Unpleasant Encounters

Cooke picks a bad time to walk home alone, as if he had any choice in the matter.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Tom Cooke
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Tue Jan 01, 2019 4:18 pm

Vortas 7th, 2718 · Nighttime · The Dives, Vienda

It took him a few minutes fumbling with his flint and striker to light his cigarette, during which he cast furtive glances all around – up and down the empty street, into the shadows underneath the eaves of the houses opposite, into all the nooks and crannies and alleyways and all their drifting dust and scuttling, nameless things. This was the evening ritual: he lit a cigarette before the long walk back to his apartment. He watched the cold streets of the Soot District, listened for clattering footfalls out of sight. Listened for voices.

This was the evening ritual, and this was what life was like now.

He got it lit and heaved a sigh of relief, bringing it clumsily to his lips with trembling fingers. A starving, patchy black cat fled across the street in front of him, hopping through the broken first-floor window of a derelict building. Somewhere – a few streets over – some yelling clattered out; it sounded like somebody broke a bottle; shutters slammed shut, muffling the commotion. Somebody wasn’t having a good night, and for once, Tom thanked the gods he wasn’t involved.

It was only a few streets back to the tenements, but being on his feet all day had given him pins and needles all down his legs, and his fingers (despite his threadbare gloves) were just about numb with the chill. He was moving slow, he reckoned, slower than usual, and he had a real funny feeling about tonight. The floor manager had given him and a couple of nattles an earful today about how Dentis hadn’t been such a good month for production – work faster was the gist, although in his fumbling hurry Tom had nearly gotten a hand caught twice – so his nerves were already jangly. It’d been –

That was it, he thought, stopping dead for a moment. That was it. That was why he was all on edge. It’d been two months exactly since he’d left the Vauquelin estate, since he’d set foot in Uptown. Two months avoiding the Seventen, avoiding anything that looked like it might be a golly’s third cousin. And he’d done pretty well by himself, putting away spare change here and there – it’d been without incident. Two months without incident. A couple more, maybe, and he’d be able to buy his way out of Vienda, though he didn’t know where he planned to go. Old Rose, maybe, and then – Bastia? Maybe. Maybe he’d even be able to –

He caught his reflection in a nearby window, a black mirror nearly opaque with filth; he jumped, feeling for a heart-stopping moment that somebody was looking through the window at him.

Great Lady, I look bad. And, you know, like a completely different fucking person. He screwed his face up, watching the gaunt little man in the reflection do the same – watching white smoke curl out into the black night, feeling his nerves steady a little. One foot in front of the other, Tom, for now. Just focus on getting home in one piece. Worry about your clockin’ identity crisis later.

He’d just about got his nerves calmed down when he heard it. Another commotion, much closer than your usual nighttime Soot District ramblings. He turned, glancing around, freezing his lungs with ice-cold, shuddering breaths; his eyes lingered in the shadows of alleyways, around the smog-wreathed shapes of distant streetlamps. His vision swam with his pounding headache. It sounded like – scuffling footsteps? Somebody – a man – yelping with fear, threatening with a trembling voice? And somebody else, too, somebody who wasn’t afraid at all –

“Shit,” he muttered, tossing his cigarette and grinding it into the cobblestones with the heel of his boot. “Clock it.” He should’ve been going, should’ve been going fast, but all the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling, and he couldn’t seem to get his limbs to move. He swallowed cold spittle and kept looking around, paralyzed with anticipation.

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Drezda Ecks
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Wed Jan 02, 2019 3:19 pm

Vortas 7, 2718 | Nighttime | The Dives
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Her nerves had been jangling, her carefully constructed control unravelling and it was all Rosmilda's fault. Her passive servants had definitely noticed the change in her, her temper shorter than normal, more displays of aggression in the house and with different intent than when she was out and about. Those who didn't normally feel her ire found themselves feeling it and so a nighttime excursion had become necessary.

It was well after dark when the diplomat set out from her home, her manner of dress more simple than usual and a more inferior cloak than her own pilfered from one of her servants. If she did encounter someone that she knew then she didn't look so underdressed as to be obvious about trying to pass as rougher around the edges but it did make her sufficiently understated that she might not be noticed from a distance. Of course, her field was a giveaway up close, every inch of it galdori but her demeanour made her stand out as well. Drezda was just too proud and confident to be a down-beaten resident of Vienda's shadier and poorer areas.

Her carriage took her to a point near to the Dives before she disembarked, ensuring that the coast was clear before she slipped away, the hood of her pilfered cloak raised to hide her foreign features.

She managed to reach her destination without incident, a knot of tension releasing in her belly. She hadn't encountered anyone who knew her, anyone who might stop her and talk to her, question why she was in such a rough area at this hour. The current house wasn't so advanced as to be obscenely late but it was still late enough that it could potentially raise some awkward questions. It'd raise even more awkward questions if she encountered someone she knew in the Dives rather than near them but that was very, very unlikely. Regardless, Drezda was confident that she could spin some very good lies if need be. Her real reason for being in the Dives definitely wasn't a noble one: she was looking for victims to torment.

Rosmilda's declaration of love at the very end of Dentis had really caught her off-guard and she'd been left reeling from it ever since. It was bad enough that she was having relations with a passive but for said passive to turn around and declare feelings rather than remaining a plaything that she could almost see as object was far from helpful. In fact, it was horrifying. Not that she cared about the passive's feelings of course but... how dare she? An unnecessary and uncomfortable complication that had left the Hoxian utterly unwilling to touch her physically. She was still willing to punish the girl but her heart wasn't in it, no satisfaction gained from it and anything sexual...

As such, the young woman was far edgier than normal and if she couldn't deal with one urge then she'd deal with the sadistic one. The two had become rather tied up in her mind after all so while torturous activities weren't a direct replacement, they'd suffice and if she was to properly indulge in that without sex to temper it then it was best to do it far away from home. The poor and the downtrodden were excellent candidates for her purpose.

So she searched for those who were alone, an extra layer of vulnerability although still seeking someone a little spirited. It made her roam for many minutes, considering targets and deterring the odd idiot who thought she might be worth hassling for one reason or another by flexing her field when they came into range. A cold glare from black eyes also helped as no doubt did the pallor of her skin. She probably had the appearance of something supernatural, dark red painted lips looking bloodied in the halflight.

Her rambling was through main streets - if they could be termed such - and narrow alleys but she was slow to take to some of the little winding streets, forming their own maze-like structures that made the galdor wary. It wasn't fear of what could be done to her but a more mundane fear of getting lost. Drezda wasn't so arrogant as to believe that no one could harm a hair on her head simply because she was galdori; there were plenty of reasons why a galdor to succumb to the violence of the lower races. Still all those twists did provide some discretion and she found herself paused, peering into the darker areas with a thoughtful expression. She saw a small glow embers flare up as someone drew on a cigarette. The Hoxian blinked as she realised that there was someone there, the cigarette's owner, basically invisible in the shadows until she realised that he was there. A form coalesced in the dim light, dark clothing helping to obscure.

"All righ' there, love?" the man asked, voice reedy and interested. Or was that more than mere interest? She took a hesitant step towards him, indecisive.

"Don' worry, I ain't gonna bite. It's good stuff in this spur if ye want to share," he suggested, obviously trying to be enticing as he waved the cigarette around in slow, lazy circles. The smell of it... yeah, that wasn't tobacco and the man was looking at her she realised, looking her up and down in a way that she didn't like at all. It was the sort of indignity that she had to deal with frequently but one that she endured when the men involved were important. Galdori. Not human refuse.

"Oh? How can you be sure that I won't? Bite that is," Drezda asked, voice soft as she stepped nearer, field gathered around her. The murmured Monite that graced her lips was seductive in tone and she could see the confusion in this ruffian's face.

"Wh-what are you saying?" he asked, his posture more rigid now, less of a nonchalant crumple against a wall. She'd been far enough away before that he hadn't felt her field and now he did, some instinct was registering galdor instead of say... wick, and suggesting danger. Her tone was encouraging and if he couldn't understand her... maybe it was just because of how low she was speaking, her Estuan sounding distorted and strange and-

The Perceptive spell thudded into him, lacking the intensity that the Hoxian had hoped but still doing some of the job. He staggered back a step and swayed drunkenly as he found his balance suddenly and unexpectedly compromised. Her smile was a sweet one as she sent another, more rapid spell, Living Conversation lacking the same subtleties as her chosen field, the words more rapid and louder this time as she delivered a stinging blow to a knee cap, index finger pointed and jabbed to focus the strike. The limb buckled at the hinge joint, the affected equilibrium throwing him off-kilter enough that he tilted sideways, catching himself on an elbow with a wince. He did his best to move backwards, trying to put distance between him as he attempted to gain his feet once more.

"You crazy bitch! I'm gonna get up and I'm gonna- I'm gonna... you're gonna regret that. I'll make you regret it!" the man snarled out although his words lacked the necessary bite; his reedy voice was higher in pitch now and trembling.

"Are your pitiful little threats meant to make me quake?" Drezda asked, sneer plain in her voice as she followed his crawl easily, closing the distance between them to press her foot into his crotch, wishing that she was wearing her heels instead of more practical and considerably less stabby shoes.

The lecher released a strangled scream mixed with a sob, voice pitching up into nothing but a barely audible wheezing whistle.

"What would you have done if I wasn't what I am, hm? What if I'd been some poor defenceless girl taken in by your offer of drugs? Or a poor defenceless girl who'd said 'no', hm?"

The cigarette. She remembered it now, glancing around to see if she could see if he'd dropped it. She eased up the pressure, stepping back carefully as she scanned the ground in search of it. She found it by its smell, the thin plume of smoke rising up through the darkness and wafting that sickly sweet smell. She bent to pick it up, pinched gingerly between two fingers. It was lit but not by much, the burn within definitely having lost its brightness. She blew on it gently, her breath providing it with air to coax it to life a little more. She moved back towards her victim who had resumed his crawl while her attention was briefly elsewhere although he was making less progress than before.

Her steps were almost a skip as she reached his side, knelt and found the back of his neck with one hand, ensuring that flesh was exposed before she jabbed the smouldering spliff against it, crushing it out against his skin while he shrieked and sobbed. Her field flexed, her delight quite evident as she got to her feet, dusting herself off. It was as she moved to walk around him that she felt it, something tickling the edge of her briefly widened field, something... odd but also... familiar. Mona, yes, a field but... wrong.

The woman moved quickly, heading towards this oddity that felt like a field but like one that had been shattered and then poorly and haphazardly stuck back together. No, it was chaotic, discordant, wild and... honestly, she didn't know what to make of it. She knew even less to make of it when she popped out of one branching alleyway and found herself face to face with the source. Curiosity had drawn her but now that she saw the source...

It was dim here, too far from the streetlights to see by properly but her eyes had adjusted to the dimness. That didn't mean that she didn't think that they were playing tricks on her.

Any worry that she might have had about being caught doing what she'd been doing, especially by this person - who she suspected they were at least - failed to materialise as she squinted, moving closer.

"I- No, it can't be. Hold!" she snapped out, voice ringing with command as she drew her field to her once more, this time utilising a rare Conversation for her as she used a simple spell to make a light, certain that the mona wouldn't appreciate this frivolity later. The features were... off but also familiar. Unbelievably familiar.

"Incumbent Vauquelin?" she gasped out, letting the hood fall back. "I thought you were- What happened to-" she broke off, staring. There was something so very wrong here. She knew Anatole - professionally rather than personally, of course - and his field did not feel like this. The diplomat had never felt anything like this. It was alien. It was wrong. If he chose to run then she'd be surprised but also quick to try to throw a spell at his feet so she could send him toppling. Drezda had the presence of mind for that.

The Incumbent had been missing after all and if it was indeed him then... something very interesting was going on. Something she could profit from.
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Tom Cooke
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Fri Jan 11, 2019 11:11 pm


the dives · vienda
midnight on the 7th of vortas, 2718

That distant shrieking – gods! – the last gurgles were guttering in his ears, burned against the inside of his eardrum. He hadn’t heard anything like that since Old Rose, since they’d given him a butcher knife and left him alone with that tied-up dobber what’s-his-fuck to have a chat; he knew those screams because he’d squeezed them out of men himself. Long and warbling and animal, snorting out sloppy entreaties between wailing gasps, saying he’ll tell you anything you want to know, do anything you need him to, if only you’ll just stop.

But he couldn’t think about that now; he had to think about the fact that there was somebody like that doing some dark business right down the street, and he couldn’t make his toffin legs move. He’d thrown away his cigarette and now his hands were like numb, tingling driftwood at his sides, grasping at the shabby cloth of his coat, grasping at the stinging autumn air. He stared into the smog and watched somebody come out of it, heading right for him. Coming closer and closer. Somebody swathed in a black that billowed like shadows, some pale, inscrutable face framed in darkness –

Shit!

Light in his face. Fucking excellent. He squinted like a drunkard in the sudden glow, curling his lip, stifling the urge to cover up his eyes; it wasn’t too bright, but he’d long adjusted to the smog-clad glumness of the Soot District, and he reckoned the brightest thing he saw on a daily basis was what watery sunlight trickled down between the bowing brick tenements on his street. He felt soupy-slow, exhausted from work and struggling to parse what was in front of him.

He essayed a soft, hoarse, “Listen,” but she was already speaking over him. Right eyelid fluttering, he forced himself to stare through the light and listen to the voice.

The first thing he noticed was that she didn’t talk like somebody from the Dives; hearing that cultured tone, he thought, Golly, and the face he saw illuminated from beneath, pale and fine-featured, confirmed it. She didn’t look like she was from around here, either, but he couldn’t say. Regardless, with her hood down and the fall of her hair like dark satin in the gloom, she looked like she’d be more at home in an Uptown ballroom than down here, making a man gargle blood and squeal like a stuck pig.

The next thing he noticed was that she was standing awfully close, and he took one small, neat step back. He tried to compose himself, clearing his throat and raising a hand. “Listen.” He showed her a tight little smile and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t, ah – I don’t know about you. Being honest, I have no damn clue what you were doing back there, and you got no clue why I’m down here.

“I don’t want to know. I didn’t hear it. I didn’t see nothing. And you didn’t see nothing. Understand? Neither of us saw each other down here. We’re just going to part ways now – like ships in the night, real slow and fuckin’ easy. I don’t want anything from you, and there’s nothing you’d want that I can give you.”

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Drezda Ecks
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Mon Jan 14, 2019 8:10 am

Vortas 7, 2718 | Nighttime | The Dives
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The diplomat was slow to dim her light, favouring the ability to view him properly over his own ability to see. After the poor lighting that she'd become accustomed to, the blaze of magical light was as much of a shock to Drezda as it was to the man. She had to blink rapidly to clear her vision of bright spots, squinting a little as she did her best to see through the glare to take in the features. The name dropped from her lips because she was certain that it was him and yet... how could it be? This man's manner was wrong in spite of his appearance and his field...

The Hoxian had never been near someone who had suffered serious backlash, not after the event. By the time she had encountered Nauleth Siordanti, he had recovered from the rather violent rejection by the mona. However, she had heard things about severe backlash. Just as the mona remembered what was cast, specific Conversation particles clinging to a galdor's field, it remembered when ill was done to it. It was the only thing that could explain this frankly tattered mess that was caught around him. Even being this close to it was disconcerting, the galdor dampening her field somewhat so that the mona that congregated around her wouldn't be tainted by that, especially as she drew closer to him.

The distress of the mona around Anatole was quite tangible, a buzz of anger and irritation that seemed to come purely from it rather than the Incumbent's own emotions. Whatever he'd done, it had been bad, very bad and big. It seemed to be bleeding animosity as if the man it vibrated around was a terrible enemy. So while her instincts were telling her to back away, she not only held her ground but advanced, peering at him with a mix of macabre fascination and horror.

And then he spoke and she found herself leaning back a little as if trying to get a better view of him. The words were wrong, the speech at odds with the educated Incumbent she knew, leaning towards a vernacular that she'd term lower class.

"I've nothing to hide," she commented, brows raised as if in surprise. "A human man decided to be very, very inappropriate and I protected myself. Humans can do enough damage if you don't watch yourself so he has been very vigorously rebuffed and dissuaded from behaving in that way again. With any woman," she told him, her lie sounding quite genuine because she was confident in it, the core of it containing plenty of truth, even if she was technically leaving out details, a great many details in fact.

Black eyes narrowed, considering him, trying to make sense of the strangeness in his manner and speech as well of the wrongness of his field. Could a backlash scramble a mind sufficiently to leave someone unlike the person they'd been before? It could be possible she supposed and it might explain this. Especially, as she'd been slow to realise, he seemed to lack recognition in his gaze. He didn't appear to know her.

While the Hoxian was in the unenviable position of being a relatively minor figure in Hox and Anaxas' diplomatic relations as she held no real power at all, the young woman was still known. Admittedly, it was typically in very specific political circles but this man should know her. This man was one that she'd talked to extensively and he was... well, he was sharp. He had enough attention to detail that she couldn't just slip from his mind. Not unless such memories had been pushed out or made inaccessible.

The man was a Perceptive Conversationalist like herself. If he had backlashed while using a Perceptive spell then perhaps this was the result. It just felt... well, the whole thing felt very wrong and not just to her senses. Her gut - if she was to put stock in such things - said that there was something very, very off about this.

"I'd heard that you'd pulled a vanishing act, Anatole, and no wonder, you don't appear to be in your right senses," Drezda commented, slipping into the familiar simply to try to goad a response from him; they didn't know each other well enough for the like of that.

"No surprise perhaps. I was under the impression that you were into some experimental magic. Dangerous experimental magic. Seems that was true. Had it blow up in your face? You should get that checked, you really don't seem well, Anatole. Perhaps I can escort you to medical attention. Or would you prefer the Seventen? I'm sure they'd see you appropriately treated after they worked out just what you'd been up to and handled it," she added, near sympathy giving way to the silken words of threat, the smile on her face saccharine sweet.

"I could say nothing but I'm very concerned for you, Anatole. I don't know that I can be dissuaded but..."
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Tom Cooke
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Sat Jan 19, 2019 9:25 pm


the dives · vienda
2718 / 7 vortas / nighttime

Dangerous, experimental magic? Well, tocks. He cursed himself, his addled ghost-self, whatever in him had decided it was desperate enough to grab Anatole out of every poor sod in Vienda – then he cursed Anatole, as if the unpleasant little shit weren’t dead, as if he weren’t alone in this useless body. He remembered the grimoire tucked under his bed, straining his head to remember anything about the chickenscratch inside. And that passive in the Vauquelin household, the one that’d looked piss-terrified every time she had to go near him…

Thomas swallowed thickly, right eyelid fluttering again. “First of all,” he began, trying hard to enunciate, to sound at least a little like a proper golly. Soften his edges, make his vowels a little less broad – like he’d heard from Diana, from the other gollies and passives at the estate. Didn’t come out perfectly, but at least he wasn’t using Tek. “First of all – I don’t know what you’re talking about. At all. I’m not in my right senses, not by a long shot. I won’t deny that, and I won’t deny that I’m out of place here.”

The woman had finally dimmed her light, and now Tom studied her face in the dimness. He had to admire how she’d painted her face, all subtle but striking; the kohl around her eyes jumped out at him in particular, complementing her dark hair and the dark night, making him feel like she was pinning him to the wall with every glance. If it was meant to be intimidating, then it was doing its job. He hadn’t met a lot of gollies in Old Rose – nearly no golly womenfolk, now he thought about it – and the ones he’d met so far in Vienda had given him nothing but bad feelings. (Hell, sometimes he got the creeps just looking in the mirror now.)

He narrowed his eyes and frowned.

“I won’t deny I’m out of place, but I’ve done nothing wrong. Not according to the law, not according to anybody, not that I know of. Now” – he waved a thin hand – “I’ll suppose you know me personally, since you’re calling me by my first name, but I don’t remember who you are. I don’t know why you’d be wandering around the Dives at night, either, especially if you already know the risks. You can go ahead and assume I don’t know anything at all. Except that you’re here, and you shouldn’t be. And I’m here, and I shouldn’t be. And you know me, somehow.”

Those smoke-clad eyes, that field, pressed him into some corner in his head. He wanted to turn on his heel and take off down some alleyway, but he had the feeling that if he tried, he wouldn’t get far. But what, he wondered, did she want from him? What was the point of this bizarre play, as if he were a mouse and she were a cat? Was it play?

Tom cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, clasped his hands behind his back. Quirked one eyebrow. That was a stance he’d seen Anatole take once or twice, just before he’d killed the toffin and taken over: dignified, authoritative, a little inquisitive. With a twitch of a sardonic smile, as if to say, You don’t fucking scare me. Tom reckoned he’d stared down worse than this golly, whoever she was. He’d taken beatings from every kind of brute in the book, from small-time criminals to Drain operatives to fellow Bad Brothers he’d pissed off one way or another. Doled out some nasty beatings himself. And if she decided to burn him to a crisp with some moony voo, then what the hell? Wasn’t as if she could kill him. Not properly.

“How can I dissuade you, then, if you’re so concerned? Who are you, and what exactly do you want?”
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Drezda Ecks
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Fri Jan 25, 2019 4:56 pm

Vortas 7, 2718 | Nighttime | The Dives
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There was plenty about the man that was disconcerting. The wrongness of his field was an obvious one, the way that it lapped against her soul's senses was both overwhelming and horrible. But there were other things, smaller things that in addition to the field were unsettling. Even if she hadn't had the field to contend with, they might still have grated on her. It was the twitching, people weren't meant to twitch like that, especially so... unevenly. One eye seemed particularly inclined to twitch and flutter, adding a unique asymmetry to his face that gave him the look of someone on the edge of sanity. That was it, he didn't look as if he was far from giving leave of his senses entirely. Why she got that impression, she wasn't sure, the twitchiness just made him seem... unhinged.

Asymmetry of the features was something that she'd seen before of course, the two sides of Nauleth's face were out of synchronisation and that had certainly been worse than this. Maybe if it had been the entire right side of his face, the diplomat would have felt better, at least there would be some evenness it but just this one eye experiencing a tic, just one feature out of the variety of them on his face seemingly singled out. To Drezda, it spoke of some crossed signal in his brain or magical damage. She wondered just how much of Anatole had been affected and what on Vita he'd been doing to cause such things to himself. The eye twitch was superficial sure but he didn't seem right in other ways, other ways that didn't need her to be in his proximity or to hear him when he opened his mouth.

The Hoxian had a hard time cataloguing all of the wrongness about her older political colleague but there was a fair bit of it; she could be certain of that at least.

The woman's head tilted, ears pricked up as she took in the shift in accent, a seemingly conscious effort on his part as he replied, trying to be logical. It wasn't the Anatole that she knew, the arrogant man with that supreme confidence in his own opinions, arguments dropped readily from his lips, carefully laid to entrap his verbal sparring partners to a corner where he could poke and jab at them, daring them to counter him. The voice was the same, at least in timbre but he was missing that smoothness that he'd once possessed. The man had become very rough around the edges and he seemed to know it, seemed all too aware that he wasn't what he'd been before and was doing his best to sand himself back into the proper shape - the acceptable shape.

The carefully couched denials, the I'm-not-saying-it-isn't-true statements that said very little but sounded suitably placating, as if he was taking responsibility for his actions, they were all very Anatole, all very political. So of course, the woman read between the lines. That careful roundabout way of saying nothing much at all was a signal in itself, a flag that said "Pay particular attention."

So what was he saying when it came right down to it. He might not be himself and therefore wasn't culpable for what might have happened before but also that he couldn't be held accountable now. He was ignorant of certain matters and therefore he couldn't be pumped for information. The clever one-upmanship of someone who said that they were on the level but his previous arguments showed that that wasn't quite true as he had the upperhand, a way to explain things away whereas Drezda...

The Hoxian was more bewildered now. The statements did seem very Anatole and yet she didn't think that the ignorance was being made up. He genuinely didn't seem to know her or... well, a lot of things and then there was that strangeness to him, not oddity but literal strangeness; this man, whoever he was, was not the man that she had known. The diplomat wasn't accustomed to this sort of thing but if she treated him as a genuine stranger... she had a notion how to present herself, under normal circumstances at least, although she'd already done plenty to taint first impressions. This wasn't good ground to build any sort of relationship on.

The ivory-skinned woman pressed rouged lips together, a near pout as she considered her words with care, realised that her threats weren't going to work and that perhaps genuine aid might be better received. Perhaps then the man could owe her when he grew better. If he grew better.

However, given his current posture and his expression too, the next words from her mouth tasted like lies.

"I see that you've lost yourself, that you aren't- No matter! It cannot be helped, we shall just have to see what can be accomplished," she responded briskly before raising her right hand and bowing, a 45-degree tilt at the waist that spoke volumes about the Hoxian's attitude towards him, the perceived respect.

She maintained the position for a few seconds before popping up once more, hand dropping to her side.

"I'm Drezda Ecks, Hoxian diplomat to Anaxas. As an Incumbent, you and I had... dealings," she explained, posture growing a little more rigid. The connotations of those words, especially that seemingly significant pause sounded as if there had been something illicit between them. She was suddenly all too aware that he was a man and she was a woman and that heterosexuality was typically expected and-

The treacherous but slight warmth in her face hinted at the rosy blush that had entered her ivory cheeks.

"We knew each other politically, social to some degree but we weren't strangers, weren't quite acquaintances and we certainly weren't friends but we knew each other sufficiently to make this lack of remembrance on your part... baffling. Worrisome might be a better word. It's not a comfortable experience to see you like this, to see you so changed."

Ebony eyes narrowed briefly, the woman evidently considering her next words closely.

"I can tell you what I don't want: I don't want to see you like this. As for what I do want... well, you obviously don't remember but I'm a Perceptive as well. I understand why you'd experiment - assuming that that's what happened, that that's how you backlashed - but I also know enough about the mind. I know Living conversation as well so if you tell me what happened, perhaps I can help without having to bring you elsewhere. All I want is answers, to understand what you did. If you experimented... well, I'd be interested to know what you were doing and where you went wrong."

The woman spread her hands in a gesture of innocence, shrugging slightly.

"I can understand the interest in experimentation, progress has to come from somewhere and I could learn something from your mistakes without having to repeat them. I don't necessarily have to pass such information on, especially if you didn't cause any harm to anyone."

There was a soft laugh, economic in its brevity and white teeth peeked from between bloodied lips as she smiled, almost predatory, wolfish.

"What you might have done to yourself... well, that doesn't really count, I don't believe."
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Tom Cooke
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Fri Jan 25, 2019 11:05 pm


a street · the dives
☙ 2718 · 7 vortas · nighttime ❧

The bow caught him off guard. The shift in her manner, in fact, caught him off guard. He couldn’t seem to figure out if this was still the woman he’d heard just now making a man scream bloody murder in an alleyway. She was still an apparition, pale and swathed in shadow, but she acted like a politician; he didn’t recognize that gesture or the queer little bow, but he knew they were signs of respect. He knew that she had said something now about seeing what could be accomplished, and he knew that he liked that about as much as he liked standing out here in the cold. He didn’t plan on accomplishing anything tonight, much less anything that involved this moony toffin.

He made a little grunt in the back of his throat, uncomfortable. Then, hesitant, he dipped his head and shoulders by a hair in some semblance of a respectful greeting.

Then one of his eyebrows shot up, quite unbidden. For a splitsecond, his eyes widened a smidgeon.

Dealings? Dealings? What kind of dealings were these? He didn’t like how observed he felt, how nailed to the wall; he didn’t like the fact that he still couldn’t run, and that she’d hemmed him in like a cat corners a rat. He wouldn’t have given these dealings a second thought, no matter how she’d said it. But he thought he was dreaming when he saw a little warmth in those pale cheeks. He bit down hard on the inside of his mouth, almost hard enough to draw blood – now he had to be dreaming, he reckoned, had to be – was she implying what he thought she was implying?

Still, if she didn’t want to bring it up, he wouldn’t bring it up. He’d just pretend like he hadn’t seen that blush. Knew each other politically. Social, to some degree, not strangers. Not quite acquaintances, and certainly not friends.

He listened to her as she went on, brows drawing together. He was following her well enough. He’d heard more talk of voo lately than he’d heard in his life, and it was beginning to make sense to him. He’d always known that they called their parlor tricks ‘conversations’, although prior to Roalis, he’d not have been able to put his finger on why; now he knew it was something to do with the mona, or his little sheaf of unhelpful and frankly prickly little friends. He knew that you talked to the mona to alter perceptions and mend wounds and make bones grow right, and other things besides.

The concept of backlash was a little new to him, but he caught on quick. All things go wrong. If a cook could set himself on fire or cut off a few fingers from clumsiness, then surely a galdor could make some nasty problems for himself with a careless tongue.

He didn’t like that pretty shark’s smile of hers, nor that ruthless toffin laugh, but she’d given him a lot to work with.

“I don’t, er – I don’t like seeing myself like this, either. Being honest.” A wince. He bit his lip and frowned, his eye back to twitching; he reached up and pressed his fingertips to his eyes, to his temples, took a deep breath. That hadn’t been a lie. He didn’t like seeing himself like this at all. “But if I knew what I’d done and why, Ms. Ecks, I’d be undoing it myself. If I don’t remember you, then what else do you think I don’t remember? And I’m not a – I’d be willing to bet the incumbent you knew wasn’t a stupid man. Or a forgetful one.”

Tom took his hands from his face and squinted in the gloom. His eyes came back into focus on the Hoxian diplomat’s face; it swam before him, almost painterly in its blurriness. Of a sudden he was bone-tired.

He shrugged and gave a little threadbare laugh of his own. “I was being completely honest earlier. Whatever you think I know about, you’d better believe I don’t know about it anymore. Though I appreciate you not spreading it around – that’s, ah, courteous of you.” His eye gave one last little twitch; he thought, for a moment, about the book he’d smuggled out of Anatole’s bedroom. The journal, that chickenscratch leatherbound thing he couldn’t make heads or tails of. The thought of it made bile rise in his throat. He considered telling her about it – offering to give it to her, if she’d only leave him be – but decided he’d better not. Too many unknown variables. Still, he had the idea there in his pocket, if push came to shove. If he needed to use it, he had it.

What now, then? Talk for your fucking life, Cooke.

“I only remember a little. Here and there. I was –” A deep breath; some well-faked anxiety, on account of the fact that he was fair anxious to begin with. “I remember some – troubles – family troubles. And a hell of a lot of stress. I feel like I might’ve been trying to solve some problem, something I couldn’t solve with words – so I might’ve tried something else. I don’t know. The first clear thing I remember is that I was on the floor and someone was helping me up, and there was a woman claiming to be my wife, only I didn’t recognize her. Or anybody else, for that matter.

“Including myself. If somebody hadn’t told me who I was, I wouldn’t have known. Imagine that.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “It’s, er – good – you’ve come across me, but I’m not ready to go back Uptown if I don’t know anything about my life. I don’t want to get – put away, you understand.”

Lying, Tom reckoned, was more than anything about coming up with truths and fitting them to false contexts. Call him a fucking philosopher.

“So – what do you do with that, then? I made up my mind to sort things out on my own. I wouldn’t question your abilities, Ms. Ecks, but I don’t know if you can help me.”
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Drezda Ecks
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Mon Jan 28, 2019 4:47 am

Vortas 7, 2718 | Nighttime | The Dives
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Obviously Anatole didn't recognise her, didn't understand how to treat her if that sketchy bow was anything to go by as he clearly had gaps in his manners. The woman could tell that there were gaps in his memory but his former identity wasn't completely obliterated. The fact that she had seen the Incumbent within this strange man beyond the superficiality of his physical form seemed to attest that enough remained. There was no guarantee that what he had been was gone or had been left in tatters. It was possible that his former identity was merely buried, slowly resurfacing in these little subconscious tics and gestures. It was possible that he remembered more than he was willing to admit.

Hence when he asked her what else she thought he might have forgotten, the Hoxian had some very particular opinions about it. However, what she thought about his memory was a matter of lesser import, especially when he remarked that he could be fixing it himself. Her eyebrows scaled her forehead, clearly incredulous as she mentally eyed his field. Assuming that he'd had his backlash incident before he did a runner from his family estate then he had been suffering from the consequences of said incident for awhile and his field was still in tatters.

Part of her was tempted to feed some mona into his vicinity, potentially use some Quantitative Conversation although her understanding of such magic was rudimentary at best. Still, if she used it she might see how hostile the mona was in his vicinity. She might be able to do something to fix his issue, her own field was intact but it would likely be a struggle. Drezda was no monic theorist but she didn't think that it was possible for him to fix it himself, not magically. From what she understood, those who brailed and seriously backlashed had to work very hard to repair their relationship with the mona. Apparently, not everybody did and so there were some galdori who ceased to be sorcerers as even the most basic of spells, the very simplest could go nastily awry.

"I mean no disrespect, Incumbent Vauquelin but I highly doubt that you could have fixed it yourself. Introspection helps, I believe but I think that you also require the use of Living and Perceptive Conversations to right things between yourself and the mona and I don't think you're capable of using magic. Your field is... damaged doesn't even begin to convey how complexly awful it is," the woman pointed out, the corners of her mouth tugged down, grimly thoughtful but there might also have been the light of sympathy in her eyes for a moment. The diplomat couldn't imagine having such a horrible malformed thing clinging to her. It wasn't like you could run away from it.

Still the woman listened to his story, nodding along in acknowledgement. So his memory had been utterly shot when he came to his senses but it was heavily implied that some of it had come back to him. It must have been a slow process and if he was hiding away here with the scum that was the lower races, he probably wasn't finding it an easy thing to rectify by himself. It must also be quite dangerous for him, being here although perhaps the lower races gave him a wide berth. He might not be a functioning galdor but they could no doubt feel his field, sense its wrongness even if they didn't understand what it meant. Humans and the like were probably all too happy to avoid him; he probably gave them the creeps.

"Some of your memory has evidently come back but... I imagine it's difficult here, you wouldn't exactly have familiar sights to jog things although perhaps... you prefer that. The ignorance," she mused, turning an idea over in her mind. The man did give her the creeps, or his field did, but he was also a curiosity, one that she was interested in examining. His was a unique kind of suffering and the woman was always keen to taste such pains and turmoils, the rarer the better. From a magical perspective, he posed an interesting challenge and offered the prospect of pushing boundaries. The diplomat wouldn't do it out of the goodness of heart but there was something to be gained from this. Potentially. She did require his consent of course, mainly because she couldn't kidnap him; that could turn out to be very messy later down the line. If she fixed him, he would owe her. Really, it was a win-win situation.

If he agreed.

"Sorting it yourself might take years, it might never work, it's hard to tell with the mona but... it would be laborious. Surely, you don't like how you feel at the moment. It's like... if you lost your arm, losing your magic. Well... perhaps not so dramatic because if you lose an arm, it won't grow back but... it would be like if you broke your arm quite badly and just decided to let it heal itself. It could heal but it could heal wrong or it might never heal properly. It's why you seek help," she pointed out, shaking her head.

With a broken arm, things could only go wrong in so many ways and while sometimes unpredictable, it wasn't as dangerous as the mona. When that went down the unpredictable route...

"A proper medical professional would be the best person to go to but if you won't go that route... I might be able to do something. I would want to research it before I did anything because I could inadvertently harm myself trying to help you. If I backlashed, it wouldn't help anybody but with appropriate research, conversation with the right sorts of people... I'd be cautiously optimistic. If you're willing to agree then I'm willing to try it," the woman explained with a shrug.

"I'd have to keep it a secret of course because me doing it when I'm not qualified would probably be considered reckless so I'd have to keep your secret as well. You wouldn't have to worry about me telling anyone. But I wouldn't have a problem doing it. It's a chance to learn." And for you to be my lab animal, she added silently.

Her ebony eyes were slightly narrowed, moving over him but also slightly unfocused as she allowed her own field to expand once more, doetoed around the odd field of the other as she allowed herself to caprise it, gently but squeamishly probing in much the same way that someone might poke something suspect and disgusting.

"Well? Would you be willing? Otherwise... well, it doesn't feel right to leave you here disabled but if that's what you want..."

She wanted him to say yes, she did but if he didn't agree while it would be disappointing, it honestly wouldn't be any real blow to her. It wasn't as if she gave a damn about Anatole Vauquelin. If anything this was an improvement. He was no longer looking at her in that sly way that some men got, the one where they thought they were being coy about their desire to fuck a woman. Honestly, there had been an additional layer of discomfort involved because there had been a sense that perhaps if given the chance, he would be quite happy to act on his desires, with or without her consent. But perhaps that had just been a bad feeling.

This Anatole was oddly new and improved though. Honestly, there were certain aspects of his identity that she hoped never re-emerged.
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