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.

[[ Will also create custom starters or plot something different! Hit me up via

wingything or discord (paingel#4140) or shoot me a PM if you want to hatch or discuss something! Please feel free to use script format in tags if that's what you prefer. ]]

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[Mogget goes where he likes, more or less whenever he likes, and the Looking-Glass House is no exception. Though he doesn't often come here, sometimes it's the only place where one can be guarateeed of a long period of solitude in which to take a lengthy nap.

When he arrives this time, however, there is someone already there. The small white cat stands silhouetted in the door for a moment before he strolls in, tail held high and lightly twitching at the tip. With his hearing, he doesn't need to get too close to hear what's being said.

He lets out a soft 'prrp' and strolls closer, not speaking just yet.]

[Perceptive as Soren is, especially as a dragon on the full moon, he fails to detect the cat's lightfooted approach until he emits a noise. Soren raises his head and pulls his eyes open to see the reflected silhouette of... a mere housecat. Or, at least, what appears to be a mere housecat.

His frown remains. Lately, his antipathy toward felines who aren't Ranulf keeps returning to his heart like a bad rash. Seeing Mogget slots him further into a bad mental place. He sighs, his own tail flicking in minor annoyance, and chooses to ignore the cat. That's what they deserve, really. He continues talking to himself in an effort to clear his troubled head.]

That imposter is good and dead. He was not Ike; he was nothing like Ike. Ike is not and has never been a part of Talam. You are twenty-four years old, not five; you are currently in a city called Aefenglom, and that is just someone's stupid roaming cat, nothing more. Don't make the same mistake twice, you idiot.

[Now, this is curious indeed. He's used to being mistaken for a regular cat, or a familiar, so he isn't terribly offended by being taken for either... but this person is obviously battling with something.]

And what mistake might that be.

[It's the calling him a 'stupid' cat that does it. Mogget is not without his pride, and he feels it gently needled at the insult. The tip of his tail lightly sweeps the floor as it flicks.]

Making assumptions?

[Mogget may be used to being mistaken as a regular cat, but it might come as a surprise to know that Soren is actually quite accustomed to talking, sapient cats. It doesn't appear like it, though — not at first. The catlike entity pulls the dragon away from his one-on-one pep talk with a turn of his head.

Beyond the quickness of the reaction and the twitch of his spiked tail, it's tough to read any shock on his face when the color red washes out any sclerae or pupils. The cat... spoke? It couldn't be anyone else. His tongue darts out. No one but the white cat glowing in the moonlight.

Though he may be used to talking cats, the truth is, the talking felines he's familiar with aren't really cats, and as adults they would be much larger than Mogget. If Soren in his fragile mental state didn't have a gut reaction to the cat revealing itself as something more, he would have been able to reason that it's most likely one of two things: this is a witch using transmutation magic to assume the agile and stealthy form of a cat, or an incredibly small turnskin on the full moon. But in his shock and his abruptly distorted mind he is about to make the same mistake he had been telling himself not to.]

So you're not just a cat.

[There's an almost accusatory and defensive quality to the way he says that and the tension in the way he stands. He scoffs and folds his arms, shifts his weight to one hip as his tail betrays some agitation fomenting in his nerves. As he continues, a palpable sneer coats his voice.]

Funny, then. That you would deign to speak to something that doesn't exist.

[soren what are you talking about]

But maybe you're simply too young to know any better. Go ask your parents. I'm sure they'll know what I am better than I do.

[seriously you're embarrassing yourself]

[It would come as a surprise if only because almost everyone else he has spoken with has been shocked to find that he's entirely sapient. Novel, perhaps, would be a better word to use.

He sits, watching Soren's reaction to him with enough care to be sure that he can dodge out of the way and get clear should this interaction take a turn for the worst. One does not always find people aggressively lecturing themselves in mirrors to be of the best frame of mind.]

You appear to exist enough to be spoken to.

[And... he isn't going to address that second comment, for the moment. He doesn't forget it. Young? Soren truly has no idea to whom - or to what - he speaks.]

And even things that can be ostensibly said to not exist can sometimes be proven otherwise.

[Soren's snide little smirk falls into a frown as he studies the tiny cat "laguz". Well, it wouldn't be the first time he's been spoken to by them, he suddenly recalls, and finds himself swept up in yet another wave of disorientation. Something about this exchange gnaws at the back of his brain in the same way it does when he recognizes mortifying incongruency. What's wrong with this picture? What inappropriately philosophical turn is this conversation of theirs taking? What example is his statement drawing upon, if any at all? Does he recognize what the brand on his forehead means? Find anything disturbing about the way he smells? Moreover...]

Hmm. You talk rather strangely for a child...

And you continue to make ridiculous assumptions.

[The cat is certainly not without his haughtiness. He has been mistaken for many things while he has been here - a common housecat, a turnskin, a witch stuck in the wrong form - but never a child. Mogget doesn't sound insulted as much as he simply seems impatient for this person to get onto the right track.]

I don't believe my assumption that you actually exist is incorrect, however.

[Soren may be confused, but he's not dull-minded, and by now he has at least opened his mind to Mogget's assessment that he had been jumping to an incorrect conclusion. His sense of place and time had been thrown out of Aefenglom and wedged into two separate epochs of his own past. That misplaced sense migrates along Soren's experiences. He straightens up, remembering with private mortification that his brain is a scrambled mess, and he is probably making a fool of himself.]

All right. Set me straight. What are you, then?

I was once many things.

[Mogget is definitely levelling some measure of judgement at Soren for his reactions to him thus far, but it doesn't entirely show in his tone given that it's been halfway towards condascension from the start.]

Now... I am what you see here. A cat, and a Witch in this strange land, but I haven't been young for a very long time.

[A Witch... Soren glances at the mirrors perched along the walls behind the creature of innumerable and mysterious identities and is reminded firmly that he is in a place called Aefenglom, severed from his ties to a world full of beorc and laguz to begin with. He fills his lungs and dispels the air in a steady stream, dropping the hand at his hip to stand up a little straighter. His expression is finally humbled by shame.]

...Forgive me. I was clearly confused...

[A Mirrorbound... That means he can be anything beyond his wildest imagination, really. His curiosity is tempted further.]

You clearly were.

[He doesn't mention whether or not he accepts the apology, but he doesn't dismiss it outright. Now quite sure that he isn't going to lash out, Mogget moves closer to peer into the mirror that Soren had been so adamantly arguing with.

The cat can see nothing reflected in it that he didn't expect, but he knows how the magic here works and that just because he can see nothing... it doesn't mean that there is nothing there.]

Who were you speaking to?

[The draconic boy goes silent for a few pensive beats and a languid turn of his head toward the mirror. His mirror. His reflection, made grotesque by the influence of the full moons. He must not forget what he is or why.]

Myself.

[Admitting he was doing something as unhinged as talking to himself is far easier when he'd been caught babbling to his own reflection like the lunatic he's become. Moreover, he doesn't care what this cat-witch or whatever he is thinks of him.]

Yourself? Hm.

[There are things said about people like that, but then again, humans could be such peculiar creatures. Not that he could entirely say that this one was human to begin with. It gets harder to tell as things progress. The tip of his tail flicks a few times, and he doesn't level the amount of judgement at Soren for admitting what he was doing as Soren may have expected him to.]

It sounded like a gripping conversation. [He muses then, considering what was said as he walked in.] My most engaging conversational companion has most often been myself.

[Soren's posture tightens and chills, his shoulder pointed at Mogget. The reflection frowns.]

And you won't find one in me. I have nothing of interest to say to you.

[To most people, that would sound very much like they were being dismissed and the conversation was over. It's just as well that Mogget doesn't care about those kinds of things, and he isn't done yet.]

I'll be the judge of that.

[He gives his own reflection a look. A small white cat. Slightly faded in the mirror, but his green eyes seem to glow back at him.]

You're becoming more interesting by the moment.

...

[Soren treats him to a spell of silence, as if to remind him that he doesn't have to indulge his curiosity, exaggerated or not, if he doesn't want to. His terms. He considers vacating the Looking-Glass House, but the idea of it sends him reeling with uncertainty. Changing his environment often led to different stimuli, different reminders that could drag his sense of time and space astray again. Right here, beyond this pane of reflective glass, lies everything he once was but cannot return to. Things he keeps forgetting, even the most important.

The full moons make it even harder to get a grip. The stillness and tranquility, the quiet refuge of the house of mirrors, dampens that effect somewhat.

But he's relatively stable now that he's recovered from his blooper, and speaking to others has helped him sort out his messy thoughts before. Mogget annoys him, but not enough to force him to either chase him out or risk the consequences of stepping outside and getting funny notions about where he should be going or what he was last doing. Besides, his own curiosity in the cat-shaped witch still lingers. After several beats, he finally replies, his eyes meeting the reflected reflection of Mogget's.]

I'm just trying not to go madder than I already am. That's all there is to this idiotic display you walked in on me performing. Besides, I would wager that you are a more interesting figure than me. First of all, you make yourself sound ancient.

[Mogget does not seem to mind the silence at all and barely moves during it. Indeed one might think him a statue, albeit an incredibly life-like one, if they happened to see him and not look too closely. Now and then, he ruins the illusion by slowly sweeping his tail across the floor, from one side of his body to the other.

If he was to say he wasn't affected by the full moons himself he would be lying, but Mogget has many, many years of practice in keeping his emotions in check.]

I am ancient.

[He pauses for a moment, lifting one paw up off the floor and cleaning the small pink paw-pads with his small pink tongue.]

More so than almost all things in my world.

[There's some irony in the way this primordial being announces this while bathing himself like the unassuming cat he presents himself as, making it all the more a ridiculous sight to behold. Soren hardly doubts his claim, not when his mind is stretched wide enough to encompass the possibilities of just about anything.]

What are you called?

You can call me Mogget.

[The way he says that - as he always says it - implies very much that 'Mogget' is not his real name, but simply what he goes by to everyone. It's the only name he's going to give right now, in any case.]

And what should I call you?

[A little on the pink nose for a name. It doesn't answer his question in the slightest, but Soren is not so desperate for the real answer that he goes out of his way to pursue it any more than that at the moment.]

Soren.

[He could be entirely desperate for the answer and still not get it - even those people who Mogget marginally considers friends have no idea of the name he was created with.]

Soren. [He'll remember.]

Who were you talking about?

[Silence pervades as Soren reflects. Searching for thoughts in the turbidity of his ordinarily clear and sharp mind proves difficult. His brow cinches in focused confusion as he dredges up the bitter thoughts he was having only minutes prior to Mogget's appearance.

It would be easy enough to dismiss the magical cat and remind him that his business is his own, but Soren falls not to those usual dismissive tactics this time. No. His foggy memory swirled further by the influence of the full moon frustrates him too much. He must triumph over himself and the damage wrought upon him for fear that one of the qualities that made him most instrumental to Ike and his company would disappear.

As it turns out, the thought he left behind was a troubling one, and pain carves its way onto the dragon's face in a flicker of time, legible to those perceptive enough and quite capable of seeing in wan light.]

My commander... Yes, I'm sure that was it. Ike. [His eyes trace the mirror's frame that only he can see. Where was he? Why isn't he by his side? His pulse begins to storm his chest.] Please remind me what I was saying. I'm not... quite with it tonight.

[The cat seems content with the silence. He sits quietly, sometimes looking at Soren and sometimes not. At one point, he turns his attention to cleaning his front paws. Given he hasn't been asked to leave... and if it was demanded, he likely would refuse anyway... he doesn't go anywhere.

But then Soren speaks up again and Mogget looks his way, blinking slowly.]

"He is not here. He never was."

[That had been it.]

Though you didn't sound as if you believed it.

...

[ Mogget drills to the pith of his problem, dipping Soren into addled contemplation again as he tries for what seems the hundredth time to sort something out that he had already set into place.

He is not here, but he wants him to be. He always had. What feels as far away ago as years yet as soon as yesterday, he had hallucinated his presence in this world with such harsh lucidity, and time after time he had tried to dismiss it as his heart leading his Bondless, moon-crazed mind down a spiral of purposeless madness. At times like these, he wonders about that. Wonders if the man who snuck flowers in his hair really had seen Ike in those dreams, wonders what happened to him there... and now that he's recovering from tainted memories, wonders whether he died there or here, has trouble separating truth from fiction... he can't even believe what he thinks is right anymore. Was he here all along?

The fierce dragon begins to quiver. The urge to go "home" arises, but he can't quite pinpoint where "home" might be. The time of the month complicates things further. He sighs to self-sooth, to shake the mounting anxiety from caving him in, and sharp claws grip the side of his arm. ]

... You have the right of it. No matter what I tell myself, what reason I wield, my doubts continue to resurface. I'm no good this way. I... can't do anything. I cannot even exist peacefully. I want... to go to sleep. Before I make another stupid, crazy mistake.

That is the wisest thing I've heard you say so far.

[There's no real malice in his tone as he says that, only the simple certainty that what he is saying is true. Or, at least, that he believes what he is saying is true. He watches the way Soren's claws gently dig against his arm and the tip of his tail slowly flicks from side to side.]

But sleeping here wouldn't be a good idea.

[Not least for the discomfort of it, but also because it seems to be very much the current source of Soren's distress. Mogget stands up.]

Where do you live.

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silentsavant - 2021-05-24 20:58 (UTC) - Expand

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