EVENT - THE BLACK CITY

[faileas]

Event Log: August, The Black City

A STARLESS SKY You feel like you're floating. Around you, colors and sounds and smells swirl as if trapped in a whirlpool, vibrancy and hue ever shifting. The more you watch them, the less solid they are; they only become clear out of the corner of your eye. The area around you begins to feel more solid as well, until your feet are on the ground, the taste of smog and fog heavy in your lungs - and you know one thing, and one thing alone: this is a dream, and an incredibly realistic one at that. Unlike the last time this shared dream happened, only familiar faces of your fellow mirrorbound appear around you; and unlike the last time that flavor of dream happened, those native to the city of Aefenglom are nowhere to be found. Instead, an impossibly tall wall raises in front of you; along it run small windows with people peering from the edges, arrows shimmering with the tell-tale glitter of magic peeking from the darkness, with more figures standing guard or patrolling the top of it. The wall itself is made of a dark, onyx-like stone - it's reflective in the smoothness of its bricks, painting all who look into it in clear darkness, and the effect is similarly found in the wide moat that surrounds the city, the faint sound of a river feeding into it the only thing to hear in the tense silence. Only one massive door stands as the entrance to the city, chains hanging across it with the protective runes of a barrier some of you might be familiar with by now. With a groan the chains begin to pull away, the door lowering across the moat as a bridge, and a party of Witches - for they must be Witches, the pins on their cloaks the same as those found in the Coven in Aefenglom - urges the group inside. Monsters find it easier to obey the orders - compelled to, even - but perhaps that's the safety of the city calling out to you, and nothing more.

I. THE CITY ITSELF While Aefenglom is known for its dusk-hued skies, made of lustrous pinks and purples and blues, this city is dreary to the core. The streets are covered in a perpetual fog, not unlike the city you hail from, but thicker, denser, tinged with the flavor of industrial smog from the factories whose spires you can see in the distance. Magitech lights - lanterns above doors, street posts, flickering in the windows you pass - illuminate everything throughout the entire day, as if the sunshine can't reach through the foreboding fog nor the onyx walls. Even the windows are barred, offering a paranoid protection against the outside world. Doors seem hardier, and each building is reinforced and protected in a way that may feel familiar to those that have encountered the protective magic wards. They're heavier, leaving an almost ominous presence that causes unease to hang just as heavy in the air as the smog. The people of this city are just as dreary as the streets, though they do mill about with the same frequency as any city. Unlike the citizens of the dead Aefenglom that were encountered just the month before, however, these are real, living people. They can be spoken to. They can be touched. They interact with wariness and caution towards the strangers that have been heralded into their walled in world, especially those that show what they presume to be monstrous traits. Because it becomes quickly obvious that the majority of the citizens that answer a call, a question, a touch to gain their attention... They're human. a. OBEY AND SUBMIT Monsters that can be seen on the streets aren't few and far between, however. Their presence is subtle, in the fog and amidst the passing crowds of passing faces, but they're there. On a surface level, most of them seem to be fairly at ease. Passive and unfazed by anyone that tries to interact with them, as if they're disinterested by their mere presence in a way that isn't reflected by their human counterparts. A closer look shows a strained pinch to their faces, a tenseness to their bodies, a glazed look just at the surface of their eyes. Too many attempts to interact with them will cause some humans to emerge from shops, or ask that you leave their business; these are the ones that are... employed, most often seen in the shopping and industrial districts. But their movements are almost robotic in repetition, and they never speak to anyone even when addressed - even when a keen eye might take note of the sturdy leather collars around their necks, reinforced by metal and with visible places to attach a leash. Some in the industrial district can be seen with these leashes, powerful chains to keep them attached to carts, to keep them from swimming down the river, from flying away and out of the black walls of the city. All Monsters present in the city are clothed, though it's the ones on the clearly decorative leashes with the more delicate collars that are the best dressed. They accompany humans throughout the city, the same placid blankness present much like their busier counterparts. These are the aristocrats and their so-called "Bonded," though implying the same tone one would take in Aefenglom here will net a deep set of disgust. Attempting to rouse these Monsters does very little, and may even result in them jerking away and cowering behind their human company. b. GOING ONCE, GOING TWICE At one end of the city is a massive pavilion, one made of the same stone as the wall, giving off the same oppressive foreboding. Humans come and go from this peculiar town square with a casual air, an intent the same as a stroll through the stalls on the market street. Because that's, essentially, what they're doing. Monsters young and old put on display to show their abilities and strengths, tasks that range from the physically demanding to performances of artistic abilities. Some seem to be just at the surface of awareness, their glazed expressions refocusing at times with a sort of strained fear that's visible even at a glance. Many don't even react outside of doing the tasks they're ordered to do, going through the motions as a barker speaks at length about them, their abilities, how much their labor goes for and what they cost. These Monsters are purchased by the humans of the city at each display, many of them never wearing more than their basic clothes and the customary collar, a chain to keep them tied to their station with a generous enough reach. Most come and go with very little struggle, but some... it becomes obvious that they've broken through the surface and are coming up for air for the first time in a long time. Wooden posts where the chains are connected can be heard splintering with the force of their struggle, metal bending under pressure, the anxious energy of something about to happen. But the fights never last long, as attendants wearing Coven pins on their cloaks swoop in to attend to the situation - and many dreamers might notice a familiar Witch filtering in and out of the events, speaking to the auctioneers before departing for another selling. It's difficult to recall their face later, no matter how clearly one saw it before, but one thing is certain: while not necessarily prim and proper, this person is someone with a steel spine and a sharp eye. And they saw you, just the same as you saw them. c. AT BECK AND CALL With enough observation, or perhaps even experience, it becomes apparently how this is happening: any command or order issued to a Monster is taken to the most literal, and Monsters have no choice but to obey. Many Monsters employed as workers are so deep in the compulsion that they won't obey any additional commands, unless it comes from the person they have this most warped "Bond" with. Others will accept commands from anyone, even the mirrorbound Witches that have come into their city. Even the most asinine command is one that they'd obey, and one that maybe even you'll obey, too. Having a friend playfully tell them to shut up? They're forced into silence until told that they can speak again. Told to jump off a bridge? Best make sure you specify that you don't want them to jump off of a very high one, if you really want them gone that badly. Handstands, cartwheels, jumping jacks - but also, hurting someone, hurting themselves... one has to hope the Monster in question has a strong willpower, or it's a command that goes against one that's already been issued to them. But something of note is that mirrorbound Monsters of Aefenglom will find that they're also effected by this, though they're better able to fight the compulsion. Those with weaker constitutions may need help snapping out of the command, especially as a powerful command will be painful to fight against, and Witches will have to watch their words. Take care that your friends, your peers, the strangers you've arrived with, don't find themselves attending the auction block - it's a very real possibility in this place, with an unknown Monster unattended and uncollared. It should all be harmless, though. After all, this is only a dream... isn't it? No NPCs are available for this log - unlike with the midsummer dream, they're nowhere to be seen. No Nessie, no Mhairi, no one. Which means that there's no one to counsel them as they find themselves exploring the setting, and discovering that they're just as susceptible as the people in the dream...

II. THE COVEN Unlike with Aefenglom, there isn't a proper Parliament. A little investigation will lead to the discovery that the Coven of this city is the main governing body, which may explain a great deal about why there's such a massive presence of magic here. Located at the center of town - all roads lead to the Coven, a massive stone building with sharp looking spires - the grounds are notable in that there's nothing even remotely similar to the Looking-Glass House that everyone has come to know, despite its secrets. Should one gain entry to the main building of the Coven itself, they'll find that all the mirrors are within. Their main focuses of magic, rather than the more broad spectrum/free-to-study policy that Miss Nessie encourages, are enchantment and abjuration - for control, primarily. They're also heavy studiers of runes, visible across the city and with an even heavier influence in the wards of the Coven itself. They are, regardless, fairly welcoming to eager young minds wanting to learn. So long as the Monsters are left behind. But who's to say that you can't disguise a Monster? a. STUDY TIME Those curious about the Coven's library are welcome to investigate it for themselves, the Witches all smiling faces as they usher their visitors in. But they'll soon find that they aren't really left to their own devices; a member of this Coven branch is practically around every corner, and while they try to be subtle about their observation it becomes quickly obvious that they're not there for their own studies. They're stationed around the library to ensure that their guests don't make off with any of their resources, or try to get into any forbidden sections of the expansive library. Where the Coven library of Aefenglom - as well as the Undermael College's library - plays devil's advocate, with accounts and studies conducted from both sides of the anti-Monster sentiment and attempt to expand upon outdated knowledge... these ones have a decidedly anti-Monster lean in every regard. Any attempts to find otherwise will be met with bemused amusement by the Coven members, and a note that they don't carry such things here. After all, they're certainly not Aefenglom. They would never carry anything that could put their citizens at risk in such a way. Nevermind those horrid Bonds that Bell goes on and on about - it's no wonder that they're always at odds with their government. If only they'd wisen up, hm? Perhaps these new arrivals would like to transfer to their branch, instead, to better guarantee their growth. b. THROUGH THESE HALLS If one manages to slip away from the library without having somebody tailing them, they'll soon discover that the chilled atmosphere doesn't simply linger in the city itself. The halls are cold, the runes unwelcoming unlike the homey feel that Nerissa Bell's charms offer. Certainly home isn't perfect - and there's no denying that the sentiment is shared by many - but the smiling faces of the Black City's branch are at odds with the feel of their magic, the caged in weight pressing down on everything, including your shoulders. The halls are dimly lit by flickering lights, enchanted lanterns with a constantly burning yellow-white fire. Plenty of nooks and dark corners afford even large Monsters the ability to sneak through the halls, should they be snuck in for better investigation with their peers. Take care, however; there are Witches coming and going constantly. An empty room might lead to a study, a classroom, a bedroom. Locked doors don't yield easily, even in a dream, and may need to be abandoned. But a terrible, foreboding feeling emanates from large double doors that are rigidly locked. Hushed voices speak from the other side, and it's almost like the cold feeling that spreads throughout the Coven itself finds its source behind those doors. Periodically, sounds of pain escape from within - but they die out to whimpers, then silence, before they can ever get too loud. A crisp voice speaks only one word, clear even through the wood and the magic: "Again."

III. THE DARK UNDERBELLY There's always more to a city than the streets that you can see at the surface level. If you're looking, it's not hard to spot the signs. There are runes that mark walls and cobblestone streets like graffiti, and a studied eye might realize that they're not the same sort that have subjugated the more monstrously inclined of the Black City. These are intended to dispel magic, and the moment that a member of the Coven notices it - it's swept up as soon as possible, scrubbed clean or scorched off with magic. People take to the streets in small groups, standing their ground and raising their voices above the muffled din of a foggy city. They carry chains and collars that have been broken, but many of them are undeniably human as they confront something that has so obviously become the norm. Break the chains! they demand. Break the spell! Monsters go missing from the auctions with a well-placed distraction - perhaps you're one of the individuals being freed from the pavilion, or someone that's realized that there are people coming and going through the crowds, wearing the same cloaks as the Coven but without their iconic pins, dressed as aristocracy, from all walks of life... smuggling the Monsters away at the first chance. a. PARTY TO PROTEST Not every uprising can be swept under the rug at first sign, however. Witches take to the streets, looking surprised to see the mirrorbound arrivals from Aefenglom - and it's not the same wariness that most would give them. This is the calculating eye of someone assessing whether the person they've met will help or hinder, and some of them decided that you're to be help. Enchanted slips of paper are pushed into hands, runes are taught as quickly as possible in a hushed whisper and explanation, locations given out to Witch and Monster alike with a word of caution. Use the paper on a surface, any surface, and you'll see. Use the runes to break the compulsion - you might have to do it twice, thrice, however many times it takes to dispel the magic. Don't be caught. Using the enchantment as instructed - pressing the paper against a wall, the ground, a post, anything - will result in glowing runes overtaking the surface. It's the same as the runes that are taught to Witches, used to ward against the magic in place just as much as it is to create a statement of protest. If one goes to a location that is whispered to them, they'll find that they've joined an organized protest. It's small in size, a mixture of Witches and unleashed Monsters. Due to the size and frequency it's easy enough to find them, but the guards are very quick in putting them down or hiding any traces of them from the public eye, despite the protesters' best attempts. There's nothing amiss in the city, and nothing for citizens to worry about. b. REST AND REGROUP But they can't find every source of the resistance. It isn't hard for dreamgoers to find themselves swept up by these protesters. Any help is welcome, and those that show an inclination towards helping the Monsters of the city - or their Monsters that they know, regardless people that shouldn't suffer this way - will be taken into the fold. Entrances to their secret routes can be found in places that are hidden in plain sight. A storefront tended to by a Monster with eyes in sharp clarity when they look up from their robotic work welcomes a group of people in and behind the counter, to where a hatch door is hidden in the floor. A manhole cover is pried up, where people are smuggled down below. A portal is prepared, a different and darker destination on the other side. They all lead to the same location. The sewers are vast beneath this city. Much like the labyrinth that many faced in the Midsummer nightmare, it almost seems winding, endless, and the water is cold when it's crossed. But even with the stank of the runoff, the musty and moldy air, there's never the sense of dread, of death. Instead, there are signs of when you're going the right way - runes that shimmer only when looking at them out of the corner of your eye, or when you know what to look for. Three stars together - sometimes overlapping, sometimes circling each other, but always three, and always five points. While they appreciate the help, the mirrorbound aren't invited in by the revolutionaries to the main hideout. But it becomes obvious by charm bracelets, necklaces, piercings, tattoos, embroidery and stitching on shirts; this symbol, and its presence, is integral to their world beneath the city. But many are welcome to mingle throughout their circle. In the sewers, the shops, the small park where a rune gives secret announcements to those who know where to look for it on the third bench, even the homes of people that certainly don't look like revolutionaries, let alone anyone that would be a protector.

Welcome to the Black City! As a reminder, this takes place on August 18th - or rather, 3AM on the August 19th, much like the midsummer nightmare. If you have any questions or need any clarifications, you can ask them here! And as always, while we do encourage you to use this log, you can feel free to thread things out on your own log or elsewhere. Characters are allowed to try and start fights in the city, create prompts based on the information given instead of using the ones given exactly, and poke their noses where they don't belong - we encourage it, actually. But regardless of what you choose, we hope you have a good time!

And as a final parting note: If a character dies in the dream, they'll simply reappear at the beginning rather than waking up like normal.

Comments

[proficience]

And I am Dazai. My friend's name is Oda.

It's nice to meet you, Soren-kun! [He considers holding out a hand for a shake, as a friendly gesture, but it's clear that this man is -- well, he appears to be a dragon. Or getting there, anyway.]

How long have you been here? How many of these dreams have you experienced?

[silentsavant]

[Soren's reserved demeanor doesn't warm up in response to geniality. He glances down, as though turning inward, thoughts a little deeper and more nuanced than simply recalling the time.]

I've been here since the first of us emerged from the Looking-Glass House. The dreams seem to correspond with the moons' fullness, and with the moons, our progressive changes... [His gaze trails to the horizon shrouded partway by branches, a skyline of smog and towers set before a wall that reflects only shadows.] This would be my fourth dream. I missed out on the very first, however. And the first time I shared dreams... I missed out on meeting a dear friend of mine. Ike, is his name. Someone told me of him. Now, he's nowhere to be seen.

[His tone has sunken somber, trouble worked into the subtle worry of his brow. When he turns to Dazai, the pain softens, covered up, but not enough.]

I suppose we're both looking for someone. This Oda fellow... Did he emerge from the mirrors, too? Or...

[proficience]

[Oh, the first group of arrivals, then. Interesting. Dazai will have many questions for him, but he'll wait to ask them all. Asking one at a time would be the intelligent move, so as to not scare him away.

He can't help but notice his expression change as he talks, and when he hears of his dear friend whom he'd lost, he feels a pang of concern flood over him. He's bonded with Oda, so he can sense that he's still around, but -- if he were to leave, again...]

Do you believe Ike is no longer here, then? Or are you holding out hope that you'll see him again?

[His lips curl into a frown and he sighs, stepping forward to gently rest a hand on Soren's arm.]

Odasaku emerged from the same mirrors as I had. We arrived here together. Though, back home, he's no longer alive. [He glances away toward the horizon Soren had looked to, and then adds:] It may be selfish of me to admit, but I don't want to leave here. Not while he's alive.

[silentsavant]

That... is difficult for me to say. I...

[Instinctively, Soren backs away from the gesture, a brief flash of alarm popping in his eyes. But it wasn't so abrupt a recoil that his hand missed him. Instead, Soren remains ill at ease with this closeness, ready to protect himself should Dazai mean harm in any way.

But what he says quickly fascinates him.]

To be able to meet people who were once beyond the curtain of death... This truly is a strange world, isn't it?

[He can understand that sort of selfishness. If Ike had died prior to this, he would most certainly want to stay here with him, even if he has to lose his magical talents and shift painfully into a monster in exchange. He would sacrifice even more to that end. After all, Ike is more "home" to him than any land.]

And... he's perfectly intact? His memories? His mind? His body? [Well, besides the monster changes, of course.]

[proficience]

[Dazai notices Soren instinctively attempt to back away at the touch, inwardly wondering if he'd always been that cautious, or if the multiple dreams he'd had shifted him to be that way. Either way, he makes a point to smile again, trying to show that he means no harm.

He'd essentially vowed to himself that he wouldn't kill here, unless absolutely necessary. He's trying to continue to be a good person, after all.]

Strange is a decent word to describe it, yes.

[Pretty much every day, upon waking up, Dazai wonders if Oda will remain here, and for how long. Truth be told, he's not ready to say goodbye, and he won't be for quite some time.

He tries to not let that smile leave his face, though, to ensure Soren remains at ease.]

Yes. He recalls his death, as well. I couldn't imagine that, myself. If I'd died and still had those final moments of my life remain in my mind, that is. [He sighs.] He's an incredibly strong man.

[silentsavant]

[His smile does little to lower his guard around him. Soren tilts his covered shoulder away to a slight degree as if to suggest he doesn't appreciate the touch, not quite liking the prickly sensation it brings if only because of its unfamiliarity: both the touch and the person administering it. But he appears thoughtful, most of his attention hovering above the topic they now find themselves discussing.]

Hmm...

[Soren could not begin to imagine how odd it would be to come back from an experience like death, if only because death has never come for him, no matter how much he used to flirt dangerously with it on battlefields and on missions. It's a personal acquaintance, a necessary one by nature of his profession, but nothing he's ever come to truly know. It's true that it might take someone with a strong mentality to return from it, but...]

Perhaps coming back from such a death is more like... waking up from a vivid nightmare? Or losing consciousness in the midst of a fight, only to wake up fuzzy-headed and in bandages, but with your life intact? If that's how it is, perhaps it might even feel like he's never died. Of course, you've probably asked him these sorts of questions yourself, so he might be dealing with quite a bit more than simply 'waking up'.

[Like the knowledge of his death, comprehending how it impacted everyone around him. How would it be if, say, Commander Greil came back from the dead...? How would he feel about it? He had already shouldered such innumerable and unspeakable burdens in life that death itself would be comparatively simple to overcome. No, it would probably be harder for his children and close comrades to come to terms with his return from a grim condition once thought to be permanent, as overjoyed as they would be to see him alive again. Greil would accept that his time had already come for him. Soren had accepted it long ago. Ike is the commander now. That's simply how it is, and how it should be.

...

Greil would be proud to see who his son had become, wouldn't he...? Provided Ike is okay out here, not lodged somewhere in between these dream realms long enough for it to be fatal. But if death's hold itself is tenuous here, then perhaps even that won't be enough to extinguish him for good? It's quite a lot to consider, but this last bit is a small comfort he can be grateful for.]

[proficience]

[Thankfully, Dazai is adept enough at reading the body language of others to get the hint and pull his hand back. He still smiles, however, since he truly believes he has no reason not to. Even if this topic at hand is a bit on the less-than-pleasant side, it's not necessarily the other man's fault.

Plus, Dazai oftentimes receives some sort of pleasure from discussing sad or morose things.]

Perhaps. [As he listens, however, his smile fades some, as he starts to ponder exactly what his friend could have been thinking upon his initial arrival here, his revival, of sorts. He'd had questions for him, sure, but even then -- receiving the reenactment in words is always going to differ from actually experiencing coming back to life.]

To this day, I still believe that he shouldn't have died when he did. It was an unfortunate situation for many reasons. A setup had happened, to put it simply, and -- [He sighs, now thinking back to when he'd heard that those orphans Oda had cared for were killed.] children that he truly loved were brutally murdered. The desire for revenge is what ultimately took his life.

But -- [He refocuses on the other man, his expression softening some.] in some ways, he'd made me stronger. I'm beyond grateful to be able to see him again. Enough about me, though. This Ike -- what was his relationship to you, if you don't mind me asking?

[silentsavant]

[A 'setup' that involved the death of children...? These are some interesting circumstances that whet curiosity about what sort of a life these people must have led. He listens with full attention and bright eyes, though the rest of his face remains unmoved.

Then, he brings up Ike. The placidity ripples. His focus falls again, pain worked into his brow, and his lips quirk into a very fine, rueful smile.]

In short, he is my... only friend. I could leave it at that, but alone it fails to express all that we have been through together. What he means to me. I owe him my life. And, in turn, I've dedicated mine to his. [He looks at Dazai again, traces of that pain softened with the resolve that displaces it.] That is why it is so important for me to find him.

[He's lost without a purpose. Without someone he can rely on, and someone who can rely on him. Maybe he's going into too much detail before someone he just met, but... in a strange way, it feels good to let someone know that Ike is his world after spending so long in a foreign one that saw fit to cleave them apart, over and over again, so it seems.]

[proficience]

[Only friend.

Those two simple words cause Dazai to let out a soft gasp, his hand hovering over Soren's arm once again. But he doesn't let it fall; he'd read the body language, he knows that's off-limits. However, hearing that Ike was his only friend resonates with him so much, that --

That he's at a loss for words for a good few moments, something that is a rare occurrence for him. When he comes up with what to say, his voice is softer than before.]

I'll help you find him. Describe what he looks like, how he acts, anything that could help me. [He pauses and finally allows his hand to fall to his side.] I know how you feel. I'm sure I'll find Odasaku again; we're bonded, so he's around -- I'm certain of that. But from what you've told me, you didn't have the opportunity to do that with Ike. [He takes a breath.] While that will make finding him more of a challenge, it's a challenge I accept.

[And as Dazai is the type to bounce back from a few moments of feeling slightly down, he smiles and his voice returns to one a bit more chipper.]

Before I go on the search, tell me about some of the things you miss the most about him.

[silentsavant]

[Soren seems mildly spellbound, as though he isn't quite used to processing someone's willingness to help him. It's not so much a simple willingness to help as that seed of sympathy buried beneath the gesture, like it's possible that the desire had been germinated from recognizing a part of Soren within himself. It's a rare connection. And even rarer is trusting in the genuineness of someone's helpfulness if it doesn't somehow benefit them. Thus, he clings to the tatters of a suspicious nature he has difficulty casting off, having lived a life where such doubt in the sincerity of others had protected him against ugly intentions.

However, this suspicion contests against seeing and feeling how his plight impacts this near-stranger. It's more disbelief that someone would feel so personally about wanting to achieve his goal, his happiness. He'd asked others about whether they'd seen him or not, but nobody responded quite like this before. And then, Dazai asks him a question like that. The cold shield he wears before others cracks in half. After such a long absence, after all the slow agony he has gone through in this world where the solid but tender sense of identity he had so painstakingly built in only a few years crumbles with each passing day, of the hollow space carved into his heart that can only be filled by one person... It chokes him up. He swallows. His eyes shine. He takes a moment to find the stability to speak, but when he does, it's delicate, but already broken and wet with fathomless sorrow that never gets a chance to breathe.]

How can I begin to describe...? [He shakes his head.] Everything. I miss everything about him. Even the smallest, most insignificant things, such as... the clarity of his eyes, or the way his stomach growls on cue every time someone mentions mealtime. The look concentrated furrow of his brow that tells me my explanations have gotten too complicated, but he's trying to understand. How he would check up on me when no one else thought to...

[He watches as, in the distance, a plump, well-dressed woman leads a transformed turnskin around on a leash. Soren could not be more forlorn, more wistful.] And if he were here, he would be livid at the way monsters are treated. That this world reeks of intolerance for other races, too. His face would darken. He would be causing a scene, most likely. Getting into trouble for standing up for his beliefs. Wherever there is discord, my hopes start to rise. But then, I don't hear him. [Here, his gentle smile breaks through, not enough to light up his face, but give it a glow intimate like candlelight. The longer the speaks, the more character it takes.] I can imagine him, though. He would inspire hope... The courage to stand up and fight with him. He always had this uncanny ability to draw people of all backgrounds, even those with longstanding prejudices, to rally behind him. You wouldn't think it at first, meeting him. He admits he's awkward, better at swinging a sword than holding a conversation. But I think his honest, down-to-earth nature is a major part of his universal charm. And... I always know I can believe him. He always means exactly what he says. People like that... They're hard to find.

[...oh. Right. A bit embarrassed for just how unexpectedly long he prattled on about his feelings and Ike, he flicks the winds out of the warm internal horizons his gaze had been sailing for and remembers the course their conversation had been heading with a soft clearing of his throat.] As for appearances. He is rather tall, now. A muscular build. His hair is... [His fingers fly to the ribbon drawing his ulster cape closed, to readjust the vivid blue feather adorning it to its proper position in the front.] This shade. Exactly. And he likes to wear a cloth headband. In all likelihood, whatever he wears will be in tatters, or at least poorly maintained. And based on the dream described to me, I think it is reasonable to believe he is a witch, but... that theory cannot be concluded until I meet him again.

[proficience]

[If Dazai weren't the type to read others' expressions and mannerisms well, thanks to his work history, he would be slightly concerned with the change in demeanor that Soren has shown here. But, he's able to tell that it's simply because he'd offered to help find his only friend.

A part of him would hope that someone out there would help Oda if he himself would vanish from this world. Though, an even bigger part of him would hope that Oda would make a few other friends, at the very least, before that would happen.

Being someone's only friend is a responsibility that many probably couldn't bear, Dazai thinks.

He listens to Soren's every word, nodding slowly all the while to show that he's paying careful attention. It's evident that he and Ike were inseparable, as close as can be, and honestly -- so many memories of those two weeks immediately following Oda's death flood through his mind and he has to take a deep breath to prevent himself from becoming choked up, too. Oda and Ike sound incredibly similar, even down to the 'means exactly what he says' part of Soren's speech.

If anything, Dazai now feels compelled to keep Soren in his mind and hopefully, in time, befriend him.]

Blue, huh? [His voice is admittedly shaky there, and he takes another breath.] I won't be able to miss him, then. [He smiles again.]

You know -- Ike sounds very selfless. He and Odasaku have that in common. [The opposite of how Dazai used to be, but he won't admit that.] It's a very admirable trait.

[silentsavant]

He is. He embodies everything that comes to mind when one thinks of a hero. ...Admittedly, I wish he would think of himself a little more at those times when he throws himself into danger without a second thought, but perhaps that is my own selfishness speaking. I simply want him to keep living.

[And speaking of that, he has been talking excessively about himself and Ike, the scales of their conversation imbalanced in his favor. Besides, he is a little more curious now than he was before.]

Odasaku... I have only the sparsest impression of him, but I would like to meet him. Is there anything else I should know when keeping my senses peeled for him?

[proficience]

[I simply want him to keep living.

That sentence hits Dazai in the heart, and his lips shift into a deep frown. That's all he'd wanted from his friend, as well, but --

Things didn't work out that way.]

Let me tell you something, Soren-kun. Odasaku -- shouldn't be alive. I'm not sure what this world is capable of, in terms of resurrection and such, but he's alive here. Back home, he'd been gone for over four years. I was the last person he'd spoken to, the last person he'd -- [He sighs. There's no need to continue this thought. Too depressing.]

I wanted to prevent him from running off to his death, but he refused to listen. I suppose in that case he had done what your friend tended to do, only it caused his demise.

Just keep an eye out for a man with red-brown hair and, I assume, the beginning of horns.

[silentsavant]

[Over four years... Soren's eyes remain wide as he's told all of this— warned this? It's not something he likes to hear, especially when Ike is nowhere within easy reach and his safety is anything but guaranteed. Tension works into his tight lips. What if...

No. What good is worrying all the time? As long as he remains vigilant and focused on locating him, he might come to understand soon enough. A sharp puff of bitterly amused breath leaves him.]

If only he could have been thinking of who he'd leave behind. But that's a hero for you...

[And he's lucky Ike didn't die all those times he came heart-stoppingly close. Well and truly fortunate, and this is the type of moment he can really appreciate that.]

[proficience]

[He shakes his head at that response, that comment -- It was clear that Oda had thought of who he'd leave behind when he'd left that day. His final words to Dazai had proven that.]

He knew who he was leaving behind.

[Smiling slightly, he continues, though the tone of his voice remains about the same.]

And his death -- was the result of a set-up on my former boss's part. It was a true mess, honestly.

[silentsavant]

It sounds quite complicated. [And could use a bit of context to illuminate the situation better.] What sort of work did you do?

[proficience]

[He jolts back slightly, his expression a mix of sheepishness and sternness. He'd said too much already, and should be careful not to state anything else about what he'd done for work.

Not that he's even in the same world anymore; honestly, even if he'd stated his exact position, no harm could really befall him.]

I was a negotiator. [The sheepishness vanishes from his face.] Of sorts.

[silentsavant]

[Soren observes his abrupt change in expression, how it closes up so suddenly as though he means to conceal. His own gaze sharpens in interest, and he uses his words to dissect further meaning from him.]

Interesting. [But his reaction was more so. He crosses his arms.] Was it in the realm of business? Politics? The law? Or perhaps an organization a little less sanctioned by society? If you think I'm here to judge past professions, I have absolutely no room to. I dealt mostly in the taking of lives, myself.

[He says this so calmly, so passively, as though telling him the weather forecast. It's nothing he feels the need to bury or hide.]

[proficience]

The latter.

[He'd already begun to dig that hole, so he finds no need to not answer that, at least. But he'll make sure to spin the conversation back to Soren right after.]

I've taken more lives than I'd like to admit. I will say, however -- that Odasaku's words had changed me. I try to avoid killing anyone nowadays.

[silentsavant]

Were they his... last words?

[He'd asked out of sheer curiosity, a genuine interest in another person's life and his relationship to another. Not for any kind of information that can be used, which is usually his purpose in asking questions. But now that he's said it, he wonders if it wasn't improper to ask, if it wouldn't be more poking at old wounds. Guilt shadows his features as he averts his eyes in shame.]

...Sorry. Maybe that was inappropriate.

[...But maybe it's not so bad now that he's alive? For a moment, he'd almost forgotten in the grave air that had lingered between them before.]

[proficience]

They were. [A pause.] He had a few other things to say, but -- mainly guidance for me. I'd felt lost at that moment, genuinely unsure of what to do, how to keep going.

[He sighs.]

It was inappropriate, but that doesn't mean I necessarily mind. I've learned a lot about you today, after all.

[He halfway considers holding his hand out for a shake, but recalls how Soren was not fond of any contact before, so he opts not to.]

Anyway -- I should head off and try to search for your friend, some.

[silentsavant]

[For a flickering moment, Soren thinks to join him instead, compelled to prolong his company by this awful sense that once they part ways, he will resume his numb existence of solitude and continue navigating a city that fears him as much as it seeks to oppress him. It's as though this new presence is a spark of light he'd fed his greatest feelings to, now a steady glow he yearns to follow in the darkness because it promises to reflect the sole source of warmth that radiates within him, warming him with the recognition and deep affinity that yes, he has someone he cares about. Dazai knows this about him, the single most important thing about him, the only thing that truly matters to the mage-turning-dragon. Ike is his reason for everything.

He may not comprehend just how deep these currents run, but the point is that he is aware. Maybe he isn't really quite looking for Dazai's companionship itself, but his sympathy, someone who knows and is invested even a little in how he feels. Someone to acknowledge that yes, he is a human being no matter how many scales he has, no matter what kind of past he shoulders, and he deserves to be regarded as a fellow pulse with a mind and heart all his own.

But he doesn't. They could cover more ground apart. They're both monsters. Moreover, he is a rare dragon. He shouldn't attract even more unwarranted attention to Dazai than necessary.]

Very well. [He gives a long nod, more a short bow than anything else to communicate his respect. The thinnest of smiles lifts his features.] I will keep watch for yours. Be careful, out here.

[proficience]

[If Dazai could read minds, he'd offer a few more words of support. Even if they'd only be along the lines of 'we'll meet again,' they'd probably ease Soren's mind a little. But, as it stands, vampires are not mind readers, so Dazai just watches the other man for a few moments, and once he hears those words, nods.

He doesn't bow, but his expression is serious, with a hint of warmth behind his slight smile. He's fully intending on crossing paths again, hopefully with the good news that he'd heard about Ike's whereabouts. As impossible as that may seem, he'd like to find out some information.

He'd like the same if he couldn't find his own closest friend, after all.]

Take care.

[With a casual wave, he turns around and heads off, carefully, ensuring he won't be seen in the shadows.]