deercountry | (no subject)

The little spider lifts a leg to wave a greeting at Duty as he checks her out. See? She is a perfectly harmless little friend.

Martin - oh, hey, his name is Martin. He remembers that now. The memories come back to him as easily as they were pulled away in the first place. He can remember his home, his coworkers; he even breaks into a grin as he remembers Jon's birthday celebration.

Jon. His hand goes to the pocket of his pajama pants and curls around the memory crystal he tucked away safely before he slipped out of the house. He probably shouldn't stay out too much later - he doesn't want Jon to worry if he wakes up alone. Besides, more aware of himself and his memories and what he's learned so far of Trench, he's starting to realize it's probably not the best idea to be outside in bare feet and nothing but his sleepwear.

"Find - finding a place to sit probably isn't a bad idea? At least for a little while?"

While Duty has never gotten this bad, he's gotten memories back again and again. It's a strange experience, though none of it helps him retrieve memories he arrived without. Those before the apocalypse or the ascension. Shame. He'd eat plenty of ashes or worse for those.

"A little while," Duty agrees. He leads the way toward another alley with a small bench. An odd setting, perhaps, but Gaze is an unusual neighborhood.

"This place messes with memories," Duty comments. "Who, how, why changes." He hasn't researched it all. He has enough to keep up with, but he's curious, really, about memories. The coming and going.

It's a relief and it's overwhelming all at the same time to be able to recall what, not even an hour ago, had been a complete mystery to him. The more horrifying ones give him pause. Being trapped in his flat with no ability to reach out to the outside world for help, while Jane Prentiss and her worms lurked right outside his door, ready to kill him - except not kill him, something far, far worse. The moment the world warped and changed after Jon completed the ritual to bring the Fears fully into their reality. Driving the knife deep into Jon's chest to try to bring the world back to some semblance of normal.

Oh. Right.

Martin sits on the bench and runs a hand through his hair. He's tired. He's cold. He can't help but feel overwhelmed between the things he can recall from home, and this latest near-death experience in a world that doesn't even really feel like his own.

"Yeah - I think I heard about this happening to other people?" It's happened to him before too, he remembers, just not here.

Duty nods. "Several times, several ways," Duty confirms. Sometimes, like with Willow, it's a personal matter, one-on-one with a Pthumerian. Other times, like last month, Pyrrha observed Darkblood struggling, more or less, with memories coming and going. This month, the draugr. The way he's experienced himself in Trench.

"Our memories seem less firmly stuck to our minds," he comments, "Blood magic finds many means to leech them away." Though said calmly, factually, Duty cares immensely. He doesn't like losing more, even as he puts himself at risk of just that to handle the draugr. They've come before and been repelled, pushed back (those that don't succeed). A bit longer, he tells himself. This hard, this long, just a bit longer.

More than once in the short amount of time since his arrival, this place has reminded Martin far too strongly of the Lonely, and he can't help but wonder if his arrival here is some kind of karmic justice. It certainly feels enough like another hellscape.

"Yeah," he nods in agreement, thinking about the memory crystal. "It does seem that way, doesn't it? Is it always like this here? This... bad?"

"No," Duty says immediately and strongly. Trench may seem like a hellscape to some, especially those people who come from objectively better places. He's seen too much of the rest, of the lives people have built for themselves and the relationships formed that could not be formed beyond a place like Trench, a collection point of people from all over.

"There's good and bad," Duty says, "Don't get complacent about either one, and Trench can be a good home."

It's a relief to hear it. This world may not always a nightmare, although from what he's heard and read so far, it sounds like it's more to do with the people you're here with rather than the challenges of the world itself.

"I've only recently arrived," he admits. "It's been a bit of a rough month, so far. I guess I was here before - well, not here here, but in Deerington. I don't remember it, though."

Duty nods. "Some Deerington veterans were glad to see you," he says, more a statement than a question. They're few in number and usually only getting fewer. Even if they were not friends with this man, that familiarity likely pulled at them. Disappointing, on both sides, not to remember.

"That's doubly rough," Duty says, "Not remembering and potentially letting people down." Even if they're nice about it.

"I get it," he shares. "I've lost some memories, possibly permanently." Not from the draugr. No, he killed every last one and ate far more ashes than the single draugr feeding on Martin. Duty's a rich enough meal for that. No, he means before Trench.

"Well, until they found out I didn't know who they were," Martin answers with a tired nod. Then, of course, there came the disappointment, and the awkwardness, and trying to figure out how to move forward with friendships with people who know who he is even though he didn't so much as know their names. "Then, yeah. There's, uh, definitely a lot of let down going on right now."

His eyebrows left as Duty says he's lost some memories as well. "Oh? From Deerington as well, or..."

Those would be difficult relationships to fake: different home universes, relationship in another dimension, and whatever else is there. "None of you did anything wrong," Duty notes. In fact, he imagines it would be harder to find out later, however awkward it is now.

Duty says, "Consequences of dying." Yes he's survived it, both at home and here, but there's always a cost. Whether that cost is required or imposed makes little difference for the memories themselves.

"No, perhaps not." Martin knows none of them have done anything wrong, it's just how things are now. Or, at least he's pretty sure he didn't do anything to lose his memories - becoming a victim of that... thing notwithstanding, of course.

He can't help but think of Jon, lying in his hospital bed, virtually dead. No heartbeat, not breathing on his own, but still somehow clinging to life. No one had expected him to wake up again. He had, though, and miraculously pulled through with no lasting consequences.

"Ah," it's said softly on an exhale. He's sure the experience was traumatizing. "Do you remember how it happened?

Not everything is a matter of doing things right and wrong. Plenty in the world is. Simply is. Martin is hardly alone in losing memories without noticing it. He was unfortunate enough that no one caught it before Duty saw him tonight. Yuan also got nearly so empty, even with Duty's company. They survived too.

"The end of the world," Duty replies, "Then sacrificing myself to save humanity some time after that." Vague answers. He can hardly say more about the first. The second... it's easiest to leave it at that.

The end of the world as a cause of death is startlingly familiar as is a sacrifice made to try to save humanity. The memories of those last moments on Earth, the weight of the knife in his hand as he wept as he committed the one act he wanted to never have to do.

It's the one memory he would prefer not to recall; at least not with such stark detail.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that. It's not easy."

Few people would think that the end of the world was easy, surviving it or not, coming back from it or not. Sacrifice is in and of itself a word that implies hardship. Despite those logical reasons, Martin's words ring more personal than that. More true than that. It's not a club Duty wants to welcome people into, but he's long known his world's experiences are not fully unique.

"No," Duty says, voice softer. "It never is."

He's not a touchy person, but Duty lifts one hand to rest on Martin's shoulder. The omen is not there to imply intent to squash. It's a measure of understanding and support. In the dark, two men alone but observed, as ever in Gaze.

The weight of the hand on Martin's shoulder is an appreciated comfort and show of support, and a solid reminder that even here, he's still connected to others, and the world around him. The little spider, still perched on his opposite shoulder, peers around behind his back at Duty, quiet and contemplative.

Martin swallows; unsure he really wants the story, but he still feels like it's important to ask, to see maybe just how much they have in common. "How, uh, how did it end for you? You don't have to answer. If you don't want to."

It's ironic Duty may have learned as much about how he died the first time from someone born a myriad later as from anyone there at the time. "Fire, fear, rage," Duty answers. Does it matter that the fire came from nuclear bombs? Not much. Only that it was quick.

"You?" he asks in turn. Whatever a good end may be, he doubts either of them saw it.

"Uh, fear," Martin answers, taking a deep breath. "All kinds of fear. And bending of reality. It's, uh, well. It was the kind of thing that gets kind of hard to describe?"

It's less that it's difficult to describe, and more that he'd rather not go too deep into the details, and the memories. Not here, and not right now, at least. It's easier to focus on their survival, and that they, as far as he can tell anyway, managed to put a stop to it.

"I think it's okay now, though. At home, I mean. I think we stopped it. I think that's why we're here."

Duty raises an eyebrow slightly. He doesn't doubt that it was fear, nor that it bent reality. Hard to describe, however, feels like a term coming in sideways. It's hard because Martin doesn't want to do it. Or— it's hard because he just got the memories back. Or— it's hard because Martin doesn't trust Duty. Or—

You get the idea.

Duty hasn't forgotten the little spider omen, but he lets this question drop. He gives a nod, though stopping anything, a good end, has nothing to do with why he's here, save to build toward a good end for Trench in Trench. "That's good," Duty says. "This world needs help too."

The spider doesn't have the same reservations Martin has about sharing what happened at home, so she crawls across the back of his neck, closer to where Duty's hand rests on his shoulder. "It isn't always easy to talk about these sorts of things," she supplies. "The memories are new - or they feel new, and they truly are awful. As, of course, one ought to expect from such things."

He isn't sure how he feels about his Omen weighing in, but at least she's trying to be helpful. It's still odd, though, like another part of him is speaking up on his behalf, but independently. Still, he nods.

"Yeah, I've kind of gotten that impression so far," he answers. "We'll try to help as much as we can."

As is so common in Trench, Martin's omen acts on its own, a sign of a person divided within. The omen acts with the freedom or degree of separation or permission someone does not feel themselves. A level of deniability. It's the omen, not them.

If Martin needs his omen to speak for him, that is fine. It's hard, when first getting memories back, to speak of them. Duty knows that. A nod recognizes the spider omen's words. No need to draw out and emphasize the pain in those memories.

"There are many ways to help this world," Duty comments, "How are you inclined to help?" There's no wrong answer. Trench needs help more ways than any one person could give. Let everyone help as best they can, and they will accomplish more together.

How can he help? He's not entirely sure, not just yet, at least. Everything still feels far too fresh and new. He rubs a hand across his forehead as he considers the question.

"I don't know. I was a researcher at home. I guess it's probably best to stick with what I know?" Does Trench need people who can research the things that happen here? Maybe? Probably? Gaze feels very much aligned with Beholding, and there's more than one entity - Pthmuerian, whatever, here dedicated to knowledge. "I'll help however I can, really."

"There's many ways," he says, calm and sure of himself, "Knowledge matters." He motions toward whence they came. He dispatched the draugr easily because he knows precisely what to do.

That's not all, however. "Self-awareness, self-care," Duty says, "are serious business." Taking time to eat a fresh cooked meal, to bathe, to meditate, to enjoy a drink with a friend, it all can help.

Martin nods at the affirmation that yes, knowledge is important. It makes sense. You need to know what you're facing to be able to defeat it. His main focus since his arrival has been on helping Jon, but realistically, given this is the type of threat he suspects they'll see more of, it's probably time to expand a little.

At the mention of self-care also being important, a small chuckle escapes him. He's far better at looking after others than himself, and it's the sort of thing he would get after Jon for. The irony is not lost on him. "Yeah. I think I've heard that. The corruption thing, right?"

Duty nods. Corruption. It's a hell of a way to live, but it's one way to force people to take better care of themselves. Larger consequences.

"Lots of options," Duty says, "Nightwalkers are the pros." Literally, it's their job. They come in every form one can think of and then some. Oh, they're not all for everyone. No one could be.

"Even this," he motions between them. A simple conversation between strangers. Duty's corruption levels are fairly high, even if they aren't visible. He feels the paranoid watchfulness around someone he doesn't know, unable to be disarmed by how seemingly harmless he is. That's one way to end up dead. Appropriate wariness and unwarranted thoughts mingle together, making it harder to tell the difference.

There's something about going to nightwalkers to keep away corruption that makes Martin feel a little uncomfortable. It's not easy to open up to a complete stranger, even if they're supposed to be professionals. More than likely, he's going to rely on the people he knows, and trusts. Like Jon.

"Yeah. There's, uh, other ways too, aren't there? Incense, and some kinds of mushrooms, and whatnot. I think I remember reading something about that before." It doesn't feel completely clear yet, but it's been a long, overwhelming few weeks, so perhaps that can't be blamed entirely on the draugr.

"I'm Martin, by the way," he offers finally by way of an introduction.

Duty nods. He doesn't go to strangers either, but meditation and time at Sanctuary are in his daily routine. Most of the time, that alone is enough. Incense and mushrooms are good in a pinch, but they aren't always on hand. Handling it himself is ideal. Next comes moments like these. "Even this," Duty motions between them.

He notices because his levels were so high when they started talking. Consequence of dealing with the draugr.

"I'm Duty," he says, using the extra word to ensure it's clear Duty is his name. People have all kinds of norms. For some, his name strikes them as odd.

"Nice to meet you," Martin answers with a nod. He doesn't judge the name. People call their kids all kinds of strange things, and really, it says a lot more about the parents than the child. Besides, Duty's from who knows where, and maybe it's a perfectly regular name from there. Or a nickname.

He scuffs his bare feet on the concrete under the bench. He's cold. He's tired. If Jon's awake, he'll probably be worried, but Martin is hopeful he may still be asleep. "I should probably go home. But thank you. For helping me."

Duty inclines his head in agreement. He's glad their paths crossed. In a city like Trench they likely will again.

"You're welcome," Duty says, "I'm around, if you need me."

With that, he gets up to leave, so the energy burst of the battle carries him home without passing out.

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CW: references to manmade apocalypse

CW: Apocalyptic discussion continues

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