faithlikeaseed | AEFENGLOM INBOX [IC]

｢ ooc: look what I got from the mods 👀 ｣

[ Tracking the Enchantment around the city Wall's very quickly had led Caster back to the Coven, and soon enough managed to pinpoint it to—

—one door. Obviously he couldn't watch it for long without being too suspicious, but imagine, imagine his surprise when he sees no one else but Myr leave it.

Shit.

He has to stop himself from running right up to him because now that would be suspicious, but he leaves Coven quickly and calls him as soon as he can. ]

Myr. It's Caster. Are you alright? Can we meet somewhere?

[Mello's been pacing for going on an hour now; situations where he can do almost nothing to help are few and far-between, and this is L on the line. L. The man who had kept him going even after he'd died, the man whose image is burned into Mello's mind as both a hero and bleeding idol.]

[The stress and anger are visible on his features; his skin is paler than usual from a lack of eating and sleep. Regardless of what he's been told, Mello doesn't believe for a second that anyone present has L's best interest in mind. He's valuable; why else would they all be so determined to help him?]

Oi.

[He has to take it out on someone, doesn't he? Everyone, optimally.]

They're not fixing him; everyone keeps saying that they're trying to fucking help and he's still out.

[He glances anxiously to where L sleeps. He looks positively dead, and it's doing Mello's head in, in ways no one here can possibly understand.]

[No, he doesn't recognize you, and it doesn't matter. Because everyone is here to do something about it, aren't they? Which makes Myr both a potential asset and a suspect. Mello's eyes are fire; his posture is tense and ready to burn this place down with everyone in it if this situation isn't resolved soon.]

[Helplessness has never suited him. And it shows.]

Edited 2019-10-29 04:11 (UTC)

[The package left on his doorstep contains a plate of homemade cookies from Marie and a fresh lily flower.

“Happy Holidays! We are not friends yet but I hope we can become friends in the coming year.” is what the attached note says]

[Why look, Myr got a gift! It looks like he got little slippers for his hooves to wear indoors, as well as a note. When his fingers press on it, it speaks out loud.]

"I thought about getting you a new stick, but your old one works just fine. Happy Holidays Myr.

Let's try not get in too much trouble in the new year huh?

Signed, Sokie Undertown."

[Should he keep pressing it, the voice will repeat the message.]

Did you leave early from the shop, my darling? I'm tied up a while longer. My sincerest apologies.

[he's not actually sorry, this is quite deliberate, but he will be polite about it]

[The perpetual subterranean night is soothing to L's over-dilated eyes, and naturally occurring glints and glows among the rocks and creatures are no more glaring than distant stars. For the first time in recent memory, he's not preoccupied with Niles' stalking or Mello and all that associated heartache. He could spend hours here, or days, and let the earthy damp air sweeten the process of breathing until it comes easily to him again. He's dealt with worse beds than the soft moss in places, more distressing bedfellows than the soft velvety worms who seem peacefully ignorant of his quiet, observant presence.

Perhaps he should be afraid, in spite of the fact that he knows this to be a dream, for their sheer size and power. But he can wait, and observe a little longer, and maybe settle in to lose himself in thought. His slender white-clad form blending easily into its surroundings, cast in the same soft blue glow as the surrounding rocks and tufted flora.

He's easy to miss. It's almost inevitable, unless one has very sharp eyes... or happens to be Bonded to him, perhaps.]

Keep your trap shut. Snitching won't save him.

[Hector is still learning how to be social. What had seemed like a fine idea when he'd been falling down drunk is harder to see through in sobriety.

Hector's stalled for a few days, but Myr was kind enough to send him a jar of honey and a repeat of the invitation, and that was harder to put off.

So here he is, at the door of the cottage Myr lives in, with a tin full of little diamond-cut baklava in hand as a handy excuse for why he's come if Myr is busy, or has company, or just doesn't want to see him.

He raises a hand and knocks.]

This isn't a dream: It's a memory.

A dream is mutable if one has the will for it; even nightmares might be rewritten with sufficient volition. Where only the Somniari might wrest the Fade on Thedas, Talam's dreamworld is easier to grasp, and the little crippled dreams that lived solely in the dreamer's own mind were easier still. Dreams could be rewritten.

But this isn't a dream; it's a memory, and nothing in Myr's power will let him undo the past.

Even that certain knowledge hasn't stopped him from trying, sweating and struggling under the punishing desert sun to lever rubble off the trapped mages beneath, abrading his hoary fingertips to bleeding in the crooked shadow of Hasmal Circle's damaged tower. His friends are down there, he knows; his family (herd) is down there, though they have long since fallen silent, and still he digs.

Nothing else lives or breathes on the untidy pile of broken stone. This memory has long since run its course, the past-echo of Myr collapsed somewhere from exhaustion and despair. The sun has not even continued its descent where it sits fat and lambent on the far horizon.

None of the lines are right, none of the edges sharp. This is nothing he had seen, the scree-slope of the shattered tower reconstructed from imagination and touch. There are lacunae in the scene, soft-edged black voids gaping wide where he had neither heard nor touched anything in the past.

It is stomach-churning to look at. It is a reminder of what he had done to himself. He does not look; he digs, expression slack of anything but a faint despair.

Nothing he is doing matters. You cannot change a memory.

But it hasn't stopped him yet.

[Bet this is a voice he never expected to leave a message for him.]

I've heard word that you're something of an apiarist. Might that information hold true?

Hey, you were the one giving that talk at the Coven recently, right? Talking about healing plants? I'm one of those mirrorbound witch types, wanted to talk to you about that more.

[Niles is rattled when he gets home, so it takes him a bit to stare at his watch and figure out what to say. He had to say something. He'd been trying to keep this thing at a simmer, but that ship had sailed.

Well. Start simple, he's not 100% sure how much Myr even knows. Most vital point first.]

It was an accident.

[ well. this evening's the evening.

it's finally the designated hour at their workplace, and viren feels a fluttering of nervousness. naturally, as he forewarned, he's dressed well - his best to honor the occasion. also as promised, he holds a small, carefully wrapped gift. when he spies the back of myr's blond head (not the first time during their workday, but it feels differently now), he approaches and then stops, hands clasping to hold the gift at the small of his back like he's at attention. ... not out of any attempt to hide it, of course, because of evident reasons.

there's a smile in his voice, ]

Myr?

I wonder if this device leaves messages..? If you've the time and interest, I would know more about the being you call God.

[Depending on preference, Ozymandias gifts his fellow Council members with either a coffee or tea sampler from the Purramid Café for Modranicht. Regardless of which sampler is received, it is fairly sizable and offers around 40 cups worth across all the blends included. The note that is included while not necessarily personalized is sincere in its expressed intent for more good works and successes to be celebrated by the Council.]

[On the day of the holiday, a plate of homemade cookies and a sample of herbal tea mysteriously appears on his doorstep. The wrapping is decorated with a fresh lily flower (actually a Fae magic product, designed to fade away from existence in a few hours) and a ribbon. The attached handwritten note reads as follows:]

Happy Modranicht! Let’s have another great year here in Aefenglom!

M⚜️

[Suddenly, one evening!]

Ah. Myr. Are you about? I've been meaning to ... how do they say it these days. 'Drop a line'.

[Everett had needed to rush into Coven quarantine, after their... certain dinner date. The cult's escalating violence was clear, but the faun had been infected in the chaos of that night and missed the main party proper. He'd heard others chatting over it, as many more were coming in similarly infected. Having arrived before the worst of it, he's rather quick to be released properly. As dramatic as he is, they're not too keen to let him slip away before they're fully certain he's well, but glad to get him out of there as soon as is reasonable.

The faun is practically throwing himself into a carriage to get home. He's texting frantically into his newly recovered watch, hoping for a quick answer]

My Darling Myr, are you alright?

I've only just been let out of the sickward.
I'm coming home immediately. Do you know how Viren is? Or Hector?
And yourself!?

Sorry, I asked about you twice didn't I.

Edited 2021-02-17 05:22 (UTC)

[The chaos of the Circle's implosion and all that occurred during it has had L laid up for the past few days. He hasn't seen Myr, knowing that there's much going on with his other Bonded, but they'd brushed up against one another fondly over the network post of an arrogant newcomer... and then gone cold, perhaps due to L's uncanny talent for pinching exposed nerves.

Provided they love you in good faith, of course.

Not everyone gets to be kind. Not everyone gets to love kindly, leaving L to do it his brusque and productive way. After giving it what feels like an appropriate amount of time to cool off (as if he's capable of measuring such things accurately), of course.

He's breathless by the time he makes it to Myr's cottage; though the walk is short, a habitual practitioner of blood magic probably isn't the best candidate to get his side slashed open by a marauding shade. He's still pale, slow and anemic, but he's here, and able, and it is time to set some neglected things right. Whether or not Myr is loved by others in good faith, there's no other way the faun seems able to love, at least from L's perspective. That shouldn't be condemned; that should be protected, and the man who grasps always for use and purpose has found a niche for the next span of time, however long it's needed.

When he knocks, it's a formality. He'll enter if bidden, or wait, if Myr has perhaps grown more wary about who he lets in, and when, and why. Their Bond, at least, is a tether to hold onto, some hint as to who is haunting the doorstep.]

Edited 2021-02-24 04:09 (UTC)

[Though Jin Guangyao is hardly in a good mood, he shows the world only his usual faint smile, slithering as quickly as he can through the chill weather. It's been an unusually slow start to the day, considering his Bonded's absence and the sun still late to rise.

Things may have gotten out of control, further than he (or anyone in the Evergreen Circle, clearly) had anticipated. Though other problems are... not so easily solved... his touch has been light outside of the issues with Lan Xichen. But it was a touch nonetheless, and one that should be tidied up as quickly as possible, now that the Circle is broken and his own plans had been fragmented just as quickly.

That faint smile fades to a more sincere, apologetic look as he slides up to Myr's doorway to knock. Not that the faun will see it, but such things carry into one's voice.]

[The portal on Niles' roof links the room to a stable just outside the wall. Niles nods to the farm hand on duty, who greets him and tells him which field his weanling was in. They chat about her growth and antics since he'd last checked in while he grabs a halter from the tack room, then thanks the ~~npc~~ local for his help. Niles leads him to the right pasture, finds his foal, halters her, and leads both of them to a far quiet corner of the fenced in paddock.

While walking her over he'd kept himself between her and Crookytail, but now that they're at a stop he stands aside. He's watching her intently for signs of stress as she eyes over the low to the ground creature, but when she leans her head down to sniff curiously rather than tossing or shying away, he feels comfortable letting her off her lead. Orlok is normally pretty timid, but apparently time spent among the herd had done her good.]

It seems this miserable star has decided to turn me into a faun, for some night-blighted reason. By the horns and split hoof, mayhap some form of sheep.

[There is a rap on stone that does indeed sound rather like hoof.]

What should I be expecting with this? When you have time, advice would be ... appreciated.

[L sounds breathless, a little embarrassed, and a little glad.]

I know we talked about champagne, but believe it or not, I have some. I thought I'd let you know so we don't end up with an absurd amount, later.

after Myr leaves the horror door in Dorcht

[Backdated to Oct 15; L's house]

Modranicht gift

12/25

Early March

Cavern Dream

Voice Message

Sometime after the Faun Party

for Simon, backdated to April;