February Fallout + March Catchall

[silentsavant]

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. ]]

Comments

[hearthebell]

[Soren's reaction is immediate and intense, at least to a seasoned reader of people like the detective. L withdraws, still primed for the danger his instincts learned when they were entangled at Alder's party, but not far; Soren isn't reaching for him, after all.]

Sorry. I was looking for anything that could have helped you, you understand.

[A poor excuse, maybe, for snooping as he had. Given Soren's own compelled state, perhaps he's more likely to forgive it. Perhaps he's more likely, since L has no reason to keep what he did find from the dragon. He's wholly sincere, in his desire to help.]

Do you know... your mind is like a library. It's well-organized, normally, I think, but... you're correct. Someone's tampered with the shelves and tomes. The life you remembered was torn apart and combined in threads with the life you lead here... it's no wonder you're confused.

[He does his best to organize his own thoughts, frame them into words. Being gentle is not his strong suit, even when he tries.]

He had a whole section devoted to him; they did their best to wipe it, out, but you're Bonded to him. At least, your brain believes so... by the standards of your world, you were that close.

[His eyes cast down for a moment, dark lashes grazing his cheekbones.]

I wish I could tell you more. You were going to kill me; after a point, no amount of determination could override my desire to survive.

[silentsavant]

[Soren nods to convey that he understands his intent, understands that in the broader context, he viewed him as he was: a brainwashed enemy but potential ally. To have been able to turn him around and realize what was wrong could have offered an immense boon to all who opposed Alder and his twisted vision, since Soren now shoulders knowledge of the Circle's activities that would have undone them if he were weaponized against them. By the time someone did manage to snap him out of it — someone granted prior access to his heart and mind without needing the luxury of time to seek the keys to turn to make it happen — the estate was already shaking with screams and roars and collapsing plaster.

More than that, though, he had been a serious threat. Upon catching him flinch, he folds his hands over each other and takes a half-step back.

Soren's gaze falls, too, particularly at having their forged Bond pointed out to him. His heart aches where it once sat, a piece of him ripped out by his captor's death. The pain leeches into his face. A soft utterance of pain upon the ghost of this impact and all the fallout surrounding it rises unbidden through closed lips. Bloody nails, a limp body... He laces the topmost fingers over the spaces of his hand in a subconscious and self-soothing grip. It all floods back; time might as well have stopped. After a pause to try and summon the strength to speak with an iota of vitality again, he tries.]

Of course. I understand...

[And fails, but not miserably. It's getting so dark... He can't slip through the cracks again. Soren's mental disturbances are broadcasted in the strain that pulls at his face.]

That spell... It's unspeakably potent. To fool me into believing such a lie... [It was like defiling what was most sacred to him. He purses his lips and shakes his head, trailing off right there. He's in no state to be holding a conversation with someone he hardly trusts, and yet... something keeps him here.]