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October | Test Drive Meme
Jikan Test Drive MemeMinimize
You've seen this before. The thought strikes suddenly, during whatever it is you were doing. Having an important conversation? Running away from home? Dying in the midst of a fierce battle? Where ever you are, one things is true: you're certain this isn't the first time you've lived through this. But upon realizing this, that's when it happens. Like someone hitting rewind on the VCR, you're back where you were ten minutes ago. And it happens again. And again. And again--Until finally, something is different. A door stands in front of you. Will you go through it? Nothing else seems to be working, so this might be your only chance.
Upon opening the door and heading inside, a strange feeling overwhelms you. It's comforting and warm, like being enveloped in a soft, heavy blanket. You hear a voice murmuring in your ear, but it's unintelligible.
And in the next moment, you've appeared in front of a mysterious stone shrine in the middle of a forest, surrounded by the unfamiliar yet worried faces of fox-like humans in red and white robes, speaking in a foreign language that doesn't sound so foreign to you anymore.
Maryouku University
There isn't much time to process what's happening before characters are transported to the nearby Maryouku University. All injuries are completely healed, and those under mental duress will have a powerful soothing spell cast on them to calm them down. Their every need is met: food is offered, and questions are answered. "You've arrived in the Western Kingdom of Nippon, on a planet called Gaia," they explain. "When you became aware of the timeloop, we... well, let us explain."
Orientation Maryouku University, Kyoto
Everyone is brought to a large auditorium, where dozens of other people looking similarly out of place are seated around them. The Kitsune Yokai from before filter on stage, as well as a number of humans and other Yokai in labcoats. And after a brief introduction, they begin to explain. What they experienced back home was a timeloop. While the loops in their home worlds are smaller and likely to resolve on their own, the fact that such a small amount of time is being repeated is what makes them so dangerous for those who become aware of it. And they've been working around the clock, checking adjacent universes for others who've become aware. While the technical explanations may go over the heads of most, that's not the reason they were all brought together like this.
And they continue to explain: their own world was trapped in a year long loop for decades, if not longer. Through the use of an ancient form of bonding magic, they bound their world to the present flow of time, allowing it to progress past the timeloop. Or at least, that's how they thought it worked. In truth, Kizuna is very powerful reality-warping magic. And thanks to the powerful bond all refugees now share with the country of Nippon, the magic surrounding them will only continue to evolve.
Until a means of resuming the flow of time back in their home world is found, they'll just have to make due with this one. But not to worry, because Nippon is fully committed to taking care of the refugees!
A Brand New Home Kyoto, Kansai
Once orientation is over, characters will be allowed to choose housing in both Kyoto and Tokyo, enabling them the means of easily living between both cities if they please. These housing options will be fully paid for by the government of Nippon, with the NRL and MRU providing a stipend for food expenses in Tokyo and Kyoto respectively.
In lieu of providing transportation, all refugees will be granted an unlimited rail pass that they can use to travel all across Nippon! As of the beginning of May, express routes connecting Tokyo and Kyoto will be running at all times of day, allowing refugees to freely travel between the Eastern and Western Kingdoms.
At the Kiyomizu Temple in Higashiyama, preparations are underway for a festival coming at the end of the month. Refugees will hear talk of the locals trying to decide on what style mask they want to create, and at the Temple itself, they'll find craft booths offering free supplies for custom mask making. The masks must reflect what a person believes to be their inner self, and there's limitless supplies provided to bring their creation to light. It seems these are going to be really important later, so don't just half-ass it, okay?
Over at the dorms in Gion, a rather provocative game has broken out amongst the residents. Following a generous gift of prized sake from one of their patrons, the Geiko have decided to throw a party with the refugees, and somehow, this devolved into a competition of strip rock-paper-scissors. With just how many accessories the Geiko wear, they clearly have the advantage! But no one is talking it very seriously, and the night is filled with laughter and silliness. Join the fun? It's one hell of a way to make new friends!
In Uji, signs of autumn have taken over, as the famously rural neighborhood becomes filled with beautiful hues of red and yellow. At the Byodoin Temple, the monks have requested that all visitors bring offerings of colorful leaves for their resident Phoenix deity, who is known to drain the color from people who provide lackluster or incorrect offerings. However, it seems the phoenix is only interested in red leaves this season, and offering any other color will render the one making the offering temporarily colorblind. At least the effect only lasts about an hour? Such a picky bird.
NRL Time Refugee Support Network
Once they've received their housing assignment, all refugees will be given small handheld devices called magi-tech comms, or magi-comms for short. They're heavier than a conventional smartphone would be, but far sturdier, and powered by the ambient magic that flows through the city. They don't need to be charged, but they won't work outside of cities at all. Upon booting it up, they'll find a message linking them to a special channel for refugees.
#nrl_time_refugee_support - online
Use the following code for your top-level if you'd like! This is how network communication will look for characters in the game until more advanced magi-tech comms become available for characters.
A Tale of Two Festivals
As the leaves of autumn begin to change, so too are the refugees encouraged to change up their routine and pay a visit to the city of Nara. Located south of Kyoto, Nara is a city where Yokai and Ayakashi live in perfect equilibrium, with many aspects of life in the city adjusted to account for the Ayakashi's eccentric behavior. Likewise, the Ayakashi here are almost never known to curse anyone, and are generous in the blessings they offer both the people and the land in which they live.
Perhaps some are put off by the idea of a city where Ayakashi are allowed to flourish after past experiences with these strange creatures. But this month is special!
Starting on October 1st, the Tsukimi Festival is held every night after sundown for the next two weeks. Long ago, the gods gifted Gaia an enchanting string of pearls that entwined the planet, lighting up the night sky. However, the greed of mortals seeking power led them to fight over the pearls. As wars waged, the pearls would be shattered in the conflict, until only one remained. Seeing the way their gift was tarnished, the gods decided that those on Gaia would only be allowed to see the pearl in all its glory for part of the month, taking it away for the other half. This became the cycles of the moon, and the shattered remains of the other pearls formed the solid ring that is always visible in the night sky.
So what makes October so special? For this month only, the full moon will be completely visible for the first full two weeks of the month, never visibly waxing nor waning. But what happens after two weeks...? Well, you'll just have to be patient for that!
One With Nature Narashi, Nara
Nara is an interesting city. Buildings are seemingly hidden away by larger-than-life trees that tower overhead, with some even built into the trees themselves, and all of them brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow for the fall season. Lower streets and areas are lit up by special bioluminescent flowers that bloom on the lower sections of the tree's trunk. And while magic-powered lifts exist, the sheer number of elevated walkways and stairs make it a bit of a workout to explore. And of course, no matter where one looks, wildlife is around every corner -- though by and far, most of them are ayakashi. But there are no higanbana death flowers or dangerous tsutsumi-bara vines here. Instead, the refugees will has a chance to see more tranquil varieties ordinarily only found in the depths of Nippon's forests.
One of the more common creatures found in the main district of Nara, Narashi, is the Arukibake, the ghost-walker ayakashi. Utterly harmless, these little leggy ghosts can be found strutting around the city at every corner, ranging from the size of an apple to waist-height. However, they're known to be naturally attracted to people who have recently experienced bouts of depression or loneliness. The exact reason for this is unknown, but anyone seen with a small procession of these fellas marching silently behind them is certain to get more than a few concerned passer-bys offering them a warm meal, a hug, or even a shoulder to cry on if they need it. Even for the Western Kingdom, it seems the people of Nara are especially compassionate.
And then, there's the likes of the fuwakafun, the puffball ayakashi. No larger than your average cotton ball, these little guys are known to spread not pollen, but color as they move from flower to flower. And Nara, with its unique species of bioluminescent flower that blooms all year round, has no shortage of flowers even during the fall season. Should the fuwakafun land on someone's hair or clothing, it'll fade to take on the color of whatever flower the fuwakafun was resting in before. Ordinarily this effect is meant to create rare flowers as a gift for those who allow the fuwakafun to live in their garden, but with more fuwakafun than flowers, they've got to make do with what they have.
But for all that the Ayakashi in Nara are peaceful, there are still more than a few troublemakers. One in particular to look out for is the gurakurage, the glass-jelly ayakashi. Appearing in an array of beautiful colors, these ayakashi are attracted by greed and feelings of lust. It's not uncommon to see them tethered by a string in shops, where their increased activity serves as a warning to look out for shoplifters. But when encountered in the wild, these strange jellyfish will latch onto the bodies of people experiencing sexual frustration. A minor annoyance to be sure, as they can simply be peeled off, but just don't break the glass dome atop their head. Doing so will greatly anger the ayakashi, causing them to grow in size before... well. I think we all know where the prompt with the tentacle creature is going.
Dear Deer Narashi, Nara
While Nara is known for its high population of Ayakashi, the most well-known is the Saiwaika, the good-fortune deer. Growing no more than two feet high, these miniature deer can be found in parks throughout Nara, where they've become so docile and used to the presence of Yokai that they'll walk right up and cutely beg for food. Thankfully, vendors selling special crackers for the saiwaika can be found everywhere.
Being around the saiwaika has an interesting effect. Those who look upon their tiny, dainty forms will find themselves strongly compelled to be generous and kind to every living creature they meet. Originally a defense mechanism against predators, the saiwaika instead offer this power as a blessing to the people of Nara, which is said to have the lowest crime rate of any city in the Western Kingdom. Even cruel or downright evil folks will find their hearts filled with warm feelings, offering to buy their worst enemy lunch, help a little old lady cross the street, or maybe even offer some more of those tasty crackers to the deer...
All right, so there's a little bit of an ulterior motive to their blessing. But you can't deny they're very cute. However, they really do have a certain craving for these crackers. And while they've learned not to steal them off the stall tables, once the wrapping comes off, it's a free-for-all. The tiny deer have been known to swarm, nibbling at the clothes of those bearing the treats. Some even attempt to jump and steal them, with the saiwaika being well-known for its ability to leap nearly ten feet into the air. Yes, this looks as silly as you can imagine.
Perhaps its because of this that a common prank played by children in Nara is to slip a few crackers into an unsuspecting friend's pocket, causing the deer to hungrily swarm without the target knowing why. Shouldn't their blessing counteract these pranks...? Well, if the saiwaika is getting fed, is it really such a bad thing?
Behold The Pearl Narashi, Nara
Given the name of the festival, it should come as no surprise that the chief activity performed during the festival is simply observing the moon with good company and plenty of food every night. Its radiance will only grow brighter as the festival continues, the light reflecting off the ring that surrounds Gaia and causing it, too, to glow every night, occasionally releasing rainbow-colored bursts of magical energy only visible during Tsukimi.
For the best views, Sarusawa Pond in Narashi is widely considered to be the optimal location for moon-viewing parties. Food and drink stalls can be found lining the pathways that circle the pond, and with the backdrop of a five-story pagoda lit up by moonlight, it's also known as one of the most romantic spots in Nara.
But while there are plenty of places to sit and gaze up at the moon on the shore, the real celebrations occur on small boats that sit silently upon the water. Only allowed to sail at a certain hour before sundown, those hoping for a proper moon-viewing best board early. And once the boat has parked on the pond, a Mizu spell is used to still the water, causing a mirror-like image of the moon and the stars above to reflect upon its pristine surface.
But aside from being very beautiful, there are a number of superstitions associated with this practice. It's said that one should never stare at their own reflection in the water, or else they may see their reflection begin to twist and mutate into a monster. While limited to just their reflection, the effects of this spell may cause erratic or animal-like behavior when standing in the moonlight, with some becoming prone to acting on their every impulse, no matter how rash. It's not uncommon for at least one party-goer to make the mistake of staring too long, before throwing themselves in the shallow pond and thrashing about wildly. Unfortunately, the effects of this will linger until the festival ends on the 14th. Better bring an umbrella for tomorrow's Tsukimi.
OOC Notes
Welcome to Jikan's October TDM! The TDM is considered game canon, and also serves as the intro log! That said, whether you choose to carry threads over to the game or not is up to you!
• Current players are more than welcome to top-level, or take prompts from the TDM and use for their own logs! This may change in the future depending on how busy TDMs become.
• CRAU characters may start regaining their CRAU memories one month after the TDM. However, vague feelings of familiarity are allowed between previous game CR! For more on this, please read the FAQ!
• You do not need to sign-up for housing! Choose whichever style you prefer, in both Kyoto and Tokyo. Roommates can be chosen by the characters or can be random. If you want to switch housing later, your character has the option of moving at the beginning of each month.
• While you do not need to thread the mask-making prompt if you don't want to, these masks will become important for the event later in the month, so choose your designs carefully!
• The full moon will be visible in the night sky from everywhere in Nippon for the first two weeks of October. While Tsukimi celebrations can be found everywhere, the sister festival to this one is unique to the Kansai region, and will be explained in more detail in the event later in the month.
• Characters who have their reflection mutated by the pond's spell will retain a monster-like appearance when they look into a mirror or reflective surface until the festival ends on the 14th. This effect is for their reflection only.
• Similarly, whether their reflection becomes monstrous in a frightening way, or monstrous in a sexy way, is completely up to you. The change can be subtle or dramatic, and those around them will be able to see the changes!
Please leave any questions about the TDM prompts in the thread below! General game questions can be directed to the FAQ!
Apps are always open!
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Emet-Selch | FFXIV
ii. saiwaika
iii.
i. barrels in here
As soon as the month changed, Mettaton couldn't help but feel there was something beyond his understanding that was... wrong, he supposed. Missing, he'd say, if he didn't have it all, and if he wasn't torn away from his world. So of course something was missing, and of course nothing was missing at all... right? He had everything he wanted back home, from his pursuit to stardom to the life he desired on the Surface as an idol. He had his friends, his family...
Whenever he thought about that indefinite space in his heart, he couldn't help but think of the haunting feeling he felt upon first arriving here. Upon laying his eye on that tall figure and his robust soul, upon meeting in him an alley with his more compact body, upon holding his hand in a train. It felt so surreal a meeting that he wonders at times if it was a dream... though he couldn't tell whether it was a terrible one, or what it was. But one thing's for sure: the feeling Kizuna brought him thereafter was never so alluring, so striking, so captivating.
(Assuming it was Kizuna at all.)
October comes, and Nara, with it. And when traveling there, Mettaton sometimes caught curves and arches here and there that fleetingly remind him of something distinctly... Victorian. But it's just a trick of the eye. Taisho-Roman architecture blends together with something fantastical, and yet, it felt like he could be seeing some other familiar-yet-new city, under some familiar-new moonlit sky.
(He could still see the stars despite the moon. Somehow, this seems worthy of note.)
But even as Mettaton wanders these streets, no amount of loneliness compare to the Arukibake's target. So the idol follows their leggy stride with one of his own, compacting these feelings of déjà vu into a mental compartment for later. And he thinks he'll be spared the thoughts, all the way until he spots cool brown hair, striped with bangs of white.
Emet-Selch doesn't see him first, only his approach. Yet he talks to him anyway, instructing him to ignore the Arukibake, who practically swarm him. Mettaton stops in his tracks, standing quietly at a safe distance, not unlike one of the Arukibake himself.]
..... Well well well. ... Do you know why they're such fans of yours, darling?
[...He isn't scared to talk to the man who threatened him with potential blackmail, for some reason, and he speaks with ease. His voice is smooth in the evening air, and the Arukibake practically welcome him into their ranks. This man is lonely, and they are here to Keep Him Company. Mettaton too now, apparently.]
embraces
It had been easy for him to account for the loneliness. This wasn't a recent bout of solitude, but a perpetual one, his constant companion where all others had faded. He'd been this way for centuries, for millennia, for more years than he wanted to put numbers to. Time had passed, and that feeling had only deepened, had festered and nearly consumed him entirely, each foray into a mortal's existence leaving him that much emptier for it. But in death, well... there had been some peace, an acceptance of it all that he'd never been able to reach in life.
Yet now he was alive again, and while some measure of that peace remained, that didn't mean he was any less of an unhappy person ultimately.
Still. There was a far more recent source of the emotion that had been plaguing him since he'd arrived. An undercurrent of loss, a grieving for something else that he couldn't recall. Which disturbed him, aware of how good his memory unfortunately was. For him to misplace something important to him... it didn't make sense. But whether he wanted them to or not (he did not), his thoughts kept returning to that ghost he'd met on his very first day here, the one with the delicate soul and a metal body, friendly and troublesome.
He was certain now that it wasn't kizuna to blame for the strange response he'd had to the robot. The familiarity he couldn't explain, the way they'd kept each other's hands for longer than they needed to... he'd rejected Mettaton entirely at the time, threatened him, and left. But when he'd spoken to others on this star, cautiously and deliberately not, nothing of the sort had happened again. Nothing had tried to affix him to complete strangers. There had been nothing to fight.
His eyes open again, to take in the robot. To take in one more ghost, except this one speaks to him. Looking at that bright, fragile soul, his eyes gaze on his silhouette, Mettaton's figure gently lit by the bio-luminescent flowers (a sight he never thought he'd have again), he pauses.
Slowly, the Ascian shrugs- though it's a tired gesture rather than a dismissive one. He doesn't question why Mettaton was choosing to speak to him, despite the way their last meeting had gone, when the robot had every reason to avoid him. He does question why he didn't mind it, why seeing him before him like this- put him the slightest bit at ease. If it wasn't kizuna at work, then what was it?]
I can hazard a few guesses.
[Emet-Selch also leaves off the sarcastic reply about his charm and popularity, though his tone is a bit dry. If Mettaton has arukibake following him, he can't tell, and readily assumes that any of the ghostly ayakashi are there for him alone.]
--Well? Any clever ideas for convincing them to move on? Or at least in keeping the entirety of Nara's population from insisting on helping me.
[Still a bit grumbly about that. And which was the true problem, really; the ayakashi themselves he doesn't mind at all.]
no subject
...In ways, perhaps. But only in ways they don't quite comprehend.)
Mettaton nods at Emet-Selch's guesses, deciding he doesn't need to tell the Ascian that they flock to the loneliest or saddest of sorts. For him to amass such a crowd of them is both surprising, and... not. The way Emet-Selch shrugs, the way he leans back as though content to stay in place until even the energy could come to him—he just struck him as perpetually tired. Mettaton smiles at that, as though there's anything worth smiling about there.
Casting his gaze to the crowd of ayakashi, Mettaton tuts, clicking his tongue Emet-Selch's way as he lifts a finger to wag it in his general direction.]
Move on? Darling, only if you were somehow relieved of your depression and loneliness, would they find no reason to accompany you! These are some good ghosts. They just want to keep you company.
[Doing their best. Mettaton crouches to pat one atop the head before rising again, sauntering ever closer to his fellow refugee. His nerves alight with every step he takes, as though stepping on the brittlest of glass that might break underfoot. And should it break... Could he irritate the Ascian far enough into exposing him?
Still, it felt worth the risk. If not for sating his curiosities, he needed to face this man again.]
But I might have some ideas, regarding all of the concern you keep garnering. All you need... is to look like you already have the support you need: me!
[Mettaton flourishes, pressing his fingertips against his torso. Without any further invitation, the monster takes a seat at the edge of the bench, surrounded by softly-glowing flora and heavy tree cover. It's dark; it's so bright, bright like... like the ambiance of Waterfall.
Mettaton fixes his gaze on Emet-Selch's face, finding the way light falls upon his features oddly familiar. As though he'd once stood before him and studied his features under this sort of light... (Is he overthinking the way city lights look? Come on, he dismisses himself. (But it was getting to be a bit much.))
Mettaton clears his throat, crossing his legs.]
With me as the illusion of support, passersby will feel at ease, seeing that you have a beautiful robot here to tend to you. Genius! Besides. Since you don't want any help... maybe you can help me.
no subject
And if the arukibake would only leave were his permanently negative mood lifted, there was just no helping it. So long as he was in Nara, they would follow him.
It's with a sort of caution though, that Emet-Selch watches Mettaton approach, though for what reason, he couldn't say. If it could even be described as caution, exactly, but a feeling of uncertainty, an alertness to whatever strangeness the taller man brought with him. It wasn't as though the robot was any threat to him, and if anything, it was Mettaton who would have to be cautious, to be careful not to aggravate him too far.
The robot's... suggestion gets him a considerably dubious look, though he technically couldn't deny the logic of it. Anyone passing by would see that someone was already involved, that he wasn't alone, giving them less reason to intervene. Emet-Selch still doesn't appear remotely enthused or reassured by Mettaton's flourishing, though he accepts the robot's presence and his place on the bench with an eventual sigh, and a brief handwave in his direction.]
And what an illusion it is.
[Better than Mettaton pretending that he could do anything for him, at least.
Sharing a bench like this, it was too easy to stare at each other in this light. While the trees blocked out whatever late evening sun remained, rendering the world darker than it was, the ambient flora made it yet easy to see one other, provided that one didn't mind the particular casts these plants made of them. It wasn't... nostalgic, exactly, except that it was, and except that it included his company as a whole, which still didn't make any sense.
Pushing it back aside (maybe all these little ghosts were getting to him, reminding him of how little company he had), the idea of Mettaton approaching him for any sort of help was more than a bit unexpected. His dubious look persists, though a glimmer of curiosity joins it.]
But what exactly do you think I could do for you...? Don't tell me that a few of this collection is yours.
no subject
But Emet-Selch tolerates his approach, which is as good as a welcome as he'll get, he knows. Not that he needed welcoming to fulfill this role, as Mettaton would've found some reason to take up Emet-Selch's time, one way or another. Fixing his attention on him now is a dangerous thing, though, as the robot's overcome with some sense of... excitement mixed with something heavier than he knew what to do with, just looking at him. Or maybe he felt... too light. Too buoyant. He wasn't sure what it was about him that made him feel this way, but the strange chemistry (of sorts) between them was undeniable.
(Whether that chemistry was explosive or not was also undeniable, and he's not sure why or how he knows this. After all, Emet-Selch didn't tell him terribly much about himself during their last meeting... (And if it's explosive, how?))
The robot gazes out pensively at the Arukibake, who continue to flock quietly about Emet-Selch's bench. They fix their beady, expressionless eyes upon the Ascian, and make not a peep save for the gentlest of pitter-patters of ghostly feet. At Emet-Selch's question, he snorts, smiling the barest sliver at the crowd.]
Even if I had a few followers, they've surely been converted to your fan club by now. Just look at you.
[Mettaton gestures broadly to all of Emet-Selch's "fans." He has a lot of them. An amount that surely gets him lots and lots of concern. Does anyone else have this many Arukibake following them around? ...And why does this not surprise him too far, even though it brings him some sadness to know Emet-Selch was this lonely? Mettaton refocuses, taking in the sight of white hair and golden eyes.]
No. It's something quite different. These time loops... They must be toying with my mind. Because, you see... I can't remember what I called you, the day we met.
[Oh, he knows his name... he thinks. But 'Emet-Selch' isn't rolling off the tongue the way he feels it should, as a name. Mettaton smirks, and cocks his head.]
Was it... 'Emmy-darling?' Or 'Selchy-darling?'
no subject
For Mettaton to see him like this though, it exposed more than it should have, even if there was no reason as to why this should be at all different from any other person coming across him. Beyond the robot using it against him somehow, teasing or mocking him for it (even if that shouldn't have mattered either), what difference did it make?
It didn't unsettle, exactly. If anything it felt not unexpected that Mettaton would know something like this about him. As it had been when they'd first met, there was something there that he didn't understand. Distance and a few weeks hadn't gotten rid of it, and now that he was in the robot's actual company again, it was harder to ignore. A sense of anticipation came with it, perhaps, but for what, and in what direction, he couldn't begin to guess. Or didn't want to.
Hearing about Mettaton's poor memory draws another look to him, mildly surprised, curious- before flattening entirely at the robot's conclusion.
(Why did that feel familiar? He'd never heard anyone butcher his title in those particular ways before. Moreover, why did it feel off for Mettaton to use it at all? He didn't exactly give his name out to just anyone.)]
Neither.
[Decisively, for all the good that it would do (that too, felt familiar somehow).]
Have you been holding onto that all this time? I would have thought you'd have better things to do.
no subject
...Name. He means name. Butchering his name. Mettaton's smile screws up in the direction of confusion at his own thoughts, though he doesn't dwell on his specific thought that Emet-Selch is a title, because what does that even mean?? (Could Mettaton also be a title?)
With good humor, he recovers and laughs shortly, clasping both of his hands over one of his knees.]
It seems my memory's more scrambled than I thought. I'm sure I called you that! But if Emmy-Selchy-darling doesn't ring a bell, I KNOW I called you... [Whatever it is, something more familiar, remains stuck to the tip of his tongue. He hesitates, lifting a hand and making a rolling gesture with the twirl of his wrist.] —something else. But I digress.
[Mettaton's playful humor dies down for something a bit more tempered and sober, as he watches Emet-Selch. He truly is here for help—and he does view it as memory-related.]
I... admit. I have thought of you quite a bit, since our first meeting. You left me with quite the impression of you. I'm sure you understand.
[Not understanding would be the same as calling himself not notable, and Emet-Selch is notable. Moreover, he totally left Mettaton with a distinct sense of dread to start... which lingers still, as he reminds himself not to push the Ascian toward resentment. (And yet he still feels safe with him. Safer than he did when they first met, in fact. He felt like he should be able to trust him with anything...)
Mettaton meets Emet-Selch's eyes, and studies his features all over again. His lips part, before pressing together again, lost in thought and not sure where to start.]
With as old as you are... And as knowledgeable. [Mettaton doesn't realize that Emet-Selch has never told him his age. Mettaton doesn't even precisely know the figure of his age, but he just spits it out, not even noticing.] I wanted to ask you. Do you know of a city called... Aefenglam?
[..... so close, mtt.]
no subject
(Something else. While his first instinct is to futily argue with him, to tell Mettaton that the only thing he had and should use is Emet-Selch, there was something to the robot's manner that has him hesitate. Because he agreed, that Mettaton had called him something else, even though he knew very well that he hadn't. He even knew what it was (and what it couldn't have been).)
But Mettaton sobers, and the Ascian puts his uncertainty-laced-irritation on hold, and while his frown remains, it becomes something more neutral (a... neutral sort of base negativity). And though it deepens a degree at the other man's words, it's only in the direction of thoughtfulness as he nods. Yes, he could well believe that the robot's thoughts had turned towards him. Their first meeting had been memorable enough, and with his threat of blackmail over Mettaton's head, it wouldn't do for him to have forgotten anything of it.
But it was more than that. He was sure of it, and not only because he did consider himself someone notable. They'd thought about each other, and when Emet-Selch gazes into his eye, observes the paneling of his face, the sweep of his hair... it all felt like a design he knew by heart, that he'd memorized before (With some uncertainty about his eye. The violet wasn't at all wrong, but it felt like another color should be even more familiar. It wasn't like his unfinished eye that... he knew somehow was there, despite the black bangs that perpetually covered that side of the idol's face.).
While he nearly admits that he'd been thinking about him too (grudgingly, knowing how such a statement could easily be twisted), he's distracted by Mettaton's question, replying first without thinking about it.]
Aefenglom.
[He corrects, then stops. Just stops completely, absolutely certain of his correction, and just as absolutely certain that he'd never heard the name before. His own lips part for a second or two as though to continue, but no more words come, and he looks away, to try and gather himself.
There were a lot of things that didn't add up. He'd never suggested much of anything to Mettaton in regards to his age, yet the idea that the robot had of it felt like something he should know. Not only have guessed (accurately) about, but something that he knew.]
...No. No, I've never heard of it. [Which runs contrary to what he'd instinctively answered, and he makes an annoyed sound.] Yet I know there's somewhere called that.
[Somewhere that wasn't here, but wasn't at home either. Where had that word come from...? Trying to focus on these things, or on Mettaton's face... it was like viewing a life through layers and layers of gauze, shapes that slid away from him as soon as they appeared. Shaking his head, he slouches forward a bit more, arms loosely crossed in front of him, glancing sideways at his companion.]
Do you know anything about it? My own memory has been somewhat unhelpful as of late.
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Mettaton reels at the correction. At the acknowledgement that, though he contrarily says he's never heard of it, he knows it exists. Mettaton doesn't sleep, doesn't dream, so all of these errant thoughts that seem too formless to slot in as proper memories are thoughts he has while waking, though it wasn't as though that's the anomaly. His hands rise from his knee unconsciously and clasp in front of him, eager as his gaze is bright, lips parted in shock.]
Aefenglom. Yes! Then, you have heard of it! [Mettaton understands, in a weird way. He knows the name, but... it's not somewhere he thinks he's been? But at the same time, it's not somewhere home. Not in his world.] You're the first person I've asked who understands. Somehow, I had a hunch all along that you would.
[Though he only started thinking about this Aefenglom place not long ago... But Mettaton's a busy sort. Still, he feels a little less aimless, while feeling even more lost.
But... perhaps he's lost with someone now.]
Not long ago, I started thinking about it. Clock towers, and dated architecture... Feathers and flowers for fashion. [Mettaton lifts a hand and, palm facing away from them, spans across the city around them, as though trying to paint a picture of his... memory/idea.] A... Coven, whatever that means. And the city's full of magic-practicing humans and Monsters, though not the kind from my home. Theater's banned there, darling! They have no TV!! They're terribly antiquated.
[There's more... but the part of admission where he felt like he was there, experiencing an actual sensation most prominent—he does not say, not yet. Instead, he glances back to Emet-Selch, warily optimistic.]
...Or so, I think. Well? Does that jog your memory, darling?
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It was eerie, how familiar Mettaton's words ran, hairs on the back of his neck prickling up as he speaks. Now and then, in Nippon, a particular type of youkai, or a piece of architecture would remind the Ascian of something else, something that he could never quite place. Beyond a hunch that it wasn't from the Source or any shard (and absolutely certain it wasn't from Amaurot or anything in the original form of the world), he just couldn't place it all.
Unintentionally he nods along. It hadn't been that long ago when flashes of impressions had begun to coalesce around the edges. Pieces he could only come up with when he wasn't looking directly at them. Yet he couldn't entirely dismiss them as fragments of dreams either, because they refused to fade back into the mist as a good dream should. Instead, there was ever more, even if it was nothing he could piece together.
At least not by himself. Not that Mettaton's description made things that much clearer, but they helped to put words to his scattered impressions. And if ignoring these images wasn't working, what else was there but to try and understand what was going on?]
A house of mirrors, in a rustic city of witches [Not mages, though that should've been the natural word to use. But he was sure this was the right term.] and monsters. A magic-borne disease, and a wilderness that stretched far beyond the city's walls....
[Where had these images come from? And why did they feel like more than observance, but as part of a lived experience? Yet in all of his mortal lives, he'd never had anything that looked or felt quite like that....
Without realizing, he'd turned towards Mettaton during this trading of images that only they could recall, of a place that didn't exist. He's still frowning, but intrigue warred with disturbance.]
--There was a type of monster there. Puca. Have you heard of them?
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Mettaton begins to try remembering as soon as Emet-Selch opens his mouth. The mirrors; he remembers... seeing them, but not that often. They leave him with a bittersweet feeling in his heart just to consider, even though he's the sort to adore a good mirror. (Why is that? He can't pinpoint it.) A magic-borne disease, something he... felt inexorably drawn to, in some part of his soul. (What was it called? The Cold?) A wilderness...
(He remembers snow. ...He remembers darkness.)
Mettaton's lips press together thinly, in something of a pinched frown. He squeezes his eye shut, grasping for any impression he can... but more than that of the Wilde evades him. He remembers the way the disease looked on flora, but only impressions.
Once Emet-Selch concludes, he dwells on these thoughts for a moment. But then, he prompts him about Monsters. About... Puca. His eye shoots open, and he nods fervently.]
I... Yes! Puca, they were... Rabbit-like Monsters. With thick claws, [As Mettaton curls his fingers to mime claws (where he has no nails whatsoever);] and unfortunately prominent teeth, and tall ears. They're... Allergic to metal.
[He remembers his impression of this "Aefenglom" so, so colored by pain. It was so much sensation that it blinded him at times, making it easy to forget much of his first impressions in favor of it. Mettaton's brow furrows.
But for that reason, it made a statement of itself. He doesn't think he's ever felt that vividly before... (Yet something else lingers on the fringes of his periphery that he can't quite define. Something beyond those first impressions of this strange, foreign city that doesn't exist. How could he have ever been to any city other than the one on the Surface? He felt like he'd seen the sun for the first time then, too...)]
I was... allergic to myself. I was...
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Cold and the dark, and a place underground: concepts that, for a moment, take precedence over the others. The Ascian's pulse races, and for a moment he's dizzy, nearly sick, a moment of terror that... was no more than shadows of teeth, but he couldn't remember, not any more than that. He didn't want to, whatever that was. Letting it fade away, he takes careful breaths, forcing his attention back on Mettaton's face, his reactions to his words.
Which clearly included recognition, understanding, the robot's expressiveness something that didn't seem impressive so much as natural. But there was no pretense there, his own words having hit on something, even if it remained vague, remained piecemeal, much as his own impressions registered. Mettaton recognized what he was talking about, even if there was yet no explanation for their awareness of a world neither of them belonged to.
But puca. It had felt like a word important, but it's only when Mettaton's eye flashes open and begins to describe them that he remembers. Every part of his description felt right (Where had Mettaton's claws gotten to? Had they been ripped out again?), for all that he wouldn't have been able to produce any of it before hearing it. Monsters with a rabbit look to them, relatives to fae, they shared their weakness to particular metals....
Like the ones Mettaton's body was made of. Emet-Selch gazes steadily at him, to ears that weren't there, to claws that weren't there, to arms that had no trace of fur. But why would there be any of those things? Slowly, he speaks, feeling absolutely certain of this too, but not wanting to be.]
...Your eye was gold, wasn't it? Like mine.
[They had matched, like a set of earrings might match--]
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Shadows cast by the tree overhead make dark the evening light as the sun sets again. They keep meeting at eveningtime, don't they? Flowers bloom nearby, standing tall and luminous in blues and yellows—not quite like Waterfall, but reminiscent in theory. Light catches in Emet-Selch's eyes, a brilliant gold that the robot hadn't been able to ignore from the very start. Gold... Emet-Selch's golden eyes felt... personal.
But not personal in the sense that he shared them. Yet, when Emet-Selch makes note of it, Mettaton's reminded of mirrors. There were many mirrors in these... thoughts (he hesitates to call them memories, unsure of where they fit, though it was becoming clearer that they somehow were just that), and he could almost make out the shape of them both looking into the mirror together, Emet-Selch standing in front of him, Mettaton tucked behind, hovering over his shoulder...
Emet-Selch stared ahead with bruises on his throat, and Mettaton—he could barely recall, yet he recalled so vividly. His ears glinted silver, his teeth, long. His eye...]
Yes. Like yours.
[He breathes his response, soft enough to be carried on a wispy breeze. And he continues, as though part of the same thought, though he speaks like he stumbles over the thoughts as he produces them.]
...You were half blind. We were... [For some reason, this is clearer. Flashes of bars, of darkness, of hours spent wondering when time would end—Rathmores, the lack of clarity, the pain. They were tortured. ...But he's focused on something else.] But your eyes. They've... always been gold.
[This is noteworthy somehow. Emet-Selch may borrow bodies, but his eyes have always been gold. He knew this somehow, and the more he talked, the more he remembered. The more he dug in, the more came to him. The more he shared of this Aefenglom, the more came to light, and he was sure they weren't simply constructing a fictitious land together. Emet-Selch didn't seem the sort to lead him on, and each time he mentioned something of this city, it clicked into place in his head.
(The bruises, the way they stared into the mirror together, sidled up close—Mettaton hasn't yet analyzed what a memory like that could mean.)
Mettaton remains turned to Emet-Selch, legs uncrossed and fists balled up upon his thighs. Was it any wonder that Emet-Selch stood out to him so much? No... He feels certain that this man stood out to him even before. He'd never quite seen his soul, not the way he can see it now. He wasn't able to manipulate it, much less see it... But then, why did being near his soul feel so familiar?]
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Mettaton agreed with his recollection as he thought he would, in words that might have easily gone missing had he not been waiting for them, leaned towards the other man to catch sound that felt important for him to have. Emet-Selch was also reluctant to call these images, this information memory, but what else could they be? They had that sort of feeling, if with far less clarity than he was used to.
--Half blind. On reflex, he brings a hand to his eye- his right eye, and Emet-Selch knew immediately that this was the correct one, and that Mettaton wasn't wrong about it. For a moment he's surprised to not feel scarring around it, and his fingers twitch, before he removes them, gaze lowering, pensive. But this body, it had never taken that sort of injury, had it? It wasn't as though he'd never had hosts who'd ended up lamed in some way, permanent wounds he'd endured because the body overall was still both functional and useful. He'd lived with a damaged eye before, but not on this one....
And yet he had. He'd- they'd both been tortured. A recollection that felt additionally hazy, timeless, insane. For some reason he hadn't stopped any of it (he couldn't). Mettaton had looked to be in an especially poor shape, tortured, allergic, and... something else too. They'd bet on something. But with the robot's additional comment, gold eyes return to his face, feeling less surprise than he should have.
Mettaton knew he took hosts, but he had no reason to think there was any particular commonality behind them. Though he'd also caught him in his true body, the idol had never seen his eyes behind his mask. Yet this too didn't feel like a lucky guess, but something... remembered, a detail recalled when supplied with an appropriate trigger.
(They'd been close when he'd told him this aspect of his various forms, and how many times had he seen them together in mirrors, and he could see that one detail that the world had caused them to share? (Why was he often looking in mirrors with him? Why did the concept of mirrors have a melancholy feel to it?))]
Half blind. [A confirmation in a breath.] And yes. They've always been this color.
[A light wind stirs the trees overhead, but little of the breeze reaches this protected spot, the stirring of leaves providing only a gentle background rustling. The sun continues its slow descent, but the level of darkness in the world felt steady, the glowing flora providing a steady supply of mild light. Brightest of all was the robot's soul, something that felt familiar in one way, but that he couldn't remember seeing like this before. There had been the glow of his core, but nothing more.]
--I couldn't see your soul. [He couldn't see any souls, disturbingly enough. He'd been more than half blind.] Yet I knew it, somehow.
[In a way different from just seeing it. Which seemed impossible, but no more than any other part of this shared delusion (memory?).]
Do you know... why that might be?
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As Emet-Selch touches his face, MTT's reminded of the scar that he remembers so clearly there. Of the scars that should've been... elsewhere on his body, though he can't recall those as clearly in the moment. (He still doesn't question why he should know of them, no matter how intimate or vulnerable showing them off would make Emet-Selch.) He only knows that there are (should be) others, many of which came from the torture they endured. Senseless torture.
And more distinctly, Mettaton recalls he could feel it. All of the pain, all of the madness—there was so much insanity, and for a moment, he feels a phantom sensation of something he doesn't have the vocabulary to describe. Mettaton's gaze unfixes from Emet-Selch and he wavers, the ghost of an experience and sensation prickling over his body, fooling him into believing that there was more to feel beyond his current experience.
But it was... intense. So intense that he only sees Emet-Selch confirm his query, watching his lips move, catching the word yes on his lips.
The madness he could remember begins to swallow up his Aefenglom experience. Why was he so lost, so insane?
Hearing Emet-Selch's voice draws him back to the moment, and Mettaton focuses, attention drawn to their souls again. To the purplish hue of Emet-Selch's in this moment, and the fact that it was so striking, so new... Had he been unable to see Emet-Selch's soul, too? (Then why did it feel so familiar to him now, even if its deep hue was novel?)]
Why you knew my soul... Why, I knew yours, without seeing it. I knew it, but...
[Mettaton lifts his finger and beckons in a come-hither curl, a gentle twist of his wrist all he needs to draw Emet-Selch's soul to the forefront. To really see it, in all of his hue and its mass. He stares at it, like it might prompt some onslaught of memory—but it doesn't.
All he can remember is this.]
I wasn't able to use my powers. In fact... my entire being was robbed of magic. I was left so empty, and you...
[There was something Emet-Selch gave him, somehow: clarity. He just can't figure out how, or why. (Was it kizuna? No, but it felt like he was onto something... Mettaton chews on his lip.)]
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(There were other scars too, Emet-Selch was sure of it. Where they were, or what they consisted of, he wasn't sure. A result of that torture he could only hazily recall? That didn't seem entirely right, though....)
The robot looks at him without looking at him, and for a few seconds he's concerned- even if it didn't feel wholly unexpected. All of these memories(?), they were more than just an amusing puzzle, an odd quirk that could be brushed off or pushed aside, but something complicated. Difficult. Important? But the taller man speaks and Emet-Selch has to refocus himself on his words, hoping for something that would clarify his own thoughts.
Mettaton gestures towards him, and the Ascian's brow furrows in confusion, wondering why he needed to be any closer than this- before he feels it. Sees it himself, even, the violet of his soul flaring brighter as it was brought to the surface.
It should have felt threatening. Or at the very least alarming. And it was a surprise, to feel the absolute essence of himself drawn out, but not disconnected from the shell he was wearing. It wasn't an eviction, though it did feel as if he'd been made slightly more vulnerable somehow- and there was the unusual intimacy in having his soul manipulated at all.
This was new- or at least, it didn't reveal any memories of Mettaton doing this before. Despite that, despite everything, the Ascian didn't feel uneasy at this strange act, by the thought of the (once-puca?) robot interacting with his soul. Not only because he felt assured in his own strength, that such a fragile thing before him couldn't hope to do anything to harm him... but because he knew, somehow, that Mettaton would never hurt him.
The reason to trust him though, that much he struggles to identify. Looking down at his own soul, he regards it as he picks through words.]
--I was also bereft of my magic. I think. [He wasn't entirely sure. It may only be a reasonable guess, something reached to explain why he couldn't see souls (impressions of the night sky on a cold night; overlooking the city, there were no souls amongst the lights, but there was nothing unexpected about it).] But not in the same way....
[A different, lesser magic? And they knew each other's souls, despite having never really seen them.]
Monsters fed on magic. [Hesitantly, as though remembering it a word at a time, while not being sure of any of it.] And witches provided it to them. [That there was a benefit to this side he doesn't remember. As if the penalty for going without had never happened. Forcing his attention away from his soul (and ignoring that he wasn't questioning this ability on Mettaton's part, the presumption the robot had in interacting with his soul at all), he inspects his face for answers.] Were we connected, somehow?
[It wasn't the right term for it though....]
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This moment under the trees, which sway gently under the light breeze, is spellbinding. Captivated by Emet-Selch and the mystery of their connection, Mettaton can hardly focus on the glow of violet when he's otherwise so taken by the contrasting gold of his eyes. His features felt so distinct and... familiar, he thought, even without the scars and bruises, even though he knows his hair is normally white. They were both beyond form, and knew each other blind. Were he to close his eyes, he wonders if he'd suddenly understand.
But he can't will himself to stop watching right now, not while he was so curious, so confused, and waiting for anything that could make clear the whole picture. Little details here and there of Aefenglom are coming to light between them, but it's all so... frustratingly indistinct. Monsters fed on magic; Witches provided it to them.
Mettaton licks at his lips. ...He can't taste a thing, but...
That thought's far too indistinct for the robot, who closes his eye again.]
Is that why we thought we were forming a Kizuna bond so soon? A...
[His eye flies open, his lips parting. Obviously, he'd just said the word. A fundamental aspect for the visitors who came from mirrors, for a crucial reason.]
—Emet-Selch! We were Bonded, darling! You and I, we Bonded after we met in the Rathmore's basement!
[In his eagerness, Mettaton reaches for Emet-Selch's hand with both of his own, taking them up in his. He leans for the other man, violet eye clear and expression open as the first clear understanding of how they maybe knew each other comes to be. He doesn't quite remember why or how they Bonded, but he's sure they did.
Mettaton grips harder.]
Do you remember? I had no Bonds. [And so madness visited him easily, implicitly. But he doesn't mention that; Emet-Selch could surely catch up with the meaning of being Bonded. More importantly...] We made a bet over something, and tied our souls together thereafter. Sullen and cheerful, a dazzling pair... I said something like that.
[He doesn't remember why they Bonded, but they did. They tied their souls together to stave off madness, Monster and Witch a pair to imbue with magic, and to drink from it. ...The full understanding of magical transference doesn't quite make sense to MT, but he knows one thing: mental clarity was one of the things he sought, and his soul felt so empty before. Stretches of time in pain, feeling deadened but putting on the bravest of faces... Mettaton sighs just thinking about it, gazing back down at the purple soul pulled from Emet-Selch's chest. ...How interesting, it appears. Totally inhuman; and so, so dense, brighter than he's ever seen.]
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I. Arukibake
He is subtly trying to get to a drink vending machine that is directly behind Emet-Selch, but with his diminutive stature it's hard to reach around and he sure as heck isn't going to ask. When addressed, he whips up his head and glares at up Emet-Selch like he thinks the other is trying to start a fight.]
Excuse you, I didn't ask you anything. And if you want help, you can ask for it. I don't give out cures for free.
[Glowering, he turns to look at the creatures following him. Quickly they scatter and disappear, hiding behind or under anything nearby.]
[ooc: hello! permissions, opt-outs, and info are here]
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The various ayakashi don't seem to take well to the evident mood. Though as quickly as the creatures scurry to safety (or at least partially out of sight), it's not too hard to get an idea of the amount of things that had been following the other man around.
Even the arukibake that were following Emet-Selch are spooked a bit by the display, some taking to hiding behind, as well as underneath, the man's long coat, which gets another exasperated look in their direction.
That the Ascian is standing right in front of the machine Kiriho is attempting to access- it doesn't even occur to him. And as he twists to face him properly, he just ends up blocking it off even more with his tall frame.]
Do I at all seem inclined to be interested in your help? [Too testy to be properly dry, he waves off the thought with a flick of a wrist, staring down at the much smaller man.] Unless you've a cure for the excessive goodwill of strangers, there's little I fear you could fix.
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Goodwill. Ugh.
[He shudders, glaring at the city homes and buildings to his right.]
I can't stand people trying to put on that act. "Ohhh, we caaaare." Sure you care. You care about what you're going to get from it. Liars.
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At least someone gets it.
[Mortals just weren't that nice. Not as a group. Not that it even registered as an attempt at nice, merely invasive.]
There's nothing reassuring in being hassled. They see an easy target and little else. Were they at all genuine, they would realize most have affairs that they have no right to.
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[Kiriho points a finger at the arukibake]
That's why I think they have these things. They don't talk, and they just follow us around watching... it's suspicious.
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[On their own, Emet-Selch didn't mind the arukibake. Just because something looked harmless didn't mean that it was, yet... apart from being around, they hadn't done anything wrong. Though it might be a stretch to say that the Ascian liked them, still--]
I'll take the ghosts over the locals any day. Their company makes no demands, includes no expectations. They simply are, and if they want to follow me around... well, I've had worse entourages.
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[He jerks his head at a kindly-looking pair of middle-aged women watching them from down the street, with a roll of his eyes.]
No kidding. Can you believe the simpering way they talk? "Excuse me, do you have some time to talk about the love of our Lord Inari Okami?" "Inari is watching over us all, and Inari forgives you of all the wrongs you have done!"
Give me a break. I don't need some fake, lying god's forgiveness.