deercountry | Hey, teacher, leave them kids alone

[Ortus does not mind being clung to. He does not mind Gideon hiding her face in the crook of his neck, bravado and levity fled from her voice. Tenderness rises in him as a bruise, a diffuse welling up of care, accompanied by a solemn responsibility.

She is offering him her trust once more, as bravely as she did when she told him the truth of her parentage, as she did when they spoke of what became of the Ninth House. He is as unworthy of it now as he was then, but he has begun to truly understand a thing that he did not, in the depths of the world that shadows them both still.

He is a fortunate man, to be given the privilege of making amends.]

Cleaned and oiled.

[He may not have taken to most of Captain Aiglamene's lessons, but proper maintenance of a blade was not one of them. Simple, factual words, accompanied by the slow, careful stroking of her hair, that red-hot hue cool to the touch.]

We kept all of your belongings. Your garments, your trophy, your [an exceeding delicate pause] periodicals. All is as you left it, save for its place.

[He had taken care of all of it, a thing he had not thought to question until it was done, animated by the same spirit that subtly bears him up to support her weight as if an unshakable pillar. He has never felt more his age.]

[Ortus beholds the Saint of Patience - Augustine - with his sad, heavy gaze as his snake Omen curls in cool comfort around his neck, and he meets the serpent's eyes with a certain look as Augustine brushes lightly across his scales. It is a look he has shared only a handful of times before, one he did not recognize the first time that Sir Magnus Quinn shot it at him behind his lady-wife's back, one he learned to return in time.

It is a look of fellow feeling. It is one that says, wordlessly, that whatever their necromancers may do, they are cavaliers, and there is an understanding of their duty between them; that in absence of any compelling reason not to be, they are comrades in common cause of care. It says look at what we put up with, half-exasperated and half-proud. It says, in this case, look out for him, will you?

Ortus knows what Alfred is, after all. He knows the terrible price that Augustine has paid for his Lord once before, and he has begun to understand what it means to cherish one who does not offer themselves up easily to such care.]

Augustine.

[The name trips off his tongue as softly as the Saint's hand rested on his brother. He speaks to him as he would speak to his own necromancer, with gentle manner and a quiet solicitousness that is so retiring as to be easily dismissed, if Augustine cannot bear it upon the brittle strength of his surface.]

I do not think you would find yourself as unwelcome as you fear. My Lady would intercede on your behalf. [He adjusts the box in his grip, glancing downward.] As would I.

But it is beyond me to ask you to shirk your duty, or forsake your House. I bear no ire against you, whatsoever lies between the Ninth and the First. [He looks up from beneath his long, dark lashes, solemnly.] I thank you for your kindnesses. I would return them, if I can.

[Honestly Johnny has been receiving a whole lot of affection from his students lately and there is a part of his brain that doesn't know how to handle it. He feels that he doesn't deserve it after everything he's done to screw up his life and the life of his son. Of all the people around him. He fights it off briefly because he is absolutely trying his best not too be that person anymore and for the most part he thinks he's doing okay at best at it. But he knows there are still points when his sludgy behavior sinks through.

...But this. He really hadn't expected Gideon to come at him like this. He doesn't know that she was there to witness what happened with Willow. So... He can't help but wonder if John was as bad as he seemed or maybe even worse.

He takes the hug like a champ but there's an awkward moment where he sort of fidgets before he finally let's his arms wrap around Gideon to return it, and give her a light pat on the back too.]

Right... Well.

You are in for a fuckin' treat then. LaRusso might cry about them but these are the best damn meal you could ask for where I'm from.

[They are not that. But he liked them.

He also... Doesn't really make an effort to move or shift Gideon off of him. He just wanted her to know he was there for her.]

[ For some, snakes are terrifying creatures, all fang and scale and murder; for some, even those with little enough experience with reptiles, it's surprisingly easy to recognize when a snake/omen/brother/cavalier is smiling back at you, replete with a sorrowful fondness and a hope that maybe, in this generation, things could be better; maybe Gideon is dead, maybe Ortus is dead, but are either of them truly dead? can both of them not stand together to support poor frequently-overwhelmed Harrowhark? are they not both, in their own ways, learning to be the immovable objects she needs at her back?

But Augustine — Augustine looks like he isn't listening, as Ortus speaks; Augustine looks like he's watching skeletons pick through the dead and brittle weeds in the yard, five-minute looped patterns of autopilot, good enough to fool someone walking down the street into thinking they're actively at work and wretched for anyone who's spent any real length of time watching them: it's a cheap trick, profoundly unimpressive to anyone who's watched the farmers of the Ninth House at work, and only about as interesting as an endlessly-flying-into-the-stars screensaver to someone from the First.

Augustine is listening to every word, every aspect of each word's timbre, studying those phonemes with every bit of fascination that slowing down the universe might offer. Augustine already knows how much he'll need to replay them, in the coming days, when he's wondering what the fuck is wrong with him, that he chose — is choosing, now, in this exact moment — to remain here. ]

Well. I suppose there's always the chance of visiting for dinner sometime, perhaps. Wouldn't need to be formal, [ he adds, quickly, eyeing Johnny Lawrence, askance. ] At some point, in the future.

If the weather holds, you might say.

[ He hesitates another moment, gaze flickering away from the skeletons and back to Ortus Nigenad, Cavalier Secondary of the Ninth, as he smokes silently, with those hands that aren't shaking. ]

If nothing else, I hope you'll send me an invitation the next time you're doing a reading somewhere in town, whether or not — [ Again, cutting himself off, using that cigarette more like a crutch than a drug, or maybe it's both —

It's a different voice that finishes the thought, as the snake's expression turns markedly more rueful. ]

«God used to be very fond of poetry.»

[Part of Paul's ability to manifest an internal voice comes down to simply not being aware that it's meant to be a challenge. He may not be able to fully rely on his mind, but he's never doubted its capacity for performance. Visualization is never difficult.]

I'll get you back there. [The words appear, then, after a hesitance, are amended.] We'll get you back there.

[Remembering the lessons he's been learning about relying on others now has an aftertaste of the bitterest salt, but he swallows it.]

There are worse places you could be.

[Oscar read the words quietly, the doubts and fears in his own heart settling but not dissipating with every letter and correction as written. There were many things he wanted to say, but he kept his formless tongue still.

Keeping his thoughts to himself was going to be the bigger challenge.]

I know.

[The intonation was oddly grave for a teenager younger than Paul. He was at once a mere farmlad, but also something-- someone-- more. Any similarities between them would surely be laid bare given time, but for the moment he needed to be something-- someone-- else. ]

Julia Sodder only arranged for my mentor to be with people he knew,

[He explained, his words clipped and precise like that certain someone else. Oscar didn't want to invoke Ozpin's name too much, but references to the towering man with an infinite shadow were impossible to avoid.

He continued:]

But, we're not in her dream anymore, so the original conditions that the gods put on us are likely back in play.

On death, we'll be united with a like-minded soul.

[Johnny has more than enough on his plate that he doesn't quite realize the crisis of identity or blooming adulthood that Ortus is going through at the moment. He's on a mission and is rather single minded of it. But they guy was good at lugging luggage and so Johnny was going to focus on that with him at the moment.

Until he hears how Ortus describes Black Eyes and he feels an icy chill run through his veins. Apparently he had pegged this guy right and he hated being around all the more for it.]

Yeah...

I knew a guy like that once.

[And he had honestly hoped he had thrown him out of his life once and for all. But according to LaRusso and Tory that wasn't the case.]

All the more reason to get out of here. The sooner he's out of their lives the sooner they can kick the brain washing.

[ Gideon has summoned her Omen once, before today. She manifested tall and strong and frightening and strange, and Gideon had startled and said I don't know what the fuck you are. She had responded with I know.

When Gideon calls upon the smoke-and-haze creature she thinks of as "Big Boy," it's only because she's out of options and out of time. They split up, (why would they stay together? what's the point?) with Gideon leaving the dojo to look for Paul elsewhere. There's a horse loose in the dojo, but thankfully, she does know what she's doing.

She starts by checking the corners of every room, bowing her head and gently poking around with her nostrils. Where are you, little friend? ]

I see.

[His voice is quiet, not quite a whisper, but kept soft on purpose as though he fears what might happen if he allows the emotions to flood in.

He takes in this man who says he understands though Kaworu feels like he could never possibly understand, not really. But that's the nature of it. No one can really understand another. All they can do is relate their individual experiences.]

...What did you do? After it happened to you?

[ Oh boy. This girl sure is.. something, isn't she. It's like he's witnessing a rebellious period in action all over again, except this one seems to be about ten times as wild as his own daughter's. Despite the fact that Kainé definitely seems to be quite a bit older than Sam is. ]

Have you never seen any baking?

[ Not a judging question, mind you. Daniel is well aware by now that people here come from all sorts of different backgrounds, and even things that seem obvious to him are apparently all new to the people here.

And yes, he's letting everything else she's saying just wash over him for a moment. Just practicing his mental balance here. And being a giga nerd who loves making breakfast for his kids and, in this case, not-quite-his kids. ]

It's what you do with the ingredients to make the end result all light and fluffy. It's what you need for waffles and pancakes. [ .. hm, thinking about it, some of the kids hadn't even seemed to know much about waffles..

He shakes his head, gesturing at the food laid out. ]

Just try and taste it for yourself.

[ Don't worry, because there is actually a kitchen.

.. granted, when they've wandered over there together.. It's not like it's a huge kitchen. In fact, it's not even like it's a clean kitchen, considering it's been maintained by Johnny Lawrence so far, and that guy's idea of an ideal dinner is ham slices straight out of the package with beer.

It looks like there's been some effort put into making the kitchen something a bit easier to work with and getting junk out of the way, but it obviously hasn't gotten very far yet. Taking care of all these kids is enough multi-tasking without adding cleaning up Johnny's dojo to his task list. ]

Let's see.. [ He says, grabbing the teapot. ] Do you like any particular flavour?

[ Maybe a bit of a mundane question to ask, given what Gideon went through, but since the other seems to keep the subject to some lighter stuff, Daniel will gladly go along with that for the moment. ]

I... couldn't bear it if I was left again. Or if I hurt you both again.

Kaworu's words ensured Midoriya kept his distance when Gideon brought him (back, here, home--not that the dojo is home, but some of the people in it are pieces of a House).

This state of affairs didn't last long. It couldn't. Kaworu's lonely words on the network ring in his ears despite not being carried by sound. Kaworu is hurt. He's in pain. Midoriya is incapable of letting that be. Everything Midoriya has ever experienced has taught him that abandoning someone in pain when he can do something about it is not an option. He can't leave him.

"Kaworu-kun?"

He slouches from room to room as a Corrupted white-eyed shell of himself, calling as softly as someone looking for a lost kitten. Kaworu is not a lost kitten. He is an angel struggling to understand too-human emotions. He is a boy raised without love who desperately grasps for it. He is a killer who did not heed protests against the sacrifice of the prisoners. He is a Sleeper who was swallowed and spat out by Mariana--twice.

He is someone Midoriya loves. His love is broad, gentle, fierce, and expects others to nurture the good he sees in them. When they can't, he extends a hand to help.

"Kaworu-kun?"

[Mentor. Predecessor. Paul notices the shift in language that people use, whether or not they mean anything. Things that matter eventually form a pattern, like the solemnity of Oscar's unspoken voice.]

Let's hope it doesn't come to that.

[Paul remembers the sea. He would do a great deal not to go back to it, even with the memory of cool, slender hands cupping his face in the deep. He sits up a little straighter in the truck bed, rubbing the bridge of his nose absently.]

Do you think Mariana had anything to do with this?

[He's almost certain she does, but he is striving for collaboration.]

[If it was at all possible-- Oscar froze. There were multiple variables involved, and he suspected that all of them had intermingled to contribute to this problem.

He didn't know where to begin.]

... I'm not sure,

[He admitted, finally.]

Maybe she did... Because she's retaliating against John and messing with everything he touched. I'm not sure I told you this, Paul, but he Knows Everything about what I am.

I needed his help getting back into my body after his trap melted my hand off. But, I had a problem Then, too.

[He didn't quite sigh, but there was a noticeable release of tension and a wave of tired defeat. ]

I think it's because of the choices we had to make when the Dream fell apart. There were multiple... Tokens we had to deal with, each one of then representing the Pthumerians, the Sodder family, the first Sleeper... Ourselves.

Paul. Ozpin and I both broke the token that represented ourselves. I think Everything we've had to struggle with in Trench is because of that.

Edited 2022-07-21 19:13 (UTC)

Part of Kaworu wants to shy away from the call, like a lost kitten who didn't know warmth and safety from the cold and the wet and so shied from all contact, fearful it could be worse than what they've already felt.

But he can't resist the softness in Midoriya's voice, he never really could, not even the first time they spoke in a warm hot spring. Izuku's presence is warmer than that hot spring could ever hope to be.

"I'm here."

Kaworu's soft voice calls out. It's no siren call, or a cry for help, just an uncertain acknowledgement that he exists in this space. "I'm here, Izuku...-kun."

Does he have the right to call him by his given name?

[Sophia came to Paul with his memories, a pooling of ink out of the dark water of his resurrected grief. She had curled over his racing heart and said nothing as it slowed, and she has been an anchoring calm to his storms ever since.

She is not calm now. The approaching presence of another Omen pins her ears tighter to her head, her back hunching as she wedges herself tighter in the gap between two bricks at the corner of the room. The horse (Gideon's, she perceives dimly - she does not know how -) is not there yet. She will be soon.

In a flicker of thought that threads blue and hot, she projects a fervent sense of wordless warding off.]

I..

[ Daniel starts talking pretty easily, but then seems to go quiet, as if he's thinking. Maybe the answer isn't so easy, or maybe it just requires him to talk a little bit more about his own situation than anticipated.

Mostly it's just though that he thinks what he did back then might not necessarily apply to these kids. Still - it'd feel weird withholding the information, so he continues. ]

I did what I should have done all along. Listen to the people who truly cared for me, rather than the person who tried to lead me astray.

[ Still, thinking back on the entire situation with Terry is never easy, and Daniel swallows hard. He shakes his head. ]

It seems like there are people here who care for you too.

[ Even Daniel has noticed as much, despite not knowing the kids here very well. ]

[ Kainé had been quite a contrary child when she'd lived with her grandma, but when it came down to it, she followed that fierce old woman's every salty word, and took care of her when her mind started to go. Kainé's rebellion had been against the world itself, a despairing rage at her very existence. A side effect of that was that she really has few fucks to give about the stuff that doesn't seem important. ]

Sure I have. [ She just never did any of it. ] Just don't know what the fuck "fluffy" is supposed to mean. But I ain't turning down free food.

[ Kainé wanders over to the table, and like an absolute animal, just picks up a pancake with her hand, and tears off a piece to shove in her mouth. Oh. She wasn't expecting it to be so sweet. And that texture is... different, though she's already had a few pastries at local bakeries, so it doesn't surprise her too much.]

Huh.

[So the aim was always to depart with the children, it seems. It might have been assumed, given the size of the vehicle he arrived in and his immediate agreement to Ortus' request, but the vehemence of experience in Johnny's voice is a thing Ortus makes note of.]

I, too, knew a man like this, once.

[He says it quietly, pushing some already loaded baggage further back in the truck bed to make room for more to be added. Thoughts of his father had already been too close to him, of late, as had the unquiet shade of the man himself. His knuckles still itch in their healing.]

I had hoped he was not fashioned in God's image.

[He had known how dangerous the Emperor was. Gideon had taken him into her trust, enlisted him in a shared mission as cavaliers-in-arms, and he had done - not close to enough. Anger coils futilely in his gut. He shoves at a wooden crate and lightly rocks the truck's bed.]

They should not have to suffer under this House an instant longer.

[There's a sniffle from the boy curled up in on himself. He never expected this sort of kindness. Especially not from Johnny Lawrence. He doesn't know how to feel about it. It makes him desperate for more. It makes him regret the way he thought about the man before. It makes him wonder why Johnny hadn't been like this before. Or if he always had been and Kaworu just hadn't noticed.

He scrubs his face with the back of his knuckles.]

I'd do anything to fix it.

[Paul has heard of the sacrifice of Julia Sodder, of the end of her Dream. He's known the vague outline of who was involved, and how. It's another thing to hear it confessed by a participant. He thinks of his conversation with Chara, all those months ago, and their shared, bitter sympathy for a little girl who died a monster.

He didn't know that Oscar and his predecessor both sought to destroy themselves with her.]

So what do we do?

[The words have a rougher quality in their scrawling, letters less perfectly shaped.]

How do we unbreak it?

[The world itself, Oscar's place in it. The churning sea and the furious sky. The bonds that Paul wove himself over months and severed in a single breath. They could pick any of them, and he still wouldn't have an answer.]

[It wasn't a bid to destroy themselves, but to preserve the little that the Dream had offered them. The chance to live as themselves as individuals with a little bit of privacy was more than Remnant could offer them-- and, after hearing about the possible fates of half their team...

Trench was the only place for them. ]

I don't know, [He admitted, feeling very small.] I'm not sure there even is a way to fix it... Or do anything.

He squares his shoulders. They were friends first, and that, so important to Midoriya, has to count for something.

Normally he doesn't sit next to others uninvited, but here and now, he does. He and Kaworu are (have been?) too close, and Midoriya is set on not leaving him alone.

It sounds strange to hear Kaworu attach anything to the end of his name now.

"Just Izuku is fine if it's easier."

Up close, Midoriya is papery skin, sleepless shadows, and lips cut and irritated by fangs he's not used to. He's clean, in a fresh T-shirt and basketball shorts, and he's healed or been healed of his injuries, but he still has the ragged air of someone put through the ringer.

"I'm glad you're safe."

It'd be a pleasantry from someone else, but Midoriya means what he says, and it carries extra ~~baggage~~ weight with someone he's close to.

There's an unconscious moment where Kaworu steels himself against an anticipated onslaught. His body tenses, his arms raise slightly off his knees, and he turns his face slightly as if to shield it. Doing wrong was always met with some kind of punishment and that's what he anticipates now, even if he knows Midoriya would never harm him like those that created him.

But sometimes even harsh words can cut deeper than any knife. And he fears rejection more than any sort of physical pain. He knows those will eventually knot into scars. He doesn't know how the heart heals.

"I was always safe. You don't have to worry about me... Midoriya."

[Severing yourself from the place you come from is nearly dying, in the universe Paul comes from. It's why his family choose peril over safety, the uncertainty of conflict over the refuge of Tupile. He can't understand it any other way - at least not yet.]

We have to try.

[It's the first time he's put it in so many words, this growing comprehension of what he has to do. Or try to do, a shift in his thinking that he's still not sure how to process.]

Start somewhere. [The invisible hand pauses on a dot, unreal chalk wavering.] What else do you remember from when you smashed your token?

Hey, teacher, leave them kids alone

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anytime after kaworupost and callout posts

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cw: mentions of past abuse

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