(Closed) Octeuril Catch All

[mirshikar]

Who: Asura + Plotted CR
When: Octeuril
Where: Various locations in Aefenglom and the Wilde.
What: Quests, event threads, domestic undertakings, and general gallivanting about.
Warnings: None yet!

Feel free to drop me a line @ the October CR and Plotting Post if you're interested in threading and would like to work out details for a starter. DM works just as well, too! o9

Comments

GERALT;

[mirshikar]

Ay. [ —is the greeting Asura chooses to open up with upon catching sight of a familiar(ish) figure in profile. Sure, the first couple of days which the King had spent in Aefenglom had coalesced together into one hell of a bender (drinking, drinking, and more drinking; greeting the dawn of each new day in the bed of a different partner), but he remembers Mr. Tall, Gruff, and Rugged just fine, and (indirectly?) knows him as Geralt, that one guy that Sokie's taken a shine to (and apparently uses ALLCAPS over the Watch all the time??).

A n y w a y, he saunters right on up to the guy, walking astride of him in close (but comfortable) proximity, an easy smile upon his lips as he casts Geralt a side-long glance that's made keen with unabashed interest. ] Well, well. If it isn't the Witcher. A sight for sore eyes.

[ And here's Asura, every bit as gregarious as he'd been on their Boys Night Out endeavor, even in this shitty as hell weather. It's soggy and it's damp, and while the sky hasn't yet split open for an Octeuril rainstorm, moisture mists down persistently, making Asura look positively wild with his hair unbound, kajal smudged, and his state of dress far more befitting of Summer than Fall. ]

You looking to get out of the city, too? [ Or is it just that the other man's morning stroll had taken him coincidentally close to the border of the Bright Wall? Either way, Asura jostles the pack slung over his own shoulder, its contents clinking against one another, in unvoiced invitation. ] Go full on man verses wild for a spell?

[ Wild. Wilde. See what he did there? Well, someone else might. Though there are handful of Mirrorbound who catch on quick to pop-culture references, Geralt doesn't seem like he'd be one of them. Rather, the man reminds Asura of that one Darkling that had popped right on out of the Hedge in the year 2019 though they'd been swept up and away to Arcadia during the dark ages. ]

And if you're not, show yourself to something nice, yeah? You look like you could use a break.

[ Or several. ]

[niespodzianka]

I've had enough broken bones to do me for a while. [ Ha ha. 'A break', get it?

Geralt isn't funny. It's a tragedy.

What he is - exhausted, correct. But then there's something about him that always seems tired, if not in a physical sense. It's been like that since tumbling to the forested earth outside Kaer Morhen, five years dead, with total amnesia. Something about being dead, or something about being resurrected, or just something about being helplessly depressed about the state of the world and the oppressive inevitability that his daughter lead a life just as bleak. Or he's old. Probably just old. ]

Thought I'd get some fresh air. Cities were never my scene anyway.

[ Dorchacht was a claustrophobic hellscape, and while Aefenglom is a haven in comparison, he suspects a wind of change is going to pick up soon. One way or another. And honestly - it'd be good to have more knowledge of the world outside. The thought of just leaving has occurred to him before. ]

What are you doing? Camping trip or escaping debtors?

[ Because Geralt does remember him, in all his escapades. He's pretty sure his name's Asura, but he hasn't done much in the way of prying - about him or anyone else. ]

[mirshikar]

Debtors escape me, not the other way around. [ And that, there, sure is the raucous bark of Asura's laugh as he careens their easy gait toward the outpost which marks both the exit from the city proper and the entryway to the world beyond. Altogether, it's about time that the King of Summer himself took a vested interest in the Wilde, if only because it so starkly reminded him of the Hedge—and if the two were one in the same, partitioned across the realms, then... Even Asura, who has traversed the Hedge and its thorns many a time for the sake of war, isn't wholly ready to wrap his mind around those implications (that this realm is just another subset of Arcadia; that he and the Queen of Spring have well and truly been imprisoned again). ]

Don't know if I can call it a camping trip, either, when it's all work and no play, though...

[ Grin sharp and eyes lowered to half-mast, he considers the Witcher with an incline of head before offering a by far more overt invitation: ]

Were you to join me, maybe it could be one. [ Though it'd still be work—the pack he carries is heavy with cartographer's supplies and reagents for magic. ] But I can't promise keeping up with me will be easy, especially for a guy with a history of broken bones.

[ Not that he believes, of course, that Geralt is anything but how the guy presents: world-weary and made all the more durable for it. ] You up for that kind of challenge?

[niespodzianka]

[ Still boisterous, even without the alcohol and flirtations. Geralt's known plenty like that, but he suspects, not quite like whatever - whoever - Asura really is. Geralt's still not sure. Smells odd. Curious, but odd.

-- just kidding, the flirtations are still around. Hmph. ]

You'll have to tell me specifically what you aim to do out there, [ the witcher tells him, walking alongside without any hurry. Maybe it's clandestine and best to be kept away from Coven ears, but if he's willing to invite Geralt along, he should be willing to cough it up. ] Don't worry, I'm not the sort to run and tattle if it's something stupid.

[ Obviously. Geralt had gone over to Dorchacht through sketchy magic teleporter means and come back reeking of blood and ash. Stupid shit is his life. ]

[mirshikar]

[ Truth be told, Asura's willing to cough up most things. He doesn't have the patience for surreptitious bullshit unless, apparently, a contest of name-that-obscure-supernatural is initiated by whatever the hell a Witcher is. But now—since the guy asked, and who and what Asura so happens to be plays a role in this newly-designated camping trip—Asura guesses it's time to spill the proverbial tea (as Lilith likes to say), and ask Geralt for aid in addition to his company. ]

Wasn't concerned about you running your mouth, Witcher. [ Geralt or anyone, really. As much as the Mirrorbound are tied to their mirrors, they're tied to one another, too. And in the eyes of Aefenglom's civilian population (and in the Coven and Parliament both), the action of one Mirrorbound is too-readily perceived as the action of many—exposing the secrets of one would be tantamount to tarnishing the reputation of all. But even then, that would only be if Asura were up to something truly clandestine. As it is, he's seeking only to affirm a few things for himself, come what may from it. ] You're a man of few words, as it is.

[ And lo, the great reveal begins: ]

I'm looking to map out all the notable hollows in the Wilde. My kind, we use such places to invoke contracts and rites. [ And talk to the aspects of the world itself, even if, in this realm, they've suspiciously gone quiet. ] And if I find a hollow that makes me feel all warm and snuggly inside? I want to try my hand at something I used to be kick-ass at.

[ Even if that talent had cast suspicion upon him, inspiring wild accusations and chatter that he, the King of Summer, had ascended to a point far too close to that of the Gentry. That power made him dangerous and easily pushed toward the embrace of madness. And while they weren't wrong (...he did sort of lose his mind at the Spring Revel...), in the end, they'd stood with him, because...

It takes a monster to combat other monsters, or so the saying goes.

Candidly: ] Oneiromancy. You heard of it? You're a Witcher, after all.

SOKIE;

[mirshikar]

[ The sand of the fighting pit is compressed and damp beneath the feet, a product of Octeuril rains and cooling temperatures. It'll not be long, before the first frost of the season arrives and sees the water-laden soil solidified, and maybe it's precisely that knowledge which sees Asura risen along with the sun, bringing the (literal) heat to the structure which he'd personally installed in the courtyard for training. There's the fire of evocation burning at his fingertips, an acrid quality to the air surrounding as Asura shapes the crackling flame not into the gauntlet he'd grown accustomed to wearing within the walls of the Black City, but rather into the form of a spear.

The King of Summer can hardly be called the Iron Spear without his iconic weapon, after all. True, the spear is not forged from the flames churned out by Asura's furnace of a chest, but the magic it's comprised of burns brightly all the same—the trick is keeping it sustained. Power, fed through the foci of his crystalline frame, keeps the evocation summons from charring hair and blistering the skin (and from burning away the silk of his shirt), and more still feeds the composition of the spear, keeping it weighty and solid Asura spins the spear in his hands, alternating between half and full rotations in a blazing dance.

It takes the edge off (of excess magic build up, of the tension which has been pulled over the house like a shroud since he'd confronted a necromancer about falsehoods and t r u s t), or at least it did until the moment when the mage herself made an appearance.

The whirling of the spear slows, its flames ceasing to streak, as the weapon is leveled with Sokie's line of sight in a gesture which is arresting, but far from a threat. In fact, it's— ]

Sokie Undertown, I challenge you. [ —an invitation to throw down??? ] Accept, and step into the pit to fight for that which I once offered you: the Freehold role of Sun's Shadow, a friend to Summer, able to call upon the Iron Spear at will.

Refuse... [ And what? What will befall her, or more to the point, them? ] ...and understand that I cannot continue on as we are.

[ With Sokie, treading upon a path undisclosed to all others. Could their alliance truly be called as such, if she would speak to him I do trust you, Asura in one instant, and recant the words in the next? Is their home the cage she'd spoken of, upon the streets of Dorchacht? Would she take her leave of it, in the instant she deemed in time to cut her losses? He won't be used, not by anyone (never again, after Arcadia), and in the heat of their former exchange, he'd allowed those very words to slip his tongue.

He won't let her pick and choose when to call him friend; she'll either accept the challenge or she won't.

His grin, then, is a wry thing, edged with equal parts fondness and frustration: ] You and me, Sokie, we've been stuck for awhile. And I don't know about you, but I sure as hell can't take it anymore.

[weirdnecro]

[And here she was, trying to come out to see Asura. To talk to him to have a candid conversation even if she didn't like the idea of having one. It was always so uncomfortable-like that she was pulling teeth. It wasn't her intention for things to get this way, but things had gone over so quickly and had been meant to be kept secret until...well, until they could be honest.

Sadly she wasn't the one to call on him or tell him, and hence their bitter disagreement. It'd feel bitter and queer when he walked out that night; her bed had felt cold when she settled in and when she woke up.

But instead of being able to wait for him to finish playing in his pit as it were, he leveled his spear at her and...did he just. Challenge her? To a battle? And cornered her neatly into one thing or another, in as dramatic fashion as possible which...

Had her mouth open, agape and uncertain at first if he was serious. No, he was completely serious. He wouldn't offer the Sun's Shadow, of all things, even if they had spoken of him being her general in jest.

For a few moments she was frozen and still. Then there was an anger that set her frame; a slow move to roll and crack her neck, a slow exhale of heated breath going through her nose.]

So it's like this then, hm? And here I was hoping to just have a candid conversation.

[There's a slow, angry sigh, and for a few moments, it seems that she's about to walk away. But no. Instead, she reaches behind herself, to the back of her belt, and makes a flicking motion with her wrist, bringing out a collapsible baton. It wasn't as impressive as a spear of fire-instead, it was rather mundane of nature-but she still held it to the side, a clearly defensive, even battle ready posture.]

You're so ready to deal the blows. Fine. I'll dance. But I do think we need to actually have a conversation. Just hitting each other isn't going to solve this, your highness.

[mirshikar]

Yeah? Who's to say we can't do both? We can fight and we can talk.

[ She's angry and he can taste it, the emotion rolling off of her like miasma, heady and noxious in turns. Never before has she seemed so corporeal and present to him, wholly situated in the moment as her furor sparks the green in her eyes, their bright malachite set ablaze as she casts aside the last vestiges of her surprise to brandish that baton which Asura assesses as a quick draw and light carry. Against it (and against Sokie), his beast weapon is not a fire-forged spear, and so...! He sees it dispelled after one final rotation, its flames flickering into nothing as he defines the scope of the challenge set before them: ]

Each forward advance comes at the cost of one disclosure, and each feint is priced at a single concession. Blocks are free, as are withdraws, and...

[ Asura, he cannot help but wonder if Sokie's so fiercely incensed because she's afraid. He hadn't missed her hesitation, when it seemed she might walk away from him and refuse his invitation, and he's certain that it had been borne from the notion that she perceived a Freehold role as little more than a ball and chain; that she would consider it not as a partnership forged of goodwill, but as an a obligation which she could not (and would not) be able to fulfill.

And yet... she had stepped forward, anyway.

(In that instant, the tension had gone from his shoulders. Had she turned from him, he would have afforded her the same courtesy with finality.) ]

The first person to force the other to set foot outside of the pit wins the day. [ Putting a measure of distance between them, Asura falls back to the opposite end of the fighting pit, his arms spread wide and palms set upturned and open as though he were addressing some imaginary crowd of onlookers for the fight. ] And the loser...?

[ Head canting to the side, the mass of his raven-dark curls obscures one of his eyes as he grins, gesturing toward Sokie, because despite the circumstance, Asura can't hide his love for contest. He and Sokie, they'd already danced together once, but never like this. Never on opposing sides. ]

Maybe that should be for the mage to decide.

[weirdnecro]

Mmm, normally I would say yes, it t'would be possible but Asura? You have a way of finding a small fire and pissing kerosene on it.

[She points at him briefly with her baton. Yes, concession and disclosures blah blah blah. Very nice, very poetic, and while normally she'd just enjoy it, she's not really in the mood for it at all. Maybe it's just from the tension from after the Dor things, or the passing days where he was angry at her, or too many bonds-or caring for people doing stupid things-maybe all of the above. It was difficult to say. Fear? She wasn't really fear right now. He wanted to trap her into a position so she had to be on his side, be his mage?

After being stuck in a role of a tourist, a barely tolerated witch, she was not in the mood to play around.]

Don't. Eat it.

[What she means is:]

Let me feel what I need to feel for this, all right? Let me feel something.

[She flicked her baton at her side, and while he was loving of contests, she...tended to fight for survival, as if she was coming for blood. Which was why it was good he was setting limitations.]

I don't care what the loser has to do right now. But I'll say no magic, else we can easily hurt each other.

SOKIE & PERSEPHONE;

[mirshikar]

[ Three bowls of soup occupy the varnished rosewood of the dinner table before the Queen of Spring, each distinctive (in their own right) and bearing the comforting aromas of home (...if one were to but overlook the smell of overly charred garlic and onion stemming from one...), their generously-ladled purpose perhaps no secret at all when Persephone had so recently returned indoors from the cold Octeuril rains, in need of warmth. ]

Found Sokie making soup in the kitchen, and thought I'd lend a hand. [ Because Sokie, she'd hadn't been cooking just for herself or one housemate, but for all three of them, and so...! The King of Summer had rallied together all the available ingredients (leftover and otherwise) and made to craft a soup in accompaniment to Sokie's, because... well, Octeuril is awful, with its clammy and cold rains and its frosty mornings, and while Asura has grown accustomed to eating a l o t to maintain his physique, there's nothing that he enjoys more than the pleasurable scald of broth and stew—it makes eating more appealing for someone of his dragon's composition. ]

You're going to have to guess which dish is mine, and which one belongs to her.

[ Here, he winks to Sokie, and it's clear that Asura is proud of this most recent attempt at cooking human food (!!) even if the bowl of soup he's responsible for is a bit... greige-ish in comparison to the deep and lovely carmine of Sokie's borscht. Then, there's a third bowl of take-away soup, it's vibrant saffron color stemming from lemon and lentil, it's presence upon the table to provide relief between the other dishes. ]

Guess correctly, and maybe you'll win a kiss from a chef. [ Juuuuust maybe. ] Or two.

[ Wow, that's bold Asura?? But Sokie's in, right? And Persephone's down for the challenge, too?? She's fae, no different from the King of Summer himself, and therefore inherently predisposed to participate in arbitrary shenanigans contests and ruses. ]

[joies]

[As Persephone walks in through the door, the first thing she notices is the warming scent of soup - the cold clinging to her skin melting away, as she steps further in. One sunset eye takes in the spread of soup presented on the table, quietly curious about... why there is so much soup.

But her question is answered once Asura speaks, slim brows raising just slightly - surprised that Asura knew how to cook human food. But he has been here for months, so he must've had little choice to learn... And a guessing game, is it? One of them does smell a bit. Overdone.

She can make a confident guess about who made that one.

Sokie, on the other hand, has shown herself as more of a skilled cook in the time she's known the other woman and that makes it much harder to guess which is hers. But her thoughts remain hidden for now, as she gives an amused smile to Asura's challenge - glancing between both Witches for a moment, the mirth clear in her eye.]

A kiss, is it? Well, I shall try my best then.

[A kiss from either of the chefs? Or maybe even both? Truly a prize she can't resist, and now it's time to do her best to redeem this prize.]

And I will let one of the chefs decide which I should try and guess first.

[weirdnecro]

I thought it'd be the nice thing to do, since it's so cold and miserable out.

[She shrugged; it wasn't a big deal really! And she knew how to cook human food, and since she couldn't live off of emotion, and neither could the other two...and it was easy to make, and cheap too. Also, Asura wouldn't have to ask her every time "did you steal this?" because she didn't steal everything! Just. Some things, sometimes.

Not that Persie knew that.

In any case, Sokie leaned against one of the kitchen walls, Her arms comfortably folded over her stomach.]

Honestly I'd just say go for not a taste, but a sniff. That'd be much safer for all of us. Just in case.

[She motioned to Asura's...greyish bowl.]

Try that one first.

[mirshikar]

[ To Asura's credit, his poker face is astounding. Any outsider unfamiliar with the King of Summer's (lack of) skill in the culinary arts wouldn't have a clue that the necromancer in the room just totally went and offered his ...earthy mushroom and hummus soup up as first tribute.

Languid as ever and as always, Asura reclines in one of the chairs flanking the dining table, his head resting atop the open palm of his hand as he surveys Persephone through hooded eyes and a veil of lashes. It's important, that the Queen of Spring eats (and eats well), Asura thinks, because with emotion offering her (and him) no true sustenance at all, he's...

Been concerned, since Persephone's arrival in Aefenglom. Though Persephone lacks the abilities granted to her by the twist and twine of fate here, in this realm, her body is still very much that of a Flowering, and with Octeuril's overcast skies, it seems like there hasn't been a single spot of sunshine during the whole of the month.

(Is she truly all right, despite having shaken off the cold...?) ]

Smelling alone won't warm anyone up. [ His gaze flits back to Sokie, then, because!! HIS SOUP IS PERFECTLY FINE OKAY... he did taste it (for seasoning)!! And he isn't dead yet?? W o w. ]

But then, I guess it all boils down to the Queen of Spring's bravery in this blind-taste test.

[ Which route will Persephone take: scent, taste, or both? ]

NEWT;

[mirshikar]

[ The day has been long, full of the backbreaking sort of labor that leaves the limbs heavy with a rewarding ache and the chest brimming with a keen sense of fulfillment. A healthy amount of progress has been made toward repairing the homes set aside for the refugees of the Black City, and new undertakings have begun under Asura's own oversight, the chief among them being a communal space for voices to be heard and stories to be shared; where all might feel welcome to speak their mind without fear of repercussion. And that place? W e l l, it just so happens to be fire-pit of stone, surrounded by enough seating for a crowd. In the here and now, the open flame of the bonfire has been covered with a large metal grate, the fire-pit turned into a makeshift stove for a meal to celebrate the end of a hard day, but a free day, and all those that would come after it.

Asura himself occupies one of the seats on the outer-rim of the fire, engaged in solemn but candid conversation with one of the refugees— ]

It's different here, isn't it? Back home, after I clawed my own way to freedom, I was at a loss, too. There was no way for me to regain who I'd been before, and once you realize that facet of yourself is lost to you forever... it takes the breath right out of your lungs, and paralyzes you.

[ It's old pain, which Asura speaks of, but if he's able to use it as a bridge to reach one of the refugees, he'll be damned if he doesn't. These people, they remind him so starkly of his own kin, those who wrested themselves free of Arcadia only to arrive in a world which they didn't understand; a place which seemingly had no room for them. And the refugee—a Turnskin, by appearances—listens to Asura who looks every bit like the dragon he is instead of the Witch which this realm has forced him to be.

Lowering his eyes, Asura continues, his cadence an easy, rhythmic thing as he speaks: ] But there's a beginning to an end, you know? For me, I knew I couldn't reclaim the person that I was, but I knew I could lock up all the suffering he endured. Start fresh and new.

That's why the Mirrorbound are here, and what we're trying to help you to do. [ We're, Asura says, because he's become aware of a new presence around the fire-pit, the Mirrorbound with fiercely auburn hair registering as a familiar presence—like Asura himself, aren't they a volunteer? ] But if you want something else, if you're after more than just that, you've got to let us know how best to assist you. Think on it, because...

[ Asura gestures, then, first to himself, then to the other Mirrorbound with a nod of his head, gold scales reflecting the firelight. ]

Both my comrade and I, we'll be right here when you make that decision for yourself.

[ And the refugee voices their appreciation for Asura's willingness to share his own story, even if their circumstances aren't quite the same, before rising and taking their leave to do just that—think.

And then, a seat is open for Asura's Mirrorbound comrade to take, if the guy's interested in either the meal stewing over the bonfire or in the company of a weird fae-dragon-Witch thing.

Green eyes flicking up, Asura addresses the newcomer: ] Seen you around before, friend, but I can't say that I know your name.

[newtralize]

[Newt is a quiet sort, but a hard worker. He had spent last month in Dorchact, helping Monsters greatly and had also brought many of them back to Aefenglom when chaos had broke out in the city. Situating the refugees had been something he put himself into wholeheartedly. Plenty of them were still in his place while they fixed up houses. He's glad that he had devoted himself into expansion magic and had the space to accommodate. Still, he wanted to give them a place they could settle in and call home, so rebuilding the homes and cleaning them up was a task he concentrated on. He didn't care for gaining anything out of it. He had always been someone who just did things that he thought was right regardless of compensation.

He wasn't really someone who turned heads though and he liked it like that. Very much a wallflower, he seemed more content listening quietly to everyone than to speak up himself.

It startles him then, when the other seems to acknowledge him. Gesture at him even. It had been unexpected. He takes a step forward hesitantly. Newt doesn't yet take the open spot as he'll more than happily let someone who might be more weary to take it than himself.]

Oh, yes. Sorry. It's Newt. Newt Scamander. I. Uhm, I'm familiar with quite a few of the arrivals from Dorchacht. Traveled with them. [It was a bit more of just traveling. Entering the orphanages and helping children and adults alike out of the spaces used for breeding. Buildings on fire and helping those to safety.] I wanted to make sure they got situated proper, so I easily agreed to help with the restoration project.

[mirshikar]

Newt, then. There's nothing for you to be sorry about, though I find myself wishing that we'd been acquainted before the dignitary mission to Dorchacht.

[ Unfortunately for Newt, Asura's exactly the sort of person to make others feel noticed—when he speaks to someone, they've got the whole of his attention, and the weight of his gaze is a heavy thing, pervasive and somehow keenly knowing. Though the other Mirrorbound does not speak to their experiences in Dorchacht, having spent the entirety of the past month in that foggy city himself, Asura can hazard a guess at what Newt experienced. Travelled, Newt had said, and that means he'd been on the last boat out—pity that, at that time, Asura had been confined to the medic's cabin, recuperating after placing himself in the thick of a building collapse.

T h a t had been one hell of an experience, but holding the path open for captive Monsters to escape had been well worth the injury (despite the face Sokie had made upon trying to heal the worst of the damage away). ]

If you travelled alongside the people here, then you helped them. Fought for them. [ And that is the truth as Asura sees it. ] And though I stood by others during that time, I will always regret missing the chance to fight alongside your or any comrade. That night when the flames of the Resistance overtook the Black City was pivotal for change.

[ Even if the thought that slipping out of a city after setting it aflame amounted to little more than negligence lingers with him still. Would that Asura been able, he'd have chosen to stay in Dorchacht instead of returning to the (relative) safety of Aefenglom's shores, but... He'd been Oathbound and injured, and perhaps what the Resistance needs most now is the promise of external support. ]

But you are here, now, and you have labored as hard as anyone else. [ No different from the others working to restore the homes along the Bright Wall, or from Asura himself. ] Take a seat, or I might just take insult.

[ Though the playful glint to Asura's eyes suggests he'd take no true insult at all as he motions, again, to the still-empty seat beside him.

His voice is lilting and deep (a tease?), when he speaks next: ] You wouldn't want to offend a King, after all.

[newtralize]

[OOC: Sorry for such a late reply! I have been abroad for work for the last 4 weeks and I'm slowly catching up on everything. You are not obligated by any means to reply back since it has been awhile. I apologize for dropping the ball! I thought I'd have time to tag but didn't.]

[Newt offers a small smile.] Well, we're acquainted now. I wasn't part of the group who had gone as dignitaries though, so I also can't say we may have interacted even then. [Newt had been whisked to Dorchacht by the teleporter, so they may not have spoken much even then. It had happened quite suddenly after all.]

I just, well, I can't say that I'm particularly approving of how they do things in Dorchact. The conditions were far from ideal and I don't agree that these people are lesser than. [Newt's views had always been progressive for his time. He felt the same way about Muggles to Witches and he had always found that people were ignorant of the creatures that they shared the world with.] My only wish was that things could have been solved in a less chaotic way. [Because the city falling into a panic was certainly not the way he would have wanted things to go. There were so many innocent people at risk after all.

And he can't help but wonder how the state of the city was at the moment. What the city had stood on for so long had basically crumbled within a night. Even he understood that there was just as many hardships Dorchact now faced as the refugees were facing back in Aefenglom.]

It would be a disservice to bring so many here and then leave them to their fate. [And he certainly wasn't going to that. Incapable of doing so.

Though he balks a bit and quickly takes a seat. Newt wasn't very good at taking social cues, so it's likely the other might be taking Asura at face value.] I- I didn't realize- I do apologize. It wasn't my intention to insult.

SOKIE TAKE TWO;

[mirshikar]

[ The mist is gone and the full moon has passed, their effects dissipated as swiftly as they'd emerged, though their consequences still stand and can be keenly felt in the discourse between Aefenglom's inhabitants. In an effort to ease the tensions between the city's numerous factions, Asura has taken to paying daily visits to the bridge over the River Temese, rallying the locals that would come (those refugees he has assisted, his employer and colleagues from the magitech shop, their families) to stand alongside him in a bid to extend the proverbial olive branch; to reach out to anyone who refused to allow to be swayed by fear of a single brush with adversity.

(How easily human hearts give way, those of the aristocrats especially, Asura thinks. And yet, he'd protect them all the same.)

It is after his return from bridge (the cold, and the ever-present downpour of Octeuril rain) that Sokie will find Asura bundled up (burrito'd in wrapped up in as many blankets as he could find) on the couch in their shared home, reading the first copied installment of the tome she'd lifted from behind the Door.

Or rather, trying to read would be the more apt description. His brow furrows, as he looks over the introduction, not only from revulsion for the content, but from the migraine which pulses like a living thing behind his eyes, rattling through his skull in a way which is not nearly as pleasurable as the way Sokie had punched him in the face—twice. ]

No one should have access to this. [ But Sokie does, and now he does, and she's making copies to arm the Mirrorbound with knowledge. The book still open and held with one hand, Asura...! Shifts, unbundling himself from the blankets, holding them out so Sokie might be able to slip beneath them, if she so wishes. ] Least of all someone like me.

[ "But come on, Asura, you had to look, didn't you?" a voice which emanates from inside his head says, but the King knows to ignore it and to recognize what the hallucination meant. ]

It's sick. [ "Yes you are, in more ways than one." ] How are you going to hold people accountable for what they may or may not do with the copies?

[ That is to say, he'll help her with it. Because while the spellcraft itself is vile, a means to counteract it may very well be written in the text, and a whole city still exists where no one can recall a thing past the last decade courtesy of a single despotic Witch. ]

[weirdnecro]

[There's a lot of work to be done. Sokie for one had been trying to help the refugees feel comfortable, help them settle into new lives; she had been doing some odd jobs here and there so she could bring back the bacon to the house.

And of course, she had been working on her magic and on the book she brought with her. She wasn't surprised that Asura was reading the book-though she knew that it would bring him no pleasure. Not like the pleasures they'd been giving each other at last-and that he enjoyed with interacting with others.]

I know.

[She moved to slip inside of the blankets, knowing she was going to be completely warmed up, even sweaty, soon after but-finding herself chilled from going out during the day.]

And if I could, I would keep this for myself as a case of analysis. But the thing is-I can't keep it to myself. But then I'd be suspect, especially with those who know I took it.

That's why I'm putting them in sections. And I keep the original copy in the house. I'd like to figure out a different place to hide it but...I'm not sure where is trustworthy.

[mirshikar]

[ It's warm, under the blankets, the fabric heated through by Asura's furnace of a body, and while it'll do to banish any lingering chill brought in from the outdoors, in no less than fifteen minutes, Sokie may or may not find herself forced to cool down by sticking her feet out from beneath the covers. But for now, they may enjoy the close proximity and the toastyness, and if Asura should rest his pounding head against the narrow slope of Sokie's shoulder, it's because it helps him to focus; to think clearly as he considers the book, how he hates the fact that the fundamentals of divination within it will help to further his own skill with the branch of magic, whether he likes it or not. ]

You'll find a spot, soon enough. Though my suggestion would be to magic it first, make it look like something else, before shoving it in some crypt or leaving it to rot out in the Wilde. [ Hey, at least he didn't suggest b u r n i n g the original. ] But until that time, my barrier still stands to protect this house.

[ Raised first to ward off the packs of looters lurking in the mist, then maintained to stand as a bulwark against the aristocrats who would have liked to inspire violence against the Mirrorbound, the barrier supported by runes marking the four cardinal directions around the house remains fully charged and powerful.

And, of course, it isn't only the house which Asura is protecting, but that needn't be said to be understood between them. ]

Don't think for a second that I didn't notice you side-stepping my question, though. [ About holding people accountable; about what measures would be taken if power were to corrupt. ] Wielding this sort of magic, even with the best of human intent, can lead to colossal fuckups.

Once... I removed a kid's memory without meaning to, back home. I was watching them in their parent's stead when they'd just awoken from a nightmare, all teary-eyed and snot-nosed. [ Gross. But then, that's the price of being named an uncle to the offspring of your human benefactors. ] What I thought I did was tell him the nightmare had never happened, that if he went back to sleep, he could dream up something good in that head of his to replace all the bad.

[ And while that seems innocent enough, it so too had been the largest trespass of Asura's life, because— ]

But when he woke up the next morning, his parents said he'd no memory at all of the night before. The kid didn't even remember that I'd been looking after him, and was fixed on some story where he'd protected the family business and killed all the bad guys when he'd been left at home alone.

[ —it made him no different than his Keeper or any member of the Gentry, and he couldn't even prevent it from happening to begin with. Fate had simply bent to his command and wove his bidding into existence, because words possess the strongest power, and Asura needn't ever learn that lesson again. He's always been careful around humans, since.

Just like he's been careful around Sokie, until they made the mutual decision to move forward. ]

Magic, it can be both good-natured and insidious. [ And someone always pays a price, in the end. ]

[weirdnecro]

[Likely she'll stick her feet out and maybe pull off her pants. If she gets hot enough that is, and likely she'd make complaining noises as she does. Which she may have to kick him for if he called them cute again. It's a loving kick at least, and one she wouldn't do if she didn't think he'd react well to it.

For now, they're bundled up, and she poked a hand out to gently (if absently) stroke his head. He's been more run down lately. It's worrisome.]

I'm not sure I want to risk that. There's still people out there.

[And grave robbers. She might have quietly helped reinforce the wards, and she knew it wasn't the house they were keeping safe.

Though the story made her sigh, and she started to curl her finger around a strand of his hair, idle and agitated...she understood why he was so horrified by it. And why he wanted to make sure she wasn't being stupid.

She was a necromancer and an old witch after all.]

Magic always has a price. I loss quite a bit because of it.

I'm not going to keep this to the witches you know. I was planning to tell the non magic people too- particularly those who were part of the plan. And only them.

This is more about teaching the signs of seeing how memories have been messed with and how to fix it.

I'm keeping the actual modification for myself.

Though the local Coven might have it and mind control still.

PALOMA;

[mirshikar]

[ With its catacomb ambiance and near-speakeasy entryway, Desmodus Mori isn't precisely Asura's sort of scene, but for the sake of a partner, he's willing to make it be. Sure, the place is crawling with the undead, but since the Wrathful King has long since come to terms with the fact that he since can't police every last one of them, volunteering himself as a regular donor for the bar is the next best thing. After all, ensuring that the business remains fully stocked on wares diminishes the demand for blood on the black market, promotes better human and vampire relations, and creates a safe space where a certain Fledgeling might be able to feed without the worry of leaving a trail of petty criminals and degenerates behind her.

And to be honest, if the establishment's got a tender's counter which can accommodate Asura's heavy-hitter lean, the King of Summer can make most any place his own domain. As much is evident when the woman of the hour arrives (Paloma, what did you make of Asura's invitation, anyway? the text which simply read You. Me. Desmodus Mori after sundown.), and Asura can be found angled up nice and neat against the bar, swirling his non-blood beverage (whisky) as he listens to the chatter of the night's crowd while bantering away with the barkeep. ]

Paloma. [ —he greets, breaking away from his former conversation with a wave of his hand and a wink. Though it's curious, how he doesn't move to embrace her despite how customary touch is between them. ] Wasn't sure you'd come to join me, but I'm glad that you did.

[ Because... even with him, in the privacy of Paloma's own apartment or the home Asura shares with Sokie and Persephone, the Kindred demures, hiding her fangs whenever she smiles. ]

Will you allow me the pleasure of ordering you a drink? [ And if so, what'll it be? ]

[gehennawind]

[ Moving to sanitize the reputation of local Aefenglom vampires, when everyone knows that they exist and what they require to continue existing, makes Paloma's guts squirm. How wonderful, to have another option from a donation- and volunteer-based menu. She fears too much to want anything other than anonymous safety and is too selfish to want to give up feeding from the vein directly.

Going means introducing herself into a public space where many patrons are assumed undead. It will make her nature known to strangers. If not for love of a friend, she would've kept on avoiding Desmodus Mori like a pestilence. Her eyes are bright with panic too embedded for even Asura's voice to soothe, hovering expectantly for him to reach out as they're wont to, and swallowing when he doesn't. ]

Oh. Yes, I trust your judgment. You know my taste, I guess. [ The back of her neck itches in pure psychological anxiety. There are no eyes on it, or her, but she uses a shawl like a hood. ]

[mirshikar]

[ This is difficult for her, Asura knows. Excruciatingly so, even. Paloma is Kindred, after all, and the vampires which Asura had made a career of dispatching back home had clung to their Masquerade for survival, even if doing so had done precious little to spare them from the storm of Summer's wrathful judgement. The Diadem's hounds and knights were unparalleled in hunting and tracking the undead which stalked humans under the cloak of night, and here, in this realm, there is no doubt in Asura's mind that there are hunters akin to his Crimson courtiers. There is safety and strength, to be found in numbers (in the many who populate Desmodus Mori), and a vampire drinking deep from a goblet enchanted to keep its contents piping hot is by far less likely to be considered a threat than one making a meal of an unconscious civilian (even if those people fed upon always turn up safe and sound). What's more...

Asura thinks it'll do Paloma some good, to (re)learn what it is to exist without having to take; to know what it is to accept community and goodwill with grace, starting with...! The glass of O+ witch blood which Asura orders with a deeper lean over the tender's counter, the drink arriving in short suit. And with a smooth glissade of motion, Asura sees the glass set within Paloma's reach before he tends to his own drink, nursing it at his leisure even though it looks like his partner might up and bolt at any moment. ]

The shawl is beautiful, by the way, but I wish I could see you better. [ Made all the more vivid by the shadows cast from the shawl covering her face and hair, Paloma's amberglass eyes are vivid and bright in their hypervigilance borne of fear, but... Wouldn't it be something, if all her features were bathed in from the lighting overhead? She'd be every bit the vision she was when she'd been kissed by sunlight in the days after the onset of the mist, thoroughly at ease in her own skin. When he looks at Paloma (unable to touch her yet), he can't help but want that future for her. One where she is untroubled by what she is. ] ...do you know why I asked you here?

[ Beyond liking her a whole hell of a lot, that is. ]

[gehennawind]

[ The shawl is beautiful. Primarily red, some gold, all lace. It would not protect her from the Diadem's hunts if they caught her fang-deep in a seduced bar patron. The only thing it's meant to be is a security blanket. She's good at repurposing pretty or deadly things into objects of comfort, like that murderer's axe.

Witch blood, O+. Is that his blood type? If it is, there's definitely evidence to suggest her partiality to it. A thread of embarrassment winds through the anxiety closing her throat, and a nervous laugh, breathy, bubbles out of it. ]

Can imagine it's to do with my appetite? [ She climbs into the stool beside him, wanting nothing more in that second to get in Asura's lap and use his torso and cascading hair to hide behind. His thoughts and where his line of sight is skip overhead. Her fingertip brushes the side of the glass and retreats as though bitten. ] Hot... or, umm.

[ He essentially asked it of her, and generally you're meant to be turned toward the person who invites you out on town. Paloma pulls at her expensive shawl and lets it be a scarf instead. If she just looks at his face, every other noise or color in this place can fade out. ]

To prove there's nothing here to be afraid of.

[ Instincts scream otherwise. ]