Event Log: January, Return to Dorchacht

[faileas]

Event Log: January, Return to Dorchacht

I. A Tarnished Reality The teleporter to Dorchacht becomes operational by the 4th and the ambassadors return to their city with the first open, ceremonial operation of the device - along with any Mirrorbound who wish to join them, and Theodore Rosethorne and Sowilo, who make the trip as representatives of the Coven to ensure that all is well. Those who missed the first teleportation, never fear! Now that both waypoints are functional, Mirrorbound and others may travel freely between Aefenglom and Dorchacht at any point they choose to. Notably absent from the group, though - most of the Dorchacht refugees originally smuggled into Aefenglom. Only three or four are going back with the ambassadors, and they're primarily Witches. The rest have chosen to stay. Upon return to Dorchacht, it's obvious that some major changes have been made with the new regime. The sky is overcast, but it's merely fault of the weather at this time of year - the oppressive fog that used to hang over the Black City is gone, along with its effects on the natural lunar cycle. The auction blocks, damaged in the fires of the event the locals now call "The Rising", have been fully torn down, not a trace of them left to sully the streets. Where the triple stars of the Resistance used to be worn in secret, a majority of citizens now bear them openly (and in many cases, proudly) on pins and on clothing. In fact, any Witches who do not display the triple stars on their person somewhere, are generally regarded with suspicion, disgust, or fear unless they're recognized as Mirrorbound Witches - careful not to be mistaken for a Drummond sympathizer. The Monster citizens won't be outwardly cruel to any Witches, but will be somewhat fearful, hurrying their children along or crossing the street to get away. Recognizable Mirrorbound, those who were there during The Rising and before, are treated a bit like celebrities on the streets, though any Mirrorbound are given a warm welcome, albeit a little less warm for Witches. Storytellers share tales of how diplomats treating one another, Witches and Monsters alike, as equals so publicly and openly within Dorchacht gave them hope that such a life is attainable, or how a band of Mirrorbound snuck into the city under the cover of darkness and helped give their Resistance a leg up in the good fight against Drummond's extremists. Others share stories of being rescued from burning buildings or cruel Witches during The Rising by brave heroes. Many of these tales are shared in the form of song, as homage to those Mirrorbound who brought hopeful music to Dorchacht through the radio, which is still operational and playing a selection of music with a little more variety. Still a bit soft, their speakers and songs are, but as time passes, they grow a little more experimental, branching out from the lullabies that used to be played. Overall, the Black City is much less black these days, a little greener and brighter from the plants left by Mirrorbound before. Where the old Dorchacht could take your breath away with its feeling of barred oppression, many of those barricaded windows have been opened, reinforcements on the doors broken down. Though things are never perfect after a revolution, and it's clear that the work continues. Armed Resistance guards patrol the streets in trios, normally two Monsters and a Witch, to keep the peace. Their first priority is the protection of Monsters, many of whom still seem anxious and scared as they go about their days - not of the guards themselves, who they often greet with smiles, but of the Witches and humans they pass on the streets. In some cases, keeping the peace means breaking up fights between their own and those humans and Witches who do not want to accept Monsters as their equals, and in some cases it means putting Drummond sympathizers in their places with intimidation and force. While they do their best to keep skirmishes out of Mirrorbound sight, it's clear that despite the improvements, Dorchacht is still no utopia, and the road to a true peace is fraught with speedbumps. As noted, characters are free to travel between Aefenglom and Dorchacht by teleporter as often as they'd like! The waypoints will remain open even after this month and travel will be unrestricted; we will note if this situation changes in the future. Dorchacht quests are also now available ICly!

II. A Few Alterations a. The Coven Major changes are still underway. One of the biggest that Mirrorbound will notice is that the new administration of Dorchacht have moved the Coven. The old building is in a state of disrepair right now, doors and windows wide open, the interior stripped of trappings. The library has shed its books to somewhere else. The basement where so many horrors took place is abandoned. Instead, a sign has been erected outside it, stating that this center of Drummond's operations will be turned into a museum to remember their unpleasant history, and to memorialize those who lost their lives fighting for freedom. It's still a work in progress, and not high on the priority list when survival and care of the citizens have to take precedence, but inside, characters may still find small shrines set up in various places to Resistance members who died there. Instead, Dorchacht's new Coven is currently based inside an old manor located just a handful of blocks from the town square, and it's a much more informal affair. Magic lessons have continued with Resistance Witches, though the subject matter has changed instead. They experiment with different types of magic based on their own interests, but many are studying plant magic, medicine, and defensive spells that can be used out in the Wilde. Anything that will prove to be practical going forward. Lessons are also open to Monsters now, so they can see what their magical brethren are learning (and know that the compulsion and control spells that Morgana loved so much are no longer being taught). With the Coven being moved, visitors from Aefenglom are offered places to stay either within the manor of the new Coven, or in various empty houses around the city. Stay as long as you'd like, they say, and apologize that the accommodations aren't nicer - reconstruction is still obviously ongoing all over the city, repairing damages from The Rising and the fighting that happened afterward. They don't really have anywhere as nice as the rooms their ambassadors were given in Aefenglom. b. The Walls One of the biggest on-going projects in Dorchacht right now is removing the Monster control spells from the set of enchantments on their city walls. High on the list of priorities is making sure that Monsters can feel safe again, secure in their own minds and bodies. As the spells are made visible, particular sets of runes have to be ground down and smoothed over. A spell is either cast or provided to soften the stone temporarily, and then it's basically going at it with magitech-powered sanders created by Hilda. The particular runes that need to be gotten rid of will be provided on reference sheets - please don't touch the others, they chide! Those are to protect from the Cwyld, and are still very important. While help is welcomed with open arms and enthusiasm at most sections of the walls, those guards posted at one particular small district, guarded with trios of Resistance members at each entrance and warded with alarm magic to warn of escape, turn Mirrorbound away; these runes are being altered, not removed, to help contain unruly Drummond loyalists, they say. The people who now live in that guarded district are all human, whether they're Witches or no, and all refuse to bear the triple stars. "Troublemakers," the guards will explain grimly. "We have to contain them for now. It isn't a perfect solution, but they've hurt people, or tried to hurt people, since Drummond was run out of town." c. Bond Lessons Bonding is a bit of a tricky subject in the new Dorchacht. Many Monsters are afraid of the idea, as it was once used as one of the collars around their necks, but the Circle of Three recognize it as an important way to wean citizens off the lullabies and calming draughts that prevent going feral during full moons. As part of encouraging others to form Bonds, partnerships at the very least the way most Resistance members describe theirs, there are demonstrations and public seminars that pop up around Dorchacht on the regular. They may be as informal as a circle in what's going to be a park or as official-seeming as a talk held inside a shop or lecture hall, but they have one thing in common. Many of the citizens are keen on getting Mirrorbound in on it -- mostly by dragging them in, asking if they have a Bonded, and if they do, they tell the Mirrorbound to talk about their Bonded. They're interested in the ups and downs (but mostly ups) of having one in order to show that if the Mirrorbound are into it, you should be too! They accept all stories but prefer the happy ones - the aim is to encourage their Monster citizens and help them be less afraid of taking that step with Witches. And for those who aren't in a Bond, or decline to talk -- well, they get what amounts to a "flour sack baby" in the form of a Dorchacht citizen of the opposite role of their own (a Monster would receive a human/Witch, a Witch would receive a Monster) that they must hang with for a day, ensuring no harm comes to them, bound by one of the temporary Bonding potions so popular in the Wilders' ranks. (As a note, for the second option, you have free reign of the NPC; do the personalities you find fun, be they cooperative or mischievous, shy or loud, abrasive to your character or someone they can genuinely get along with. They are all willing - no one is being forced into this. No Fae or Dragons allowed for Monster NPCs, unfortunately, as they are still very much not about.)

III. Ahoy Mateys! With Dorchacht opening up again after the last few months of closed off internal fighting, plenty of trading ships' Captains are ready and raring to go build business relations with the new regime and find a new market for some of their wares. There has been increased interest in finding a shorter route to Dorchacht by sea - the teleporter is useful for small groups of people, sure, but it can't handle much cargo. The only problem? Ships are being turned back, barely halfway there, with significant damage to their hulls. Brave individuals looking for a seafaring adventure are asked to come aboard and help the crew navigate tumultuous waters, hopefully figuring out along the way what's causing the damage to previous ships. It's a three day trip to Dorchacht if the waters are kind, and characters can simply teleport back home once there. On board the various ships brave enough to return to the sea, Mirrorbound find the problem halfway through the trip: a colossal squid that's made it home at this point, thrashing ships that come too close to its den. While uninfected, it does have injuries on its body, which may be the source of its lashing out. The ships are able to bring themselves close enough for longer ranged attacks, and the Harpy on board are careful not to be captured by the churning waves caused by the thrashing, but there's others who want to seek a less violent mean to end this surf and turf conflict. Killing, healing, subduing, or relocating it are all valid options, but getting in close to do any of those will be difficult, as it has a tendency to ink up the waters around it and reduce visibility to nothing. Be careful of any creatures swimming around that are interested in the weakened squid as well, such as various carnivorous fish, sea-plants, and things that appear alike to Merrow, but rely only on instinct. The Merrow cannot be spoken to, nor are they infected; the Captains of the ships will explain that they're "wild", and refer to them as distant cousins to the Merrow that sparsely populate Aefenglom itself.

IV. Back At Home Back in Aefenglom, the stir caused by the Circle of Three's arrival takes time to calm. It's the talk of the town for days - many seem happy about Morgana Drummond's apparent demise. "Good for them," is the general sentiment in the residential areas more populated by Monsters and the Harbor District. They're glad to know that things are on the way up there. Others think this is a boon; should anything happen, now Aefenglom has an ally city to stand with them, one in their debt. Others still don't really care either way, and go about their lives as if nothing's happened. The refugees, in their neighborhoods on the far reaches of the Haven, seem happy to hear news from home and find The Dragon/Starlight/Fafnir freed, and while a few of them choose to return to Dorchacht, having never put down roots in Aefenglom, more still don't wish to leave the homes and families they've formed here, or the Mirrorbound who have helped them so much over the months. Some even doubt that things are as good as they say, and choose to remain for that reason - slavery and ill treatment from the upper class in Aefenglom instilled in them a sense of (well-earned) paranoia regarding the intentions of Witches, especially those back home. They hear that things have changed, but don't necessarily want to find out for themselves. Even still, the mood is upbeat, with a general consensus that if Morgana is really gone, that's at least a solid step in the right direction. In the Aristocratic District, though, the atmosphere is sour. The general sentiment is that they wish the refugees would have left with those ambassadors. The kinder ones think Aefenglom should focus on its own citizens - the people from the Outer City brought in to weather the blizzard have never left, after all, still living in the neighborhoods with the refugees. Those who are more vocally outspoken about the Mirrorbounds' presence in the city think they should have all left to Dorchacht. Let another city shoulder all the misfortune they bring with them! Many of the people grumbling about that are ones who were directly affected by the Mists back in October, either through temporary changes themselves or through being attacked by ferals. Some of the more hot-headed young people try to spread this message - through graffiti, on homes and businesses in the Haven and the refugees' district, though if caught, they're quick to run away and not willing to enter into a confrontation. The graffiti is wholly mundane and not particularly difficult to remove, just unpleasant, telling Mirrorbound and refugees alike to "go home" or "go back to Dorchacht", in so much colorful language. Seems there's still some work to do at home, as well.

Welcome to your establishing post for the current situation in Dorchacht! This log takes place through the entire month; characters can come and go as they please. As always, you can direct all your questions HERE. This month we're also putting up a City Tracker for PC actions, both in Aefenglom's plot later on and Dorchacht's log here. Let us know what your character is doing, good or bad! The cut-off for the tracker is February 3rd.

Comments

[hearthebell]

[L is not an emotionally demonstrative man, through mannerisms, expression or tone, and Myr's blindness makes it even more difficult to pick up on the shreds and fragments that might sneak their way through. Truly, their Bond is what allows the faun to keep fingers on the pulse of someone who does possess a deep and complex emotional range, in spite of appearances...

...but in comparison, Myr is something of an open book, especially to a detective. L glances up as Myr all but braces against his question, prepares to answer and parry, in spite of the affection the two of them share.]

"Afraid" is not the right word, for Mello, or even Niles.

["Afraid" implies uncertainty. L knows his successor too well to have a shred of doubt, and Niles, while exhausting, is also predictable.]

I think it may be the right word for you. You believe in things I'm not certain of... or things that I can see on the edge of catastrophy or collapse. You believe them like I believe that the Sun will rise tomorrow, and your evidence is faith in the kind of goodness that might be beyond even "good" humans. Not millions of years of a planet continuing to rotate and revolve around a reliable constant, like mine.

[faithlikeaseed]

[That--cuts to Myr's pride.]

You'd give me no chance.

[His voice has gone abruptly level but the emotion across the Bond...is complicated, prickling. Of course his own evaluation of their straits had been bleak--he's weaker still than either Mello or Niles, though committed to making up as much of that as he can--and of course he trusts L's analysis of the situation... Insofar he thought his Bonded had all the pieces of it to hand.

But it hurts, yet, to have his own difficulties pointed out to him. (Echoes of Enchanter Philomela, naming him a liability in combat.) He shifts where he's perched, stretching a leg that's gone numb...and buying himself a little space to think instead of react in the first flush of his wounding. Listen to the rest of what L said, and think about it...

...Because it is actually more familiar territory, and that makes him smile, small and wan.] Dear materialist, d'you mean to say you can't trust the footing where I'm leading--or that you think I'm off on the wrong track?

[He suspects and wishes for the former, but the latter's nothing new and has no power to wound him.] Have your folk really been around all those millions of years to number the sunrises?

[Rhetorical and leading. The next question isn't:] Where's the soap gone?

[hearthebell]

[L blinks at the shift in Myr's tone, as well as the uneasy pall it casts over their Bond. Both of them do have their pride, after all, and its wounding extends to other parts of their reactions and their general mood. It's comprised of what they've built and accomplished and bled for, and to threaten that pillar is so much worse than any personal attacks that could volley their way.]

On the contrary, I'd give you as many as I possibly could.

[Because he trusts Myr... but that number is uncertain. To give a chance, one must be alive, or at least otherwise able, and so much can happen as a result of Niles' sheer determination catching up once more to one already self-destructive, living to tempt near-misses and risky headrushes.]

There is faith absolute, and then what I would like to name for our purposes "informed faith." You can deduce with fair certainty that the world did not begin with your birth, that your parents and theirs were born as you were even though you didn't witness it. Likewise... knowing the age of humanity, their ancestors, the planet, the galaxy... we can, with informed faith, deduce that the Sun rose then, and will tomorrow, and our senses will tell us that it has.

[Myr might not be able to see it, but the faun can feel the warmth on his upturned face, feel the leaves beneath his palm that rely on the light to produce chlorophyl, and smell the dew at dawn and notice its absence as the journey toward the zenith continues.]

I understand informed faith. Any established pattern inspires it, and very logically so, but... when a pattern is random, or suggests that failure is more likely as a trend... I would call faith in those cases absolute.

[And so very, very illogical.]

In short... my meaning was that yes, I am afraid to fail you.

[He switches hands, even though it's a strange cross-wise reach to hand the now slightly-mushy soap he's been holding too tightly to Myr. He doesn't want to risk the dingy, bloodied bandage brushing his Bonded and raising inconvenient questions, distressing reactions and a call to improvement that is too draining and demanding just now.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Ah. Even a Bond, it seems, can't entirely prevent errors of interpretation. Myr ducks his head--relieved, a little chagrined--to hear L's clarification.]

I mistook you, then; forgive me.

[The odds ranged against them have not changed, but there is something to be said for the assurance they are on the same side. It clears the gloom of self-recrimination from Myr's side of the Bond, like a cloud fleeing before the sun; terrible habit, that, but one he can function around.

Goals and hopes aligning, of course, does not mean their beliefs must; and Myr listens with patient sympathy to L's unpacking his two sorts of faith. He's silent even after his Bonded's made an end of speaking, rolling the ball of soap between his palms as he turns thoughts over in his mind.]

Deducing back beyond living memory relies on the patterns we see here and now being fixed, [he begins slowly, after a due space of thought. Such is his trust in and comfort with L that he is willing to think other than quickly, not seizing on the first answer and extemporizing when needs must. This should be correct all the way through.

He can do no less than that to honor his friend entrusting a fear to him.] And so far as that concerns the sun and the constant stars, we're not apt to err. They, after all, haven't any choice but to do as the Maker Made them; some catastrophe might tear them from their place, but they can't of themselves choose to leave it.

Mortals, on the other hand-- [Now that he's built up a sufficient lather he reaches out, feeling for L's hair. Washing it's a chance to see what he can do for the edges of that hangover--and an opportunity to touch. For a moment he'll rest his hands oh, so lightly on L's head, black strands tangled through his fingers. ] --tell me if you'd rather I not do this, will you? --Mortals, for all we're prone to becoming fixed in our own arcs, always have the freedom to alter them. And we're far easier to persuade or coerce than sunrise; neither Niles nor Mello seems much preoccupied with the idea they might not be able to bend us to their wills.

Better, though, [more just, more moral, more loving,] to make space wherein choice and change become possible. To tell someone he isn't bound to the pattern life has pressed into him--and show him the way beyond it. It's hardly faith absolute to have that hope of everyone; we're all capable of it. Though, [and here his voice turns wry,] many people take a lot of convincing.

[A fond skitch of fingers against L's scalp punctuates the comment.] And many others need a change in circumstances [Mello,] that's harder to provide.

[More softly, then,] Those who'd hurt or kill you outright can be fought. I know how to win those battles. [Even if right now he lacks the means to do so.]

How might I help you choose something other than oblivion?

[There undoubtedly many other elements to that fear of failing that they will get to in due time--

But this is top of mind.]

[hearthebell]

[Though the situation is fraught and complicated in many regards, L speaks the most clearly with his actions. He wouldn't be here like this, permitting this state of prone emotional vulnerability, if he did not believe that they were on the same side. Even when unintended consequences have resulted in tremendous harm, L has never failed to believe as much, and therefore, there is nothing to forgive on Myr's part.

As Myr speaks and L listens, his shaggy hair is a tangled, neglected mess in the faun's fingers. Even when gently handled, little snags and tugs are inevitable, and he weathers them with as much grace as his situation can allow, but only gives a slight nod of consent for Myr to proceed with what simply will not get done, otherwise.

He wants to defend Mello to his other Bonded, insist that it's not like that and that Mello isn't trying to bend anyone's will... but he can't make himself believe it with any amount of mental gymnastics. If he can't convince himself, he won't be able to convince one who, while hopeful, also has a sharply canny and insightful streak. So he lets it rest, for now, perhaps to be revisited, but wouldn't it be a relief, in a way, if they never had to?]

When oblivion is what we come from, and where we're going and spend so much of our time, it makes sense to think of it as the only choice.

[Because, for all the power L has wielded in his life, the mental wattage at his command as well as the sheer number of real-world game pieces on a board he controlled, he's made shockingly few choices on a personal level. His gifts were great enough that to keep them to himself would only be selfish, and when one has no country, parents, home or name, it's easy for "personal matters" to be an insignificant, navel-gazing waste of time that people of less importance concern themselves with. Not only is it an immensely inhuman perspective, but it is largely at the heart of L's conflict with Mello, who wants all of the human connection without any of the frailty or uncertainty or inconvenience.]

The notion of other choices is, in fact, an auspicious start, but... as far as helping goes, you know that you do a lot of that already, don't you?

[And you probably feel, every day, that it's not enough.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Rough though a faun's hands may be, they're not so ill-suited to tasks as delicate as transplanting seedlings or working the knots out of a matted coat. With as far as L's let himself go, pain from tugged hair might be inevitable, but Myr will do everything he can to reduce it.

Truthfully, he reflects, it might be easier and faster to simply take shears to some of it. But not only is that not a job for a blind man...it also would give him little chance to make something comforting and sensuous out of the everyday task of washing hair. He seeks out tender spots on L's head and neck with the same solicitousness he'd shown his Bonded's aching back, and takes that as worthy pretense for thought on what L's said--

"...it makes sense to think of it as the only choice."

It hurts Myr's heart to hear, though he knows even without a depth of detail on L's life where such a sentiment might come from.]

Still and all, [he murmurs,] even if we accept the frame there's nothing for us before or after this life, that's no reason to shorten the journey without due cause. If all that remains of us once we're gone is the memories of others, I'd think to spend as much of it as I can making worthy ones with them.

[They may never agree on the metaphysical frame of the world--and truthfully, Myr himself is unsure what might become of him on death, so far from the Maker's purview--but as the faun sees it, the recipe for a good, a worthwhile life might still be translated from one to another.

He dips a hand in the bathwater, cupping a palmful to sluice through L's hair where it's not quite wet enough to lather properly. And laughs, softly and a little chagrined, at the affirmation.]

With my head if not my heart, intimus. [It is impossible to see someone who has been deprived so thoroughly and not want to give him more than is reasonable, more than I even have.] But let's speak of choices, and not making the right ones,

[because it is in his nature to efface himself when faced with greater need,]

what d'you think it would mean to fail me? Barring death, which--you should know--I don't count. [If L died by his own hand or negligence, or from something it was (reasonably or not) in Myr's power to prevent, he very much would judge himself for it.]

[hearthebell]

[L is no stranger to pain, whether it leads somewhere gentle of even harsher. Most of it has been consequences long in the making; a back bent by cramped quarters and poor posture, malnutrition and restlessness grinding him in a vicious and wasting cycle, the now-familiar bite of a blade every time L taps into his own blood to give his magic an extra kick that he feels limited without.

Niles still has my blade; need to follow up on that.

He shudders; though the kneading contact targets aches and tight, sore places, Myr's hands are skilled at melting and smoothing it out, encouraging blood to circulate below his touch for the first time in likely a long while.]

Where I'm from, my journey was a short one. And hardly anyone knows I'm dead, much less remembers me.

[He was easy for others to impersonate for a reason. He probably survived as long as he did because he didn't reveal his name or his face, but it made sliding in to claim those unknown things so much more accessible for those with unscrupulous motives.

He was, outside of his work, effectively no one, but that isn't the case, here. It spreads an ache through his chest deeper than anything Myr kneads and coaxes with his fingertips.]

You're asking me to put something very complicated into words.

[Which is reasonable; it's what L does, very often, very effectively. The subject matter is just where he falls short in this case.]

I suppose you live your life by a moral standard that I have no problem identifying from a distance. I've always known a just man by sight, just as I've always known an unjust man... likewise, I could break them down into raw components. But some process in the middle is a blind spot for me. I know that in the end, the just man loses so much as a result of being just, outside of perhaps some potential eternal reward; it makes no sense from a survival standpoint, and only really allows a martyr ideological immortality. An unjust man might get ahead at the expense of others, hurting them directly or indirectly to attain his ends, and if there's no eternal reward... he reaps the only rewards, at the expense of the just and the innocent. He might get caught and punished... but many don't, and live undisturbed and remorseless.

When justice is reframed as mere fairness, it ceases to be quite so unwieldy, but it also loses the nuance required to measure things like freedom, life, and death. I've always framed what is "just" as what is "fair"; it's my north star when I'm in doubt, and I often am. But while functional, that's a childish shortcut, and you expect more from me.

[For some strange, misguided reason.]

I'm not a stranger to high expectations, but I've only recently become acquainted with falling short of them, or... learning that they are in fact not high expectations. It shouldn't be difficult to live a just life and see what's right instead of what's fair, but...

[His handler knew this. It's largely why L was cut off from other humans; he was shielded, and so were they. The kind of tenderness Myr is treating him with is largely undeserved; L hasn't even re-optimized his shrine's illusion, yet.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr had known L was dead in his world--or guessed as much--but hearing it stated plain and dispassionate yet puts a frisson of irrational grief through him. He bites his lower lip, against that and against the unspeakable thought--

Few knew, but one of them still burns for you.

They both know it and it would be cruelty on top of the rest of the day's cruelties, necessary and not, to voice it. It was perverse, a horrid inversion of Myr's stated ideal, to be placed in the heavens and worshipped as the unwavering center of a madman's pantheon. He will not dwell on it, letting the physical action of caring for his Bonded drive it from his mind; letting his fierce focus adhere entirely to what L's saying.

Not that it hurts any less to contemplate--rather, more, as it reifies Myr's suppositions and intuitions on his Bonded. Rich--still in many ways a child himself--had not understood why a man grown would engage him with a teenager's tenacious pettiness. Myr had at first thought it an odd but effective strategy, but the truth of the matter--one of the truths--was far more painful; just as L had not grown entirely into his gawkish bones, the rest of him hadn't finished growing either, trapped and stunted.

(Deliberately stunted? Maker forfend against the mirrors ever bringing the man who'd found a use for L to Aefenglom. Yet that chimes off something from Myr's past, a recognizance he'd made within a month of their meeting...)]

We say it shouldn't be hard--but the consistent failure of men to live just lives even when they intend to puts the lie to that. It's a struggle for all of us, intimus, and too many are willing to give up the fight. Even when they've got what you haven't--I've suspected [gently, sadly now,] you're at some of the disadvantage the Tranquil are, in relating to others.

--You can rinse this now, [he adds, tousling L's soapy hair; having him do it would be a recipe for suds in L's eyes.

The mention of the Tranquil will of course want for an explanation, but Myr will leave that a moment, until he's put to direct question. He's more yet to say on the topic of expectations.]

That said, I don't believe it beyond your ability to achieve--at your own pace. There isn't some timeline on this and I'd not ask anything of you I'm unwilling to help you with--as I said when we Bonded.

[They walk this path together--though Myr is, as ever, leaving an expectation of himself that he's brought to the table unspoken: That he shoulder L's fate as his own, too, if it came to it.

It wouldn't be right to ask so much otherwise.]

[hearthebell]

[L nods, finding a compromise between an arch and a slouch to dip his head back. He agitates his dark hair gingerly so that the warm bathwater can effectively relieve him of the soap and grease alike; care is needed because he still would prefer not to get his bandaged wrist wet, if possible.

It's a few centered moments to think about what Myr's said, and the implications beyond L's proper context. He knows the meaning of the word "tranquil," of course, a serene sort of peace associated often with meditation or a state of grace. But no... that's not what Myr means, is it? He was using it as a noun, not a verb, and there's some significance attached to it. Maybe even personal significance.

Over the Bond, Myr can likely sense his conflict and restlessness. Because L's successes in his world, even this one as a talented magic-user, imply that he very much has advantages. The kinds that others, like Mello, covet, but... those gleaming boons have been taxed at the expense of something else. Watari always knew, and framed it as a deficiency in others to protect his charge's ego and productivity, but even as a child, L hadn't been an idiot. He could read between the lines of every argument, impasse, and dismissal. He couldn't help but turn the self-critical knife back on himself and his perceived imperfections and shortcomings when things went wrong, because he had control over so many things that it could really be nothing but his own failure, in the end. And an insurmountable one, at that; disappointingly, not intriguing or mysterious, but as clear and plain as someone pushing themselves to their limits in a footrace and still coming in last.

He pulls and props himself up in the tub, smoothing his wet, clean hair away from a somber face.]

"Tranquil?" I don't...

[You think there's something wrong with me. But if there is, it's only deceptive to try to conceal it, especially since so many, less perceptive and intelligent than Myr, have figured it out. ]

My handler would say that we all had gifts... and that's what we should focus on in our lives. That it was rather a waste of energy and resources to worry about what we couldn't change, or could never excel at.

[Only the mundane concern themselves with mastering the mundane.]

He said that I'd only ever face rejection from humans... and that I could live a good life, considering, if I focused on my work alone and let him take care of everything else.

[faithlikeaseed]

[Trained as he is in assessing how others move in combat, Myr--or some subconscious part of him--has taken note of something a little odd in how L's conducting himself, a strangeness beyond his Bonded's typical. But it goes unremarked for now, subsumed beneath his other concerns--

(Empathetic, listening heart he is, Myr does not realize how his hands avoid L's arms and the evidence of blood magic, not through the faun's volition but his Witch's.)

--much as L's physical hurts distress Myr, they are ultimately symptoms of the widespread damage to the detective's very soul. The unwinding threads of that story--and, oh, the feelings and thoughts that come with them--capture his attention wholly. He sets the diminished ball of soap down, dipping his hands to rinse them of suds in a motion purely automatic.

This is familiar. So much of it is familiar, at a slant; and just enough of it is strange that it comes at Myr with an edge sharp enough to scythe through the thick mat of justification he'd woven around the necessity of his own imprisoned childhood. Not deliberately crippled, no, but stunted all the same because the place the world ordained for them was small and safe and hedged about by fear.

It's the Void's own realization to hit him out of ambush when he's already open and vulnerable. Vandelin would crow at the concession, then turn immediately conciliatory when Myr hunched like he does now--like he's been punched in the gut.

This isn't about you, Myrobalan. It's not about the Circles. Suck up and keep moving.]

That presumed, [staggering's movement, right? Saying these words with a voice made hollow as his insides is better than shocky silence,] he'd always be there. That your Circle would last and you'd remain safely inside it--

[But they don't, do they? Witness the both of them out here on their own, the one more adapted and adaptable than the other but still tripping over all he'd never been given the chance to learn.

Myr takes a breath, and another.] --but they don't. Nothing like that can remain forever, not in justice.

You are gifted beyond reason, intimus. But how much better it would be if they hadn't set your, [our,] gifts at odds with the world. With kindness, with patience--you, [we,] can live alongside humans as well as anyone.

[After a slow breath out--deliberate, prolonged, so it's not a mawkish self-indulging sob over his own clutching grief,] The Tranquil are what comes of man's fear of magic, and mages' fear of demons.

[Ask him. He'll speak of them, but it's not to be done as an interjection. The subject's too heavy for that.]

[hearthebell]

[Myr may not notice; L definitely does, every time the blind faun's fingers manage to miss those clusters of cuts in various stages of healing. This many times can't be a coincidence; either he knows, and is trying to spare L the vulnerability and the questions, or something is leaking through their Bond to compel it. Either way, he's grateful, when so many other things are difficult just now.

A change has come over Myr, clear and concerning. It's deeper than sympathy or even empathy, at least... L is sure he knows how both of those things feel, coming from his Bonded, and this is new. It's dawning on him before it's swiftly confirmed by Myr's sudden shift in posture, one that has L grasping the side of the tub, pulling himself upright before he's quite ready for the head rush. He watches, warily, even after Myr seems to recover and keep speaking, though some unseen wound conspicuously remains in his face's shadows, the tenseness and emotion in his voice.]

No... they don't last. Mello is living proof of that, and the others who were like him.

[Ironically, the old man who had taken him under his wing had died the same day L himself had. In a way, he always was there for him, up until forty seconds before L's own death.

He keeps observing Myr, convinced that there's something deeper here than merely feeling grief on L's behalf. He's heard some already about Myr's world and circumstances, and an increasingly clearer picture is forming; should he regret being a catalyst for it, or embrace it as a way to share the burden of being so hopelessly unfixable? A segue presents itself, and though L doesn't think he'll like to hear the more detailed answer, it's something he already guesses at. It makes it no easier to entertain, because the implications are bleak and isolating, even with the gentle kindness so willingly and generously at hand.]

And what are the Tranquil, Myr...?

[Something you think of as broken, incomplete, and horrifying? Yes... that much is obvious.]

[faithlikeaseed]

[How do you deal gracefully with a deathblow to a philosophy? To the final collapse of a tottering pillar that had once been a too-solid part of your story of yourself? This wasn't ideal and wasn't always what I wanted, but in the end it was necessary and even good; in the end, it's the best solution for all of us.

In Myr's case--in this moment--you don't; you set it aside to grieve when you've leisure. At least, at least, at this final extreme it is something he will confront in all its existential horror; something he will look in the face instead of banishing behind the weight of a thousand other concerns. He owes himself--he owes every other Circle mage--that much.

But, Maker, it will leave him ruined for anything for long enough it's got to be postponed. And, so--

Hearing it confirmed that Mello's a product of a similar process evokes a certain amount of pity, a certain re-evaluation in Myr. How many others? he doesn't ask, not yet, but puts it aside beneath an emblem in his memory-tower. (Crude blocks such as they'd used in the Circle to teach him his letters, stacked in a shape to suggest the Circle tower itself.)]

I'd do better to think of him more kindly, then, knowing that. [How easy it is to move from there back to the subject of the Tranquil, and how painful.]

I've told you something of the Fade, and how the demons living there haunt mages in our dreams. How the risk of possession is the price we pay for our magic--how we've got to be vigilant even in our sleep, lest we be overcome.

The Rite of Tranquility removes that burden from a mage forever. It severs her from the Fade, taking her magic--and with it her dreams, her volition, her very emotions. [Breath in, breath out. This is a subject of horror for many mages; had been, for Myr, not more than a few years ago. But as with so many places where he'd found himself falling short of his own ideals, he's worked to fix that. That this might be more personal than most situations where he's made such a correction... Well.

(Nothing, though, can entirely quiet the little frisson of unease at the idea of having his magic stripped from him. Nothing--except he has, hasn't he? And it hasn't destroyed him. Not yet.)] The Tranquil are brilliant in their own way, being creatures of pure reason; their research and handiwork have made the Circles very, very rich. But they're forever isolated from the rest of us, perceiving and understanding a world that's stripped of all its color. Knowing what all the raw components are, but having a blind spot to something in the middle.

They make people--mages especially--uneasy to be around, [the toneless voices, the faces devoid of expression,] and there's plenty of folk who don't even think of them as people any longer, because of what they lack. But, [fiercely, of a sudden,] they are, and always will be, and deserve as much care as anyone.

[hearthebell]

[L nods, humming conflicted approval as he does so Myr can understand. He does want his Bonded to think kindly of each other, though their conflicts are many and even expected given the nature of their circumstances. Though L has insisted many times that it's not the case, he does pity Mello, perhaps as Myr pities them both, and...

Myr isn't alright, is he? L's vigilant, leaning forward, hanging on to the faun's every word as he speaks. As usual, he's adept at reading between the lines and gleaning more meaning than words alone convey at surface value. Myr is speaking of something he considers a tragic loss, what sounds like a lobotomy of the soul. He has to distance himself momentarily from the fact that he can, very easily, take pieces of what Myr is speaking of and apply it to his own life and processes. It's troubling, even crushing, but only if he lets it close enough to think of what he could have had if things had gone differently. He avoids it as Watari had avoided it; there had been no purpose or reason for a diagnosis when he would never really have to live among others, never really have to be a person. Instead, he stayed in his room, completed his brilliant reasoning and remained mostly indifferent to the incidental byproduct of cash that resulted from his hobbies' application. Watari handled all of it, allocated funds, ensured that the absurd excess was always managed as efficiently as L himself.

He could say all of it, admit to the analog being valid, confess that it's instilled new fears in him. Instead, he swallows, resting a cheek against the tub's cool lip.]

Who was she?

[faithlikeaseed]

[Was it cruel to explain the comparison? To tell someone who already felt alienated and inhuman that he reminded Myr of those poor souls who'd been deliberately made that way?

Myr isn't sure. But such a truth would surely lurk beneath their Bond, and fester unspoken, until a worse time to speak it arose; and in Myr's mind, the strength of their relationship--above and beyond the Bond--is in their willingness to offer truth to one another, even when it is painful.

Still and all, when L sees through him so easily--he'll take the distraction and the chill it sends down his spine, the way the feeling of being caught out makes him freeze as at the advent of a predator. (No, there would have been no hiding the comparison, as time went on and they grew even more familiar with each other. It would out.

He will need to find a way to soothe the fears he's woken, by way of apology.)

A moment passes before he draws an unsteady breath, lowering his head like the weight of his antlers has grown too much.]

Someone I should have been a friend to, and wasn't. I failed her.

[It will take a little time to recollect himself enough to tell this story; forgive him that, L.]

Her name was Yseult, and all she'd ever wanted was to be a Sister of the Chantry.

[hearthebell]

[As uncomfortable as it might be to face his own idiosyncrasies framed as deficiencies and misfortunes, L would mourn the loss of honesty between them more than any candid comparison. It hadn't been easy for him to hear, or for Myr to say, but it could be productive, once L's had the time to digest it and consider it from other angles. He reminds himself that if any of this was a dealbreaker, Myr would have walked by now, and he hasn't...

...but L has seen, firsthand, just how duty and honor-bound the faun can be. How much of this is Myr's guilt manifesting? L furrows his brow, listening so as to better understand where his Bonded is coming from and his past might mean for their future.

All of it sounds like such a classic setup for guilt and endless repentance, some way to right past perceived wrongs by helping someone else who is unfortunate, perhaps not quite equal in spite of every kind intention.]

Her goal wasn't realized, then.

[And was that your fault, too? At least, did you believe that it was?]

[faithlikeaseed]

No, it wasn't, [though it's said with a sigh, it's also without guilt; this had not been the part of the story where Myr was at fault.

No one was at fault for the derailing of Iseult's dream but the Maker Himself.]

While most of us come into power as young children, it's not unheard of that someone older might--in her fourteenth or fifteenth year. Iseult was well into her novitiate when she awakened as a mage, not all that far from taking orders. Which of course she couldn't, once she had magic; magic was made to serve man, never to rule over him, as the Chant says, and a mage in the Chantry itself would be unthinkable.

[He says it casually, but there's a dull old pain beneath the words. It shouldn't be unthinkable; the Chantry shouldn't treat mages as a mere step away from demons, but nevertheless that's where popular sentiment ran among the clergy.]

She--as many do--believed magic a curse and marked her out as damned before the Maker. A mage is fire made flesh, and a demon asleep. So--you can imagine she was inconsolable. And I was much younger, and stupider, and full of heretical ideas, [the last one hasn't changed, at least,] about what mages were and what the Maker meant us to do, and I'd gotten together a group of us who talked about those heretical ideas and how the Chant really hadn't anything in it condemning mages.

[He lifts his head again, like he could look off at the horizon beyond the walls of the little cottage and back into that past. There's yet a smile on his face, wan and thin; there's a thread of humor at his own pretensions woven in among the heartache and guilt. As seriously as he sometimes takes himself now, he was a lot worse as a kid. It warranted compassion but also some laughter at who he'd been.]

I thought she'd be grateful to hear that, you know? That she simply hadn't been taught any other way and all she needed was a little time with us theological geniuses and she'd come to accept life as a mage.

I invited her to come join us, so glad to know we'd be helping someone--and it took her five minutes to reject all our arguments and become an utter pain-in-the-ass about how if she were Hasmal's Grand Cleric, she'd have the whole Circle Annulled for harboring heresy. [The utter annihilation of a Circle really wasn't a joking matter, but she'd also been, what, fifteen and completely unable to do a damned thing about it. The Circle's leadership knew of Myr's little discussion group and exactly how harmless they were.

Better heresy that painted mages as the Maker's chosen instruments than a blood magic conspiracy and demon-summoning.]

And then, rather than go off and sulk on her own, she came back every week to argue with us. Good arguments, too; she was sharp, [there's a remembered thrill in that combat, though it's tainted in a way his joy at sparring with L never has been; his and Iseult's relationship had been acrimonious and marked by deep disappointment on both sides, start to finish,] and picked apart any number of our precious conclusions, much to our embarrassment. She'd been trained for it, after all.

I hated it--it got to the point where even seeing her made me furious, though I told myself I cared for her and wanted her to be as happy with her magic as I was with mine. But I couldn't reach out to her, couldn't simply be her friend, because I wanted that for her on my terms--her accepting my reading of the Chant and giving up her own. And because she wouldn't, because we were both stubborn and I was prouder of my conclusions than I'd any right to be, I made her into my adversary and all we ever did was fight. [What faint amusement he'd managed at his own youthful folly has ebbed away entirely now, and with it much of his animation in telling the story. If Iseult had stayed in Hasmal, and they'd simply gone on as bickering enemies, there might have been some future where they both grew out of it and could laugh together over their own foibles.

But she hadn't stayed.]

When they finally transferred her out to Tantervale, you couldn't believe my relief. I shouldn't have felt any--they're the worst sort of strict with mages there--but she was gone somewhere they shared her interpretation of Andraste's commandment and maybe she'd be happier with that.

Three months later, I got a letter from her. She was nearing her Harrowing and didn't expect she'd survive it. She planned to be made Tranquil instead, because at least that way she'd be free of the curse the Maker laid on her, and she'd been told they might even let her serve as a lay sister in her Circle.

She said if there were anyone in all the world who could persuade her not to take the brand--and I truly believe now as I did then she didn't want to--it was me.

And I fucked it up entirely. [He's gotten very quiet, as he does when exerting all his effort to keep his real emotions from his voice.] I scarcely knew her as a person, let alone a friend, so I couldn't write to her that she'd lose everything she took joy in because I didn't know what that was. I couldn't tell her the world would be poorer without her talents because I didn't know what those were, beyond infuriating me. I couldn't tell her what she meant to me and how I'd mourn the loss of all that made her her, because I never bothered to know her.

So I cobbled together some stupid, preachy, inadequate bit of tripe after a week of handwringing and sent it off, knowing I'd failed her. Failed her before she'd ever even written me, trusting somehow I could help.

I never heard from her again. The Tranquil don't write letters, of course. And so many of them died or were lost during the rebellion, I don't know I'll ever learn what became of her.

[hearthebell]

[The water is cooling, no longer a perfect cocoon or a sanctuary... but L is a good listener, rapt and silent in a way that even the blind can discern the intensity of. Their Bond, as usual, only makes it easier to determine the sincerity of the wavelength, and he likes to think that maybe it's why Myr speaks so long and fluidly about something so very close and difficult.

He knows the value Myr places on a spirited debate, because it's an attitude they share, having no small part in their initial, rare connection. But there are layers to this story's relationship, and it's comparable as an inverted shadow. Myr isn't solely mourning what was, but what could have been, as well. There are common strains; a desire for Myr to help someone, a friendship equal parts stimulating and frustrating, adversarial and electrifying. L remembers one very like it long before he came to Aefenglom, and though many names and faces have faded from memory in the time he's been here, one remains perfectly preserved in the amber of those intelligent eyes.

Do he and Myr get along because they're both grieving the loss of an equal but opposing mind, always there to parry and challenge and then, suddenly, just not? Is it one of the things that makes Myr so protective of his Bonded, so as to not let it happen again even if L is already damaged and so much like one Tranquil?

He's been a project before. Why should it bother him, especially when he stands to benefit from this care and affection? Is that slight darkness at the back of his skull the desire to be perceived as Myr's equal in spite of his very clear shortcomings, the way Light saw him and the way Myr saw Iseult?]

From what I know of stubborn, opinionated minds... hers was made up before she wrote you. Whatever you said... whether it was preachy, or poetry that cut straight to her heart... she would have found a way to use it to support her choice. Someone who is determined, or convinced, will do that.

[He knows; he's done it himself, often, in spite of his conviction that he values evidence above all matters to do with emotion or ego.]

...I'm sorry, Myr. Truly.