[spiders in my head]

[reckoner]

Who: Gaelio Bauduin, a very bad time, you...? like. it could be you. i'm sorry if it's you.
Where: Around Shehui (see prompts)
When: Day 187
Open/Closed: Open!
About??: warnings for uh. . . tl;dr and a VERY BAD TIME. Including bloody imagery! McGillis Fareed dropped disappeared. This is a problem for Gaelio Bauduin. AND MAYBE YOU, SUCKER.



[ A - OUT AND ABOUT ]

[ Four days ago, his telepathic nudge rebounded, making certain what he has spent every hour since struggling against: McGillis Fareed had been released. The pain of it a guarantee, but with Qri missing, he had room to suspect Shehui. Julieta had torn her signet from her chest. Having assisted through that, it's unlikely that McGillis would had replicated the experience -- this not the successful experimentation of Ein and his A-V. But, if Shehui had take notice...

But, the monitors were unreceptive and unhelpful. Four days, and he sleeps less and less, three of them in the throes of migraines born of sending nudge after word after demand, each and every firing back. He takes more shifts here and there, the first at the bakery, knowing for which he'd signed up.

So you might have seen him there, a terse employee. You might have seen him storming through the halls, approaching the apartment that once bore that name, along with Yusuke and Carmilla. You might have been in that apartment and questioned. Severe, but restrained, not yet on the brink.

Maybe, instead, having a slight existential crisis in a supermarket, staring at a shelf for fifteen minutes without moving. Or, with twitching jerks of his chin back over his shoulder, convinced of someone in the periphery. Someone who might, indeed, flicker, until he looks.

Still, nothing too alarming. But... ]


[ B - HADAN ]

[ But by the evening of the fourth day, flowers cover more and more of the city. The bakery's closed in mourning. Hadan, explained a citizen. We bid farewell to the lost. Thick, redolent petals. Throbbing skull, straining eyes, conversation cycling through his head, a broken and jarring loop.

Fate had a hand in bringing us here, or we would not be here. That the two of us were chosen for it...

At a corner, he leans a dizzy moment against a post, hand braced in woven stems. ]

The machinations of a parasitic witch, after all.

[ Beneath his breath. His fingers beginning to fist.

You might reassess when and where you want to kill me.

Tighter, white-knuckled. But they had stepped past the constraints of her Fate, seizing their own, or hadn't they? What else if both kept trapped, regardless of the rest, if speech exposed, if he only killed his enemies, but

My enemy, the facts of our births assuring it, but... my only friend. All that I know of friendship.

But he isn't here. Truce dissipated, fleeting steps toward understanding stopped against a precipice, no path forward.

Is it possible we're meant to understand something in this world before we'll be able to return to our own?

What had McGillis understood? Leaving him behind once more, to stew in incomprehension. Perhaps they had gotten it wrong. Perhaps losing his resolution yet again had been a misstep. But whether he was meant to understand him or meant to kill him, one anomaly remains: he can do neither without him. ]

Then why --

[ Gaelio wrenches the flowers from the post, swinging out and back, ]

-- am I still here?!

[ slamming his fist into the side of a building. Pain ricochets up his arm. He looks down, dully, as blood seeps from his knuckles, around the petals clenched.

It's only then he notices he almost hit someone in the process. ]

...Sorry.

[ He doesn't sound it, but in that moment, he doesn't sound much of anything. ]


[ C - GHOSTS ]

[ Close to midnight, less likely any would walk through this park. The night's close to temperate in this regulated climate, the snow gone with the season. Gaelio sits against a tree trunk, directly across from a bench.

The bench is empty, unless you step close enough for the illusion to catch. He does not intend for it to catch, but he's sloppy with the spread in the moment, with control. Evidenced enough by how the two figures that materialize keep shifting.

A serious young man, slight and uniformed. Or, without arms, without legs, protrusions down his spine. Sometimes his eyes glow red. An imperious woman. Or, weeping and bloodied, dying.

Gaelio sits, stares. To his left a piling of flowers, some taken from the buildings in fits and starts, some purchased. To his right, a rather stereotypical bottle, as though a drunken hobo in a park -- but it's wine and it hasn't been uncorked. In his lap, his hand is a pulpy mess, blood still dripping. He might have lashed out against the inanimate a few more times.

The woman speaks: We were both losers, weren't we? If we hadn't been, he wouldn't have...

But her voice fails, gurgling blood. ]

Rest Carta. Please, I --

[ The young man interjects, eyes red, buzzing through his head, around him: If you weren't going to kill him, you should have let me die.

That shuts him up, as if struck. When he puts his head in his hand, he leaves red streaks on his cheek, in his hair. ]

I know. I know. I know. Ein... What should I do?

[ A haggard question, meant for the dead, but on hearing someone (y..ou?) approach, chin snapping up and eyes fixing, it's as though he asks you. ]

Comments

B

[rootandbranch]

[thinking Geir is more or less a wall is an easy mistake to make. but he still bends his nose down to look at Gaelio in shock; getting punched by accident isn't on his usual list of threats, and even if Gaelio's hand isn't likely to hurt his scales in the slightest, the fact that he didn't notice there was a dragon standing there is a bad sign about something in his perceptions of the moment.]

Ummm... it's fine.

[it's obvious that Gaelio is in some kind of distress, but Geir's too surprised to dissemble well or reach deep for his slim reserves of tact, and asks the most obvious question anyway.]

Are you okay?

[reckoner]

[ Worse than nearly missing, in fact, he has hit someone. Or, something, which he might have entertained as an ungenerous characterization as few as five days ago. Scales aren't much like a stone, steel, wood, or brick wall, though firm enough. Blinking out of a daze and into focus, then looking up.

And up, and up.

It takes some effort to loosen his fingers from the flowers, to pass them into his other hand, and stuff them slightly stained and damaged into a pocket.

Is he okay? ]

Yeah.

[ Obvious question, obvious answer, even if it isn't true. Obvious lie. He can't flex his fingers much more than that. A word comes back, an exchange of months before, murmured with empty humor. ]

Formidable, indeed.

[rootandbranch]

Um. Yes, I am.

[the only reply to Gaelio's answer strains politeness, but in fairness, Gaelio is straining credulity pretty badly. Geir still tries very hard to compensate by adjusting the tone of his voice to be as polite and deferent as possible when he makes his next comment.]

It's really obvious that you're lying, though?

[he doesn't know Gaelio that well and he doesn't really want to be rude, just... well. well!!!!! he's definitely lying. is it a crime to point that out.]

C

[lohengrins]

[ the scene before him does more to incite his sympathy than it does his bewilderment. percival steps forward, lips pressed into a tight frown, and seats himself on the bench without a word. ]

Night terrors.

[ percival crosses his legs, folding his arms. ]

You're here — across from me, right at this moment. Focus on that fact and that fact alone.

i'm sorry about this

[reckoner]

[ Dismissing his fabrications as night terrors might have earned Percival wry dissent, but for the act accompanying it. Gaelio watches without watching, eyes vacant and following his movement, until focusing with sharp alarm as he sits on them.

Illusions of his own creation, he could have firmed them, given them substance beneath him. They might have reacted, Carta with indignation, and he might have produced that sensation -- of the woman shoving or yanking at him. Ein might have better suffered it, stiff and unresponsive, awaiting its end with his clear-sighted focus on a farther goal.

His mind too strained, however, for them to react as if living. At his distance, he hadn't needed to give them tactile substance. Percival sitting through them rattles, upending, a wretched and unwelcome reminder. He cannot make them react quickly enough. The illusions flicker, begin to go transparent. Though he need only himself focus to preserve them --

Instead, he launches himself forward, his unsavaged hand latching over Percival's forearm, as though to yank him up -- but not yet. ]

Get up. Get off them! I'm across from them, they're with me.

never be sorry

[lohengrins]

[ percival doesn't expect anything else — this does not, however, lighten his demeanor. on the contrary, his expression hardens...he remains seated firmly in place, instead opting to reach forward and fiercely grip gaelio by the arm. ]

They are't real. Get ahold of yourself.

[ and instead of letting gaelio there...percival is going to conveniently attempt to yank him down onto the spot right beside him. sorry, gaelio. his disposition is unwavering, and he meets gaelio's gaze, eyes flickering with an ember. ]

[sharpestsword]

[ This is the first time Julieta has taken a late night walk in the park since the incident. Being here, she recalls the anguish she felt, and the fear. It's still hard for her to believe and to understand who rescued her. She hasn't seen him since then either, but then she still doesn't exactly go out of her way to seek out McGillis Fareed just because he did a decent thing once. Now the tension between them can't be resolved and she's left to pick up the pieces.

She approaches Gaelio, but he seems distracted. When she gets closer she can see why. The sudden appearance of shifting figures on the bench startles her. The way he looks at her is all she needs to know just how not fine he is despite how he might insist otherwise. Seeing him like this doesn't get easier especially when he's not getting better. The timing of this particular holiday really doesn't seem to be helping. ]

I didn't realize you'd be out here. Is that... Lieutenant Dalton?

[reckoner]

Mm.

[ He hadn't realized either, but here he is. That Julieta stands down the path, then nearing, feels less of an intrusion than any other. It is nearly right, that she should be here, that she should meet him. Tension bleed from his jaw, if not much, and he glances at Ein, expression softening. Fond, if unable to manage the smile.

Blind to her concern. ]

Ein, Julieta. Or...

[ To them it would matter, and Ein, as if on cue, jumps up from his seat, standing stiff with propriety, announcing himself. His eyes no longer glow red, but are sober and dark in his stern face. Second Lieutenant Dalton. Thank you for looking after Specialist Major Bauduin! ]

Geez, Ein. [ A twitch, more a tremble of his lower lip. ] You know you don't have to say that sort of thing.

[ Still seated, Carta crosses her legs, huffing with exasperation. Only you ignore something so important. I've never decided whether you were rude or simply senseless.

What would once have grated, sparking protest, then argument, earns now only a furrow above his brow. Quiet devastation in the ill-fitting shape of what is now a smile. ]

Thanks, Carta.

[ He's missed this.

But flushing with the surprise of gratitude rather than irritation, Carta looks away, chin high and lip jutting. Commander Issue, the muttered correction, and she begins to fade. I won't get involved in this. Waving a regal, dismissive hand at Ein and Julieta.

And she's gone.

Ein does not yet sit. ]

[sharpestsword]

[ It's quite the gathering here of Gjallarhorn's past and future. For a moment she isn't sure if she'd be welcome or if she'd be intruding. After all he was out here talking to ghosts of his own creation rather than contacting her. So it comes as a relief when Ein's eyes change to normal from that eerie red as he addresses her. This could take some getting used to. She can only watch with her mouth slightly agape as Carta departs. ]

I'm doing my best. I just don't know how to help him.

B.

[armigers]

[ Almost?! Hardly. Come on, Noctis' reflexes aren't that bad, though he'd only wandered by when he heard a distorted voice muttering somewhere close by. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, having been lingering near the bakery too in the hopes of playing taste tester to more of McGillis' baking, only to have also found it closed up, much like the rest of Shehui. Another holiday so soon after the last, only this one has an overarching air of sadness, one that leaves the locals quiet, solemn, keeping to themselves.

Noctis doesn't mind that there's less street traffic; minds even more that he can't find anywhere to eat, and was just now a standing a few centimeters away from a bouquet of flowers to the face. His eyes quickly find the perpetrator and the mess of blood streaming down his knuckles. The concrete wall looks undisturbed which means it's clear who (or what) won that battle.

Lucky for Gaelio he has a few elixirs still left on him, but Gaelio looks too wild-eyed for Noctis to want to approach him. Whatever must have gotten under his skin hadn't been gentle at all, and he's skirting the perimeter around him, his own muscles tense in the event that Gaelio decides to use something more human to take his anger out on, and Noctis isn't sure how well he's going to handle a guy who's got a foot over him when he doesn't have his usual powers to back him up. ]

No sweat, just maybe-

[ His fingers move around his elixir as he moves a little more cautiously. ]

Take it easy for a sec. This won't hurt.

[ He lets his gaze travel over the rest of the other's form, trying to assess if there are any other major injuries aside from his hand, though one elixir is potent enough to take care of the bulk of it. He doesn't want to waste too many without any real idea when he'd be able to restock. ]

[reckoner]

[ Hardly almost, then, but throwing punches in the vicinity of anyone was less than ideal. His capacity for recognizing that might be compromised, but enough of it sticks, enough for sense and speaking what he should. As to that, though it should not make much difference who might have been in the crossfire, his recognizing Ray -- Noctis -- further pierces the building storm in his skull. Not enough for guilt or shame, but for clarity, a wrenching out of that voice and the tumult of being yet again left behind.

It jerks him into the eye, a moment's calm, composure long enough for this. Gaelio pries the flowers from his damaged hand, mechanical in pocketing what he can of them, but the rumpled and stained heads poke from the fabric. In doing so, his eyes don't leave the bottle in Noctis's hand. ]

I assume instead it will help.

[ His tone flat, more observational than curious. ]

How strong is it? How does it work?

[ Not yet intrigued by the mechanics of whatever that liquid is, but he has his reasons for the inquiry. One connected to his arguable disobedience. Though not exactly taking it hard, or whatever the opposite would be, he pulls his hand closer to him. If not out of reach, then not inviting assistance. ]

[armigers]

[ His whole body is jolted by the sudden tug, his own fingers latched tight around the elixir as he struggles to control the immediate reflex to move away. The flowers again are cause for curiosity, eyeing the broken buds with veiled interest and wondering if it's anything as simple as a break-up or something more soul-shattering. The death of someone close, the loss of something intrinsic to himself, a feeling he knows all too well, so he resists prying -knows how easy it is to clam up in that instance. To avoid talking about it. To bury the grief down, cover it in laughs, teases, everything else, but with Gaelio, it seems to have manifested itself in something manic and unbridled rather than quiet avoidance.

It's why Noctis answers him more carefully than normal and with none of his own usual bumbling attempts at rakishness. ]

Pretty effective and works almost instant. Just break it like this-

[ A quick demonstration so the other man doesn't have to traipse around the city bleeding everywhere. The glass easily cracks in his grip, dissolved with the liquid inside that turns to fumes, and the wounds start to close up, healed by Noctis' own magic imbued into it, something that doesn't need to be pointed out. It's best if Gaelio just thinks it's common medicine and not the effects of an arcane bloodline from another world. ]

Better?

[ Hopefully, the gesture won't read as intrusive, though Noctis is trying to chip away at the layers surrounding whatever is going in on with this guy without outright asking. ]

C

[spaceforged]

First, you should let me see your hand.

[Shiro glances about at the illusions and circles around them. He isn’t about to risk making it obvious to anyone even Gaelio they might not be real. He knows next to nothing about the man but in his own low points scattering what was holding him to sanity would have made things worse.

He kneels down at the side of the bench by the bottle and reaches for his field medical equipment tucked away in his coat.]

...You’re not usually this off your footing. What changed that? [Bandages, cleaning cloth, and a small bottle of salve are set out. He’ll use the dagger on his hip to cut the bandages when he’s ready.]

[reckoner]

[ Something caged and inclement in his gaze and he follows Shiro's movement, only settling when certain he won't disturb those on the bench.

Though, how rude not to request an introduction.

He'll allow it, processing at a delay the concern for his hand. His eyes drop, noting the unnatural angle of a few joints, the swelling, the blood, the shredded skin. Pain a steady beat from it, carried on nerves and the pumping of his heart. Pain a steady beat from his head, still seeking the gone.

Lifting eyes again, noting the equipment, any comment forestalled by the question. His mouth crooks, more a gouge in his face than a smile. A new angle for the scar. ]

I sat down.

[ From Carta: He forgot us. We deserved to be forgotten.

From Ein: He didn't kill him. Now he's gone.

From Gaelio: glassy eyes, letting his hand fall into the dirt, dragging it to feel the twitching protest of his fingers. Quietly, ]

No. I know.

[spaceforged]

[His eyes narrow and he raises his head, studying both people who spoke up.] I’m Shiro and can you really say you’re forgotten when you’re right here?

[Someone is gone. Who? He reaches for the hand and carefully Inspects the damage. It’s going to be tricky. He’ll have to convince him to let a real medic see to his wounds. His eyes still on the injured hand, he reaches for the cloth.]

People leave here. But sometimes they come back. I don’t know how it works exactly. If we find the Qri, you can ask her.

B

[sealeted]

[Hakuno has her back pressed to the wall, her heart in her throat, and her eyes trained, unblinking, on his face. That lost expression... the anger, the pain, the confusion--

Very slowly and very gently, she reaches up for the fist beside her head. There's a tremor to her fingers, but it isn't fear rattling them; there's no hesitation when she fishes out a handkerchief from a coat pocket to wipe away the blood already beading up. It's an emotion she can't--shouldn't--put a name to, something that aches against her spine and claws at her ribcage, some unknown beast pacing away.

Like calls to like.

Hakuno tries very hard, to be happy about her current life.

Her fingers gradually stop shaking, her heart sinks back down where it belongs, and she finds her voice]

...somebody left, I take it?

1/2

[reckoner]

[ Dangerously close. Broad swaths of color and the minutiae for definition seep through, thinning the fog: the slight height of the figure below his fist, the fine features, a girl. Slowly, slowly, her name etches into place: Hakuno.

The furrow in his brow does not abate, but shifts, the intensity of it becoming what he has not the capacity to better articulate than by the hollow word already dropped: guilt. Though he would retreat from her touch, the care with which she ventures permits his gaze to keep dull and observant, permits the cording of muscle down his arm to keep locked without wrenching back.

The cloth stings against opened skin, but he does not flinch. Something he should say, an offer to clean it, as surely it will stain.

Gaelio tugs his fist away once she's finished, unable to swallow past the lump born of her wide eyes, her trembling fingers. And with that, there's nothing to answer with but the truth, his taut expression crumbling for a half-second, crushed by cautious kindness. ]

Yeah. I --

[reckoner]

[ Stepping back, more staggering, until stopped by the lamp post between his shoulders. His hand held aloft, between them, fingers too curled (half-stuck from the blow) to be a proper stopping gesture. Gaelio attempts to smooth out his face, to blink everything back. ]

Sorry. [ Again. ] I'll -- replace that.

[sealeted]

Hey.

[Still gentle, but not remotely slow, Hakuno reaches out and catches his wrist with one hand, the other tucking away the handkerchief and rummaging through the purse on her shoulder.]

I'm fine. And I'll forgive you if you let me patch that up for you.

[She pulls out a small tin of cute band aids and gives them a pointed shake.]

We're friends, right? No harm, no foul.

A

[splinten]

The selection has too many prices and vaules.

[The deadpan interjection is maybe not helpful. Especially not when he's referencing what was probably a scene in that horror show Gaelio had to project. But he grabs a random one off the shelf and shoves it at Gaelio.]

[reckoner]

[ He still has nightmares The reference soars overhead. Under different circumstances, it might have triggered memory, though less stuck than one might've expected from the grueling projection. So focused on accurate transmission, he'd processed little of the detail, not so to last.

A similar phenomenon now, insofar as absorption. That Dirk even speaks he only half-realizes until the box jams into his field of vision. Rather than jerking with surprise, or back fully into the present, his hands come up to numbly take.

Eyes fall, read the box. ]

Or flavors and brands.

[ He's not sure how he got into the cereal aisle, but he sure is ripping open the top of a package he hasn't paid for, so to better inspect the contents. After tearing the bag, too, he holds it out, for Dirk to also try. ]

[splinten]

[Gaelio failed at memes. However, Dirk isn't without sympathy. He realizes that what Gaelio is doing isn't what you do with a cereal box, but it's a generous offer, so he, too, grabs some to try out.]

It's okay. We should probably buy it anyway.

A | interrogation time!!!!

[skincares]

[The disappearance of McGillis is a disappointment to Carmilla. It isn't sad, per se. She barely knew the man. He'd been promising entertainment and to see him go was merely a diversion struck off her list. They were to travel to another world at some point - she'll surely have her pick of "fun" in the future, even if it won't exactly be the same.

Needless to say -- she didn't expect him to show up at the apartment. Surprise is visible on her face when she opens the door, though she's quick to smooth it into haughty disdain.]

And here I thought I was finished with you. What do you want.

[Flat. A demand. Not a question.]

[reckoner]

[ She isn't a surprise.

Before this, he'd kept tabs on McGillis with a rigor not a bit diminished by the advances they had made together in the rain, on the beach, and here. Even before the encounter in the store, he had known a Carmilla lived with him, though only connected the two data points after the fact.

It's irrelevant who opens the door. Likely this pursuit, with each message and telepathic prompt returned as pained paroxysm, is futile.

But he pursues.

With just enough restraint to refrain from shoving his way inside. It isn't as though he'd be found hidden within, squirreled away. It doesn't matter where they do this. Ignoring her initial comment, he answers curt and tense, boiling. A stark contrast from the store's milquetoast. ]

McGillis Fareed.

[ Want an appropriate enough term. ]

When did you last see him?

[skincares]

[... ah. Now that was a surprise. Carmilla leans against the door frame, arms folded across her chest. She looks bored.]

Do you expect me to keep tabs on the ilk I live with?