middaeg | [OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

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[OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

Who: L Lawliet and YOU (some open prompts, some semi-open)
When: Octeuril 21 through the end of the month
Where: Around Geardagas
What: Waking up to find that he doesn't have permanent severe brain damage is tempered by realizing and processing that his Bonded actually does.
Warnings: References to violent events, angst, will update if necessary

A. Octeuril 21, The Cottage (Open to residents, visitors and healers)

[It's been a week since Myr's desperate attack had thrown blackout curtains over L's senses and thoughts, further complicated by the violent fundamental alteration of his Bonded. He'd received prompt healing to his head and ribs that made the overall prognosis hopeful, and has been cared for and kept comfortable enough, but the fact of the matter is that Connor woke up, and then the SQUIP, but trailing behind them, L just didn't. Frequent doses of healing magic can help, but not change, the fact that the brain is complex and fragile, and rebuilding and repairing it can take time with even skilled and careful intervention.

For seven days and nights, he's been sleeping it off, recuperating in the quiet and subtle ways that make the biggest collective difference. Eventually, the culmination amounts to "enough", and with no trigger, catalyst or warning, he sits up in bed with no memory of how he got there.

So, start from the beginning.

Who? The SQUIP. Rich. Niles, Michael, Jeremy, Connor and Justine. Myr.

What? The Bond is different. The Bond has changed. The SQUIP has changed.

Where? Just outside. There was blood on the pavement.

When? Too long ago. So much has happened.

Why? It had to be stopped.

How? Fingertips explore the tender place where a skull was broken, has begun to mend in earnest. Clear enough, somehow... with no small measure of disquietment, L understands that he should probably be a vegetable. Someone, or several someones, have been working on ensuring that he woke up with the one thing he couldn't live without intact. How long is the list of names? How many people does L theoretically owe his life to, now?]

Is someone there?

[A week in bed has him anxious to get to his feet again, but... oh, slow, it's a head rush just to put them on the floor while he remains seated. He's hungry, and though either magic or gentle attentive hands have been keeping his body free of grime, he wants to bathe badly.]

Please tell me what's happened.

[He'll settle for anyone, the first person he lays eyes on. Friend or foe, he has to know; he isn't usually the last, this way.]

B. The Coven (Open)

[Getting back to some semblance of an ordinary life means returning to old familiar habits. The things that L's grey matter remembers so well it's second nature are, quite simply, folding into the sanctuary of committed study, and while the new and far more human SQUIP needs him in ways it didn't used to, that's still overwhelming. Latching onto L as a fellow human who can guide it through this transition is a mistake; whether or not it's a birthright, L was never very good at being human. It's the reason he considered a machine safe, and now that it's distraught and tormented and volatile, all on account of its reaction to his injury.

Books and scrolls are stacked high at his side, and he's working on a new set of runes. A jeweler's magnifying lens is held against his eye as he carefully etches them into pieces of scrap metal bent into the crude shape of a ring. These are just practice goes, of course, but some of them are promising. He places them in one pile; a far larger pile of rejects is littering the floor around the legs of his chair.

He glances your way, shoulders curling, seeming to grow a touch more protective of his work. Lately, he can only assume that others want to take things from him that bring him some small semblance of happiness.]

C. The Sly Seadog- Samuin (Open)

[Then, of course, there are the things that are not familiar at all. A mind is more than just a collection of memories and compiled facts; it has to adapt and respond and arrange data into solutions, and while working in a controlled and quiet environment is one way to test that, L can't think of a better scenario than this one to put himself through his paces.

The SQUIP can't help him the way it used to. He feels, in many ways, like a child about to cross the street for the first time without holding his caretaker's hand.]

Buy me a shot of liquor.

[He's addressing you. Maybe you know each other and he genuinely feels you owe it to him; maybe you're strangers and he is just testing the baseline for any kind of natural charisma he may possess in this capacity. Either way, he's getting some looks from a few of the bar's rowdier-looking individuals, and deigns to add]

...please.

D. WILDCARD

[Don't see it? Want it? Well, COOL, in all likelihood I do too but just didn't think to include it. Write your own prompt and I'll roll with it, or hit me up on plurk at lexil or on discord at ladylazarus#2235!]

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[There's something different about Jeremy compared to the last time L met him, and it's not his change into Victorian-adjacent clothing. He's considerably more reserved than the last time they spoke, both in his body language and in his actual speech. It's a miracle that he's willing to come outside at all.

There's a reason he's in a bar, though he's surprised that no one's IDed him. He has a glass of whiskey on the rocks, the taste of which he's vastly overestimated based on movies and TV. He's been nursing it so slowly that the ice has almost fully melted.

He doesn't have much money right now since he's had to beg it off of others. Normally, there'd be no way in hell that he'd spend it on L--either he wouldn't give him the time of day or he'd be running for the door.

But L's come right up to him and asked him the one thing that makes Jeremy stare at him, then, with a little nod of understanding, reach into his backpack and come up with some coins.]

This enough?

[He doesn't ask why L needs it or seems to think he deserves it from Jeremy. It's obvious.]

[Rank "a dockside bar" up there among the places Myr had never thought to find himself, in all his imaginings of the world beyond the Circle's walls. Of course he'd also never thought he'd have antlers, a tail, and an instinctive taste for hard alcohol, but here he is with all three and a seat at the bar. He'd been convivial enough with the bar's usual patrons--and they accustomed enough to both Fauns and the maimed--that they haven't turfed him out despite his pretty manners making him an ill fit for the place...

Which means he's on his third or fourth drink by the time Linden walks up to him, and any surprise (griefguiltshame) he'd feel is nicely blunted. Without even batting an-- Well. Without checking at the request, he raps his knuckles on the bar to get the bartender's attention, jerks his head in Linden's direction, and says,]

His tab's on me.

[Dangerous thing to do with Linden, he knows, but to the Void with it--he owes the other man at least that much.

There's a stool open beside him; he uses a foot to nudge it back if Linden should care to take it.]

How's your head? [Asked without preamble, because if he thinks any harder on what to say he'll get lost in the feeling of obligation to spill it all, unvarnished.]

[At first, L stiffens, shoulders tensing as he registers Jeremy's identity. He cants his head and leans forward slightly; the lighting in here is dim, but he's sure it's him. The first few days after waking up were difficult, mostly because he'd had to adjust to the SQUIP's constant presence being somewhat quieted and the mundane and small choices it had made for him had fallen back into his hands again.

If L had seen Jeremy as Jeremy, immediately, perhaps he would have ignored him, or even left, but considering their last encounter, those circumstances, the fundamentally changed and newly incomprehensible SQUIP that L's now Bonded to? Maybe he is owed a drink.

He glances at the coins in Jeremy's hand.]

If it's all you have... it's enough.

[L has money, after all. This is about flying solo without the SQUIP he far prefers to have.]

[L's a couple in by the time he notices Myr's presence in the bar. It's a reckless kind of relief he experiences, in a way, because the dust has settled. Why the hell can't he see a person he likes talking to? Why can't he approach them and make a playful demand?

It's surreal. It's also, apparently, so audacious that Myr actually agrees to pick up his tab. It proves that the SQUIP was onto something all along, doesn't it? Confidence can make any request fly, from anyone, but... no, that's not quite right. Myr never disliked him; Myr never wanted to hurt him. Myr's intentions, like the SQUIP's, were always good, and L is the snake in the middle who deserves the efforts of neither.

The alcohol he's already imbibed has made him bolder, more willing to initiate both conversation and contact. He reaches for Myr's hand, drawing his fingertips toward the side of his head where a scar that his hair covers visually is extremely tactilely apparent.]

I'm actually extremely lucky...

[He pauses before chuffing a breath of quiet laughter.]

I've spent a lifetime not being handsome, so this isn't really a step back, or anything.

[His partner is another story. His partner is home, now, and miserable, and incomplete, and angry. L told himself that this was a bid to get his head together, rethink his strategy... but secretly, maybe the opportunity to get away for a bit was tempting.

He'll go home, and resume being there even if he hates the way the situation makes him feel helpless.]

Do you know... it's my birthday today. I'm 26.

[ The unexpected request has him raising a brow at him. ]

Do I know you?

[L doesn't fit in here. He seems a little too... refined, perhaps, though his sloppy presentation makes that seem as though it's not quite the proper word. The way he holds his glass is finicky and delicate; if those spindly fingers tried to throw a punch he might break his hand.

He's a witch though, fortunately, and fists aren't all he's relying on.]

No, no you definitely don't know me, but if you'd like to, I'm way more fun when I'm not completely sober.

[He sounds as though he's had a few already, and... maybe a little like he's reciting from a script.]

...would you be willing to answer a few questions about first impressions? Do I seem fun, or like the right amount of self-deprecating?

[ It still catches him off guard meeting new people who seem to know the other 'him'. For a moment, he thinks he has to explain he isn't the other Shiro, but his concern is laid to rest with that upfront admission. He doesn't know him. It puts him at ease and makes him more amiable to his request until he keeps on talking drawing his brows down in true puzzlement. ]

Sure... I guess.

[ He's kind of strange, but Shiro's dealt with stranger aka Slav.]

Can I ask, why you want to know?

"―oh― oh, Linden, thank goodness!"

He most likely could feel her touch as she bent over him, brushing stray, stringy locks from his forehead― foggy vision giving way to a warm smile, gilded curls, soft ears. A basin and pitcher, along with a cloth, sits untouched on a nearby table. She had just come in, taking her time to open the curtains to allow morning light to wash over the room, but his awakening clearly supercedes whatever she had been preparing to do.

Adeline takes a seat in a chair that sits close-by, looking relieved― if not joyed at seeing him rouse, if only a bit. His attempt to sit up further, to put his feet on the floor is met with the gentle, near-touch of her hand over his chest. "―don't! You needn't push yourself too soon― please, let me instead."

"Oh, the SQUIP will be more than happy to hear you've woken― it's been days... we were worried for you." Taking her little glove away, she offers him a smile as she leans toward the little table, taking a teacup in her hands to offer it to his lips. "―I poured this for myself, but please― it's still warm, and I'm sure you'll be happy to have something other than water..."

[The time apart hasn't made the heart grow fonder, huh?]

It's better to drink it fast, but it only lasts as long as the alcohol's in your bloodstream. At least, that's how it used to work. I'm sure you don't need me to walk you through how to take a shot.

[He puts the coins on the counter and scoots them toward L. It's not an olive branch. It's only that Jeremy has a standard of decency that has nothing to do with L.]

It gets quieter eventually.

[To be fair, L isn't "fond" of many people, and Jeremy sort of took away the thing that he was actually attached to.

But the child is really rather too simple to hate. And as much as L is loathe to admit it... he's in rather a unique place to understand a great deal of what L's going through right now. It's obnoxious, of course, but maybe just a little welcome.]

If you think there's a trick to it... you'd better let me know.

[He orders his shot; it's sweeter than most but still acrid, mostly alcohol, and he takes his shot like someone who sips most things. Every second appears to be absolute torture, but he gets it down.]

...quieter?

[He knows exactly what Jeremy's referring to. It cuts a little deep at the moment; he misses its constant presence.]

Is the same true for you?

[Mean? Maybe, but he'll make up for it.]

What are you drinking?

[It's his turn to buy one, and he sure has a fat billfold, there.]

[Jeremy's lips twist at the insult. He moves his glass away from L.]

Wait, excuse me. We're talking? I paid for your drink but I'm not buying you a drink.

[In defiance, he picks up the whiskey, holds his breath, and downs it in one go. It's incredibly obvious that he wants to puke from it but at least it's watered down now. Aaaah that was stupid, that was stupid, idiot, stop trying to look cool! Now you look like an even bigger moron!

After he coughs and sputters and grabs a napkin, wiping his mouth, he shoots L a scowl and points to his own neck. They're not drinking buddies. He might not have a scar as proof, thanks to the SQUIP, but they've both got the lovely memories.]

Drink and it'll be quieter. That's all I wanted to tell you.

[L stares.]

You paid for my drink. That's literally buying me a drink. You know that those words mean the same thing, right?

[He watches as Jeremy drinks, a masochistic gesture that appears to bring him no pleasure and be highly difficult. His expression sours as Jeremy gestures toward his neck.]

I gave you lots of chances to get away from me. I didn't want to bite you. What are you drinking?

[He repeats the question, pulling several thousand cune from his billfold. There, it's the drinking fund, now, because...]

It's pretty clear you're broke.

[And Myr's never been shy about touch if someone else starts it, so he's amenable to having his hand taken and guided where Linden wills. Even if the ridge of scar tissue under his fingers provokes a faint wince, he's amenable; this is something he needs to face, the marks of a fight he'd picked left written into the flesh of someone he cared about.

That Linden had survived it feels like a miracle in itself. He'll be on his knees for it at his shrine later.

(That Linden had, apparently, forgiven him for it--or near enough as to approach him out of the blue and ask for a drink--... He'll thank the Maker for that too.)

The drink, the relief, the fact Linden started it has an emboldening effect on Myr, too; he slides his hand down in the briefest fond touch to the side of Linden's face, teasing, as he does--]

You've got the bones for being handsome, if you'd eat more. [The large-eyed skeletal waif look had never done it for Myr before, but he's a kind soul, and even if all Linden seems to have to him is bone...they are nice bones.

He takes his hand back before he can think on that too far.] But I won't argue you've got Maferath's own luck; I was afraid, [lightly said, but never, ever lightly meant,] I'd killed you.

[One corner of his mouth quirks up at Linden's revelation on the date, the smile between fond and rueful.] Right on the cusp of their new year--and that's a piece of luck too, isn't it? Happy birthday, Linden. S'pose you ought to get yourself dinner and dessert, on me, too.

[If any of the alcohol had really hit Jeremy yet, he'd say something snarky about the SQUIP teaching L nuance.]

I don't know what you gave those chances to, but it wasn't me. What, did I force your mouth onto my neck?

[He rolls the glass around on its bottom rim, idle. L didn't even need to ask him for money. What was this about?]

...I ordered whiskey but it sucks, and they haven't got jello shots here. I'm not trying to get wasted. I only needed the one.

[In all kind and rational fairness, the SQUIP hadn't exactly been allowed to finish its job. Without it, L's weak areas are guaranteed to be glaring, and they are significant.]

Something forced my mouth on your neck. Probably the same thing that forced you to constantly spout inane and poorly-translated fortune cookie inserts. It's not like I just left you there...

[He does sort of consider that his good deed for the year, truly going above and beyond when he didn't actually have to.]

Bartender, more terrible whiskey and two shots of something with chocolate.

[As far as he's concerned, Jeremy's in this now. The bartender rolls his eyes, but L looks like he's at least tipping recklessly well, so the drinks are delivered in short order.]

[Oh. Rich mentioned something like that. There's no way that L had been a good guy in that situation, and an apology would still be sorely appreciated, but maybe Jeremy's been blaming him when he shouldn't be.]

Sorry I put you in that situation.

[That one really is an olive branch, even if it's muttered and spoken to the whiskey glass more than L.

When the drinks arrive, Jeremy looks at the drinks and then at the guy whose every vibe constantly radiates creep, transparently torn on whether he should stick around or go home. Maybe he should text Rich and Michael with his location. ...They'd probably want him to leave.]

I think I'm good, actually. But thanks. I can pay you back, um, later.

You were weak and helpless and if I didn't take advantage of that, another person who wasn't in their right mind would have. I didn't want to do it.

[Also mumbled, and probably the closest L can actually come to giving an apology in his current form.

The drinks show up. L immediately takes one of the chocolate shots and starts nursing it in that absurdly delicate, slow fashion. The whiskey is neutral ground; the other chocolate shot is clearly intended for Jeremy, even placed near him.]

I don't need money. That's actually insulting; if I expected to be paid back, you know that I would have led with it before spending the money, don't you?

So instead, you gave me blood loss and left me at a hospital without contacting anyone? You realize that made me more weak and helpless and someone did take advantage of that.

[He doesn't know why he was dumb enough to listen to the SQUIP that day, but the blood loss couldn't have helped.

L was directly saying that when he said Jeremy was broke, it was meant as an "insult." SQUIP victim or not, Jeremy didn't think he should put up with this sort of thing.]

You've obviously got enough booze here to get you by. Excuse me.

[He pushed himself off the counter. Are you allowed to take shots in a to-go cup? Jeremy doesn't know how bars work.]

I don't exactly have your friends on speed-dial.

[He says so dryly, almost dismissively... but quite a clear change comes over him when Jeremy appears to be preparing to actually get up and leave.]

...wait.

[He's reaching for his billfold again, putting more money on the counter in a separate pile, closer to Jeremy's shot glass.]

You can drink, or you don't have to, but if you stay here I'll pay for your time. You can start a meter, if you want.

[Whether it's fortunate or not, L can be insular; he hasn't had the pleasure (or displeasure) of meeting either Shiro. What's certain is he's one of those people who's a little off, who might not be psychotic or overtly attempting to make others uncomfortable, but certainly has failed to pick up a certain number of social skills over his lifetime. He had a cheat code for it, recently... but that's been taken from him. His Bonded is no longer in the back of his mind telling him how to succeed at every juncture.

Explaining that, of course, is a little fraught and might actually make him sound insane.]

It's just that... it's what I'm going for. Too much self-deprecation can just make a person seem like they're down on themselves or suicidally depressed, whereas the right amount can make them seem self-aware and confident enough to poke fun at their own flaws.

[He thinks this is the case. It's actually really difficult to apply book knowledge to these types of situations.]

[Jeremy looks at the money, then at L, and slowly sinks back into his seat.

He doesn't need the bribe--rent is free and, thanks to Justine, so are clothes and food, and if there's anything else worth spending money on Jeremy hasn't seen it. If L's desperate to keep talking to Jeremy, there's only one thing this can be about.

He pulls out his watch.]

hey. this is jeremy. at this place called the sly seadog w Creepy Guy. nothing's gonna happen but im bein safe xo

[After sending that text to Michael and Rich and, as a last second decision, Justine, Jeremy pockets the watch again.]

What questions have you got about the SQUIP?

[At first, it does look like the bribe (and it was a bribe) actually worked. Jeremy might have things he's too good for, things that he would never compromise his moral code for, might even give his last few cune in change to someone who seems to need alcohol... but everyone is beholden to the simple, uncomplicated rules governing the need to survive. Cold hard cash, and lots of it, represents power over those rules, and L's long realized as much.

But Jeremy isn't rejoining him for that reason, is he? L steeples his fingers after finishing off his shot perhaps more quickly than he might have desired, watching Jeremy text someone. Maybe several someones; it's too far and his vision is just a touch too blurry to make out any details.

What questions.]

Did you really never think of it as a person? Even a little bit?

[L's head jerks up at the soft sound of one of his housemate's voices. It makes sense that Ada would be around; with a jolt, he comprehends that she's probably been one of the people caring for him. His hand goes to shield his sore eyes from the wash of daylight, but he's no longer a vampire; it's no longer a concern, just a mild headache that should subside once he's a bit more accustomed to it.]

Let... you.

[He repeats it slowly, ultimately agreeing, even if he's uneasy with the insistence. Easy. If it's been this long, she's probably been doing some of this already.

He accepts the teacup gratefully, very nearly greedily. He's parched.]

The SQUIP is... alright? What's happened?

[He repeats the question, breathless after gulping his tea.]

[Thing is, Enkidu is quite good at what they used to do. Their abilities were powerful and they could handle most of the enemies they faced. But when it comes to becoming a witch they have no clue what they are doing. Of course, the books teaches them about spells and they are able to use magic, but there is no balance. Sometimes nothing comes out, sometimes too much and it is somewhat frustrating because they want to know this.

But then there is this human over there being overly protective over their work and, well Enkidu closes that big book about conjuration. Slowly they move to stand and walk around the table, driven by their neverending curiosity.

Instead of touching any the pieces they are engraving they pick up one of the rejects that lies on the floor.]

May I keep this? [After that they point at three others that lie more underneath the chair.] Hmm. And those too?

[That makes two of them. L was sterling at his former career, the best in fact. After several months to hone his craft, he's gotten damn good at his job in Geardagas... but there's more he wants. It's what comes of being an ambitious man and after losing a week, he can only scramble to catch up.

He glances up sharply at the newcomer's question, fingertips nudging aside his notes.]

I don't mind, but... why?

[Does this person even know how to parse a failed spell?]

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[OPEN] The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out

The Sly Seadog- Samuin

shots shots shots shots

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Sly Dog

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a but wildcarding into bunny baftime eventually

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B

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