middaeg | [OPEN] midousuji march catch-all

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[OPEN] midousuji march catch-all

Who: Midousuji Akira
When: all of March!
Where: Aefenglom various. atm Midousuji is too weak + meek to venture
What: slice of life with a weird + huge/man-shaped toddler, and also, Midousuji tries magic
Warnings: none!

[Midousuji had busily spent the first week or two of his arrival oscillating between frenetic, ceaseless investigation of the premise of these new, awful surroundings, and collapsing from overwhelming and sudden apathy when struck by the paralyzing belief that this all may simply be some awful invention of his unconscious mind, with Midousuji wasting away in a coma with some severe brain injury. if the latter were true, then why waste the energy on trying to get to the bottom of things? but on the other hand, was there anything more tortuous than doing nothing?

sure, Midousuji was used to tuning out between races—but that was a standby mode between races. between purpose! and there is no purpose here. so maybe he has to do...something. but maybe not necessarily all of this exhausting alternation between research and existential frustration. Midousuji's decided it's definitely also a lack of exercise—the bulk of his natural, overabundant energy is usually exhausted through training or racing... and he's just been on his ass.

so, in a center cycle between states of mania and defeat, Midousuji decides to, for now...do some shit. but he isn't excited about it.]

1: CUNES CAN BE EXCHANGED FOR GOODS AND SERVICES

1st wk; midousuji covets a clock

[Midousuji walks aimlessly around Aefenglom, and though he knows he should for the sake of orientation, he can't bring himself to take into stock the scenery around him. first of all, this place is so vile it doesn't deserve the grace of his cognizant filing (for now—it's not that Midousuji expects redemption of Aefenglom in that regard, but he knows he's going to have to be aware in detail of his surroundings in short order so as to not be as vulnerable). second of all, it's too much. Midousuji still feels stretched thin and at capacity with what he can fully absorb without his mind ripping in half, at least self aware enough to understand he is perilously teetering on some kind of edge.

Midousuji shambles down the cobblestone streets of Aefenglom, and eventually finds his interest, finally, pulled by a shop. maybe a furniture store, or a bit more miscellaneous—but either way, the thing that draws in his attention is a handsome, but simple, pendulum. it’s decently large, and its metal findings are brassy, the wood dark but not too worn. despite its old design, probably a recent make given the general age of this world’s setting. Midousuji stares, transfixed by its timely swing—through the glass, he can’t hear it, but he’s sure there’s probably a mechanical little click with each swing.

he doesn’t realize it’s already been five minutes that he’s been staring before he finally gives a slow tilt of his head, eyes wide. it’s entrancing, suffice to say—his mouth slightly hung open beneath his mask, it’s already another 12 minutes that pass and Midousuji doesn’t even seem to be aware. the shop-keeps seem a little unnerved by the vaguely haunted vibe of the tall, hunched figure boggling at their wares, his face coming increasingly close to the glass.

one of the keeps tentatively steps outside, and Midousuji doesn’t acknowledge them. tentatively, they try:] “Good afternoon to you, sir! Are you interested in that pendulum? You have a good eye! It’s a craft of yesteryear by Hoffmier...”

[Midousuji distantly registers them, then, and though he doesn’t move his head to face them, his eyes slowly drift in their direction, and the keep’s body language tenses a little, their polite smile a bit strained.]

“Under certain circumstances, it’s an excellent conduit, as well. Such is part of the signature of his designs,” [they mention, and Midousuji has no idea what they mean.] “A mere 7,000 cunes, if you’re interested.”

[Midousuji blinks slowly, then straightens up, head still tilted, eyes still fixed on the pendulum.] I have no money, [Midousuji answers, his deep voice low and quiet, just loud enough for the keep to hear through the gentle muffling of his mask.]

“Ah, is that so...”

[Midousuji knows by then, as polite behavior dictates from what he’s been programmed to understand, he should probably just go. but. he doesn’t. because he can’t seem to pull himself out of the trance. and so too, the keep doesn’t quite yet leave, trying to figure out how to get a sale out of him, maybe mentioning how they’d be happy to hold it if Midousuji wants to go home and retrieve his purse.... meaning, of course, they’ve misunderstood; Midousuji is utterly without money.]

2: SUSPICIOUS (BUT PERHAPS, DELICIOUS?) TEA

later same day; midousuji covets tea

[after whatever the hell happens at the previous shop, Midousuji, through whatever means after, ends up at a tea shop. it’s a little bit similar, initially—him bending this way and that at the lower bit of his spine, reading curiously about the offered products. it’s mostly black tea, as suspected, but of course, it’s a different world—there’s a lot of associated qualities Midousuji doesn’t understand, nor trust. but just as he’s apparently longing for some opportunity to burn an hour or two staring at a pendulum to calm and empty his head, tea has a similar appeal, though Midousuji might not be self-aware enough of himself in the moment to realize that he’s being hooked by old lures of comfort.

when he’s invited in again (this time at a time mark sooner than about 20 minutes), Midousuji lifts a gloved finger to slowly peel down his mask, still hunched at the window at an uncomfortable, sideways angle. he says again that he doesn’t have any money—he’s just looking. but he’s invited in for some samples.

Midousuji enters, his presence and size both seeming almost small, and is a little hesitant once directed towards the samples as the sales person walks him through the types.]

I don’t know... [Midousuji’s hand curls uncertainly at his collar, and he blinks.] I’m not from this place... [as if that isn’t abundantly obvious, given his attire.] I don’t know what they...do.

[maybe another Mirrorbound who happens to be more versed in tea, magical or otherwise, would be willing to break it down in language Midousuji better understands? you know. for better or for worse. his influence is (potentially) yours.]

3: CYCLIST MANSPLAINS WITH INHUMAN SHRIEK

2nd wk; (quest) pennyfarthings are traditionalist capitalist propaganda

[Midousuji now has desire for two things that he cannot obtain at present: a pendulum (potentially), and tea. so with similar dragging chagrin, Midousuji lugs his unwilling person to the quest boards, and puzzles over them. so many of the posted jobs, as expected, are not only out of his present depth—but his present understanding. frustrating.

then his eyes widen a little, shocked by perhaps the only stroke of any kind of divine luck he’s had in his time since arrival. if this is a coma dream, it makes sense that his interests would squeak in somewhere, he supposes—and specifically, it’s an ad for people to antagonize wealthy, stupid people for riding stupid, expensive bikes with no purpose or utilitarian appeal. almost as though to check he isn’t hallucinating, Midousuji inspects the posting closely, yanking his lower eyelid down by his thin, gloved fingertips, wide eyes stuck in disbelief on the ad. his tongue unfurls more than just a few inches beyond what’s humanly appropriate beyond his jaw, and he tilts his head so suddenly that his neck pops.

yes! this!!

it probably won’t be great—the bikes that he counts as superior for six thousand and twenty eight reasons don’t exist, here. but that’s more than enough to tear down simple competitors. even if he isn’t confident he could up-sell the quality of Aefenglom’s superior (and vastly, vastly inferior, according to his own world’s models) makes, nor is he...um...good with people (and that’s subjective, right? he’s good at manipulating and scaring people, in the right circumstances)... he’s more than confident he could campaign against the dreaded.... Pennyfarthing bicycle.

once Midousuji is enlisted, he can be found outside of the corresponding shop, bent severely so that his back makes a dramatic, nigh-improbable “C” shape as he points at some passer-by on one of the said stupid luxury bicycles.]

Is there anything more impractical?! [Midousuji shrieks to his captive audience, then suddenly bends his back far in the other direction, contorted so that the crown of his head is almost level at the small of his back. he just as suddenly, with a disturbing snap and squelch of his spinal fluids (audible, yes, horrifyingly), Midousuji is mostly in proper posture, pointing now at his onlookers.]

First of all, what is the practicality in the height?! If you fall from these stupid things, perilous injury is gauranteed! These models—[Midousuji squints in disdain for the nomenclature of the modern bicycle’s ancestor, but pushes through regardless,]—“safety bicycles”—ensure similar speed and comfort, without the risk!!—Of bodily harm, or bodily stupidity, such as looking like a [and Midousuji’s head snaps back, though his posture is still, um. almost normal.] STUPID SOUP-BRAIN!!

[his head goes back into a mostly normal position, squinting distrustfully among his crowd.]

Fashion is a symptom of idle society!! Do you want to be like these people!? Concerned with appearances—and to what end!? You realize how foolish a pedaller of a Pennyfarthing looks, don’t you!? Remove the wool from your eyes! High class society undulates the masses with unflattering, stupid trends, only because the rich sets the precedent! Their producers may call them “ordinary” bicycles, but they’re the old-blood, inferior genome to the greater potential!!

[Midousuji pauses, then suddenly smiles in a way that’s...supposed to be pleasant, but is still quite unnerving, softening his tone to a malicious, sing-song lilt.] So please check out the “safety” bikes of this humble shop—physics are on their side, and they are the seed of efficiency to come. Don’t be swallowed by the embarrassing annules of time.

[Midousuji gives an unnerving giggle, stifled childishly behind his fingers.] Trust me. I’m from the future, in the world of cycling. An invaluable seer.

4: BABY MAGIC FOR BABY IDIOTS

3rd wk; midousuji almost lights his (entire) face on fire

[eventually, when Midousuji peels himself off the floor of his current given quarters like an over fried egg to a skillet, he decides, with great, irritated defeat to maybe pop down by the Coven. he doesn’t need money to practice at the Coven. he talked a big game of buckling down on magical studies, and he hasn’t done a single thing to follow up with that, aside from haunting the library over so many (so...MANY) books—not that he owes a bunch of random assholes on the Aefenglom Mirrorbound network any kind of follow-through, but even he feels like an asshole asserting great claims with no follow through.

and, regrettably, there is just jack-shit else to do; after some conversations on the network, Midousuji has the seeds of mild doubt about whether or not pursuing magic with vigor is the true path back home. there are tons of more magical, more wise, and possibly? quite intelligent people who haven’t had any luck... but that doesn’t mean he can’t try. he’s always been Different, so maybe that’ll work out in his favor.

turns out, it doesn’t—at least not initially. maybe he can get there. but as dreaded—and anticipated, it’s...not intuitive at all. because nothing is, outside of cycling, and even that had one hell of an uphill (ha) battle involved into kinetic fluency.

currently, Midousuji is practicing some very simple cantrip magic. which he’d been briefed on, a couple days after his initial arrival. he’s familiar. he’s read about them, too—to great extent. but texts are only so useful. every Witch’s mileage may vary with regards to mitigating magic, especially for Mirrorbound, as the parameters of their navigation around magic are so much more hazy and puzzling. so though he’s rehearsed it a thousand times in his mind, using the stupid wand provided as training wheels for channeling, Midousuji’s hands and arms carry a slight tremor. his flesh beads with sweat, already having annoying, nervy flashbacks to failing his physical education coaching as a child, setting his teeth to be grit taut, lips around drawn out in an exaggerated, anxious sneer.]

“Yes, yes, good! Like that. Don’t be so nervous,” [the Witch reassures, immediately earning Midousuji’s most venomous, corner-of-the-eye glare.] “This is one of the easiest spells for even novices to get the hang of, so don’t hesitate.”

[but Midousuji does. because what does that even MEAN? once again, an infuriating discrepancy between native Witches and the lack of data around Mirrorbound. he can’t even ask; he knows she won’t be able to answer. he’s currently trying to conjure a little flame to the pert, waiting wick of a candle. a simple evocation spell for things like starting fires, lighting torches, and all that...

but determined to press forward, Midousuji nervously mutters the previously practiced incantation (rehearsed a few times before this practical attempt)—and once emitted, the...candle in question, inexplicably, becomes like a furious hydrant of flame, booming so vigorously that the plate setting of the candle shakes.

Midousuji’s eyes widen and he shrieks as he falls backwards, dropping his wand, immediately pressing his hands against his orbital sockets. both as a practiced reflex of comfort, but because...distinctly, his eyebrow burns; the hairs coil and wither above his right eye, and Midousuji screams, then hisses through his teeth as he kicks his legs, scrubbing harshly at the sensitive, hot skin with his gloved palm. the flames peter out into a voluptuous billow of black clouds, and the Witch tutoring Midousuji nervously crouches beside him, her assistants dealing with the magic cast to get it under control. Midousuji’s mollars grind as he wheezes dryly and in frustration, the collar of his shirt cooling with singed, sooty holes. it’s only then that he notices that his shirt was briefly on fire, since, you know, his face was first.]

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( it's another one of those days where she's out and about in town, picking up a few things for the cottage before heading back to work on her garden. in truth, there's something almost calming about the routine that she's picked up now--and something that's also calming about having a nice cup of tea after all the hard work, or maybe that's just the excuse she usually gives tifa in order to take a break.

in any case, it means that she's also in the shop, bent over and perusing the different blends, when she hears the stranger talking almost uncertainly to the staff--he must be new to aefenglom, she figures, and as her gaze skates over to him, curious, that only further cements the realization. he's quite--large, much taller than she is, and yet he doesn't feel all that intimidating, so...

maybe it's just an excuse to have a bit of impish fun, or maybe it's the way that she makes friends, but she straightens up, moving over to offer the staff a flash of a smile as though reassuring that she can, decidedly, take over from here in helping. to the stranger, she lays a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently, before she gestures to one sample cup in particular. )

You'll want to try that one, first. It will go down easy, before the rest of them...

( is she making that sound ominous on purpose? maybe. still, her smile is encouraging, at least. )

[Midousuji doesn’t even notice Aerith’s approach, initially, too distracted by his tea dilemma conversation with the staff—which is quickly boiling into frustration territory.

he’s literally jolted out of it, though, shocked by the sensation of someone touching—squeezing his arm (even if gently) to the extent that he jumps. Midousuji’s immediate instinct is to slap the offending hand right the fuck off of his body, because hello?? rude? manners?? PERSONAL BOUNDARIES?

what he doesn’t expect is a pretty girl as the culprit, and he freezes, staring down at her as his brain goes to static in cognitive latency. horrifying. nightmare scenario. her words bring him out of that somewhat, and though gently rather than violently, Midousuji pulls his arm slowly from her grasp. he’s mostly quite touch adverse as it is, but especially in unfamiliar situations, which this entire place is. in high gratuity.

Midousuji’s eyes fall to the sample cup in question, and he considers, definitely finding her words suspicious. she doesn’t have a smock, so she doesn’t work here—but he definitely doesn’t trust that!

it’s then that Midousuji realizes he hasn’t yet said a single thing.]

...What does that mean? What kind of tea doesn’t go down easily?

[besides medicinal ones, anyway...]

Edited 2021-03-14 03:58 (UTC)

( well, someone doesn't like to be touched--and that's okay. she lets his arm slip out of her touch easily, and smiles at him, bringing both of her hands to herself to press them together beneath her chin, like she's marveling at the sight of him. he looks increasingly nervous, and a part of her feels sorry for it; the other part of her feels like having a bit of mischief, and they war within her all the same. )

Well, the next one we're going to try, of course.

( we? apparently.

with another smile, she reaches for the cup in question, bringing it up to her nose, first, for a brief sniff. it smells as she expected: cool and calming, with a bit of a tang of lavender and citrus off the end of it. and then, with her brows raised, she takes a sip, watching the stranger before she forces a shiver through her body, as though it's been some horrible task.

she holds the cup out to him--not touching him, of course, but offering it to him all the same. )

Safe, you see, but the effects will come later. Try it.

[Midousuji feels a funny little hiccup in his chest for the way she releases him, then puts on that dumb mock expression. feeling uncomfortable for it, Midousuji looks away, his long neck straining from how suddenly he twists his gaze away.

but she brings his gaze back when she she gives him the "we," and his round eyes widen.

when she offers him the little cup, he hikes his wide, bony shoulders, a mess of thin fingers kind of anxiously all curled up on top of one another, his wrists raised at his chest and palms down as he leans back.

he glances at the cup, then at Aerith.]

...You did something weird, when you drank it. Your reaction. [suspicious, Midousuji points one of his fingers from its rat-king of anxiety in her direction, tilting his head a little bit in his shyness—but this time, his dark eyes stay glued to her.] Like when people drink alcohol.

[he was worried about the magic, and Aerith pulling the trigger with him almost assuages his distrust in that regard (though, she could be a very seasoned witch with...wards or something, who knows), but now he's worried it tastes gross, too.

of course, the reality of the situation is that sometimes people are just nice and wanna help you out. but it sounds too fake to consider.]

Edited (SORRY FOR ALL THE EDITS i missed my close-tag) 2021-04-01 03:06 (UTC)

I did something weird?

( she glances at him for a moment as though she's stunned--she isn't, really, but she's starting to feel a little bad, like maybe he really is nervous, and not just the kind of nervous where he'll let out a laugh and that will be the end of it. so she shakes her head slightly, softly, and takes one small step towards him; she doesn't want to crowd him, but she's still holding the cup out, calmly, so that he can take it.

well, a few silent seconds tick by, and it's obvious that he's not going to take it: so she lets out a patient, amused breath, and shakes her head again. )

I was teasing you a little. It's harmless, I promise... It just sort of makes you relax, some, and I think the flavor is quite nice.

( to prove it, she tips the cup towards her own mouth again, for one small sip; there's no shiver, and she just smiles at him. )

See? If you hate it, you can throw the rest in my face. Promise.

[Midousuji glances at the little cup again, and then back up at her. relax????? relax? ~~what is that~~]

...Well, hard to argue with that.

[if he does get had, it would be satisfying throwing it in her face, he agrees. he carefully plucks the glass from her hold, and is just as careful to mind where he drinks from, not wanting to overlap their points of contact—and his eyebrows raise subtly. he doesn't finish it, quite yet—he doesn't feel any effects yet, and if he suddenly gets sick or something, he's gonna need the tea to toss in her face. of course! it's collateral, now.

he blinks at the cup, clutched in his spidery fingers, then to Aerith.]

It's good.

[he does sound mildly surprised. he tilts his head, appraising this lady—ultimately kind natured, though Midousuji is always suspicious of people like that; kindness is usually veiled in some sort of ulterior motive, no matter the culprit. or it's inspired by something intolerable, like pity. but in retrospect, he understands she's a bit of a prankster, and decides he can appreciate that.

still, everyone is a creep until deemed uncreepy. so for now, he still considers her gross. but at the very least, he's deciding she's interesting... that's a start. maybe.

his eyes narrow.]

...What's your name?

( she's fairly confident he won't have to resort to that, at least--so she's smiling, patient, and once he takes the cup, she lets both of her hands drop down, lacing them together at her back. carefully, she watches him bring the tea up to his lips, swallowing it down, before he looks between her and it like she's done something to it. the blinking makes her laugh, despite herself; she swallows it down quickly, solemnly. )

Good, right? We'll move on to the next one.

( she winks at the staff a little, like look at this potential business i'm bringing you, but she plucks the cup from his hand without a care, setting it down so that she can deliberate over the next one. something equally mild, she thinks: which is why she picks a flowery sort of tea, something that should be tolerated, even by him.

it's only then that she realizes he's asked her a question, and she blinks up at him: her eyes are so round compared to the way he narrows his in to stare at her, but she's also staring back. studying him, in her own way. )

Aerith. Aerith Gainsborough. If that's too hard, you can give me a nickname.

( she smiles, but she's holding up the next cup for him, expectant. )

And you?

aaand wrap!

discarding - 2021-04-23 18:45 (UTC) - Expand

Woah, kid! You'd want to be careful with that!

[Magic is hard, Iskandar gets that, and sometimes it may happen you'll burn your own eyebrows. That's the price of learning. He might not look especially scholarly himself, a mountain of a man with red hair will look more realistic with a sword in his hand and not a book but here he is, holding a borrowed tome of A Compleat Evocation for Inquiring Minds.]

Unless setting yourself on fire was the goal. Though I must admit I cannot fathom why would anyone want to do that.

[Midousuji would normally want to shoot back something like "Be careful? Obviously! I wasn't trying to blow myself up", but Midousuji's too rattled to even think of a response.

Midousuji stares up at Iskander with wide, terrified eyes as he speaks, one a little misted with tears gathering at the lip of its lower eyelid due to the proximity to the fire. His thin, long fingers are fanned across his face and thus obscuring the most of it, but the dark, dead and doll-like iris's of his eyes peer through them like caging. he's curled on his back kind of like a beetle, thin, long limbs gathered up in held recoil.

Midousuji tries to de-escalate his mind from the shock and panic, eventually absorbing his words; his limbs gradually, shakily, come down so he's... splayed like road kill, head still propped up from the strength of his neck alone. he blinks.]

...It wasn't intentional.

[obvious? probably. but Midousuji's been jostled out of his element, compounded by the vulnerability of being unconfident, so Midousuji accidentally takes the ribbing response as earnest and gives his own earnest, oblivious response in kind. but hey the result is that Iskander gets the less bitey version of his usual bs, so we'll call it a win. Midousuji sits up unsteadily, and his eyes glance away anxiously to their corners as Midousuji rubs across his eyebrow. this guy is too fucking big. his presence is overbearing.]

I don't know how that happened...

Edited 2021-03-15 21:52 (UTC)

[Iskandar crouches near the flailing figure, waits for him to sit before looking for burns or anything that would require a healer's intervention. He sees nothing, at least not at the first glance.]

You got lucky. I don't see any serious damage.

[Apart from a bruised ego but no healer can help with that.]

Well, I'd hazard a guess that a spell must have backfired here. Your first time using magic?

[Midousuji almost lurches back into another tumble when Iskandar crouches beside him like that, but by some miracle, manages to keep his shit together. his heart rate spikes again, though. too big. too big.

indeed, though, Midousuji is fine; just frazzled and a tiny bit singed. the skin at the right side of his brow will probably just sting from the burn injury for a day or two. he still has most of that eyebrow, too. good for him.]

Ah, yeah...

[Midousuji's eyes roll away, hard, stubbornly pushed to their corners, as if desperate not to look at Iskandar. his long, spidery fingers curl anxiously at his chin.]

...I don't know how it came out...so big. I guess I was a little distracted. I've studied, but...

[god. this feels pathetic. Midousuji hates it. his mind somehow feels both seized and racing, and this situation is so strange, so unscripted for him, he has no idea how to get out of this.]

I mean, obviously, I must have been wrong, but I felt like for something like that to happen, you'd have to put...a bit more into it. Bigger feeling. Intention. Something.

[unless Midousuji doesn't know how to scale things smallways with that stuff, which he doesn't consider; when he isn't competing, or actively annoyed or something, he thinks his baseline of emotions being damn near flatline. thrumming as a numb nothing, all the time.

Midousuji glances back at the candle, eyes catching with (somewhat fearful) confusion at the giant singed circle around the saucer, where the wood is scorched. more puzzling yet, the candle itself seems to be entirely intact. ]

Gods! You're skittish like a squirrel, boy.

[Iskandar chuckles. Doesn't this remind him of someone? Ah, good memories.]

I am not going to eat you. Quite the contrary, I'm a healer I can help you with those burns. There's no honour in enduring injuries that could hamper your progress because you're too distracted to concentrate.

[He follows Midousuji's gaze to the circle of scorched ground.]

Well, in that you are correct. The intention here surely was not small. You're not lacking ambition and that's a positive trait. However!

[Iskandar pauses looking back the boy with a wide grin. There's always a but, isn't it?]

Studying is not everything. Books are great for understanding but not enough. To truly achieve mastery at anything you need to practice.

And when you do practice you have to start small. Otherwise, you risk unintentionally harming yourself or others as you have just perfectly demonstrated.

[the fuck?? this big guy is a healer? Midousuji cautiously appraises him with a dip and rise of his dark, matte eyes. he resents, somewhat, being called skiddish—but can't argue with it. when he finally manages to look at Iskandar, Midousuji's expression is tense, though neutral—but in his mind, with derisive, boiling venom, he thinks "If you were less like you and more like me, you'd be skittish too."

but given the circumstance, Midousuji is thankfully still not so bold. Midousuji grounds himself by forcing focus on the healer's words.]

...I was trying to start small, [Midousuji clarifies, and he raises his knees from where he sits. he's still trying to get himself together enough to get back up, but he senses he's still a little shaky; he doesn't want to humiliate himself with his knees knocking together like some freshly birthed fawn.]

I guess my intentions aren't small... Maybe I'm too focused on long term instead of the objective present...

[Midousuji peers back up at Iskandar, pausing. looking at him still feels awful; still too much... but more bearable, little by little.]

...Are you a Mirrorbound Witch? Or native?

suspicious tea!

oh god

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omg.. how did i miss this notif.. dw has been outta control

it's all good! notifs have been so messed up

gosh they sure have been

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4 Fire up !

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bicycle biiiicycle

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4

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