deercountry | june catch-all

Entry tags:

june catch-all

Who: viktor and others, open to all with some closed prompts in comments
What: june catch-all, some tdm prompts
When: june
Where: various

content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers

misc lab stuff and various fruits.

[viktor's lab in the willful machine is usually left unlocked when he's working inside. friends or acquaintances have likely been told they're welcome to stop by if they like, either to say hello or to get help with whatever a vaguely sketchy lab could handle. of course someone he doesn't know can just walk in too or knock. maybe there's a sudden downpour and that ajar door is tempting? go for it.

the lab has been slowly filling with all sorts of nonsense on the various tables- lasers! tasers! some weird machine hooked up to a blood gem? it is not unlikely to be walking by and hear some minor booming noise and either a curse in czech or a satisfied 'a-ha!' feel free to investigate.

this month there's something else too, a bowl full of fruit. all the fruits mentioned in the tdm in fact, there to be tested on though it looks more like they're just for guests if people are unaware there's some weird shit going on.]

Just a moment, make yourself at home. [he might say to guest. that would include eating some fruit, right? enjoy. probably not the raw lemon though, that's weird.]

[ooc; if you want to memshare i am game, my only hard limit on memories is no suicide stuff please. self sacrifice is fine! feel free to ask to make sure one is okay. if you'd like a viktor memory let me know any hard limits and what sort of memory you might prefer!]

gaze and time loops.

[having lungs mostly working for the moment is pretty great, in viktor's humble opinion. it means walking around the trench doesn't come with the risk of coughing up blood and attracting beasts and generally having a bad time, along with added perks like not getting so easily winded and going for longer. it also means he finds himself out longer than he usually would, which maybe isn't the best, as it turns out.

for example, making his way home through gaze and hearing the chilling cry of a beast, sighing and trying to make his way around what turns out to be the wrong corner. maybe that's where he sees your character before the snarling of a too close beast starts in earnest.

and then snap! they're both back about an hour, where they passed on the street. the look viktor gives is somewhere between resigned and 'fuck this, actually.'] There is a term for this. 'One of those days,' I think.

[ooc; if you'd like to wildcard or do something else you can pm me here or find me at

dichotomy]

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[viktor watches him, and in the silence he finally eats the god damned raspberries with an exhale out his nose. annoying.]

Then what are you? [for the first time he isn't totally pissed at remina, at least she's keeping the whole thing somewhat honest. though that does imply what he said about the war isn't a blatant lie.

good to know. still vague enough for questions.] Why are your eyes black? What gives you the right to play with their lives like this?

I am God.

[ The statement hangs. Remina does not protest.

He traces a finger around the rim of his teacup, as though deliberating on this next bit, and looks Viktor in the eye. ]

Our system was in rough shape, way back when. I built the Nine Houses from dust and rubble. Its people have life because I gave them life. And that's not a parlor trick: I pulled their souls out of the water and remade the bodies they'd lost. It took a long time... It took a hell of a long time to rebuild.

But I had help. I had my twelve disciples... sixteen, by the time things really kicked off, but it started with the twelve. [ He smiles again, thinly. ] They were my first resurrections.

[ He pauses, here, on the cusp of something. Remina looms and watches. ]

[viktor's jaw tenses, remina does not claim him false. it adds a lot of information, some he knew and some he did not. the resurrection, he remembers hearing. a little bit about the ruined first.

this man calls himself god and maybe he is, in some ways, in a self built way, but-]

How? If becoming a lyctor takes devouring a soul what did it take to become 'god?'

[said with the sharp implication it must be a greater horror still.]

[ What indeed. But all he says is: ]

Devouring a soul... that wasn't it. It wasn't some horrible ultimatum I set them, you know? It was their research, their great work. They cracked immortality. They built the path to ascension.

[ He looks steadily at Viktor. Remina watches impassively. ]

To help me face everything out there which was against us, they became my fists, my avenging angels. Two souls joined in apotheosis... the dead safely entombed in the heart... There was beauty in it. It was a willing sacrifice. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen.

[ Remina watches, and watches, and watches. ]

If I wanted to churn out super-soldiers, I wouldn't have buried the trick of it all these years. In ten millennia, there have only been nine saints.

It was monstrous! [well viktor is up again, the ache of his knee ignored even as the muscles twinge and tighten with the sudden movement.] A willing sacrifice, they are people and they were turned to furnaces!

And worse still, in this world after, in this world you are the god of, cavaliers assigned to necromancers and told it is some great duty. All poetry of it, all the damned molding, how many would be blinded by your gospel into believing it was right when faced with that choice? When you sent them to that house without any idea what the cost of their success would be!

[well. it's punch time again. regardless of if it hits, or if god blocks it, or anything, the moment it happens remina loops them and viktor finds himself seated again.

this time his anger is still simmering though, raspberries or not.]

[ It's awkward, this time: God raises a plain human hand in his defense, which Viktor blows right through, knocking God's own knuckles into his face; the cups rattle again; and then he's standing across the room before they can even sort out the rest.

He blows out a breath and drops the notebook. ]

Well! That went well.

[ Ha ha, he is joking. ]

What a shock. [viktor answers, not yet going for the raspberries as he glares to the man.]

Tell me, in something that is not a half answer, why you think this is happening. It's clear whatever is happening is about your answers as much as it is my response to them. So why? Why should any of it matter?

[ He knows the answer, because he's known the answer since day one: they want him to talk about Annabelle. They've dangled visions of her corpse, left shackles on his bed, twisted his bones like silly putty until he resembles her worst echo. They named his Omen Lenore. They dumped his First Saint on the beach: the only man still living who really understands the shape of things, unless Gideon the First got lucky.

He's held out long enough they're making him do Groundhog Day, now. ]

The usual, I figure... Someone here [ get it, they're not looking at the eyeball in the room ] is using us as entertainment for the evening.

But, I'll be honest, and try not to take it personally: I don't know why she thinks you should play the sleuth.

I do not take it personally. I think we are beyond pretending I do not find you and your methods repulsive. [viktor says without any malice or irritation, just the simplicity of fact with a shrug. might as well just be honest, the ship of playing polite has already sailed.] Perhaps it is simply a matter of opportunity, or bad luck on my part.

[with a sigh he plucks up the raspberries again, pops them in, chews. rests back against his chair despite the tightening of his jaw.]

Always nice to be told gently that you're repulsive.

[ This he mutters with some low amusement. He considers his options, here: moving against Remina isn't one, really, and moving against Viktor would just be awkward for everyone. That's why he's the sleuth, of course: he's an outsider. Knows just enough to ask the painful questions, but no fear of God to speak of. ]

Like I said, this isn't common teatime conversation... These are— and I'm noting your disagreement, here— the holy mysteries of the Empire. When we planned an info swap, I was thinking a little more intro-level.

[viktor snorts, humorless.] Was that gently to you? Interesting.

[it would be nice to be able to go at this with a clear head, but 'holy mysteries' sets his teeth on edge again. after today he will never eat a raspberry again, thanks.] Like that tomb? I suppose there's no straight answer to whatever secrets you have buried there that you need a whole House to guard them.

[ This is so hilariously on-the-nose he scrubs a hand back through his hair and looks faintly impressed by the nerve. Remina, as always, watches. ]

I'd be fascinated to hear what you think you know of the Tomb.

[ What Palamedes has told you, he means, with the implied What Gideon has told him. Not Harrow, he doesn't think. But Gideon's loyalties have always been a little more... messy. ]

[hilariously it is what good old ortus has told him, on truth juice that neither of them realized, though even there he says,] Why should I bother to answer that when you skirt around every question I've asked?

Even without what I know some things are obvious enough. 'Sacred mystery' is just another way to say God's dirty secret. And if it needs constant guard either it is actively sought or you fear whatever is inside it getting out.

[ Viktor is, of course, right on the mark again. Regarding the Ninth as a whole House, a constant guard feels a bit overgenerous, but he'll let it pass. ]

I've heard that one. That I cast some great adversary down into the dark...

[ It's half-true. He told it simply to Harrow: he buried a monster. ]

But that misses the point, a bit. Our Houses are built around ghosts and graves. The First stands empty in reverence for what was lost... the Ninth was built to honor the same.

Like the cavaliers? Honorable sacrifices. [said with, hm, disdain. shockingly. he doesn't linger on it, his feelings there are very clear indeed.]

What even made all those ghosts and graves? Why did you need to resurrect at all? [that's another one he has never heard any sort of answer to. even so he snorts, says,] Nevermind, you will not answer in any meaningful way, I'm sure. Perhaps we should focus on lyctors. Remina seemed keen you not dodge that topic so easily.

[ Heard loud and clear. Coincidentally, disdain for dead cavaliers is not a good way to become God's friendly neighborhood research buddy. He and Palamedes will have a conversation, after this.

And, look at that: another opening to talk about the war and who, exactly, they're fighting. Why conquest has always come second to survival and third to comeuppance. Better he let it hang unanswered. It will be there for them later, if they want to risk his temper when Viktor's tone keeps up. ]

You're right: let's keep this brief.

[ Speaking of his temper, here's the dangerous bit. Nobody's dared disrespect her to his face in, you know, virtually ever. There are so few people left alive who remember her. There is no one left who loves her but him.

For what ought to be the last time, he steps forward. He does not take a seat. God regards Viktor over the untouched tea and the dish of raspberries. His expression is weary; his eyes are distant and inhuman and cold. ]

I know what story I'm here to tell. It's an old one... a lost one... and, meaning this as kindly as I can, not at all yours to hear.

[for all viktor knows this is clearly a dangerous line they've reached he's grateful for it, something that finally feels real under it all. slamming his useless, ridiculous anger against a wall he has no real interest in toppling, that he never planned on even attempting to peak behind, and here they are, with a story that isn't his.

he just barely resists the urge to snort. as though the trench cares who deserves what, as if life itself ever worked in a way where dignity and privacy were easily preserved. he is clearly used to power if he had the luxury to such absolute secrets.]

And yet here we are. You know how this place works, with memories and ghosts of the past. Surely you knew this story was never actually safely preserved for those meant to hear it.

[ He tips his head in acknowledgment, and turns away to pace along behind his ignored chair. It has the effect of a creature prowling, all wound-tight silent tension. ]

That's the truth. Maybe you've heard it already. [ That would be interesting. ] Either way, it goes like this...

Like I said, I'm no saint. [ Ha ha, get it. ] But the concept of necromancer and cavalier... it didn't come from nothing.

[ Remina looms, unblinking, her tendrils eddying in the air around her as though in some unseen current. He turns to look at her, and the hard note in his eyes is somehow accusing. This isn't hers to ask of him, but here they are anyway. Point to the Pthumerians. ]

I had a protector, once. A sworn sword. A long time ago.

Your cavalier. [not surprising. he was never told but it seemed simple enough to him- the man was a necromancer, and it was such a deeply ingrained part of being a necromancer, from what he gathers.

to be fair all his understanding comes from palamedes and camilla, which is likely part of why he views it all with such disdain. to sacrifice such a bond for power, even for the war-

his fingers twitch again, curl up at the arms of the chair as if they can choke out a fresh wave of rage. swallows it, asks sharply,] Did they 'sacrifice' themselves for you?

Not in the way you're thinking.

[ He does not clarify which piece this is meant for. Instead he just says: ]

We lost her early on. In the Empire's infancy, back before the war really ramped up... but the war's always been on. From the day necromancy was born, it's had enemies. She was there when I scraped a new world from the ashes, with the axe hanging over our heads. The rest has been up to me... and the ones left at my side.

That's why I put out the call. [ He comes to a stop, hand resting on the back of his chair. ] That's why I asked a new generation to face the choice. We've been whittled down to nothing. Ten thousand years is a long time for an empire to survive in the shadow of our ghosts.

[ Remina, apparently satisfied, blinks and is gone. ]

[viktor glances to the corner to see her gone, letting out a shaky sigh even as a spark of anger follows it. she got what she wanted, apparently, the game is over. they made it out, which is surprising.

he stands, picking up his cane to lean on as he regards his host.]

This world you've made, cavaliers are chosen young, yes? Chosen or linked for a duty of devotion, that is likely holy to them. An entire culture around the honor of it. I've seen the propaganda, in a memory. I know how they all speak of it, when they do.

There is no way that 'willing sacrifice' can be made in such an environment. Not raised that way, not with these holy mysteries and sacred duties. Lyctorhood is wrong. [his energy drains with a snap, fingers going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. at least no longer hopeless wrathful, just simmering.] For what it is worth I am indeed sorry the Trench forced this out of you, about her. I cannot say I am sorry for any of the rest.

[ His expression remains cool and patient; none of this comes as much surprise. It's that next bit— the I am sorry— that startles him. For a moment he is wrong-footed and silent in the wake of receiving pity in the same breath he's being damned.

But Viktor rises, and John lets him. He steps away, leaving Viktor's notebook untouched on the table. ]

Well. Good chat, then.

[ Ha ha. ]

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