. all you have's your axe to grind . closed

[shikomizue]

Who: Takasugi Shinsuke (shikomizue) & "Friends" | Closed
What: Catch All For April-May-June
When: Over April / May / June
Where: Mostly Wyver, some Thesa and Olympia
Warning(s): alcohol + graphic violence + bang + will edit as needed

[ closed starters in the comments ]

Comments

. percy

[shikomizue]

[Black muck erupts, splattering the bodies of soldiers and corpses alike. Looming above, husks of metal flash, pinlights heralding the next round of artillery fire. What battlements remain are hardly recognizable as such, collapsed and strewn with bodies both human and monstrous. The men are fleeing for a forest, hopeful that the cover of thick foliage will obscure their location. Behind them, the rearguard disappears one by one. It's a pitiful smattering of men to begin, about a dozen in number, quickly dwindling to three. A mature man, topknot frayed and legs coated in mud. Another man, doubled over in search of his sword (it's with his arm, so freshly severed he hasn't noticed yet). And a third, no older than a teen, pressing into the advancing army by himself. Take him and go! Don't stop for anything! He bellows, his voice unwavering as it pierces a lull in the cacophony of war. Takasugi sits nearby, perched on a mangled signpost - this land once served a purpose greater than 'graveyard'. He's not watching the fighting, his gaze is turned upwards, towards the ships that hang low in the sky.]

[tzaraisen]

[ He knows this isn't real. Or perhaps it is: having gone through the ordeal of not only dying, but facing The Storm directly, Percival knows what sort of power it has. He has felt different realities distort and combine, various memories, most of which were not his own, push and pull at his attention. He heard the desperate pleas for help of many.

This isn't so different. A part of him wonders if he never fully escaped, and this is merely an extension of that terrible purgatory, but no, he has to remind himself that though many things around him aren't fully tangible, he is. He's flesh and blood, and he has to find away out of this. There is much going on around them, and (perhaps fortunately) Takasugi himself is out of his sight for now.

The sight, though certainly not part of his own memories, is oddly familiar, in the way that all gruesome truths of battlefields are. He surveys the surroundings quickly, gaze falling on the three men clearly in dire straits.

He thinks that he may recognize one of the men rushing straight the advancing army, and that is hardly a comforting recognition. No, if anything, it sends a surge of fresh, almost blind rage that culminates in the drawing of his sword.

But rather than rush towards the young man and drive his blade through him, something he can rationally enough decide would accomplish nothing towards drawing them back to reality, he moves forward, quickly.

To assist him. ]

. rosalind

[shikomizue]

[But for the squalor that wafts over the campground like a heavy, poisonous mist, the day is pleasant in every way. A sky blue and vast, temperature the sort of warmth that seeps through clothing slowly, settling comfortable against skin. The din isn't of moaning men or clashing steel, but embers still popping from the night before, and a few groans of hungover late-risers. A teen, eyes dark and cheeks hollow, sits against an upturned log. He stares forward, rolling his shoulders and massaging an arm. He'd fallen asleep in that very spot, and is only now rousing. Another youth is draped far less comfortably, one arm over a barrel, ass in the air, feet dangerously close to the coals. He shudders, slurping some of his own drool back into his own mouth before sitting up, groaning loudly. Aa. Aah. What the hell was that last night? The last thing I remember, Takasugi-kun passed out, and- The dark haired teen volleys a punch, off-kilter but hard enough to make a sound and nearly push the albino over. What's that? I distinctly remember your face in the dirt. If your snoring had gotten any louder, we would have suffocated you. Bickering. It' just petty bickering. Takasugi isn't bothering to watch; he's wandering from tent to tent, rifling through the belongings of ghosts in search of some drink or tobacco.]

[originallutece]

[Rosalind hadn't had many friends in her youth.

She doesn't tell people, of course. They always take it the wrong way. They look at her with pity or sympathy, and she doesn't want that. She doesn't need it. It wasn't as if she'd wanted friends, not at all. She hadn't had any because she hadn't ever found anyone worthy of being her friend; none could ever keep up, or they bought into all the idiotic cliches and petty ideals of their time. They'd never accept a female scientist, so who needed them around, anyway?

(That's all true. But what's also true: she hadn't had friends because she'd never, ever known how to bridge the gap. She'd never been good at reaching out, not at all, not before Robert had taught her how, and then all she'd ever wanted was Robert).

So this bickering has a slightly foreign feel to it. Like French, she thinks; she can understand it, but it takes a little longer to process. Her gaze flickers up, focusing on the older Takasugi, and she feels her stomach twist and flip, but she won't give him the satisfaction of acknowledgement.

Instead she takes a seat, sweeping her skirts up so they aren't muddied (even if it is nothing more than a memory, she won't take a chance), and focuses in on the younger version of her tormentor.

He looks sweeter here. Softer. He's a teenager, she realizes, and of course she'd known he wasn't born sadistic and older, but it's still bizarre to see. And valuable, perhaps; if nothing else, watching him will give her insight on how he ticks.]

What's his name?

[She calls it out softly. It's a toss-up if Takasugi (Takasugi, and the name burns, but one fight at a time) will answer her properly, but he'll at least acknowledge her.]

. chuuya

[shikomizue]

[There's always a certain musk to any establishment in Wyver. Most noticable is the scent of decaying wood, held in place by vines that weave like arteries from the very heart of the city and outwards, through every inch of it.

But in a distillery like this, the air also possesses a sharp bite of acid - teetering dangerously between enticing and sour.

Takasugi's drink doesn't taste particularly good, the flavor too strong for his palette, but it's settling just as well in his gut. He's situated at the bar proper, several seats between him and any other patrons.

Which suits him fine, he isn't looking for companionship of any kind.

If some comes to him, however, he'll extend a courtesy - one glass of liquor ordered for the man next to him with a tacit wave of his hand. He doesn't so much as look to his company, instead plucking a nut from the bar's snack bowl and crunching it between his teeth.]

You come here for the quiet? [For now, the din is low, though Takasugi wouldn't bet money on it staying that way.]

[thetaintedsorrow]

[This is Chuuya’s first trip to Wyver, and after a bit of sightseeing he’s decided to visit his favorite kind of establishment; the kind that serves booze. Everything in Wyver has a wild sort of touch to it, an untamed side that Chuuya finds quite intriguing, and the alcohol is no different. He picks out a seat next to the one person who seems unreceptive to guests, because that’s just how Chuuya rolls.

He’s pleasantly surprised by the drink order, and he gladly takes a sip, the glass hiding his roguish grin.]

I came here for the booze, but the atmosphere isn’t bad.

[He also partakes of the bar’s snacks, popping a peanut into his mouth and crunching it between his teeth.]

What about you?

. lancelot

[shikomizue]

[The same bolder overtaken by moss. The same tangle of broken branches at the edge of the forest. It's the fifth time Takasugi's passed this scenery (he never loses count), and the tedium is beginning to sharpen his step.

He isn't looking for a way out, he's simply continuing with an insurmountable drive to overtake this anomaly in tenacity.

Rain clouds form quickly, rolling over the blue sky bearing heavy humidity. Thunder claps, and before droplets of water hit the ground, the path has become mud from the damp air.

A sign of the illusion caving, Takasugi assumes, and keeps walking.

He'll continue, soggy and obstinate, until a bolt of lightning sears the air and cracks against the broken tree he'd been using as a landmark. It smolders, too wet to catch fire; Takasugi waits as the charge dissipates, the air rife with the smell of electricity.

As he lingers, a familiar face becomes visible through the curtain-like downpour. There isn't much shelter available on this stretch of path; he regards his new companion with a wry smile.] Get lost?

[ausuben]

[ the storm with its thunder and downpour of rain has gotten Lancelot to slow in his determination to keep moving in one direction. It's not the weather itself being somehow inhibiting, however, so much as the disturbing nostalgia that it seems to bring forth. It's not often that the rain is so heavy that it is capable of isolating you from your surroundings. His mind has started to wander away from concentrating on the fact he should be aiming to find a way out, and more on finding... someone...?

He's pulled away from such thinking entirely at hearing another's voice, and it actually being a voice that is starting to become familiar (which he wonders briefly if that's even a good thing or not). This guy, though, even being dumped on by the rain like a drowned rat still holds such a smile which... Lancelot has also been beginning to feel isn't much of a smile at all. It's still too early to tell how trustworthy he is, unfortunately, but Lancelot feels justified in his continued caution, even if it's ultimately all paranoia... and without any concrete reasoning so far.

Lancelot offers a bit of a sarcastic smirk before speaking in response. ]

I certainly hope so.

[ takasugi just really isn't the first someone that comes to mind when lancelot considers ideal individuals to bump into during stormy travel on foot; he's more of the shady underpass fellow that makes you feel you shouldn't have taken that rumored shortcut before you even get there. ]

. solomon

[shikomizue]

[Their rendezvous is a bent street sign in the pit of the city, one of the most rank streets that still has a name. Vines wind up the walls, until the two become indistinguishable. Takasugi waits with his pipe lit, dull ember the brightest glow on a cloudy, humid evening.

He'll be able to see Solomon coming - that idiot's probably wearing white again.

Regardless of the man's fashion choices, or of when Takasugi sets eyes on him, he offers little more than a nod of recognition in greeting.

A man stumbles from a nearby door, the structure almost completely hidden in overgrown foliage - and groans about his losses. They're near a gambling den, and it's that location in particular Takasugi intends as their venue for tonight.

Since their taste in food is so incompatible.]

[semblant]

[That pipe acts as a beacon of sorts, visually, the fact that it smells like shit. Familiar shit. His approach is from the front -- no need to sneak around. Donning all white, asinine as it is (around here especially) is something he's steadfast about. Maybe it's even a deliberate thing at this point....

There's a nod in turn, a greeting interrupted as someone fumbles onto the scene. Not entirely, but it interrupts his peripheral enough to earn a proper glance. Nothing more.

There's a probable cause behind why Takasugi would choose such an unpleasant place to meet. Sure, it's Wyver, but there has to be a nicer, quieter spot.

At least they're not at a temple.]

Your tastes are questionable as ever.

. rosalind

[shikomizue]

[The extent of Takasugi's experience with birds is twofold. Sending simple carrier pigeons with tiny rolls of paper, encoded messages, to comrades over miles of hill and forest. And cutting down crows, the spies and messengers of a meddlesome organization. Cree's use of avian liaisons isn't to Takasugi's taste.

He'd preferred the task of rounding up their murderers, to replenishing the stocks.

The day is overcast, clouds glowing warm with sun, but heavy and seemingly unmoving despite the strong breeze. He's taken to a field, somewhere off the path between Wyver and Olympia, a hawk circling in the sky above him. It's already trained to hunt creatures smaller than it; Takasugi doubts reinforcing instinct was very difficult, but that's the extent of the bird's ability.

It knows how to be a bird.

Equipped with a glove, a satchel of meat, some trinkets of value, and a few folded scraps of paper, he stands in wait for the hawk to return. He'd been given the supplies, told to use them in its training.

One such jewel lays in the grass several feet away, he'd thrown it there for the bird to retrieve, but it hasn't descended for anything. At least it hasn't flown away-]

[originallutece]

[Normally, she doubts she'd ever be able to sneak up on him, but today is different. For starters, he's decidedly preoccupied with that bird, and judging by how it's pointedly not diving down and picking anything up, it's not going well. And secondly, she'd teleported her way forward as soon as she's recognized that figure, so she's come up soundlessly behind him.

She watches him at it for a long few seconds. There's fear in her throat, but she refuses to let that stop her. She won't run from him. She won't spend the rest of her life fleeing from this man, despite what he'd done to her. The only way forward is to act as though her fear isn't there.]

Perhaps you can train the bird to chirp out orders and you can fetch it. It might go faster that way.

. mai

[shikomizue]

[It doesn't start off as anything remarkable - Takasugi is chatting idly with the purveyor of a tobacco shop, discussing the depth of flavor in one of the more recent blends. It isn't a mix that gets displayed; some of the content has a stronger effect than sating cravings for nicotine.

The establishment is one under Cree's protection, a recommended venue Takasugi had heard of from other smokers in the Gilded Cage. He's since become somewhat of a regular, though this visit isn't for purchase.

There have been shady sorts coming by recently, wanting to use the man's business as a front to sell their own drugs. He'll have none of it, says he prides himself on a certain quality deadbeat kids can't hope to emulate, and waves them off.

Last time he'd done so, they'd threatened to return with force.

So Takasugi waits. The man had called back-up, a partner for his valued customer. Surely he just doesn't want to lose Takasugi's silver, though there's hardly any risk of that.

When the door opens, he doesn't straighten, only a glance spared to the help, or the gang, that has crossed into the shop.]

[maipokerface]

[Backup comes in the form of one Mai. When the posting for added help went up, hinting at shady sorts frequenting the shop, Mai had been more than willing to go. The remnants of the shaman were still out there after all and she doubted they could slide into the city by any other means besides subterfuge.

There's still a few faint scars near her neck and face, wounds that have healed and in time ought to fade off to nearly invisible. She doesn't kid herself in thinking they'll entirely go away though and she doesn't particularly care whether they do or not.

There's at least one face here she recognizes and once she lays eyes on him, the frown she naturally wears quirks slightly.]

I'm not too surprised.

. valjean

[shikomizue]

[Light has scarcely begun to guild the trees when the boy wakes. He's framed by two other small futons, bundles curled under the blankets. There's a chill to the morning, not quite autumn, but the air nips at his cheeks as he rubs an eye and rises. No timepieces adorn the small room, traditional Japanese in style, scant with design, marked only by repairs to the paper walls done by patchwork. The boy named Takasugi leaves without shutting the door, opportunity for gentleness foregone when he sees a man standing at the corner of the building's outer deck. He passes by dew covered leaves, a stream that gleams brilliantly with the early sun's rays, and a timid deer like they're all nothing. Everything falls to the wayside for that man.] Good morning, Sensei. [A smile barely restrained, Takasugi knows he's up early, and he gets the wide eyed recognition he'd hoped for. Shinksuke. The man's smile is soft, gentle features lit in kind by the light of the early sunrise. What are you doing up at this hour?] Can't I just be awake? [There's no depth to his petulance; Takasugi walks to the man's side and looks to the sunrise. I suppose, though you won't be needing a nap later, will you? The boy scoffs.] I'll take one in class. [Ah. A laugh, though not one that Takasugi shares. He'd known a comment like that would get him in some measure of trouble, but it seems like his teacher is saving the repercussions for later. Walk with me. Takasugi nods, casting no lingering glance to the picturesque morning gleam he leaves behind.] I had a dream, do you want to hear it? [He walks quickly, patter of bare feet against cold wood determined to keep up with his teacher's longer stride. If you'd be willing to tell me.] We'd all gone to the next town over, you said it was for something like a lesson in being practical with money. Gintoki spent all of his on sweets, and Zura ended up bartering with one of the old ladies at a fruit stand so long we all left him behind. [He speaks of friends, of the two bodies he'd left sleeping in their bedroom.] I didn't buy anything until the end. Everyone was leaving, so I needed to find something. I didn't want to ask for help, so I just grabbed a laquer box. It was pretty, the cranes on it would move when you tilted it. [He pauses, remembering the sight only a dream can give, the birds rustling their feathers.] But when I went to catch up, it started to turn black. Like it was melting in my hands. I couldn't get it off, like it was tar or something- [The boy's words grow faster, the confusion and frustration not so far away as he'd thought. So it all fell away - leaving nothing but a stain? A hum hangs after the man's question before he answers himself in the same breath. Perhaps it's a sign, not to rush for desires that you do not truly hold... as you may never be able to get rid of what they bring. It's alright to simply indulge your curiosity. You've learned what the market has to offer, and you've spent time with your classmates. You haven't come back empty handed, even if you never found anything to buy. Takasugi doesn't reply, but he's able to look up from his hands, and let them drift downwards to his side. They continue their walk in silence, the boy's brow still heavy, but no longer furrowed. He falls behind a pace, watching his teacher's back as they walk, until they reach the entrance to the school that also serves as their home. I have some matters to attend to, so watch the sunrise for both of us, alright?] Aa. [He sits on the porch, fixed on the sunrise as the man departs. It's then he'll notice the interloper, previously invisible to the boy as the scene progressed. Takasugi's eyes narrow, regarding the stranger with suspicion, but he doesn't rise.] Do you have business here?

[almaredemptoris]

[Even before the boy addresses him, Jean Valjean feels an intruder in this memory torn from another's records. Ever a fastidious observer of privacy, respecting that of others as he would wish for them to respect his, he had tried to leave the boy be - but soon he discovered that by some device of the phenomenon that resurrected this memory to life, every path he took only led him to shadow this pair. Thus he had watched the scene unfold in silence, allowing his curiosity to grow. He is surprised, then, when suddenly the boy takes notice of him. He had thought himself a phantom, misplaced in this memory as he is, but the boy addresses him directly. His countenance warms to a smile and his words come gently.] No, I don't suppose I do. I am only a traveler passing through. What is this place?

. mikazuki

[shikomizue]

[The metal of the door howled in protest as it melted; the faint green glow of the corrosive didn't reach the corpses of the two guards crumpled at their feet. One vial, poured onto the latch of the door, was enough to eat through the thick steel barrier in under a minute.

Takasugi nudged it open with the ball of his foot.

Their entry had been silent only out of convenience - there's nothing surreptitious about the way Takasugi plunges his sword into the neck of a guard turning towards them. His blade pierces through, grating against sternum.

Withdrawing the blade brings it through the air in an arch that ends in another man's skull - an engineer, with wrench raised in hand. His body seizes and falls; Takasugi steps over the corpse before it slumps flat.

If Cree had wanted to unleash a devil on the Institute, then he'd chosen wisely. Takasugi is a beast that craves only destruction - it isn't a proclivity he's enamored with, like the taste of fine tobacco or the sensation of smooth silk against rough skin. Nothing so voluntary.

It had seized him long ago, sinking claws into his ribs. He'll be pulled apart by it, someday, but today-

The beast has simply been let loose to stretch its maw and whet its appetite.

When a man's voice echoes through the hall, a call for back-up, Takasugi grins behind his mask, his pace not daunted by the throng of guards beginning to converge on their path. Electricity teems in the atmosphere, air laden with the scent of it. His sword clashes with a baton, sparks flying and wrapping around metals drawn together by the pulse of energy.

He presses forward, until the guard is skewered to the wall, left to bleed and slowly drop his weapon to the ground. Takasugi pries his sword away, turning-

Met with the charge of a gun designed to stun. He notices it not in the barbs that burrow through his clothing, but in the way his throat stiffens. In how heavy his sword suddenly feels in his hands. There's pain, but it's dulled along with all other sensation.

His step staggers, but doesn't halt, even as his ears ring loudly enough for his recognition of his surroundings to blur into something else. Filled with smoke, reeking of mud and rot rather than electricity.

In that place, in those days, he'd been fighting for something more important than another man's errand. Then, he'd laid mountains of corpses as an effigy to his loyalty to one man. Now he simply loans his sword to Cree's purpose, for the sake of the small periphery of it that overlaps with his own.

The inability to stop isn't the same as moving forward.

Takasugi yanks the wires from his chest with a hissed breath. Then he lurches - correcting a fall into a lunge that skewers the man who fired the weapon.

From there he weaves through the first onslaught of guards like only a demon could, leaving blood and bone in his wake.]

[sparsity]

[ To Mikazuki, it's all motion. An arc, gleaming, catching what light there is. Sparks, energy woven over steel, the hiss and splatter of blood as it's freed from bodies to soak the ground, the walls. Mikazuki doesn't linger on the heaviness of the way the bodies fall, mismatched to Takasugi's swiftness — it's only that they fall. There's an odd silence to it among the gurgling, labored breaths caught and suspended in moments of surprise, the thudding that follows. It's not quiet, but not loud. Not one content to simply watch a fight, Mikazuki exists against that in between.

He almost moves when the wires shoot and coil from the gun, the sight of the other man seizing making his nerves leap. Not in fear, but as if on cue. He waits instead, watching renewed violence rupture as a response instead. It's the first time he's seen the other man leave collateral on the walls.

And all at once, it stops. Takasugi is now in the heart of the room, his trail left by bodies instead of footprints.

Not that personal.

Without needing to take a breath, Mikazuki lowers his arms from where his shoulders are pressed to the outside of the door. That movement makes him wink into view, the ring from the last trip here doing solid work in keeping him concealed. Not his preferred method, but he's not so stubborn to hinge a success on his pride. He would have gotten involved as necessary, but it's good he didn't have to fire here. His head cants to look into the room proper, gaze sliding back. ]

No one yet.

[ Mikazuki won't need to tell Takasugi to go now, though it lies in the air, laden with it as much as it is electricity. Briefly, the bone pendant tucked between his collarbone and his cloak activates. It's like having the retinal projection from his machine kick in — movement outlined by an inhuman power.

Skin prickling, he turns away from the room, gaze honing forward.

Not yet, but soon. ]

. solomon

[shikomizue]

[By the time Takasugi shows up, the cool breeze of evening has already begun to fill the streets of Olympia. The sun has yet to sink in the sky, its heat emanating from the stone underfoot.

He lets himself in.

If he had brought anything (a change of clothes? a gift for the host?) he'd set it on the table, but instead he simply leans against it, settling into the home as if it's his own.]

Yo- [Where's Solomon? In a different room sweating over which tie to wear? Which identical white suit (thanks anime) flatters his pale complexion most? None of them. White looks awful on him.]

1/2

[semblant]

[Surprisingly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Solomon's home does not resemble the after picture of the out house at Coachella, like Takasugi's does. It isn't a sprawling mansion, sadly, but it's a pretty standard home. Clean and kept, not only because he's expecting company.

Without hearing a knock, which is the most primitive form of cluing someone in on their arrival btw, Solomon's in his bedroom testing his outfit. Which looks like Scott Disick on Labor Day. He's wearing periwinkle board shorts, a white button down and penny loafer slippers. A white robe conceals most of it. Fortunately. He'll emerge eventually, straightening out the knot keeping his robe together only to be 100% startled at Takasugi hanging in his kitchen. There's an obvious jolt that happens, an immediate furrow of his brows...ai carumba.]

[originallutece]

[Rosalind Lutece isn't drunk, but nor is she far from it.

She's in a fairly classy little bar in Wyver. Classy for Wvyer, anyway, not particularly for Olympia, but needs must when she visits this city. But it has booths, not just a bar and stools, so she'll take what she can get. She's a book she's half-reading, but frankly, this isn't the best atmosphere for it. Though it lays open at the table, she's taken mostly to people-watching, her blue eyes hooded and her mouth pursed in arrogant disapproval.

It's particularly crowded today, but she supposes that's what she gets for coming out on a Friday night. At least it lends a great deal of variety to her game. Her eyes flit and drag over each person that enters, cataloging them as native or refugee, male or female, friend or foe . . .

And then, of course, he comes in.

She can't say she's surprised to see him. He always seems to pop up just when she finds herself alone. For a moment she stares coldly at him, wondering if it's worth it to try and head out the door, but no. She won't. Not only would that be utterly foolish, as she's safest in the midst of a crowd, but she won't run from him.

Instead: she watches him, sipping at her whiskey, waiting to see if he'll come close or just ignore her.]

[shikomizue]

[The door of this particular tavern is heavy, stone embedded into its wooden facade. Intended as a measure of status, it serves as the initial pain of the establishment. Anywhere billed as 'dignified' is nothing more than a venue of inflated prices and bloated egos.

Takasugi wrenches the door shut - more trouble than it's worth - behind himself as he enters.

Speaking of more trouble than it's worth-

He sets his eyes on Rosalind for a fleeting second, the flicker in his smile as easily a trick of the light as genuine, before he passes to the bar. There he perches on a stool, settling against the rigid atmosphere.

But he won't stay long; one drink consumed, the other in hand, he peels away from the bar. Instructions given to bring him more periodically left behind, Takasugi approaches just as...

She'd wanted? She'd feared?

Either way, he slips into the seat next to her. There's an entire unused booth opposite them, but he's come to take warmth and comfort under the guise of leaning over her book to see what she's reading.

Nothing he's heard of. It looks boring.] Drink or boredom, which will kill you first...? [Arching his back into the seat, Takasugi manspreads splays his arms over the cushions behind them.

His smile is about as friendly as his greeting had been.]

. diva

[shikomizue]

[Diva had garnered enough sympathy with her cry for help on the network, Takasugi hadn't bothered to contribute. He imagines a line of suitors, each eager to run their fingers through the hair of a beautiful girl. All chased away by close friends, shaking their heads with a smile.

And Solomon... bitch where?

Busying himself killing monster turds in the swamp again, probably. Or just taking a really long dump.

Takasugi comes by weeks later, a parcel in hand as he knocks on the door. Already more forthcoming with basic societal dignity respect than he ever is when he's visiting Solomon, he actually waits for Diva to come to the door, rather than letting himself in.]

[colorature]

<sub>[Even though she's upstairs in her room the lock easily reaches her ears. Hurrying down the stairs, lifting the edge of her dress as she does so, she rounds the corner and brings herself to the door, opening it without any hesitation. Standing before her is Takasugi, a parcel in hand.

She smiles up at him, excited for the company.]</sub>

Shinsuke!

. cain

[shikomizue]

[Aboard Thesa, there's no call of a dragon to tug his ligaments to shreds or erode the already thin grasp he has on his own anger. But the damn alarm is approaching some sort of critical point.

He smashes a speaker as he walks down a hall, stopping outside the room he's taken to resting in. The door won't close, but that's better than one that won't open.

With no developments on the station to speak of, restlessness has taken a hold of him. Even as he sits, draped as languidly as usual over his bedding, Takasugi's chest aches in pangs of inaction.

But like hell he wants to be anywhere near the dragon. Expected to help - to fight and die for people he hardly knows.

There are other idiots who can do that.

An hour or more ticks by, alarm blaring down the hallway rousing him from thoughts that meandered nowhere. That same alarm plays in the background of his message, sent to Cain as a cursory attempt to stave off boredom, rather than out of any sense of concern.

The stupid ones never die in fights like this.]

Oi, you still alive down there?

[baguablade]

[ His phone rings, a soft, musical chirping — it startles Cain, has him nearly toppling over, right out from the meager bit of cover he's managed to find on the battlefield. He scrambles to silence the sound before it can draw any attention to him. But the name on the display has him pausing before he answers. Takasugi. What the hell does he want? He's no doubt still safely tucked away up on the station, determined not to help.

Cain almost doesn't answer, but... He grimaces and flicks the screen on. ]

Yes. [ Short, flat, no patience. He's covered in grime, streaks of soot smeared across his face, his clothing torn. It hasn't been an easy campaign. ] What do you want?

. rosalind

[shikomizue]

[Even the people look like animals as they flee, frenzied and mindless as they run for their lives. It's the first time for most, Takasugi thinks, that they've had to fear for their longevity. He barely remembers the day he'd experienced such a gripping terror.

But he's sure he faced it with a smile.

One stretched just as thin as the visage he wears now, fatigued but hardly wilting in the face of a wave of Olympians trampling ground already torn up by the hooves of beasts.

His sword is already drawn, hanging at his side dulled by rot imbued by the dragon's magic. At the hilt, rusted, it clatters as he moves against the current. Aimless, he'd have nowhere to go even if he joined the fleeing mob.

Instead he wades through their agony, defending himself against the onslaught of terrorized animals by cutting them to pieces. A favor he doesn't extend to others - he hardly differentiates between corpse and cowering.

Until he sets eyes on a woman whose familiarity sharpens his focus. Rosalind's back, the curves of it still recognizable beneath the wrinkled fit of sweat stained shirt, is set against a large, bearlike creature.

It seems to be taking the same approach Takasugi has been, goring everything that stands in its path.

He lunges towards the pair without a thought spared for why, embedding his sword in the creature's gut before ripping it open to spill the contents on the ground at - and on - his feet.]

Where are you going? [There's nowhere safe.]

[originallutece]

[The same black substance that had pinned Takasugi to the wall a month ago swirls around Rosalind's hands. She's panting, worn out and exhausted, and her head snaps as a sword slides past her. For one horrifying moment she thinks it was meant for her, but--

No. The creature, and her nose wrinkles as the stench of innards floats up towards them. It's no worse than anything else around here, but being so close makes her nauseous.

Belatedly, she looks over at her rescuer. And what a sight she makes: her sclera are black, her irises a vivid electric blue that stands out sharply. The energy in her hands writhes and coils, twisting around her fingers and groping her wrists, but she doesn't seem bothered.

Slowly, she lets the power drain away. The blackness in her gaze fades; her hands loosen and become clear. Soon it's Madam Lutece, human and ordinary, standing before him once more.]

To find a way out of the city.

[Her voice is calm, if not tense with seriousness. But there's none of the terror that surrounds them, nor the panic. She's levelheaded even now (though god knows her mind swirls with questions).]

[unos]

[ It's not too hard to figure out what happened to Katsura. His left side is splattered with blood (and a few meatier chunks) even though he appears relatively uninjured. He's on his knees throughout Darma's speech, only managing to push himself upright again when she's nearly done. The sword in his hand is nothing more than a hilt now, shattered by Ysverai's final roar.

All in all, these are traits he shares with plenty of others on Thesa at the moment, and he in particular might not stand out much to the average observer. Even so, he's visibly out of sorts, his motions jerky and aggressive as he steps away from Darma and her monitor bank. He's already calming down but he isn't exactly calm, which means his decision-making skills aren't so hot right now (though when are they ever?) which in turn means that rather than seeking out a shower, he's off to track down a certain old friend of his.

At least there's no doubt in his mind that Takasugi lived. ]

[shikomizue]

[Takasugi doesn't linger among weary. Darma's profession of intervention is all he needs to hear; he slips from the crowd wearing a smile. The effects of haughty beings descending from the stars, their technology far beyond the simple lives below...

He knows well what happens from here.

The society below is damned, but he'll get what he needs from it. A wider scope, attention turned to the galaxy - to the Storm, to the planets they left behind.

Takasugi isn't difficult to track down for one who knows him so well as Katsura. He's stalled in a fairly vacant hallway, staring beyond a window to the stars. In contrast to the runaway, he's not so unscathed. A gash rips through his shoulder, both sides of his yukata stained in blood.

There are more wounds littered over him, they haven't been specifically threaded yet, but none of it effects his posture. Injuries never do; he'd stand until he passed out.]

Yo.

[Something's off when Takasugi feels calmer (it's the exhaustion) than Zura.] Looks like this planet will have its own Amanto to deal with soon. [He's gloating. Unconcerned with what happened to his former comrade - if it's important, Zura will tell him.]