[closed] come together

[silentsavant]

Who: Soren and Midousuji
When: Maiuril 4th
Where: Coven library
What: An arranged meeting.
Warnings: gross bike cryptid


A day after their agreement to meet in person, Soren arrives at their appointed spot a few minutes early. He had already been at the Coven to begin with, so it wasn't too much trouble for him to hang around a frequent haunt of his until the clock tower solemnly tolls ten.

Young daylight fresh from its slumber behind the rain-spent clouds of the Boaltinn storm pools in from the skylights and the grand yawning windows, shrouding Soren in its ethereal contrast to his small, dark-scaled and dark-attired form. This world has truly morphed him into a Monster over the years spent here. Four horns jut out straight and back along his skull; folded wings bordered in the ebon shade of his scales bleeding into crimson emerge from his shoulder blades. Fins jut out from his forearms; a long and sinuous tail with an array of spikes at the end trails from his backside. Despite all of his monstrous aspects, he's clean and sharply-dressed, though his trousers crop just before the ankles, by digitigrade standards, and reveal feet that look like they belong on a dinosaur, just like the rest of his draconic anatomy. This roughness and sharpness is all hewn into the softer features of a long-haired young man whose age could be pinned anywhere from his teenage years to emerging into his twenties, depending on perception. Soren's straight-faced and keen-eyed demeanor exudes a maturity that helps to age him in the impression of others. But not always.

He cooly and patiently awaits the unmistakable emergence of a tall, thin, big-eyed-and-shouldered Witch with a shaved head and a face mask.

Comments

[discarding]

Midousuji is also early, but enters through the main doors from the outside. Unlike Soren, though Midousuji does spend quite a bit of time at the Coven (despite his skin-crawling distrust for it), he hadn't already been within its walls. He'd woken up early, washed, spent about 20 minutes stretching, ate, and went for a long walk... Pale comparison to morning cycling, but it is what it is. He can't just totally waste away...

And you'd think, given his morning routine, Midousuji might be an inch more limber, but his gait remains distinct; lurching, staggering, a bit unnatural and stiff. His lightless eyes, so dead that their pupils are mostly indiscernible, gently drift about, seeking Soren's description from the network. Their agreed location is pretty straightforward, however—and so Midousuji's eyes settle with realization before long, widening subtly in recognition.

Monstrous indeed, but Midousuji is remiss to admit he finds himself immediately charmed; the Puca and Faun, less so, but dragons, mer and fae are undeniably beautiful. Of course, Midousuji would sooner eat both of his own hands than to wish himself the same fate, and has no envy in that arena—but these monsters are certainly ornamental.

"Soren," Midousuji greets in a long lilt, his voice airy and almost elegant in its cadence, despite its low, deep pitch. He tilts his head, eyes unblinking. "right?"

Midousuji's description of himself was a bit off; his head was shaved, clean and neat...but now it's beginning to grow out in patchy crops of wispy strands. Not quite sea-urchin levels yet, but definitely a little crazy looking. But, it's at least apparent this was probably a buzz-cut in its former life.

[silentsavant]

When a tall man wearing a face mask enters his vision, he turns his full attention on him, takes the peculiar Witch in from their initial distance. Soren isn't one to split hairs about the minor deviances in description, for despite what he was given, nothing could have prepared him for what shambled in. His eyes are not only huge, but they bulge like an amphibian's, pitchy and wide in this fathomless but penetrating way dimly reminiscent of someone else he's met here. His shoulders are big, certainly... but combined with just how thin and elongated the rest of him really is, they end up looking disproportionately huge by comparison. And then there's that gawky way he carries himself...

The Dragon's stony face shifts infinitesimally as he regards him - a slight quirk of his brow to go with a slight tip of his head as if in unconscious sympathetic response. Then he straightens and faces his... prospect.

"That's right," he confirms with a short nod, burying his misgivings. Though his tone and delivery are dry and serious, it's carried on a smooth lightweight pitch - almost the opposite combination of Midousuji's. "You must be..."

He trails off there, for if he attempts to pronounce the name typed out to him, he might botch it. If he can spare himself the faux pas, he will.

[discarding]

Soren isn't the only one giving some pause at Midousuji's entrance, but he doesn't react, though he's plenty aware; since the dramatic advent of puberty, Midousuji's been pretty used to that. He knows he's a sight to behold. At least Soren's being spared the additional distraction of Midousuji's mouth, though it's not as if Midousuji was planning on demonstrating his uh, gifts.

Midousuji's shoulders tilt unevenly with the sideways dip of his head, unblinkingly regarding Soren.

"Midousuji," he says slowly, even for his sing-song, meandering Kyoto dialect, aware the arrangement of those syllables is probably a little strange. Just like 'Aerith' is to Midousuji—names like 'Soren' and 'Mettaton' are a little bit more intuitive to him. Midousuji then straightens up, leaning out of the little dragon's personal space, a gloved, bony hand clutched stiffly on the strap across the shoulder of his bag from home.

"Thanks for the meeting."

[silentsavant]

All of Midousuji's idiosyncrasies at a glance aren't enough to deter Soren from the cyclist, especially when it's been mutually established that they're both not interested in bonding in the traditional sense of the word. It doesn't matter to him what kind of person he is or what he has done in the past, and what he looks like and how he carries himself matters even less, even if it is a touch creepy. Soren nods in acknowledgment, withdraws his hand into his breast pocket, and retrieves a pair of slim glass vials full of a silvery liquid.

"Let's get straight to it, then. The best way to get a feel for a Bond with someone is to test it." He extends one of the vials over to Midousuji pinched between clawed digits. "In case you have never done this before, we simply imbibe it at the same time to establish a thin connection between us."

[discarding]

Midousuji's posture straightens when Soren produces the vials, his mouth subtly dropping open behind his mask, making a sound somewhere between curious and realizing.

"Temporary Bond potion, right?"

Midousuji carefully plucks the vial from Soren's claws (which he takes another peek at, finding them Neat), and tilts the little glass vessel between his index finger and thumb. "I've heard of it, but I've never tried."

Midousuji's gloved finger hooks against his mask, pulling it down beneath his chin, exposing his tiny, flat nose, and uncannily perfect teeth.

"Alright. Right now?"

[silentsavant]

The Dragon nods once in conformation of the initial question, then stares a beat longer than warranted as the mask comes down. It's not uncommon to wear them when dealing with the Cwyld, so Soren didn't question it much. Now he wonders if there was another reason he chose to obscure his lower face for this meeting. Another dose of curiosity for this long-limbed and straight-toothed Witch trickles in. He's not like most people.

"Yes. I will count down from three," he announces, and uncorks his vial to prop it up near his lips. "Are you ready?"