Event Log: May

[moustre]

Event Log: May, Moving Day

I. GATHERING The morning of the 15th is heralded by the sing-song voice of The Coven's coimeadai sidhe Nerissa Bell ringing through the hallways, seemingly unimpeded by the heavy doors or any silencing spells that have been placed in rooms. She asks that all those who arrived at the beginning of the month - not the new inductees, the ones from The Looking-Glass House - gather in The Coven's main room; she has some exciting and important news to deliver. Once everyone is gathered, Nessie (very much a morning person, and sorry to the anyone who isn't) grins and lays a hand on her chest. "Thanks to a good bit of your lot, we've managed to get things ready in record time - aye, I should start out with what I'm talking about, aren't I? Well, well - with the Parliament's permission, thank goodness for my Mhairi's sharp wit, we've managed to get a space for all you to live in outside of The Coven. You can still come and attend classes or talk to all of us, 'course, but everyone's been getting a bit itchy with such suddenly crowded quarters, aye?" Aye aye, calls some poor, tired student from the second floor as they pass through, and Nessie pauses with a slow blink before she laughs, shaking her head. "Anyway, gather your things if you have any and follow me. Or us," she corrects herself, as a few other Witches seem to materialize from nowhere. "Can't be out without a couple of friends, I suppose." As soon as everyone's ready, Nessie and her entourage lead them out of the courtyard, aglow with fresh flowers and the soft light of dawn peeking between the clouds. The spot they've managed to get isn't too far from The Coven proper, and it doesn't look much different than the rest of the Aristocratic District that it resides in - the only thing that sets it apart is the sign Nessie takes a moment to conjure up and hang with balls of light between two streetlamps. The Haven. "Named so as a respite for all you refugees," she explains as she turns around; she sets her hands on her hips, gazing out at the crowd, and gives them a small smile. "I can't stay and chat right now - Mhairi's still with Parliament even with the hours, and I've got things to get in order at the Coven still - but if you have need of either of us, we'll be in contact. We've a little mailbox set up in front of the Coven just for you lot, so just drop us a letter or some such with one of our names or both, and we'll be right quick about answering, we will. Within reason," Nessie adds, laughing a little, "'course, within reason. Anyway, find some familiar faces and have a lovely time, will you?" With that, and a few more little goodbyes, Miss Nerissa Bell takes her leave; half of her Witches disappear with her, but the other half remain to help keep an eye on things as the day progresses and to help with directing people to either houses or the barracks set against the Wall. While there will be no NPC threads this time - sorry! - we have opened up an NPC Inbox! You can find it here. While they definitely prefer letters, they do both have watches now like cool moms and can be contacted through that as well, provided they aren't busy at the time.

II. THE HAVEN Formerly part of the Aristocratic District, The Haven is just as well-kept and brightly-lit as the district it hails from. The houses err on the tall and ornamental-side, large enough to fit several families (or, according to the upper class, their one family, several dozen servants, and guests), especially closest to the Aristocratic District. They become a little more modest and smaller as one gets away from the realm of high society and nearer to the Residential District proper. Newcomers are shuffled here and invited to find somewhere to live - the Coven is currently handling expenses for the houses themselves in an program implemented by the Parliament, though if your character wishes to have anything extra - like maids, chefs, and so on - they'll have to pay for them themselves with their own earned money. Much of the landscape and fixtures are the same as in the Aristocratic Districts, though it lacks formal emergency services due to its roots as part of a district that already did. Much of the housing already has furnishing due to the speed at which homeowners were relocated; they were given enough time to collect their valuables, but standard furniture such as kitchenware, couches, beds, etc. were left behind for those moving in. Other houses appear the same, but the dust on the floors suggest these houses were left before the new arrivals even showed up - a reminder that the Cwyld can strike just about anyone, regardless of standing. Some may be familiar with this portion of Aefenglom already, as they took on the task of helping to clean the area up. Surprise, one could say; they were preparing their own future homes, for their stay in the city. However, another portion of this district has been opened up to the new arrivals: the barracks, the row of buildings pressed against the very edge of the Bright Wall. As the city's military force no longer has the same presence it previously did, the barracks have gone into disuse, and a cleanup effort has been in place since before the new arrivals came through the Looking-Glass House. For those who desire something a little less opulent, the barracks might just be the answer. The barracks can also be used for business, for a welcome center, a communal space, for anything that the residents of the Haven see fit to use it for - so long as the legality isn't questionable, on the surface. Not everyone is so happy, however. A very vocal group of younger rich people are set on harassing and bullying those moving into The Haven, and they aren't afraid to use a little magic to do it. Levitation, fake fire, real fire, sudden weather shifts, and threats to do more if they don't find somewhere else to live are all present - these aristocrats don't care for the new people butting into their lives, especially anyone who looks distinctly non-human or already have signs of their Monster traits coming in. There are others, though, who are quite pleased to have new neighbors - many of them weren't so happy with their other ones - and have set up little stalls to peruse and tables to sit at to help foster them in. These have everything from food to flowers, to expensive-looking trinkets and jewelry on them - the people running them are quite amiable, especially closer to the Residential District proper, and don't mind handing these out for free... or mostly free. The only thing they'll ask of any characters wishing to procure something from their gifts is to perform a trick - sort of like a one-man talent show. They aren't picky, and as long as a character does their best, they'll give them a gift. (Or someone with quick fingers could just swipe them off, given how unprotected they are, but that person will find their hands turning red and leaving similarly-colored marks on everything they touch, as if dipped in paint.)

III. AND THEN THEY WERE ROOMMATES To help with filling up the larger houses - and even some of the smaller ones, and the shared rooms in the barracks - the Witches left over from Nessie's group have come together to set up a little roommate finding service that will run for the week. For those who aren't entirely sure who they want to shack up with, they have a small survey for them to fill out and post on the board they've magicked up in the center of The Haven. The board also very helpfully reads aloud each form for everyone to hear in a cheerful, monotone voice. It isn't able to be shut up, nor is it easy to ignore, being imbued with a similar kind of amplification magic that Miss Nessie used earlier in the morning for her own voice. It seems these Witches - or at least one of them - has a prankster nature... and unfortunately, it doesn't stop there. a. A LITTLE MISCHIEF While by and large the board will work as it should - a listing is filled out, put up, and read aloud for all to hear - for characters who aren't interested in doing some writing, or who can't for one reason or another, the board will take it upon itself to make one for them. It isn't going to be the most accurate at all, being either completely fictitious or based on a first impression from the board itself. This can range from "They have blue eyes, so you know they're a kind person!" to "How stand-offish, they must be a crook! A thief! A villain!" and anything in-between, including but not limited to: outrageous feats they may or may not have accomplished, poor hygiene habits, false accounts of incredibly embarrassing moments, and so on. b. A LITTLE HANDS-ON Not entirely content with just allowing people to write their preferences and call it a day, a few of the younger Witches have begun magicking small chocolates, hard candies, and bubble gum, and handing them out to new arrivals as a welcome treat. These aren't any ordinary treats though - they have one of three of effects: • Sticky fingers, meaning characters will stick to anyone or anything they touch. • Truthfulness, meaning characters will say whatever they're really thinking or feeling at the moment. • Desire for company, meaning characters will gravitate immediately to the first person they see, regardless of their feelings on them otherwise. Thankfully, none of these last long - only about ten minutes, and they can't be combined with each other; eating one candy with one effect will simply replace any other effects... Which might be for the better. The subthread for this can be found HERE, while any ones that are made up by the board itself can be simply written into your top levels or replies to other people. Have fun with it, and good luck finding some housemates!

Welcome to the midmonth event log! While mingling on the log itself is highly encouraged, feel free to make your own logs; take the prompts offered and go wild, go crazy, go stupid, have fun. As ever, if your character is getting into any Shenanigans, let the mods know, and if you have any questions about the log, ask them here!

Comments

[silentsavant]

He's too choked of words to form any immediate response, throat squeezed shut as he wrings the brunt of his sobs out. He knows he should be ashamed of himself for putting his raw emotions on such display, for burdening someone he only just met with pity for his wretched despair bundled in numerous layers she cannot comprehend closer to the core of it. But he can't even bring himself to feel but the barest scrap of that. Worse yet, he finds himself drawn to her pity like a drowning man reaching for someone's oar in turbulent waters. Like it's a matter of pure survival, and it would be a fool's move to refuse help no matter how far beyond it he feels.

The pain dwindles in trickles, but it's notably better, better enough not to dominate his whole being. And though his mind swoons like he's had a cup to drink, it's also rocked to more clarifying pacification. A curious concoction of states and emotions swirl inside, wanting desperately to fill the screaming hollowness caving him in. Not only does he think he ought to go where Yako does, but that he yearns to. He may not know her, he may not trust her, but he wants to. With a slow, doddering advance and a trice or two of hesitation, Soren lays his palm atop hers at last, fighting himself for even breath. Hoping that the scales and the nails don't plunge the same cold fright in her that it does himself to see.

[topslug]

The difference between pity and compassion, Yako would say, is action. She may not understand the cause of Soren’s pain exactly—beyond what the full moons have wrought, it feels like there’s a deeper hurt being nursed inside—but more than just feeling sympathetic, she knows she wants to find a way to relieve it. But to do that, she’ll need to know more about Soren than a few minutes of seeing him in such a wretched state is able to tell her.

She doesn’t recoil from his touch, curling her hand as best as she can around his and grasping him back as firmly as she can. If she can’t convey her certainty that she’ll stay by his side in words, hopefully she can do it through touch.

“Soren,” she says, “I want to take you to the Coven’s healers so they can patch you up. Do you think you’ll be able to walk with me?”

[silentsavant]

He might as well try, and he's feeling more up to it now. Setting his sole on the street, he uses Yako's grip as a leverage to rise from his knees to his feet, careful and steady with himself. The chaos still pulses, but it's duller than before, muted. Nevertheless, he remains tight as before, as though enduring an onslaught of sleet.

"Slowly, at first," he requests softly, an uncharacteristic reluctance to let go of her the reason it never occurs to him to disconnect their hands. A comfortable warmth continues to permeate from within.

[topslug]

"Of course," Yako reassures. She gives his fingers a reassuring squeeze, and it's with a quick and practiced motion that she shoves the spilled content of her bag back inside it, stuffs the paper of chocolate into a pocket, and starts to guide Soren on the unsteady walk back to the Coven.

They'll stop as much as Soren needs to, whether it's to deal with a fresh burst of pain, or catch his breath. Fortunately, in a district like this one, there's no shortage of things to lean against or sit down on, and Yako will also take those times to offer him more chocolate, whether it's from her hands or his own. Conversation's minimal: she doesn't feel the need to fill the silence if he doesn't, more preoccupied with keeping him going and watching for any sign of faltering.

Somehow, he never actually does detach from her, meaning they end up holding hands all the way to the Coven's infimary and the Witch on duty, who looks a little startled by Soren's state, but quickly recovers, ushering them to an examining room. He doesn't ask if they're Bonded -- the assumption is, perhaps, that a Monster that was wouldn't be in this state -- but he does, with a touch of impatience, tell them they'll need to let go of each other before he can examine and treat Soren.

[silentsavant]

It's only when he's issued orders to let go that Soren realizes, with a sear of embarrassment, that he's clinging to her hand like a lost child. He releases it with haste and watches the warm stone tiles swim in the dim confines of the sick ward. The Witch proceeds to look him over and ushers him to a cot where he may sit and conserve energy. As Soren is separated, he casts a final glimpse of dizzy longing at his savior before paying wary attention to the man touching him now.

Everything is so confusing... His spiked feelings, why he has to change, the moons calling him.

The first thing he's treated to is magical healing for his wounds. The tissue reconstructs and dams the flow of blood broken from his flesh. As the gentle spell undoes his gashes like a heal staff channeled through hands, the nurse explains that Soren is under risk of going feral, of losing his humanity. That he is a monster — and at being told this point-blank, Soren's face darkens as an irrational anger overtakes him. Witnessing the ire flash in his eyes, the Witch is quick to back away, tell him to hold tight for a moment, and opens a cabinet to procure a vial of something that he urges Soren to drink. He's skeptical at first, asking what it is, to which he explains it contains sedative effects, and magic to boot. This is the perfect leeway to explain the principle Soren and Yako had tested for themselves: the more magic imbued into a monster, the more stabilized they become. "Even healing you the way I did helped," he adds.

"I see..." mulls Soren, halfway distant between his body and mind, like he's living outside of the experience itself. He does, in fact, feel a lot calmer than he did in the streets, even with that quick pulse of anger that reared its head. The aggression has slowly been displaced by the tremendous exhaustion that results from the toll this takes on his flimsy little body, and his eyelids droop. He'd much rather be a torpid shell of himself than a savage beast losing himself to wanton bloodlust.

He's reminded of the laguz, the Feral Ones subjected to cruel and inhumane experiments at the steep cost of their sanity. The drugs that pollute their sense of self. Is this what it must be like? To lose all inhibitions and control, to care for nothing but the rush of battle...? Here, like never before, he finds himself relating to the half of his blood that the laguz had so long wanted to deny him. That he once wished he could deny.

Maybe that's it. Maybe that's why he's becoming a monster instead. He shuts his eyes and lets the Witch continue to pour magic into him, pain from the heart marring his face in the absence of physical wounds. A part of him he's out of touch with longs for the warmth of Yako's hand to embrace his again. But she's right there as she promised she would be, undaunted by him, and at least in one sense, he doesn't have to be alone with this.

[topslug]

During the examination, not having much to add, Yako will remain close enough to keep an eye on Soren and his reactions. She thinks of saying something when Soren grows angry and the Witch backs off, but decides that's one of those emotions it's better to let him experience fully and process himself. If this is something that will continue to happen every month, he'll likely have more than ample reason to get angry all over again as time passes. She can't always be there to tell him to settle down.

The Witch finishes off his spell before turning to Yako, beckoning her towards him. She doesn't understand at first, what he means, before he says, exasperated now by two patients that don't quite seem to understand how to take care of themselves, that he'd also like to see her hand.

Oh -- where Soren scratched her. In all the business of calming him down and moving him around, Yako had quite honestly forgotten about the injury, and it's dried into tacky streaks of blood by now, in any case. It's really not much of a big deal, more like a scraped knee than anything else, but the Witch asks with a strange urgency if Soren's ingested any of her blood. Baffled by the question, Yako shakes her head in negation, since she'd only ever used her uninjured hand to feed Soren anything. The Witch sighs in relief before he starts to briskly close up her scratches.

"Be more careful next time," is what he tells her, clicking his tongue and releasing her when he's done. "A witch's blood can be a source of magic too, and not the kind you want monsters to get a taste for." Brushing his robes off, he'll stand, then examine that Soren's getting along all right one more time, before he nods his head and looks back at Yako questioningly.

"I'd like to stay with him, if that's all right," she says, without prompting, absently rubbing her hand over the tender but now-smoothed skin on the back of her hand. Standing up, she'll go to occupy the chair by the bed, presumably put in place there for visitors and the like. With a nod, and a last injunction not to keep the patient up and call him in case of emergency, the Witch pushes back through the thin curtains giving the cot some thin veneer of privacy. They're alone, again, after a fashion.

[silentsavant]

Witch's blood... monsters taste... These words roll around dangerously in Soren's groggy head, stirring curiosity as to how a witch's blood might spell trouble for a monster to eat. It only serves to remind him of the horror he's becoming, and the pain etches deeper into his expression. Before he knows it, the Witch is gone, and he's left with only the idea that witch blood and monster palates should never mix.

Once more, Soren grows baffled by her insistence to stay by his side. For all his antsy clinginess wrought by desperation and more, she's still a stranger to him, one going far for his sake. It wasn't as though he was ever particularly nice to her, either; why, he attacked her. He's nothing but an imposition to her, an outright danger, and he can't see what she could possibly stand to gain from helping him this way. Perhaps not personal gain, anyway — after all, he's not just a threat to one, but a threat to all, and placating him this way may have helped save a few lives by reducing the number of monsters losing it to the moons. That does derive a collective benefit. The less monsters spilling blood in the city, the better for them. The newcomers don't need to be darkened by an even worse image in the eyes of the populace.

But he's tired, and no matter how he rationalizes this for her, he feels indebted to her sacrifices, if not a little in awe of them. Posture sunken, hands dangling between his legs over the edge of the cot where he can't see them, he pieces together what he wants to say now that the eye of their storm has passed.

"...I've caused you a great deal of trouble tonight," he acknowledges on a brittle voice. "I... Thank you. I don't know what I might have done, had you not come..."

[topslug]

“I’m just glad I was able to help,” Yako says, truthfully. For her, it boils down to something that simple: being in the right place, at the right time, with the right tools, there wasn’t any option but to do the right thing.

Of course, even without that, she would have tried regardless. But if she hadn’t known what might be able to help, if she hadn’t had something to hand in her bag ... things could have gone much worse. She’s of half a mind to ask him if there’s someone who would be looking for him right now, someone who expects to see him come back, but he looks so defeated right now she’s not sure that wouldn’t be rubbing salt into a wound.

“If it was the other way around...” A very real possibility, given everything. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be left alone, myself.”

[silentsavant]

He slumps even more, bangs curtaining his eyes. "I didn't feel that way; not in the moment. All I wanted was... to hide somewhere. Nurse my pain where no one could see me. Deal with it alone." The way he has learned to. The way it has always been... until he made a place for himself among a group of people Ike called his family. "But... I think having some assistance in this... ultimately panned out better."

Even if she got long peeks at his most crushing vulnerabilities. She probably thinks him weaker than she would if they had met under more stable circumstances. She's privy to more wounded parts of him than even some members of the Greil Mercenaries are. Now that she's seen a glimpse of his weakness and he put his trust in her by necessity, the first threads of a bond tie him to her in a secure foundational knot.

[topslug]

Not a lot of people really want to be alone at heart, even when they want to run away, but Yako doesn't contradict what Soren says, nodding solemnly at his words. She's glad she didn't run, and she'll stand by that decision, though it's undoubtedly more embarrassing for Soren.

"It's nice to do things on your own when you can," she muses, "But knowing when to ask for help ... I think that takes a kind of strength too."

Slumping like that brings something else into view, and Yako's expression turns a touch sheepish, turning to the side-table and the small washcloth and basin there that's presumably for personal use. Taking the cloth, she dips a corner of it into the water to dampen it, then turns back to Soren.

"Sorry, but you've still, um. Got some jam on your face and hair. Can I...?" She waves the washcloth vaguely in the air, hoping he'll take her meaning.

[silentsavant]

Oh, he gets it, all right. And the line of his mouth warps into something less dignified because of it. He'd nearly forgotten... He's drunk and sad and tired, okay!?! And kind of enchanted to crave her attentions.

This is really embarrassing, but he also doesn't like having sugary crap all over his face. "...If you don't mind..." he murmurs like his jaw is rusted over. Look. Sometimes, it takes a bit of strength to ask for help.

[topslug]

There, was that so hard, Soren? It only gets easier with practice, you know! The assent, no matter how sullenly given, makes the girl smile.

"Okay. Can you tilt your face back up to me so I can get all of it?" Yako's not completely insensible -- she can guess by now which of the enchantments he's been afflicted with, and she's not above using it a little to her advantage. If previous experience serves, the effects are temporary enough to wear off eventually, unless it's had some strange interaction with her own cooking experiment... well, she hopes that's not the case. If it was harmful, the Witch would have done something about it, right?!

Not that she lets any of those worries show on her face. She'll diligently wipe off the now-tacky jam from Soren's face, working briskly but gently to minimize his discomfort. In doing so, though, it's hard to miss the mark on his forehead -- some kind of brand or tattoo? -- that she'd not paid much attention to earlier.

"...There. All done."

[silentsavant]

His face heats up as though to counter the coolness of the damp cloth while he feels like a helpless child being cared for — not that he's had the experience to actually understand how that feels. He keeps his eyes closed and endures the shame of it, the ticklish commotion inside of his quick-thrumming chest at her careful ministrations. And was he imagining things, or was she trying to wipe off the mark on his forehead...? Ah. That won't come off. It's not raspberry.

When she finishes, he finds he can't look upon her for too long.

"...That's better. Thank you for cleaning up your mess." Well, except for his clothes, but... he'll just have to deal with those later.

[topslug]

Wow, he sure recovered quick if he's already huffing at her like that! Yako can't help but laugh a little as she puts the washcloth off to the side again, recognizing she won't be able to deal with the stuff on his clothes like this.

"Consider it an apology for throwing a pastry at your head." Not that she sounds too apologetic; in the end, that pastry did help, for all the mess it caused. "If I knew the right spell, it probably would have been less embarrassing for both of us, huh?"

She flexes her fingers, absently gazing down at her hand. "... Guess I'll have until from now 'til the next full moon to get better at magic myself."

[silentsavant]

Another ripple of pain splits down the sides of his forearms, causing him to clench his fingers a little in its suddenness. It's a lot duller, though: more of an ache than a slice or a stab.

He considers her last words, mourning his own loss of magical aptitude again. It had been almost as natural to him as walking, and now... just about everything has been thrown off-kilter. What about Yako? "Is learning magic new to you?"

[topslug]

It's not as though it's some great secret, so... "Yes, it is. In my world, the only place magic and monsters exist is in stories."

With the notable exception of the occasional mystery-eating demon, but strictly speaking, he's not of her 'realm' so he doesn't count.

[silentsavant]

He lifts his head a margin, his eyelids doing the same. "Nobody practices it? How strange. Perhaps... it isn't very strong in your world. Magic exists in mine. It can be harnessed. But here, the magic is far stronger... more accessible." He takes a pause to rest himself, to press the tip of his tongue against a tooth just to check if he wasn't hallucinating looseness. He probably was; he can barely feel his front teeth from the doughnut's enchantment to begin with. (The minor painkilling effects are a sweet bonus.)

"I... am a powerful mage." He lowers his head again. "...Was... a powerful mage. Now, I..." He removes his clawed, scaling fingers from between his legs to show his palm, to let it explain for him why he's bereft of those powers. It's safe for her to know. He's explaining this to her for a reason, after all.

[topslug]

A powerful mage that's lost all his magic ... Yako can't even imagine. It's hard to know what to say at this point, so action comes more naturally: she reaches out to hold his hand again, though this time instead of clasping their fingers together she'll cup her fingers under his, to lightly cradle their weight.

"... I don't know very much about Monsters in this world," is what she decides to start with. "But all the ones I've met ... they're just people, like anyone else."

She looks down. "Becoming a powerful mage, it's not something that anyone can do, right? It takes someone who's willing to work hard, and who's intelligent. Someone who can see the way things fit together. You may have lost your magic, but you haven't lost whatever it was in you that let you become a great mage in the first place. I'm sure of it."

[silentsavant]

Her touch is a strange thing, both nerve-wracking and soothing: two opposites. It's like it sparks at his hand and shoots through his blood, to be pumped by his heart. It aches. He wants something.

In a different mood, and perhaps to just anyone else, Soren in all his natural pessimism might have resented her attempts to empathize with him, got the impression of courteous superficiality. She cannot comprehend the gravity of his loss — his losses combined, beyond just this. He has no attachment to magic beyond its utility, particularly in battle. Losing magic is meant an inability to defend himself should things get truly dire. But of course, she couldn't possibly know him after just an hour. And the way his heart is now, he considers her words with it pried a little more open.

"I was also... am also a talented strategist. That is something I never lost... A keen mind. You're right. But to be rendered defenseless here, in a place like this... That is the part I don't like." I'm scared.

[topslug]

Yako's met people who've closed their hearts off before -- both consciously and otherwise. Anyone's capable of it, because of nature or because of their circumstances, and she wonders which it might be for Soren.

"Someone once told me ... to keep someone trapped in a room, you don't need to lock the door. It's enough to make them believe that you have." Someone who considers himself a strategist would understand, right? There's no way she can promise nothing will hurt him here. By all accounts, there's a fair amount of risk that something will; if not others, then he can't even trust himself, it appears. Absently, her thumb strokes the side of his hand.

"I think, if you wanted to, you could learn how to use these to protect, too." It's not an answer likely to give him much peace of mind, she knows, and her expression is troubled as she looks up at him, already expecting his displeasure.

[silentsavant]

She's right; it makes him uneasy. He's not ready to accept these changes, and it shows in the grooves worrying his brow, the taut little line of his mouth as he digests this concept like swallowing acid.

"A prisoner desperate enough to escape will try anything, even the door," he murmurs. "Only someone complacent enough with that answer would fall for that. If I have no magic but I needed to defend myself, of course I would use all else at my disposal. Just..." He doesn't know how to parse his misgivings to a foreigner like her. He settles with, "It's not what I'm used to. Fighting like a savage beast... I simply don't like it."

A tinge of resentment leaks into his tone and he catches onto it. Resentment? It's the laguz, isn't it? Even after allying with them and getting to know individuals on a more case-by-case basis, after all that their race as a whole had deprived him of in the past, he cannot help but wish not to be categorized into something more like them. Like what? Less than human? He still thinks of them this way, doesn't he? Prideful, savage beasts who operate on the principle of might making right. Beorc in all their attention to finer details suit him much better, he thinks, even if they demonstrate hideous flaws of their own. He's not sure just how laguz he necessarily is, but monsters of Aefenglom resemble them in many ways. To be lumped in with them now is... uncomfortable.

[topslug]

Yako catches enough of that resentment to make her frown, cocking her head. If he were only frustrated to be turning into it, it would be one thing, but there’s more to it, isn’t there? Some other reason he dislikes this more than others. She doesn’t withdraw her touch, but there’s a sense she gathers in on herself somehow, instinct prompting her to push against those words.

“I’ve never seen a Monster fight since we came here. Have you?” she asks. Though her tone is still soft, it’s a gentle challenge in a way her voice wasn’t before.

“Do you have Monsters in your world too? Is that why you hate the idea of turning into one so much?”

[silentsavant]

The look he flashes her is enough to reveal that she is onto something, caught off-guard as he is by her clever aim. Why, he might even begin to suspect she could read minds.

...

"I wouldn't call them... monsters... ...but they have been called that. By the most fearful and prejudiced of humans. Of beorc, as... humans as you must understand them to be are called. Humans without animal traits, like tails... wings... These 'monsters' are human, too... Humans who can take on the form of an animal. Laguz, they are called."

It's strange that they don't exist in other worlds. Such a concept hadn't occurred to him until recently. Perhaps they do in some, but not others, he supposed. After all, what was Konoe? And could monsters be another variation of it...? Or is Tellius truly unique? It makes him question other things. About himself, and how he relates to others in this new context. How he might be received should anyone find out.

"So... there are remarkable similarities to... this. Not completely, but..." He yawns. "Excuse me."

[topslug]

Humans with tails and wings, that's still a strange concept for Yako to wrap her head around. Sure, she's met people like that since she came here, but if she thinks about it too much, her head starts to hurt.

"Laguz..." she echoes, committing the name to mind. She's about to ask Soren more about it, but when he interrupts himself with a yawn, her expression softens again, and she shakes her head.

"No, I'm sorry -- your world sounds fascinating, but I really shouldn't be keeping you up with all these questions. You should get some rest."

[silentsavant]

For whatever irrational reason, the thought of sleeping pushes dread through him. When he closes his eyes and falls for the lull of it, his world will fade away, Yako along with it. When he wakes up, where will she be?

But his more rational side kicks that childish fear aside, reminding him that she's not obligated to him to begin with, and that she was kind enough to stay by his side for even this long. He squeezes her hand, the remains of his childishness expelled through that venue of affection, his heart being squeezed along with it. It aches.

"...I should. This horrendous night will be over sooner." A pause, and then he lifts his eyes to hers, the longing present even though he doesn't know what to do with it, or even that he has a forlorn cast to his catlike gaze. "...But... you don't have to leave just..." He covers his next yawn with the back of his wrist and blinks away the sleepiness. "...yet. I will probably... drift off on my own accord. I've exhausted myself."