply hums at the vague answer. He's wrangled a pleasant conversation out of cagier individuals.]

I understand. It feels like I've been looking into some topic or another nonstop since I got here several months ago. There's a lot to catch up on, to say the least.

[The Fae may not be able to tell whether Soren is a Mirrorbound or not, but he doesn't feel any particular hesitation in supplying the fact. For the most part, people have been accommodating towards them. Still, he wants to learn as much as possible in order to fit in, if he can.]

That's an understatement, [agrees Soren. He readjusts everything in his arms, finding it easier even with just two less items beckoned by the irresistible call of gravity. His eyes perform another sweep of Ferran, another analysis.] You're a Mirrorbound, too, then.

[He'd already deduced as much based on the wings and the magic alone, and the fact that he's been here long enough to get a sense for just how endangered the two species they represent are. However, it's good to mutually establish anyway, especially with someone so relatively fresh.]

[There's not much to see of Ferran, as far as a mundane look goes; he's dressed in accord with the local fashions to help him blend in, although he does take particular care to be tidy and clean, as well as keep his posture straight. Soren might notice the heels of his shoes are taller than most local men prefer; it's another way he's had to accommodate for his Fae changes.]

That's right.

[Ferran knows that Dragons are rare among the natives just like the Fae are, so the idea had occurred to him, but it's nice to have it confirmed.]

I'm glad we have plenty of resources to learn, at least. The last time I had to deal with the idea of a different world, I didn't exactly have a library to go to about it.

[That lack of knowledge is part of why he spent so much time researching since he's been here. He doesn't want to be stuck in that kind of situation, completely oblivious, ever again.]

[This piques Soren's interest. He'd wanted to escape the dense flow of foot traffic all along, but now he wishes more than before that they weren't so swarmed. Nothing bars them from conversing while walking, but it's not as easy.]

You've been to a different world before?

[He performs a quick survey of their surroundings from his height and locates patches of the streets close to a couple of boutiques and a café sparse of people. Not only that, but there are two sets of tables and chairs, and one is not occupied. He begins to head in that direction, casting a meaningful glance toward his company in silent urging to follow, and that he's listening in spite of the movement. Settling down for a moment might help to gather his bearings anyway; this wouldn't be the first time he forgot which errands he was running today.]

[Ferran follows Soren without additional comment, instead focusing on answering the question as they move towards the seats.]

Not in the same way as coming here. It's more like...

[It's a metaphorical "world," maybe, but still significant enough to count, he feels.]

Well, imagine you thought monsters were only made up stories your whole life. That's what you've always been told, and you had no reason to question it. But all of a sudden you realize that not only are you a monster, but a few people you know are, too—and none of you knew until recently.

[He knows if he'd maybe been less stupid about shoving people away, he might have been able to speak to the being that supposedly gave him his powers... but there are times he wonders how much help they'd actually been to his friends. It was a mess, either way.]

[Soren sets his armload down onto the tabletop carefully as he follows along with Ferran's explanation. It's easy to do so at first: monsters exist only in stories and fables on Tellius, as far as he's aware, and the closest thing that approaches the concept is mankind itself, beorc and laguz both, depending on your perspective. But Soren finds the entirety of it lacking, like he needs more context to understand what sort of world this is.]

Actually, you make it sound almost exactly like Aefenglom. I'm not sure I quite understand. It sounds more like you discovered something that changed your world rather than experienced any new ones. Do I have that right?

[It's entirely possible that, even with the full story, Soren wouldn't consider it a similar experience. Ferran's entire life situation changed at that time, more than just the discovery of his powers, and even he knows the emotional aspect made it more significant. Regardless, he hums to acknowledge the Dragon's response as he sits, placing the books on the table and folding his hands.]

I didn't go anywhere—the places were all the same. But knowing that I was different, that I had access to things only a few other people did, and that nobody else would believe... it changed a lot. I didn't know about any of the others at first, either.

[Soren pursues his slight curiosity in the fresh Fae's experiences prior to ending up here. The variety (and peculiar similarities) of worlds can be interesting to pick apart, and besides... it feels better to focus on something other than his own jumbled up memories. He checks their surroundings once more before taking his own seat across from him, scooting one of the bags aside so that it isn't half-blocking his vision.]

I see. [It was Ferran's perception of the world and his relation to it that changed after all, and because monsters were never believed to be real, he would have precious little in the way of books and other sources of information to help him understand what was happening to him and the others.] Even without a library, it sounds like you did get to learn a little more about what you were.

[It seems familiar... The ghastly idea of discovering you were a "monster", how that shifts the world around you and makes the place you stand in connection to everyone else unstable. Soren recalls this cold, stomach-dropping fear, and as Ferran replies, he already finds himself struggling to remain focused, like their conversation had triggered a mental sinkhole.]

[Ferran offers a slight smile and shrugs, agreeing with the phrasing. He never met the being that granted him his powers, and never truly understood why they were given to him. For the most part, the things he learned about were the basics of what his magic can do and just how varied his friends' magic was. It was hardly anything definite.]

A little. Mostly, I just kept finding more questions, and then... I fell through a mirror.

[He chuckles briefly, although he doesn't miss the distant look in Soren's eye—it's entirely possible the Dragon hasn't really recovered from the earlier spell. It might be a temporary distraction, though, so he simply continues as if nothing were amiss and waits to see how Soren responds.]

It's nice to have at least some concrete answers. Don't you think?

Hm? Oh... Yes.

[Clearly distracted. Soren hastens to drag himself out of the mire of his thoughts to become present again, even if he's not all that put together. He's grateful that Ferran's last question was easy to latch onto, even if his response didn't emerge all that heartfelt or decided. What he has in mind, well... at the time, he wished he never found out. In the end, however, he was glad to discover more about himself, glad that it didn't change anything about how the only person whose opinion of him really mattered felt. In fact, it made him feel better than before about where he stood with him. Comprehending the truth is always better than being led around by lies. As a tactician, he knows the benefits of accurate information well, no matter the discomfort or unease it may cause.

Relaxing some, he settles his arms atop the table. A glance down at his scaled hands, sharp fingernails, and the beginnings of fins on his forearms currently obscured by dark sleeves prompts another jolt of surprise, followed by a shake of his head as he recognizes how ridiculous it is to be shocked that he'd become something more than... a child of the mark. Or was he still that, and his blood had simply been compelled to express his parentage a little differently? Ah... his parents. They were...

Soren catches himself tumbling back down and scrambles to think of something, anything to say.]

I... understand.

[Oh... Once again, Soren seems taken off-guard by himself, revealed by a quicker pace of blinking. It's not often that he so freely offers to disclose such sensitive information about himself, especially to someone he only just ran into less than ten minutes ago. Could he excuse himself? Or would that only whet the stranger's curiosity even more? He laces his fingers together and chooses to focus there.]

Well, maybe I don't. Forgive me. I have been very confused lately.

[He's sure that's been made apparent by now.]

[Ferran's response comes with a sympathetic chuckle. He's seen nothing worth apologizing for, honestly, but plenty to be concerned about; being startled by your own hands isn't the best indication of a sound mind.]

That's alright. I've woken up in the street before, not really sure what was happening, myself. It's not exactly an easy experience.

[Ferran doesn't know or even guess that Soren's problems have been caused in part by manipulation of his memories, although he certainly knows his own were. He wouldn't want anyone to be able to relate to either, but the world isn't always so kind—whatever world it happens to be.]

But if you do understand, I'm sorry you've had to deal with something like that.

[More to the present, though, he decides on another wellness check that doubles as the reciprocation his Fae nature requires:]

What's your name?

[Soren scrutinizes the disguised Fae as he levels his sympathies, as if trying to ascertain whether there's some hidden motivation pushing his patience and understanding, or whether he's even telling the truth about sharing a similar experience. It's an easy scenario to pair with the story he had already given him about his background prior to coming here, so there's even less reason to doubt him. What's more difficult to accept is being treated nicely, even when there really isn't much to it.]

I am Soren.

[Considering the young and scared frame of mind he'd just been escorted from, he's glad that came so easily to him. Barring the mnemonic slips and pitfalls he struggles with mid-conversation, he is feeling much more calm and adjusted than he was moments ago. Still, he's itching to go home and stay there for a good while, and doesn't intend to stay and chat for too long... but he'll make what use of it he can to exercise what used to be one of his best talents.]

Your name was... [He focuses.] No, please don't tell me. I have to remember on my own. ... Viren? [Mortifying. He rests his temples into his digging hands.] No, no, that wasn't it...

[temptation to Just Leave rising]

[There are a lot of things Ferran would lie about, but making up more terrible things to have gone through isn't exactly something he'd find appealing, when just regular sympathy would do. He honestly just treats everyone nicely, until they prove themselves to be worth hating. (Or worth teasing.)

Soren may not want the full answer, but the Fae thinks it's fair to give him at least some encouragement; he seems like he needs it.]

You're halfway there.

[This is so stupid. Why is he so stupid?]

...Eren.

[This particular name takes the dragon by surprise. He lifts his head from his palm-cradle and shakes it, immediately figuring out which wires got crossed.]

No, you're definitely not Eren. You're... [sigh!] Oh, I can't believe this. Ferran, right? Ugh. Why do so many people have names that end in some variation of 'ren', anyway? Please tell me I've got it by now.

[After a brief laugh at the Dragon's exasperation, Ferran decides to cut short any further suspense. The guy is having a hard enough time.]

You got it. [Does Soren know a Viren and an Eren here, he wonders? They are fairly similar names, regardless, so the mistake is an understandable one.]

You're included in that, too. But it is a good question.

February Fallout + March Catchall

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oh my god my mouse slipped. why

i saw nothing

my secret shame is safe

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thanks for the earworm infestation

:)

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