middaeg | 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. ]]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.

I know. [It's a reminder of something, a fact that strikes him like a lightning bolt of chagrin... or a big stupid hand trying to give him a noogie.] There is... was? There was even another Soren here once, too. Viren's son. He was annoying. I didn't like him.

[who do you like, you misanthropic little grump]

We may have shared a name, but our personalities were nothing alike.

[The Fae is honestly just glad to hear his new acquaintance talking about himself; he'd wondered how difficult it was going to be to learn anything about the other Mirrorbound. Plus, he judges plenty of people too...]

I've never met another Ferran, myself, but I'd be even more surprised if I met one from a different world entirely. [And to get a better idea of how to stay on the Dragon's good side...] How was he annoying?

[Soren looks suddenly about as fed up as he did when he was across from Soren #2. What were they arguing about again? Who the "real" Soren was? Maybe he was just as stupid for even deigning to prolong a conversation with him.

He sighs.]

He was a sword-swinging meathead with the proportions of a young man and the maturity of a five-year-old. He also began to treat me like one.

[A kid, that is. It's coming so clearly to him; why...]

Of all things, I am remembering this...

[He's a little amused that the topic seems to have exasperated Soren; it seems like a light enough irritation to not truly leave the mood of the conversation sour. He rests his chin against a gloved hand as he replies.]

Sometimes you have to remember the worst so you can appreciate the better things, I think.

[Ferran wouldn't apply that to himself, but it seems like a decent enough platitude to express in this case. He would prefer to keep all his memories in order himself, admittedly, though not for appreciation's sake.]

Then if someone else annoys you, you can tell yourself "at least it's not that other Soren."

[Part of the exasperation couldn't be blamed on the other Soren, for memory problems are far worse than the remembrance of a moron who happened to share his name, which was a novelty in and of itself. He streaked across his life and scarcely impacted it, like so many others.

Ferran's optimistic platitude does not appear to inspire Soren whatsoever. He doesn't smile or nod or acknowledge the remark with anything but his humorless stare. It is at this point that he begins to feel how drained he is, socially speaking, and faltering mentally before someone he just met over something as simple as a name, however understanding of his affliction he presents himself to be, hadn't felt good either. After a beat, he glances down at his haul, rises from his seat, and begins collecting them in a more organized manner than permitted to him in the midst of a busy street.]

I ought to be going, now. Thank you for your help. The next time we cross paths, let's hope that I will be more in tune with myself.

[There's certainly a hint of disappointment in Ferran's response after a brief pause, where he considers encouraging Soren to rest for a few more minutes. That exhaustion is apparent enough, though, so he'd just be making things more difficult, most likely...]

... Well, alright. I'll look forward to it. Take care until then.

February Fallout + March Catchall

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thanks for the earworm infestation

:)

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