foundationmods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
foundationmods) wrote2020-04-29 02:16 pm
foundationmods) wrote2020-04-29 02:16 pm
Entry tags:
R5: ghost hangout
[What's this? The fog of the miasma has pulled back, revealing a path down to the basement. None of the living seem to notice it though, only those who are dead are aware of it.
Down in the basement is a large furnished room. It doesn't seem as dusty as the rest of the house, and it actually seems lived in? Or...un-lived in, technically. But the lighting here works and there's plenty to do. Even if the ghosts might not need it, there's several beanbag chairs (brought in by one of the many groups of teenagers who have disappeared into the house), a large couch, and even a jacuzzi. Because even if you're in eternal pain, you can relax a bit, right?
If the ghosts look up, they'll see that the ceiling appears to be made of spider-patterned stained glass. Which is weird, considering that it should be floorboards and such. But the stained glass allows them to look up into all parts of the house and easily spy on the living. What they hear can be hit or miss, especially if the living are whispering, but seeing what they're up to should be easy enough.
Well. Might as well make the most of this space, right?]
Down in the basement is a large furnished room. It doesn't seem as dusty as the rest of the house, and it actually seems lived in? Or...un-lived in, technically. But the lighting here works and there's plenty to do. Even if the ghosts might not need it, there's several beanbag chairs (brought in by one of the many groups of teenagers who have disappeared into the house), a large couch, and even a jacuzzi. Because even if you're in eternal pain, you can relax a bit, right?
If the ghosts look up, they'll see that the ceiling appears to be made of spider-patterned stained glass. Which is weird, considering that it should be floorboards and such. But the stained glass allows them to look up into all parts of the house and easily spy on the living. What they hear can be hit or miss, especially if the living are whispering, but seeing what they're up to should be easy enough.
Well. Might as well make the most of this space, right?]
no subject
Most of them, but even then—well they won't have the opportunity to see for themselves any time soon. [ A beat and he lets a spray of color (dark and lacking any vibrancy) travel across the hivemind; the vents are tight quarters, but the book fits snugly inside. After, he catches that gaze, no smile but he does tilt his head in acknowledgement. ]
Powerful artifacts tend to have that in common. But I'm used to it, like I said... [ The extra weight here means nothing, even as the second butterfly lands on his arm. ] fanning pages are close enough to a windmill for a brainless goose.
no subject
It all softens and shifts when the colors reach him, the familiar green of magic and everything else steeped in an almost familiar darkness.]
Ah. It could certainly be worse, in quarters like these, with people like these.
[That one isn't honest at all, quiet as he drops his eyes to the book in his lap, but it's the whirling miasma that loosens a little further to let slip a handful of brighter emotions like fish in a pond under the rain, miasma-laced but quick enough to make a trail: startled satisfaction tightly twined with sharp consideration. Relief, blurred almost out of focus underneath.]
... I see. [a tilt of his head, not looking but listening, even here with too much noise between them] That would explain why you were looking in the library of all places. Coincidences are such funny things.
The Book of Verbalism -- is connected inextricably with the truth, no matter where it goes. As I've said, it destroys as much as it illuminates. That's true of those connected to it as well, and those connected through it.
no subject
It seems I've been collecting them lately, with how this weekend went. [ The edge is directed at himself and the detective who occupied his time when he first arrived. Really, what were the odds Date would snap the very weekend Hikage finally decided to move? He brushes that emotion off like he would an annoying insect, it's something he'll have to deal with over and over again but for now he pays it no mind.
Instead he focuses on something he knows all too well. ]
Oh? [ He relaxes more into the beanbag (sags into it more really), causing the butterflies to scatter). ] So that's part of why you had to keep moving forward. But what about here? And what about me?
[ The last question is added like an afterthought, and there's a quick undercurrent of amusement that runs through it. ]
no subject
'Later' is one of the easier lies when miasma steals time faster than you can blink.]
I suppose it's not the most surprising thing, given all the house is capable of. And all that the Foundation is not.
[It's less of an edge and more of something that might have been a laugh or the companion to a smirk once upon a time, the way his words distort. It's been a deeply strange weekend, a couple of weekends, and perhaps the shenanigans of the week were his way of regaining equilibrium before it was knocked to the four winds again. He curls in a little on himself, tension running like currents through his cloak of miasma, but his eyes follow the butterflies in their chaotic journey.]
The book narrates reality, to a certain extent. It doesn't bring back that which is lost, and it doesn't-- [he was keeping his voice deliberately light and level, but he stumbles a little and finally shakes his head, taking in a breath] Nesta. You must have met her, in some way. Separating her from the book is a good thing, but I suppose it must always have a few spooks to haunt it.
Ironically enough for us.
no subject
A shift another refocus, as he settles into the shadows more. ]
I did. I enjoy all manners of stories, but unreliable orators...I prefer to read on my own. [ He has a clearer picture of Nesta now even if it's still jumbled considering all the related and unrelated pieces in his head, but it's easy to agree here. If she was anything like these ghosts, and even if she wasn't, it's probably too much to deal with. ]
Ah, that's almost a pity. [ Flat. ] Gilgamesh was interested, and haunting him wouldn't be so bad but...I don't regret my choice.
no subject
[Certain aspects of the hivemind, particularly in direction of the jacuzzi, have piqued what's left of his curiosity at this point (though he doesn't bother glancing over, or giving Date the time of day at this point; there are already too many things all tangled up here and he himself is starting to lose track of them, but that's usual when dealing with this particular problem).
He doesn't pursue it, though; for the moment, see the entirely too long parentheses and the general messy state of all of him right now. He's no longer throwing out a bouquet of emotional wisps, but still.]
... She wanted to be the one to end it all. She wanted a lot of things, so much more than just one book or haunting. I hated her.
[Still, he goes on, and that note's been in his voice before -- once upon a time, surrounded by a wreckage of the wrong books, only this time the pure venom in it manifests physically. The miasma around him darkens and bubbles up over his head and the arms he has loosely wrapped around himself, sinking slowly into the left side of him all the way down and revealing a crack or two radiating from the left side of his chest.
Hikage's words still reach him, though, as they tend to do; the rolling storm slows, stills, and he cocks his head.]
As far as I can tell, the King doesn't need the help. Or the bonuses. [it would be ironic, but his voice is all distorted too, unhelpfully and masking any other emotions in it] You could have... chosen worse.
no subject
That really is terribly greedy, shouldn't a book know the definition of sharing? That's why taste matters...pure avarice is both a boring and ugly thing. The man who called himself my father couldn't haunt me though, so maybe I was lucky. [ For everything he is, Hikage probably shouldn't be talking about greed but. His desire is simple when it comes down to it, and singular at its core.
One of the butterflies flutters a bit, not really moving to where Subete is but closer all the same. Can shadow butterflies see? Can Hikage see through them? It's possible they're like phantoms (phantom limbs), but the curiosity does seem to be there as the miasma froths and the cracks shine. ]
Mmhmm. [ There was a time when he would have relished in that not compliment, but alas. ] I had to help him a little, but only to help myself. You were busy this past week, but I suppose boredom is as good an excuse as any.
no subject
There's still a voice clamoring for his attention somewhere in the void, familiar and unfamiliar at once. There are too many echoes for him to be able to grasp any of what he's feeling right now, but the butterfly or Hikage or their compounded eyes might be able to see the cracks spread until the miasma starts to pour out of and over them and wrap in close like a strange equivalent of armor or scales. It's a mystery. It's also debatable if Subete is doing all of this consciously or not, but.]
The book is my-- I guess that's how the bonds of destiny work. That's why she-- [his words are splintering too, the distortion flowing and ebbing, quiet enough to disappear but what comes through more clearly is the sound he makes after a moment: not quite a laugh at all but breathless like one, a little choked] Maybe that's why. I think I might be a ghost magnet at this rate.
[A careful breath, two, three, and everything steadies a little: his voice, the miasma, the current state of his messy miasma shell.]
I had to stretch my legs a little. It's been a long time.
no subject
It's enough to knock him off just a bit, because even in death they still seem to have that effect on each other. Muted as it may be, there's a reverberation of their past dance in his next words. ]
I'm almost insulted that I fit into that category. [ ... ] But it's hard to tell. [ That's as much of a call out to the half thoughts he's going to give, at least on this topic. He's curious but he's also stubborn, the pressure of the miasma pressing down even more. ]
Was it worth it? To wait that long.
no subject
A blink and the swirls of shadow over his head slow some more, thinning as he follows voices and movement. The one above his head and the one a little further off, fluttering and elusive but there.]
... I said so, didn't I? It's a big category. [it's light, wispy like the miasma was before, something a little wild about it even as he seems to pick his way through the words this time] Everyone is a ghost, everyone was and will be one, and as long as the book is with me they will all be there. Father and Maia, Nesta and Kiryuu, Akira and...
[His voice softens at the end, dips to nothing. One hand curls over his chest, disturbing the slashes and darkness like blood intermingled. Slowly, slowly the blanket of miasma continues to recede, centered there and flaring at the edges. It's enough for him to look over at the cocoon again, contemplative.]
But I wouldn't call it waiting. Using my resources when they should be used. Stealing back what can be stolen. Maybe I could have moved earlier but that doesn't mean I've stopped now.
no subject
The butterfly bobs up and down, seemingly in tandem with a lightly audible huff. ]
I wonder if you could really give the book away, but even then I don't think you would. It must get crowded, even with pieces it gets crowded: Kagiha, Yamato, Kazuya, Karasaba, Beniyuri. [ ... ] And Usagi too.
[ A slight shake of his head and the butterfly closer to him lands on his chest. He almost curls up around it but then shakes off miasma and feelings both, causing a large ripple. The butterfly stays, as still as a statue. ]
Mn, in that case—I think I'm almost looking forward to it. [ That sounds ridiculous for a lot of reasons, specificity not stated perhaps purposefully, but as it goes in this chaotic sea. ]
no subject
In response, he blows out a sigh, blows away some of the miasma they're mutually scattering all over the place, though Subete probably more so. There's the faintest glint of gold from his chest where his fingers are still holding tight; the smallest flash of another color that doesn't necessarily belong.]
I can't. [not quite resigned but somehow self-deprecating, just a little] Even if it's too crowded, I think... I wouldn't want to forget again. Not for good.
[A slight tilt of his head as he slowly files away the names, known and unknown with all their different weights, letting them bubble downwards like the miasma around him, slowly, slowly: one day maybe he'll ask. Later.
Somehow, though, there's some of the old resonance in his voice when he speaks again, the air and the shadows shifting for him like applying a physical weight.]
Look forward to it: just as I don't wish to forget, I don't fancy being forgotten. I intend to have the living regret every last vote by the time we're done here.
[In the absence of an existing agenda, make your own -- regardless of what's coming in the future, that will still hold true. Regardless of lurches or stumbles along the way, the way is forward.]
no subject
It would be easy to, but I don't like easy. And it might be...fun "living" like this. [ That's his usual sarcastic edge, honed even more so. He doesn't like easy, and he doesn't want to forget, but his rediscovered memories are still raw and bristle like thorns against his mind. Good thing he's a masochist. ]
Some people would call that demanding. [ A flicker of red, sliced through the miasma. ] But I will then, in between my own shows. I still have a captive audience member or two.
no subject
It's not easier, in the long run. [that's soft enough to almost vanish entirely, spoken down at his hands and almost to himself; a beat and then he goes on in a more normal voice, distortion down to the same warped edge that lurks in the corner of his mouth] But the long run is much longer now, so we should take advantage of it. No matter what it's like.
And you should know what I demand, from people and from reality. [there's the smallest singular motion, his eyes lifting finally to catch that flicker and its owner] I haven't stopped watching yet, but my standards might be higher now.
no subject
Instead he plucks the butterfly that's on his chest, pressing it between his fingers until it's little more than a black smudge even darker than the miasma. The other one finally returns to him, vanishing up his sleeve. ]
Mmhmm. But lucky for you, you can finally see all of my wings. [ If only he could lean into those words properly, but the only leaning he's doing right now is physical in nature. The miasma really doesn't make for a proper rest but adapting and changing are more than reflexive turns for colors and gradients. ]
no subject
[It's hard to tell precisely if he's addressing Hikage himself or the rest of the basement on this point -- he hasn't broken his stare, but there's something a little darker and more derisive than before laced into the statement that isn't all miasma either. Accompanying it in the hivemind -- now that all of the clouding stirred up by the miasma beforehand has settled somewhat -- is a slow roll of something sharp enough to draw blood.
It snakes its way over and out, dissipating easily into the surroundings without pause. Subete's gaze tracks the shadowy butterflies in the meantime, letting his attention be scattered.]
Though I haven't seen them all, have I? I wonder how much longer it would take?
[There's little inflection to be had, still, and the brightness from before -- the beginning of this conversation, the beginning of their descent to wherever this is -- doesn't return. But Subete gestures briefly, murmurs, and a small mote of light takes flight from his fingertip: ็ฟผ.
It soars, fleeting and fae-like, to dissolve in a burst of sparks in Hikage's little cocoon; he'll probably feel the lightest of breezes riffling through hair and clothing, the barest hint that the spell was there in the first place.]
no subject
Of course not. [ A scene flits across the hivemind, an ornate hallway lined with rows upon rows of masks. A girl can be heard asking "What do you think they are?" and Hikage answers, sans any color in his voice. "Probably the master's collection."
The combination of reaching into his memory and letting himself be wrapped in his cocoon slows his reaction; there's genuine surprise on his features as well as in the miasma when the kanji lights up the cocoon and stirs everything in its wake.
But his counter is as much reflexive as it is fast, a spray of jet black butterflies bursting forth from him with a grandiose gesture or two. The kaleidoscope of black swirls around the room, kicking up its own wind, before it exits through the wall nearest Subete. ]
...a summer breeze should accompany fireworks.
no subject
[Yes, he absolutely heard that one. Apparently he's perfectly happy to bring this up instead of any of the other deeper and more relevant stuff at this point in time, possibly because they've already dived so far past so many comfort zones that they might as well float a little bit. His tone is a little lighter even if there's somewhat a lack of accompanying expression.
A moment later all of it pauses and then lightens further to a crisp strain of curiosity, winding around the intricacy of the memory and letting it swirl around like wine, slow and dark and perusing every mask with a clinical sort of attention. His mood gets mixed in like the shards of his kanji, brightening almost to something else entirely when the butterflies get knocked out and across the room.
He releases the grip he has on his locket, finally, and raises the hand to lightly brush through the cloud of creatures as they pass, somehow both darker and more vibrant than the miasma that's back to a light shroud swirling across his shoulders and down his back.]
But I suppose... this is closer to being masters of this mansion than before, despite everything. [musingly, like he's weaving the web of memory and mask and mansions all together, slowly dyeing them in what shades are left] Still, if that's what you think of as fireworks in this day and age -- you have another think coming.
no subject
He can't quite tuck away the small shudder that shakes the cocoon though, but it's surely coincidental and has nothing to do with the hand to kaleidoscope contact. His tone is ruffled when he speaks, the tiniest bit of miasma on the ends. ]
There's a lot of despites, and I don't like sharing. [ A soft click of his tongue. ] Since you volunteered, you'll just have to show me then.
no subject
[There's a curl of self-satisfaction at the grumbling, all unadorned and popping like a single quick bubble in the midst of all the miasmas and mirages they've just flung at each other, but it's there all the same. Just like the faintest glimmer of unrepentant amusement as he finishes off his perusal of the memory, the web, and lays them out on the table with a flourish.
Hiding from him is always going to be a challenge in more than one way, especially from now on.
Distracted by the butterflies, he catches little else but movement out of the corner of his eye but what still holds true here is: he doesn't have to watch. Instead his head tilts into the timbre and flutter of voice, automatically reaching for the keys to the instrument.]
But I still owe you one. Or perhaps more? It doesn't matter. There's all kinds of fireworks in the world and out of it, and I'd say I've got a good grasp on most of them.
no subject
Start with one date, or are you greedy too? [ With that particular instrument, with just a few steps forward to right himself, it's almost like he's dancing again. ]
no subject
[This is a ridiculous argument given their respective skillsets that were literally on display twelve seconds ago and possibly also given all that Subete had thrown at the house as well as the MJBK on his metaphorical payroll, but that's not the important part. It's the principle of the thing, the not quite defined give-and-take of it and them, familiar and foreign at once under new management.
In some ways, the rhythms are still the same; in other ways they're transposed, slower and more off-the-cuff but easier to follow.]
I wouldn't call it greed to know exactly how far I can reach. And I would be careful with numbers: they're easy to see as absolutes, but they, too, are words in their own right.
no subject
It likely says something about all of thisโข that swirls and torrents of miasma can lend to moments of lucidity, but that's not something Hikage will spend any real thought on. Much the same goes for his reply too, because under the right conditions he can be terribly impulsive, so he really doesn't need the extra push here but the house provides anyway. ]
Isn't that the purpose of them? But I know, I've never forgotten that.
no subject
[It's a mystery as to what they're arguing anymore, but while Subete doesn't manage to scare up a laugh there's something of the cadence of it in his words anyway -- the memory of water is a satisfying one, reflecting on the ridiculous ways it's allowed him to slip under the radar, splash rings around Hikage and still others, and at some point, even those from the future.
But that's not the most important thing right now, in the cloudy aftermath of storms and the continued poisonous low light, the clarity of dusk before a long night.]
What, to be absolutes or easy roadsigns? Is that what you think? [there's something like a brief huff, but he goes on, not quite playful but somehow like a challenge] I am in the business of making numbers do what I want, though. Consider it a part of the job description.
no subject
He shrugs it off, focusing on his steps which have finally found their center. The miasma will catch up to him in a second, but for now- ]
Neither and both, they're an easy way to define value. But I'll just repeat myself: you'll have to show me what you want then, that and fireworks. [ The words roll off his tongue easily, this is a challenge now. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)