Entry tags:
- * event,
- bloodborne: lady maria,
- castlevania: alucard,
- death note: l lawliet,
- death note: mello,
- elfen lied: kaede,
- fe: henry,
- fe: hubert von vestra,
- fe: soren,
- ffxiv: rose,
- fgo: cu chulainn,
- fgo: hc andersen,
- fgo: scathach,
- fha: caren ortensia,
- fruits basket: momiji sohma,
- got: daenerys targaryen,
- lwa: ursula callistis,
- original: asura,
- rwby: emerald sustrai,
- trails: randy orlando,
- undertale: mettaton,
- undertale: papyrus
Event Log: January, Return to Dorchacht
I. A Tarnished Reality
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
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.
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
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!
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
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.
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But at least that huge, hungry thing resting its bulk on the shifting sands of the floor won't devour him. It's what passes for mercy from the detective. Beyond it? This pale, brittle thing that's all hollow darkness in his eyes has little else to offer.]
I agreed to the Bond because I can handle a liar. But only one who can still recognize the truth when it's looking him in the face.
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[Only it is. Because he'd agreed to this, hadn't he? He signed up for this, ran in blind with the confidence of armies, and now?]
[Regret is a strong word.]
So tell me the truth.
[And maybe his bitterness puts a copper taste on L's tongue for just a moment.]
For once.
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Words are only the most obvious and pedestrian part of any truth.
[Or any lie.]
I'm not asking you to parse it or even to acknowledge it. Just to see it, and eliminate the impossible.
[Living with L, like Bonding with L, will be more than Mello bargained for. He'll witness things he never wanted to, fall victim to tangled messy webs that L spins needlessly around even the mundane and simple matters. Accepting that he's a fallible human being is really the least of it all.]
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[No. Mello made the proper choice. It's just going to require more personal investment than he'd guessed.]
[Actions speak louder than words; couldn't L have just said that? No, because he's L, and Mello's expression softens. There is no stand-off here. There shouldn't be: he's doing his best to make L comfortable in an alien situation.]
I'm going to take care of you.
[A promise he's never made to anyone. Because Mello does not nurture. Anything.]
Until this passes. [The pain. The empty death.] It's all I have to give that will potentially convince you that I'm not out to take you for anything.
[Except: he is. He wants L's power and intellectual prowess on his side.]
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Ultimately, he decides that he's satisfied with the picture the truth is telling him, and he nods his shaggy head in acceptance and surrender.]
I'm going to do things that don't make sense to you, and have no underlying meaning. I'm going to frustrate and disappoint you most of the time, and maybe, four or five percent of the time, I'll give you what you want. Can you live with that?
[If so, I will try to let you convince me.]
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You're trying to talk me out of it.
[Or being painfully honest. Mello honestly doesn't know. He finishes off the glass before immediately going for the bottle to refill it, eyes his mentor's glass to see if he needs to be topped off. Being a bartender has created certain, worthless habits.]
Like your Doe.
[Yes, this is coming up now.]
Is that the goal, L? [Distracted, he runs the tip of his index along the rim of his glass.]
Are the two of you trying to get me to walk without a war?
[And in a moment of utter vulnerability.]
Do you regret our Bond?
[God, don't destroy him. Just don't.]
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Mello.
[His voice is low, serious.]
There's no war, nor any reason for one, outside of what you create. I don't believe that anyone who truly wanted to protect me would pursue that course of action... but you have to believe that there are things he can teach me, uniquely, and that I need them.
[A pause.]
I have regrets; my Bond with you isn't one of them.
[But the stars, that night. They were so sharp and clear. They sang promises and peace that only L could hear as his feet lifted from the ground, and he can't remember how it all went, exactly. It's infuriatingly vague, hardly proportionate to the amount of time he spends thinking about it. But Myr could not only access it, but calm and quiet it, and withdraw with L's feet grounded and stable like any other human's.
Can Mello understand, for even a moment, how being grounded might be a good thing for a mortal?]
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[But he only nods at the confirmation, considers the ramifications of having L around all of the time. There's Alex, there's his attempt to break into the local criminal empire, there are things about him that L doesn't need to see, let alone experience.]
I know you don't care for me.
[That's the cognac speaking, but it's true.]
That you're afraid that I'm similar to Beyond, that you told me that particular story for a reason. [The smallest pause as he sips] I know you're afraid of me, and what I'll do if you reject me.
[And fuck, if that admission doesn't set him aflame.]
I'm not stupid, L. But you're wrong.
[Such conviction.]
I'm nothing like him, and I would never hurt you. I'll get a Monster bond; something to balance me. It's logical.
[None of this matters to his idol, does it?]
You're —
[Hesitation, even in his alcohol-induced haze.]
— everything to me. Your well-being is my priority.
[Finally, he looks up from the glass.]
Do you believe me?
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It's not a perfect reflection, just as they don't share a perfect Bond... but some of it slots seamlessly into place. L's fears, specifically, are things that Mello insists on with such passionate conviction that he must know they aren't unfounded.
Is his resonation with Myr so strong because the faun doesn't ask him to be some final, definite answer to all of the universe's endless questions? Even the gentlest and kindest presences in L's life have demanded the impossible from him, moving the goalpost when he managed and feeling outrage and despair when he failed.
And of course, none of them were as harsh or demanding as L himself, in the end.]
I don't know.
[It's possibly the most honest thing L has said in recent memory, and it is in full agreement with every shift in his body language, tone and expression. His back forms a question mark; his eyes are tense around the edges.]
It isn't your fault. I know that you believe it, but... being "well" has never been a priority for either of us.
[Can they even define it, much less aspire to it for themselves or each other?]
Maybe I'm to blame.
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[No. L isn't to blame. They were all raised on the premise that paranoia equaled safety, and it's going to take decades and decades to relieve that stain. And it might be true, really. Who are they to trust? Outsiders? Each other, when they are all aware that self-preservation is the key to survival? Mello understands. He doesn't like it, but he understands.]
You're not to blame. It's how we are.
I want to protect you.
[A hubris-filled admission as he takes another sip.]
When I was a kid, I pictured it in the opposite, yea. [He's done with the food. There's nothing appetizing here. Instead he pushes the bottle of cognac towards L so he can refill when he sees fit.]
And you think my intentions are outwardly noble, but you're afraid that I'll take it too far. Fuck it all up when it comes down to the line.
[Offensive, really.]
Your Doe. [He says it with a sneer.] Do you trust him?
[Because Mello? Just don't let things go. Ever.]
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Because really, L does believe that Mello will take everything to a destructive extreme. He's the child who clutches a sick sparrow too tightly, drowning it with an eyedropper with the very best of intentions.]
Yes. I do.
[L does not deign to comment on Mello's derisive nickname for Myr, the childish way he invokes it to soothe his own raging insecurity.]
He built it in pieces, as one builds a dwelling, and not a monument. He'd kill or die for me, and I'd grieve both of those things, knowing the value he places even on an enemy's life.
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[But Myr is a gentle thing; even when he attempted to threaten Mello, he was gentle in his approach. Mello would have taken much more extreme measures, let his opponent know exactly where he'd gone wrong before Mello slit his throat, but Myr?]
[Cared.]
[And that's the thing that throws Mello off-kilter. He wants an enemy. Someone who means L harm, along with himself. Someone he can brand something to take down with no complications.]
[He notes L refilling his glass. It makes M both feel at ease and as though he's the reason L must resort to other measures to deal with their predicament.]
Would you grieve me?
[Spoken before Mello can think.]
I'm asking you for one reason.
[A thousand reasons.]
If you wouldn't grieve me, we've nothing to fight for, here.
[Right before he busies himself with getting the dirty plates in order as though he ere closing at the Sly Seadog. Methodical.]
Do you want me to walk
[No rising inflection. Matter-of-fact. He's currently holding a dish beneath scalding hot water]
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I would. That was true even before we Bonded.
[He doesn't say that he had grieved A, and B. Would grieve Light, should he pass before L (though he clearly had not.]
Does that mean the same to you as caring, or feeling affection for you?
[He does not want Mello to walk. In fact, he reaches to turn the tap to lukewarm, noticing the steam, feeling the burn through their Bond.
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No.
[He answers simply, and he won't look L in the eye when he says it. Wants nothing to do with the rejected intimacy, here. Whether or not it was initiated on Mello's part in any way is up in the air, but he moves away from the sink, opting to go to the freezer for some ice to add to the cognac.]
You're reading too much into this, [He lies, because what else can Mello do?] and I think that your suspicions of my intentions are making you assume paranoid things.
[Lies mixed with truths; Mello's never been noble.]
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He wonders, distantly, if that "four or five percent" will involve more of the same, or if Mello is too proud to ever ask again, drunk or sober.]
What things?
[Because he's genuinely curious, about how Mello is going to try to turn this around on him.]
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[Item one: Mello has already accomplished this, though L hid it from him until he was forced to take on a Monster Bond to alleviate oncoming death, only to have his other Bonded confront Mello as though either of them stood a chance.]
Or that my intentions aren't pure. [Item two: no. His intentions aren't pure. He will, however, always put L above all else. Doesn't his mentor see? Doesn't he know.]
And you think I'll turn on you. No. [No.] You think you know I'll turn on you.
[A half shrug before another sip. Mello's already convinced himself of these things. Long ago.]
Am I wrong?
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And also, yes, some kind of obligation. If Mello were to handle him roughly and shatter him, L suspects that he would be mourned as a treasured possession like the rosary around Mello's neck.]
It's more complicated than "right" and "wrong." Every action and reaction in this world has a reason, and... I would hope that the same is true for that loyalty.
[That it goes beyond, merely, "you are L, therefore I listen and obey.]
I don't want blind faith from you. I want to know that I'm safe with you when I am truly and honestly lost.
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[But he knows it now. Fuck if he doesn't know it now.]
I'll tell you to trust me, and you might say you'll make an attempt based on my actions.
[That's just the way these things play out.]
But you won't until I prove it, and the only way I can do that is if you give me time.
[And there goes the rest of that glass.]
And patience. I never thought we'd end up like this; it's not the dynamic I'd imagined when I daydreamed of you still being alive somewhere.
[Grim.]
It was different, yea. Business. You were my teacher.
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Time and patience, I can manage. If you can do the same, it can be business again. And I, a teacher. If that's what you truly want.
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[But he will. And he does. Just a half-glass, this time. Not that it matters this far in.]
No, that's not what it'll be. [He slaps the bottle down a bit too hard after pouring.] You're not the person I imagined.
[He means no offense, really.]
Kids' minds, they're simple, yea. [Yeah.] I didn't take reality into account; you were always the same as you were the night I met you.
[But.]
That's not you. That was a version of you. Or I was too young to care about what lied beneath the surface.
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L's not sure what's appropriate to interject, here, if anything at all. A reassurance? That he is that person, perhaps, though he's not? Should he take it as a threat, that someone who has spent his life clawing smooth marble to ascend has realized that he can just topple the statue? Is an apology in order, for that perception, for everything...?]
Children's minds are powerful.
[He corrects Mello quietly.]
They're adaptive, flexible, and passionate. They are piercingly insightful and feel emotions in their rawest forms. Only their motivations are actually simple, because a child's only real job is to grow up.
[Always. Except for L, whose motivation remains simple in even the most complex games. Win. If that was all Mello wanted, too, it could spare him so much pain. But with L as the hazily-defined conquest, what does winning even mean?]
You made it, didn't you? You chose a path and found your own way. After you forfeited the title to Near, you shouldn't have thought about it, or me, ever again.
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I didn't forfeit it to give up on my mission.
[Bitter, clipped.]
I gave it up to complete it; N would've held me back. I had to — have to — take Kira down for what he's done. If I erase you, it means nothing.
[It's hollow. An empty victory for power. No, Mello doesn't want that. At least he thinks he doesn't. He wants the satisfaction of knowing that someone slighted his mentor and lost eight fingers before losing his life. He wants the type of victory that comes with recognition of accomplishment, even if it was from a dead idol who couldn't have possibly granted it.]
[And Mello? Still feels emotions in their rawest forms — perhaps he hasn't quite grown up yet — hard enough to give off an air to anyone who would be too receptive to his emotional state. Like his Bonded. Like now, when frustration overwhelms the need to comfort; L will always reject his attempts, won't he?]
Your doe.
[The bastard.]
Said something to me that I dismissed immediately, but I'm wondering if he was right.
[He licks his lips]
About you needing care, and we needed to offer it to you as your Bonded. [He glances up at the ceiling, now.] Are you that helpless?
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His expression is difficult to parse, though it’s far from his typical poker face. There’s conflict and uncertainty in it, questions he never got an answer to from his own mentor figure.
Pride and reality quarrel for a spell. If Mello is still blind to the latter, can L lie and get away with it? Or is the truth something Mello is more attuned to as a drunk?
There is no easy or perfect answer. Mello has judged him to be deficient, based on Myr’s plea and his own observations. L, as a human without his shields and screens and handlers, really is so very disappointing, isn’t he? Ergo, that is the true reason he can’t go back to being the magical, grand thing immortalized in a child’s golden memory.]
Listen.
[Lean close; he won’t speak more loudly.]
I don’t say this out loud, and I won’t again. The world that made us, like this one, relies on balance. Every gift comes with a price. Every moment you spend studying one subject comes at the expense of another. Every choice you make closes infinite opportunities to you forever. You know this, but you aren’t special that way.
[Now he does take the bottle from Mello, eyes narrowed and lightless.]
If I’m helpless, it’s no more than anyone else is.
[And Mello has seen the gift L possesses, that flawless star system that spits out numbers and churns through possibilities faster than light cuts through space. Its only real weakness is that a human being is connected to it, and occasionally comes close to following the distant calls of sirens or stars or bells.]
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[It's temporary. It's all so temporary.]
[His head is almost spinning, but he pinches another piece of bacon from the plate between two fingers and bites into it, chewing as he contemplates his response. L's pride is an intimate thing, spoken low over smoky cognac, and Mello can only listen with rapt attention.]
I'm insulting you.
[Thoughtful, distracted. Mello has pushed himself up on the counter, legs dangling over cupboards. His eyes are lazy and contemplative — glossy, faded blue — and when he takes his next sip, it's significantly smaller than the last. He raises them to properly assess his Bonded — frail, powerful thing — and the look L receives is nothing short of that of a child in awe.]
Even this, it's insulting. [The food, the doting.]
Why won't you tell me as much?
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But for now, it seems to suffice. The facade can hold up for just a little longer, and maybe L can limp on as some semblance of adequate in his successor's admiring and highly critical eye.]
You see it that way? As an insult?
[His tone is hollow, aloof.]
It's something I don't have to think about, at least for a little while. Nothing more or less.
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Sorry for the late pop in!
yaaaaay hiiiiii
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