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.

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[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.

[Soren's pause may be in part borne of his hesitance in letting strangers know where he dwells, but more critically it's due to racking his brain for knowledge that should come easily to him. He grimaces to himself, lifts his head to pine for a reality beyond his troubled reflection, casts away certain truths by doing so and then sends his solemn gaze out into the milky wash of the Coven grounds. He buries just how at a loss he is with peremptory refusal of assistance.]

If you are offering to escort me, there is no need to trouble yourself. I... [Yes, that's right. A reassuring reminder in the lithe silhouette of a cat helps to stabilize his bearing.] I have someone I can rely on and call upon. He knows where I live.

[And suddenly, so does he. But who knows how long his slippery brain cells will hold onto that information? If Mogget serves as a reminder, then... maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to let him tag along lest he forgets? Then it would also save poor Ranulf the trouble.]

But... hmph. It might not be a bad idea to have someone talk sense into me when I need it. It's up to you.

I already made the offer. Don't ask me to repeat myself.

[Mogget stands up, streatches, then walks towards the exit with his tail held high. As he walks, the bell around his neck lets out a somniferous little chime and clinks gently against the green witch-focus pendant hanging beside it.]

Come along, then.

[Offering to walk someone home isn't within Mogget's usual motivations, but he finds something about Soren to be interesting enough that he isn't done with him quite yet.]

February Fallout + March Catchall

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