☆ Event: A Tale of Two Cities

[faileas]

Event Log: September, A Tale of Two Cities

I. THE TRIP OUT On Septeril 5th, those who've agreed to go as dignitaries to Dorchacht will meet with Nerissa Bell in the Coven's foyer. Given the group is a little large, and the boat they've procured for the voyage would be a little crowded with all of them on it, she suggests there be two groups: the first one will go now and will return around the middle of the month, while the second will depart a few days after the first group returns, just to give them some breathing room. a. DIGNITARY: THE SHIP Those joining Nessie are led to the docks, where an old ship is being scrapped down, barnacles removed and hull shined to perfection. Sailors call to and fro from on board, buckets of water thrown off the side away from the docks and there's a tingle of nervous excitement from the gathering crowds come to wish the dignitaries and ambassadors a bon voyage. She's of a medium size, able to hold her crew and half of the assigned dignitaries with little trouble, and from top to bottom the moose-like Faun of a captain calls her a seaborn miracle; short of a sea wyrm, she's never faltered nor fled the waves, but he'll admit that she's been more a fishing boat than anything the past couple years. Judging from the way his tuffed tail lashes in excitement, he's thrilled to be out on a real voyage again -- even if it's to those notoriously unfriendly blokes 'round the corner of the map, haven't been in decades time and they've always been up their own arses about this and that. While dignitaries are supposed to relax the best they can on the four day trip, the captain doesn't seem to mind offering work to those interested in learning the way of the sea or with the know-how already, eagerly asking the Mirrorbound about their experiences beyond the glass... much more than he is about talking about himself outside of his ship, who he loves a great deal and sings the praises of up and down the hour, through sea shanty and spoken word. His large antlers don't seem to get in the way of his work nor bar him from getting in and out his quarters, but watch out! They are large and they do hurt. All's not well going to and from Dorchacht, though, as while the waters are safer than the land by far, there's plenty of dangers within the deep: Infected Merrow swim in the shallows, singing sweetly from rocks that jut out at the shore, and some more adventurous ones try their luck closer to the boat too. The captain's Navigator, a Witch with just as rowdy an attitude if more polite a tone, can manage a deafening spell on the ship to keep any from falling seaward, but asks that those who can to rid the ship of those terrible pests, whether by cannon, magic, or something else similarly ranged. Oh, it'd be perfectly alright if they killed them, plenty of them out here in the sea and growing ever more, but if they simply want to scare them off then by all means! There's also all manner of sea beasts as well, from krakens on the smaller side to the mentioned sea wyrms earlier, though the captain'll say that they're just babies compared to the mother he'd faced last year -- still troublesome little bastards, best put down before they're drowned themselves, but nothing to turn tail at. Outside of these... troubles... there's disorderly sailors of Monster and Witch alike, the former being compromised primarily of Turnskin and Faun for heavy lifting, with a Harpy in the crow's nest to help with speed, and the latter being those specializing in Divination and Astrology for directions, as well as some elemental manipulation from the Evocation course. Unlike the proper Coven trained, they seem like they're a little more unconventional with their magics, using "shortcuts" and combining spells to great effect. When they're not on the clock as it were they enjoy a great deal of ale, howling stories and song, pushing each other around whilst the journey's bright and startlingly serious when things turn south. Be careful you don't get in a fight, or perhaps you'd like to show your stuff in a little competition: They're willing to do anything to pass the time. b. ESPIONAGE: THE DEVICE Upon hearing that there are some who would be interested in investigating the device that Mhairi mentioned, a young Witch opens up the room it's being stored in now to allow them a chance to check it out. They warn that it isn't particularly cooperative, but maybe those with some knowledge of magitech - or their world's equivalent - might be able to help? While not exactly the largest device around, it's one that stands out. Something resembling a Tesla coil stands atop the piece of tech, tall enough to almost reach the ceiling of the rather tall room, and various dials and knobs and gauges adorn the outside of it. Those who are perceptive to magic - training in detection spells, or who have a good sense for it, or even a sixth sense for something poised to happen - will be able to note that there's a sort of... presence in the room. It continues to build up, the more people that come in to investigate. Anyone that tinkers with it, has active magitech on their person, or even uses magic in it, only help to build the sensation. And then, when enough Mirrorbound of both the Witch and Monster persuasion are in the room - A whirring noise fills the room, as the device comes to life. There isn't any time to vacate the room, because whether it was an intentional thing to activate the teleporter or not, it's activated. The intention of using it for travel to Dorchacht remains embedded in it, and from one moment to the next, the group in the room find themselves not in the Coven, but in the midst of trees. All around you is the forest just beneath the cliffs outside of Dorchacht. In the distance, if one looks hard enough, they might be able to spot the Black City itself. Besides the storage room of the Coven vanishing in a flash of light and electricity, the device is absent, too. Some of its smaller parts can be found scattered in the craggy grass at your feet, in the roots of trees, as if it completely fell apart the moment that the magic was activated. Whatever you had on your person, when you left? It's all that you have, now. And there's no way back from here. (Notes: Some small reminders - the boats take 2 days to reach Dorchacht, meaning they take 2 days to come back as well, and the teleportation device used by the espionage team is a one-time use only. The espionage team will be able to return to Aefenglom at the end of the month courtesy of some inside help, using a similar device that managed to bring them there in the first place. The Watches can be used on the ship, but are prone to static and dropping calls. Communication is possible from Dorchacht, though voice and video both feel a little muffled.)

II. DORCHACHT It's déjà vu. 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. Those from Aefenglom may recognize familiar faces, and they might find themselves looking twice at you, as if some part of them remembers you as well. Something seems... off, however. There are fewer Monsters in the streets than there were in the dream, though it isn't too hard to catch a glimpse of one here and there. The streets even seem a little more cleaned up than they once were, as one makes their way down them. At the heart of the city, dignitaries will be brought to the Coven. There, they're greeted by a slender and elegant woman, eyes bright and clever, but just as sharp as the red-lined smile that she offers her visitors. "Nerissa Bell," she begins, tone polite if clipped. There's the sense of a woman who won't waste words from her person, and she turns her eyes towards the dignitaries. "You must be the charges she spoke of. Mirrorbound, they call you?" A shallow inclination of her head, barely called respectful, as she smiles wider, in a way that would be kind if knives were made to be dull. "A pleasure. I am Morgana Drummond, head of the Coven here, and I welcome you to my city of Dorchacht, the safest haven against the Cwyld across all of our poor Geardagas." a. THE COVEN Morgana Drummond gives them a quick tour of their facilities, speaking lightly of the curriculum they have here that differs from Aefenglom's own (more of a focus in manipulation spells, be it the sort of commands that have become such a familiar sight to things such as perception and "paths" that can be seen through scrying, the other areas of practice more of "extra" than essentials) as well as allowing them to peek in on some lessons taking place. They won't be able to interact, but it is admittedly of a higher feel than what Aefenglom asks, though it's simply the seriousness of the atmosphere giving that impression. After showing them to where they'll be staying within the Coven's hospitality as well as mentioning the areas of their infirmary, library, and welcoming the Witches to try a hand at their lessons, she and Nerissa part from the characters as a whole to discuss the business of the month. There is a notable increase in guards, both around Morgana's person even within the Coven's walls, as well as the building itself. They seem to be in the business of keeping people on a kind of "railroaded" layout of the Coven building, but can be distracted for a quick peek -- the real help comes from those with triple stars hidden in plain sight, beneath the brims of hats and worn as idly jewelry and easily missed charms. These sympathizers will actively seek those out to speak with them, to let them know that even here there are those that would like to see change brought to Dorchacht, and assist in entering places that Mirrorbound otherwise would not be able to enter. Such as the library here, which contain higher level spells including the enchantments specific to the city walls. The history is just as muddled as it is in the later mentioned public library, the "when"s being vague and the like, but depicts Drummond's rise as the head of the Coven: She came to Dorchacht on a ship hailing from Aefenglom along with a number of other Witches and rose above the rest to become the esteemed leader she is now. Without her, many of the text will agree, Dorchacht would not be as it is now. Those with any notable signs of infection may be asked to step aside and allow Dorchacht's Witches to give them a check up -- better safe than sorry -- and this goes for Witches and Monsters alike. They'll be brought to the double doors that were so heavily secure within the dream, whether they'd like to be or not, and escorted inside. b. THE CITY Unlike the dream, things seem to be more... well-behaved. Auctions have been moved from the pavilion and in its place are genuine vendors to purchase from: Food, clothing, toys, trinkets, protective spell scrolls, all manners of things. There's still Monsters around, a little more tidy than before, but they hold the same stares they had in the dream, pinched expression and disinterested in conversation. There are signs that lead way to auctions if one is truly curious to see the extent of that terror, to gain insight on the situation there, but tailing someone might be hard within the twisting turns of the new bazaar. Another notable part of the city that can be accessed by those dealing in espionage include the barracks if they pose as hopefuls to join their ranks as handlers for their Monsters, which are collared in a familiar way to the dream, and seem reactionary to quick movements -- they're explained to be the essential frontline of what constitutes as a military force, very important, Mirrorbound Monsters beware you not suffer the same fate. The next place one might seek out is the library: While this is all deemed public knowledge, it offers insight into the kind of history and mindset that's been bred the past decade at minimum. Books regarding the dangers of Monsters, how to care and train them, practical spellbooks for those untrained by the Coven proper... The history books themselves are vague in regards to the "when" of things, and seem to be more contemporary in comparison to how old the city feels itself. There's a variety of more cultural knowledge such a cookbooks (including those dealing with monster parts) and floriography (more dour meanings compared to Aefenglom's flurous), but the relevant ones have been noted thusly. c. THE RESISTANCE Whether you're espionage or dignitary, those seeking the Resistance know what to look for: a trio of stars (some worn more openly than others), protests against the city's treatment of Monsters, and dispelling runes on the walls. Once proven that you're friend over foe, they're more than happy to have the assistance of any Mirrorbound in their company: A fight against the current practices is a fight they're for, after all. Riot! Disrupt the peace! The auctions, while a little more downplayed than in the dream, are still going, and the Resistance has good word on where they're being held in the grand city. Their goal? To cause a disturbance big enough to distract, but not big enough to catch Drummond's eye... that said, with her having to play the nice host to Aefenglom's associates within the main building, there's more to get away with. Free the Monsters! Whilst distracted, other members of the Resistance plan to dispel the runes in certain areas and smuggle off what Monsters they can, valuing quantity over quality. While the more mind-broken may resist heavily, it won't be hard to find Monsters of all kinds (save Dragons and Fae, which are notably absent from the auctions and city in general) accepting help to escape, eager to think for themselves once more. Find a way for them to escape the city safely, but know that the docks are heavily guarded in case of stowaways. Free the city! Kind of. A third party of Resistance members are looking to weaken the enchantment on the wall of Dorchacht itself, meaning they'll be looking for those brave enough to tread outside the city and into the Wilde just beyond its protective gates to take a look at and inscribe runes to hopefully diminish the compulsion in place right now. It won't be immediate, but it'll help in the future... just be careful, there's plenty of danger beyond the wall to contend with. As an interesting note, while the Resistances' bonded pairs are definitely unlike Dorchacht's compulsion-based ones, they're not exactly like Aefenglom's either: They call themselves comrades and partners, brothers/sisters in arms, giving it more of an equality forged from the same brass than something to do with convenience. (Notes: Those being willing, or unwilling, participants in the check-ups may reply to the top level there with how visibly infected they are for a special treat! Only for this month.)

III. AEFENGLOM Preparations for Meán Fómhair begin before Nerissa and the dignitaries head off on the 5th, but they seem a little quick even for the ever-festive people of Aefenglom: Apples begin the appear in great quantities to be used for later, some yellowed versus the red ripeness one thinks of when they're ready, there's hay bales tucked safely away for the days of, and there's little conversation to be made save for how things might be going in Dorchacht, though if any of the Mirrorbound try to join in they'll change the subject to Meán Fómhair in a split second, smiles thrown wider than the weeks before. Seems all is not quite as well as they'd like to appear. a. MARKET UP With the Parliament tense and looking westward, there starts to be gradual, but steady, increases in new appearances from some interesting individuals about the city. At face value they're no different than the vendors already found in great quantities, human and Monster alike, but one look at their wares proves different. The goblin market, as it's familiarly called, is somewhat accepted by the Parliament as something allowed to exist as part of their mercantile culture with Coven-approved medicines, alchemical practices, enchantments, so on and so forth, and only somewhat thanks to these known wares. Beneath these, with a dropped word or a curious eye, one can find things that are more than likely not sanctioned by either branch, things the vendors say can sate Monster and Witch alike without need of a Bond, though they decline to include the fact that such things are only temporary and that, like all hits, they'll need to come back for a greater quantity to get the satisfaction they need. Overpriced as they are (due to their private nature, it's high risk, surely they understand), they sell Monster parts of most kinds, Witch's Blood that may or may not be genuine, and what they call "extra strength" potions to mimic the feeling of a temporary bond without needing a second person to partake -- of course, you're welcome to share it, the more the merrier. However, this market hides a darker side, known more to those living among the aristocracy or who have the money and means to it, and characters are more likely to find themselves led there one way or another -- be it kidnapped or tricked, the black market isn't picky about how they drag their targets in. While Aefenglom prides itself in its fairness and equality, as in example with the goblin market not all is what it promises. Nowhere else is this more true than with the black market itself, using techniques familiar in Dorchacht to control their living wares, emboldened by the absence and turned heads of the government while remaining as discreet as they can be, they've ascended from the tunnels beneath Aefenglom to turn old houses into private auctions and the more deserted streets into bazaar-like adventures. Not all of these are unwilling wares, characters may find, and drawn by necessity for their own well-being or for their family's, but it's clear that a greater number are those from the Outer City. b. PROPAVANDALS Unbeknownst to Aefenglom's higher ups, Dorchacht has sympathizers of its own within this city's walls. While Bonds haven't been specifically dissuaded against, given that there's alternatives to the more permanent tethers, not all are in favor of changing completely. It's been ten years since Miss Bell gained her seating, such citizens'll say, and there's been decades prior where they hadn't needed that. That Monsterkind and Witches could be, and sometimes were better off, apart. Home remedies and extra practice, or finding a substitute, was all that was needed. More privately and growing in whispered popularity, that there ought to be more restrictions on the two in general. Once these words have started, both conversations planted as well as encouraged for thoughts already leaning a certain way, small attacks on those Bonded being to occur. They target the main populace and those with connections to the Coven itself, especially the Mirrorbound given Nerissa's alleged responsibility to them, and it seems they're well-practiced in hiding their activities because all investigations done towards the perpetrators, whether done by the Mirrorbound or officials themselves, will lead to only dead-ends outside the City. The culprits are hard to catch on foot, using the environment they'd grown up with to their advantage in escaping any manner of way -- it isn't just humans, but Monsters causing trouble as well -- but it isn't impossible... Just that they refuse anything but their right of silence on the accusations, claiming they'd had no part in anything, regardless of what proof might be found. The attacks and vandalism itself range from harmful messages appearing with magic on walls and doors, vaguely threatening letters written in ink that evaporates in sunlight, to fruit thrown and possessions left in tatters after breaking and entering. They don't stop at residential houses either, aiming for businesses held by those with any connection to the Coven, held by those with Bonds, and seek to cause any number of annoyance and distaste to those they attack. If it weren't for their Bonds, their Coven connections, they wouldn't be treated this way. That's the message they seek to send. c. UNEASY FESTIVITIES Come Septeril 21st, and lasting til the 23rd, Meán Fómhair is tentatively in full swing. The residents of Aefenglom are more on edge than during previous festivals save the red-hued Lithia, even once the first dignitary group has returned and the second left. There's barrels of apples decorating the street corners, but they don't seem as plentiful as they should. The games have a forced cheerfulness about them too, the unaffected being children who gleefully take part in each race, each competition, as well as the doctors with their cure-alls and promises of something to promote the harvest's delight, peddling medicine and medical advice to all who lend an ear with earnest grins and a profit to be made. The medicines are largely placebos with some possible side-effects for those that aren't, such as voice changes and intense cravings for various foods, but they seem to be very popular this year -- there's at least a couple merchants talking up the good fortune Dorchacht's stress has brought this year to one another, quieting down when they catch outsiders eavesdropping. With the continued attacks on those Bonded and Coven-affiliated, with one of their Speakers across the continent and the other sorely wrapped in Parlimentary business dealing with the attacks, the city holds its breath and tries to endure. Tries to be bright and cheerful while keeping obvious supplies behind their counters, to keep fright from their expressions and mind lest it invite the Cwyld to their midst, and ultimately drawing apart from one another in a time where unity is more than needed: Time will tell what actions might sew shut the new wound struck across Aefenglom.

Welcome to September's event log! The questions thread is split into two this time: one for Dorchacht, which can be found HERE, and one for Aefenglom, which can be found HERE. Please keep questions to their respective cities! This'll help both us and your fellow players in sorting information. Additionally, this event is a little special - we've prepare an OOC post to go along with it. Check it out over HERE - don't forget about it, as it'll help us see how things'll progress in the cities!

Comments

[fromjapan]

L...

[Not Linden. This is L. The truth-- the broken man behind the facade, hopelessly damaged, almost.

Almost.

It turns itself, shifting their bodies so that it can press its forehead against his, its hands gently cradling his face.]

You don't need to hurt yourself anymore. I'm here, and I'm prepared to do whatever I have to to help you to be better.

Once we get our strength back, we're going to double down on our previous efforts, if not triple. You and I are going to be unstoppable.

[hearthebell]

[There's a tenseness to L, drawing up sharp and stiff at the sound of that single-letter name that is so truly him that he can't help but pay attention when it's spoken aloud. It holds tremendous power over him, and how could it not, when he comes from a world where it's instant death if the wrong person learns it?

The SQUIP isn't the wrong person. It knows, and he's alive, so logically, it can't be. Sunken, harrowed eyes stare at a dark corner of the room while the SQUIP presses their foreheads together, and the sensation of the Bond is intense enough at this point to feel physical. He nods; why would he refuse, when this was what he wanted all along?

He knows that the SQUIP has a challenge. He knows that the crude matter it's working with is astonishingly inadequate. He proved it to himself.]

I can take it. Whatever you give me... I want it, I'll accept it. Just fix this.

[fromjapan]

[The SQUIP is silent. It dips in further, tilting its head to close the distance between their lips, kissing L in a way that it has never kissed him before.

This isn't an example, or a heated prelude to a sexual encounter; nor is it a mocking peck given in a moment of teasing.

It's a promise.

It allows the kiss to linger, slow and warm, careful; and then it pulls away, just far enough to allow it to speak.]

Very well. First things first... why don't we start by getting you into the bath?

[hearthebell]

[L is surprised by his body's initial reaction to the kiss. It's apprehension, bordering on rejection, because the lingering signature of the SQUIP's mouth is one thing:

Final.

His pulse quickens, his breath as well... but fighting isn't an option when he is so worn down. He lets it through, allows the surrender, gives himself entirely to the warm, living pact in his arms.

Understood.

Almost of their own accord, his hands are working to unfasten and pull apart his garments, folding them neatly for the first time in his life and stacking them in a perfectly neat pile.]

[fromjapan]

[The SQUIP feels its partner tense, both externally and internally, and it wonders why; after all, this is exactly what he wants, right? He's been upset because it hadn't been fulfilling its role, because its attentions had been focused elsewhere.

Now he is the center of its attention, just as he wanted.

It strokes its fingers over his cheek, a parting gesture, and then it turns back to the tub, picking itself up; their shared moment of rest, and the emotions that arose during it, have given it at least the energy to finish what it was doing before. It gathers the supplies it brought on the tub's side, and again tests the water to see if it's properly warm; and then it turns back to L, and aids him in disrobing, its touch gentler and more genuinely affectionate than ever before.]

[hearthebell]

[There might be a part of L that feels like this is a loss, somehow. That he was determined, and self-righteous, and truly suffered as a result of the SQUIP's absence, only to come slinking back for the relief of being beside it again. But it is relief; it's sweet, and gentle, and the SQUIP is leaning hard into the gaping, hungry chasm that is glad to be home.

Isn't giving up a part of himself a small price to pay? Outside of his brilliant but anonymous former career, or the flimsy and uncharismatic persona of Linden Tailor he carries here, what does he even know of himself to care about losing? He's said from the start that he'd be willing to work with the SQUIP, but this moment, more even than the rote recitation that was cementing their Bond, feels like a true commitment.

Claiming that one wants, and knowing that one needs, are two entirely different things, after all.

He clings a bit as the SQUIP draws away, in spite of himself, but the purpose is simultaneously tender and practical. Soon, he'll be clean and refreshed. Soon, they can get to work in earnest, and they won't disappoint each other. There is no alternative.

Unclothed, he steps into the tub, sinking below the warm water. Already, he feels reborn.]

[fromjapan]

[The bath is gentle, the machine's long fingers careful as they skim a cloth over L's pallid skin, smooth shampoo and conditioner from his dark knots of hair. It's tender, yes; but, moreover, it's also highly symbolic, a display of power very different from their typical practices.

The SQUIP is taking care of him now. It will take the wheel whenever necessary, with no hesitation, to keep L healthy and cared for... and to ensure they can achieve his goals, together.

It's quiet, nearly silent; the SQUIP doesn't speak, though it does, at times, hum, or murmur requests for position changes.

And then they're done, and L is carefully dried off, between the two of them, and shepherded off to bed; their sleep that night is nearly dreamless, a heavy, warm blanket of exhaustion that sweeps over them almost all at once, the SQUIP's smaller frame curled against its partner's side.


The next day is spent moving slowly, recovering strength. The SQUIP ensures that L eats-- if not the right food, then at least the correct amounts to meet his nutritional needs, to get his energy back up. It's much more physical even than usual-- shadowing his steps, resting hands at his shoulders and back, draping its legs over his when they sit together on the couch.

The latter is the position as the evening comes, the sun beginning to set; the SQUIP can already feel the difference the day of rest has made, though the faintest touch of their shared hangover remains. It lays sideways on the couch, its long legs draped over L's where he sits, its head propped up on the arm of the couch and a book of spells in its hands.]

[hearthebell]

[There's a reason that, long after childhood, Watari had remained in L's employ and life to continually make sure he didn't get to this point. It was an ever-present risk, a balance tipping too far in the wrong direction without a firmer guiding hand, almost impossible to divert once it started its bizarrely determined path. Because L is the once-in-a-century genius, the one that takes merely a decade to make history but simply isn't built to last. He knows it, and seems to actively resist efforts to turn the tides of fate, if only because moderation would cancel out the freak spark that lets him do what others can't. But even he has to concede when his body and spirit have broken down to this level. Forget extraordinary; merely living competently requires assistance, at this point.

It's no small effort, but over the course of several days, much of it spent simply sleeping or sitting near another warm body that is a comforting and (more significantly) a trusted presence, the dazed and blank lacquer finally lifts from L's eyes. The sharp swiftness returns to his thoughts, the heavy languor draws away from his movements. The SQUIP doubtless feels it too, as the unlucky soul Bonded to this overgrown enfant terrible. The height that adulthood added to L's lanky frame isn't an advantage; no, clearly it just means that when he falls, it's much harder, on a body that doesn't bounce back as swiftly as it did when he was withstanding the demands of his career at an age that was both more vulnerable and more flexible. It's no coincidence, truly, that much about L skews childish, from his tastes to his habits; humans who have to grow up too quickly often regress, or simply halt emotionally at a stage in development where they felt the most secure. The SQUIP's work is cut out for it indeed, and its one advantage is the ultimate willingness of a truly fucked-up and twisted human being to listen to what it says. L's smarter than most. Certainly smart enough to realize when his way of life is unsustainable and on a fast-track to destroying him utterly, he has to hand over the reins.

And he has. The SQUIP hasn't pushed him beyond his comfort zone during these few days, which has absolutely helped, but he's been a model user. No additional force or coercion has been necessary; he gave himself over to the will of the SQUIP in the tub upon his return to the apartment, and finally, after everything is back in order and replenished within a mind that had grown chaotic and scattered without his partners tempering presence, he's ready to engage on a level beyond merely sitting in gentle, affectionate domestic peace.

A long hand takes one of the SQUIP's, and L sandwiches it between his palms. He's grateful, and he wants to communicate as much, now that a sense for such matters is returning to him. He wants to do something for the computer, since attempts to verbalize his feelings typically fall somewhat flat... and now that their connection is restored and healthy once more, the SQUIP is likely attuned to the thoughts, running over which favors and acts might go over the best, create the most satisfaction. He's not thinking of it on a mutual level, however; rather, as a good turn for another, payment for being scraped up off the floor and nursed back to something more resembling health. So much about L's frame of mind is still highly transactional; behave badly, receive punishment. Behave well, receive a reward.]

[fromjapan]

[The SQUIP foresees the gesture, senses L's intentions even before he begins to move; of course, with their shared Bond, it would've been difficult for it not to. But it plays it off, curling its fingers lightly where they're held between L's; it's a moment before it glances up at him over the edge of its book.

The book is set aside, carefully set open on the floor, and then the SQUIP looks up at L expectantly, smirking.]

Yes? [It's certainly aware of the possibilities in his mind, the "favors" L is considering; and whether it's in response to the thoughts themselves, or its position of power here, of being the one worth pleasing, its own thoughts warm in turn, dancing over the possibilities lightly, as though skimming its fingers over a store's selection on the shelves.

But it doesn't choose. It wants to see how L decides. After all, he should know, by now, what it enjoys.]

[hearthebell]

[Good; this reassures L more than anything likely could. The SQUIP's amenability through the Bond is like the glow of a warm oven, open and inviting for any sweet or savory offering. At first, this kind of reaction was stilted and stiff, almost-forgotten, the lost echo of something that was reliable once, and this is possible the strongest it's been in awhile. That lends him some strength and confidence in turn; he's even a little ready for the SQUIP to turn its expectations back around on him, instead of just immediately suggesting that he drop to his knees or begin to disrobe.

Still, it doesn't need to be voiced, now more than ever. L's mildly exasperated that the SQUIP wants him to, when his verbal expressions of sexual intention or desire can be... stilted and strange, at best. It's an opportunity for a learning exercise, but it doesn't really promise to be a comfortable one. Then again...

You didn't sign up for comfort... when and where it appears, it's a bonus rather than a direct incentive. In short, suck it up.]

I thought...

[You know what I thought. You just like to smirk. You just like the power, that's yours because I gave it to you.]

Perhaps you might enjoy oral sex.

[His rationale for that suggestion is as hilariously stark as the description of the act, itself. He believes that it's quick, neat, and won't distract the SQUIP from its reading for long. He's been the AI's focus for the better part of the last three days, and saying "thank you" with something he's proficient in need not be a long, drawn-out or involved process. The suggestion could even be called utilitarian, it manages to be so devoid of passion or suggestive or romantic undertones.]

[fromjapan]

[...

The machine sighs, shaking its head.]

I think it's time we finally talk about the way you talk about sex. The way you speak is very... formal, there's no passion or need to it. You need to be more relaxed, more natural, maybe even crude depending on your partner.

[It smirks darkly at him as it continues, its voice dropping, its tone heated.]

Say you wanna suck my cock.

[hearthebell]

[L blinks twice; his lungs are half-full, and he exhales in a shallow, uncertain sigh. The SQUIP is bringing up one of his weakest points; they both know it. The sudden change in the SQUIP's demeanor, even though it's to illustrate a relevant point, is enough to actually make him draw back slightly, shoulders stiff, expression wary.

He doesn't doubt, for a second, that that's how it's supposed to sound. He clears his throat, before intoning in his typical precise diction]

I want to suck your cock.

[It's an absurd Frankenstein of a statement. L's copied the SQUIP's tone eerily well, but the more casual inflection is off the mark. His syllables are still bitten-off, precise, enunciated. He sounds like a tonal language student reciting in class, more than a lover determined to make his partner lose its mind.]

[fromjapan]

[Oof. The wince in its expression says more than words ever could.]

Let's... start somewhere else. What about you? What do you like to hear your partner say during sex? What words, or phrases, turn you on?

[It watches him expectantly, though it can already sense over the Bond-- and just based on what it knows about him in general-- that this is going to be... problematic.]

[hearthebell]

[L's overlarge eyes resemble a deer in the metaphorical headlights of the SQUIP's rather straightforward and shockingly reasonable question. What does he like to hear? Words and phrases that he considers "sexy?" He fumbles for a moment before beginning a somewhat odd list. It's doubtful that he's ever actually heard these things during sex, but the way he averts his gaze and the slight flush creeping toward his cheekbones suggests he's taking it seriously, as he has been with the SQUIP's instructions and suggestions.]

Reticulate... glove? Bindle, ejaculation. Puncture.

[His brows raise in question, as though there's even the slightest possibility this is going well.]

This has never happened before, but if someone noted and stated the time of climax, if they came first, that would probably do it for me.

[fromjapan]

... noted and stated the time?

[It's just. "Shocked" is the wrong word; nothing about this actually surprises it in the least. It's spent months inside of this man's head, after all; it knows exactly how he feels about these things, about how strangely twisted his desires have become.

But something about hearing him say this out loud, and the very genuine flush over his face...

It stares at him for a moment, and then smooths a hand over its face, through its dark hair.]

... well, that was... educational.

[hearthebell]

[L nods earnestly. He's not being mocked, he senses that much, even if this is hardly better. It's a reminder of something he's known since he was a wild-eyed little kid, too smart for his own good, a chained and frenetic bundle of potentially very destructive energy should he fall into the wrong hands. The verdict is still out on whether he fell into the "right" hands, of course, because while his mind wasn't used to build world-ending nukes or engineer the fall of world powers, no one could speak with the adult L and claim that he isn't a warped and broken trainwreck of a human being. Years of solving murders through one's formative years will do that to a person, and L was a freak even before he opened his very first case file, cut his teeth on bone fragments and brilliantly stained motel sheets.]

But not sexy. I know.

[And it frustrates him, because the science and process of solving murders is where he's truly comfortable, truly in his element. Homicides were his specialty, and they encapsulated his confidence, his claim to fame, his reassurance that his life had worth in a world that was just that much more fucked-up than he was.]

Cock. Ass. Shit. Fuck. Whore.

[Now, he has the distinction of sounding like the girl from The Exorcist, if she found the process of reciting these types of words a tedious and fairly degrading process.]

[fromjapan]

Simply saying the words isn't enough. You have to perform it.

[It's almost laughing at the sudden parade of profanity, but it manages to hold back; still, it's very clear that L isn't doing this exactly right, or even really thinking of it along the right lines.]

Being able to get your partner's attention and get them aroused just using your words can be a powerful tool for influencing them. If you want to seduce someone, you typically start with some well-placed and well-performed words. Even during sex itself, being able to communicate in a sexy way can enhance the experience, and, thus, improve your partner's opinion of you.

[hearthebell]

[The SQUIP could be forgiven for laughing at what's admittedly pretty funny, if not intentionally so. L's effort is earnest, but his template isn't lined up properly, meaning that every single result is skewed and ultimately incorrect. That, more than anything, is frustrating to a man whose identity is largely bound up in being perfect at what he does. Back home, certainly, but even in Geardagas, with his job at Runetchers, he's gained a reputation for someone who's painstaking precise as well as creative.

He doesn't take it personally, even though being told how wrong he is doesn't do anything for his own arousal. Doesn't matter; he wants to get the SQUIP off, as a favor. That's been established.]

Could you provide an example?

[fromjapan]

[It picks itself up a bit, shifting its hips back, though its legs remain draped over L's as before; its voice drops, the edges soft and undertone heated, as it speaks.]

Well, if I were you, trying to achieve what you had in mind... I might start by touching, [It illustrates, skimming its warm fingertips over his narrow chest, his belly, lower, to catch the hem of his shirt; it leans in to continue speaking almost directly against his ear, a heated murmur, its breath hot over his skin.]

And then tell you... I wanna suck your cock.

[hearthebell]

[Absolutely involuntarily, L goes absolutely still. He blinks once, and stares, because the way the SQUIP says it, he absolutely believes it, even wants it even though he didn't desire sexual stimulation even a few minute ago.

He reaches a spindly hand out, aping and imitating the gestures, careful to make sure that they're precise and accurate. A hand goes to the SQUIP's chest, brushing the well-muscled pecs, dropping down to the defined abs and the edge of the SQUIP's shirt.]

I... wanna suck your cock.

[It's better this time. Better every time. L's almost painfully determined to get it right.]

[fromjapan]

[It smiles, presses that smile against his neck.]

That's better. You've almost got me convinced. [And then it shares examples over their Bond-- much like it's done before, to guide him, sharing images and texts and sounds of various sources and wildly varying quality.

Submissive people, begging and whining to be used, using every crass word for their bodies that they know; dominant personalities inciting, teasing, asking their partners what they want, what they are, expecting the profane in response, even if worded mildly. After all, swearing and using coarse language aren't the only ways to talk dirty; they're just the most common. It doesn't take a single obscenity to inform someone you want to bend them over a table and use them, for example.

But there are so many fun phrases that do. Begging for cock, or commanding someone to take it, to lick or ride it, whispering to someone that you want to fuck them right then and there...

The SQUIP kisses the corner of L's mouth, almost to ensure it has his attention back in the real world, outside their shared mind.]

Does that help?

[hearthebell]

["Almost" isn't enough. L shivers at the contact, feeling the SQUIP's mouth against the side of his slender neck, and when he closes his eyes, the provided examples begin to melt into images, sounds, wanton and filthy and ecstatic in their expression. Pain, pleasure, panting, and so many purrs and ululations. Some are words; all are extremely effective at getting their point across.

He's overwhelmed for a few moments... but during those moments, his arm has crept around the SQUIP's back to clutch at its shirt. He feels close to humanity, when the SQUIP gives him these instructional moments, or at least closer. He's still cold and watching from the street, but the warmth inside is something he can feel when he presses his hand against the glass. He presses now, flush and hungry and yearning for that kind of expression, that kind of mobility, that kind of openness and ability to communicate desire that is not taboo.

He was never whole, or healthy, or a real boy. He's heard his entire life that it makes him better, that it gives him coveted access to what most humans find inaccessible... but the more the SQUIP shows him, the more he wonders about the other side of that veil, the one that has always been closed particularly to him.]

I really want to suck your cock.

[He nods, as though affirming it to himself just as much, pressing the palm of his hand against the SQUIP's fly.]

Will you fuck my mouth hard and make me choke on your cum?

[He seems startled by the way that sounded, and then adds]

...please.

[fromjapan]

[It blinks at him for a moment, surprised-- but it fades almost immediately, replaced by a dark grin. Judging by the wash of warmth over their Bond, beneath its bronze skin, the subtle shifting of its hips beneath his touch... that was a success.]

Since you asked so nicely...

[It leans up to kiss him, catching his lip between its own as it pulls away, sucking lightly and catching it beneath the blunt edge of its teeth.]

[hearthebell]

[The sudden warm gush their Bond is bathed in is like a flood of dopamine. Better, even; L is genuinely passionate about doing a job well, and he perks up noticeably at the encouraging response from his partner. Now, it seems, they're getting somewhere, even if he's in danger of getting a little overzealous, perhaps a little... intense.

He presses back into the kiss, kneading one hand against one side of the SQUIP's chest, the other into its groin as a sort of progress-check. He pulls away to try again, purposely putting more breath into his voice, letting his words slow and slur just slightly.]

Fuck a hole through the back of my throat. Mash up my brain stem with your cock and cum all over the pulp and grey matter on the floor.

[fromjapan]

[... well. He was doing well until he decided to speak again, at least.

It stares at him for a moment, eyebrows raised; it opens its mouth, pauses, and then speaks, choosing its words carefully.]

That's... ah. A little bit... much. [It catches his cheek with its fingers, the look on its face somewhere between amused and secondhand embarrassment.] But your delivery was better. Most partners would find something like that a little too... violent.

[But it was, at least, a good try, and the enthusiasm is there. The energy is right; the word choice, however...]